"WHAT now? More trouble from those Catholic rebels! By all their saints, I wish that all of them were pinioned in their own purgatory! Now for the regimentals, Kathleen; run Terence and bid Sloan bring round old Prince in a twinkling" said Col. Neilson, starting up from a comfortable breakfast at the sound of the alarm that pealed out from the bells of the neighboring town. He stood a moment at a sun-lit window, with one hand shading his eyes, looking intently towards the town as if he might see what troubled the citizens, or, perhaps, in expectation of seeing one of the many devastating fires that, since the beginning of the rebellion, had left smouldering heaps in every direction, in token of hatred and strife. But none the wiser for the survey, he turned from the window, full of impatience.

"Bless your heart, Kathleen, no need to rub that blade brighter," said he, as he took a glittering sword from her busy hands, and dropped it with a ringing, rattling sound, into the sheath he had just belted at his side.

His wife's trembling fingers adjusted an orange knot upon the breast of his coat; it had been the badge of the Protestant party since the reign of William and Mary. Kathleen gave a few polishing strokes to his soldierly equipments, while he slashed a bright, silken scarf across his broad shoulders, rapidly exchanging words at the same time.

"What could you do, Kathleen, if I found the need of enlisting Sloan among my men? Would you dare remain alone here?"

"Dare?" answered she, with flashing eyes and courageous dignity. "You shall see, Dermot, how bravely I can defend our home if occasion demands it."

"May God preserve you, my Kathleen," he fervently exclaimed, folding her in his arms an instant; then, giving a hearty, loving farewell to the children, he turned from them to mount his favorite, glossy-black Prince, that for some moments had been impatiently circling about the faithful Sloan. Sloan stood, hat in hand, at a little distance from the steps, holding the bridle.

Col. Neilson gave a few directions and cautions in case of long absence, took the reins from the servant, sprang into the saddle, galloped down the lawn road and through the open gate towards the town.

The tall, red-headed Sloan, whose powerful form suggested the strength of a Samson, stood with folded arms looking after his master and the fiery steed he rode with martial air, and longed to follow them.

"I'd like to have a fist at the fellows; I 'd gi'e thiml sich a bateing as they'd niver seen the like," said he, with a broad grin that displayed a substantial row of white teeth, at the same time rolling up the sleeves of his frieze jacket, and making various threatening gestures with his brawny, muscular arms.

"You may yet have occasion to test your courage," remarked Kathleen, smiling at his formidable gestures and greatly doubting if his bravery would outlive a contest. She still stood upon the steps, watching the receding form of her husband. Now and then, horsemen passed along the highway, singly or in companies of three and four; often "jaunting cars" went trundling by, filled with volunteers who wore the distinctive orange badge, and were armed with weapons of every size and make.

Some of the principal members of a league, known as the Society of United Irishmen, having been arrested on the detection of their secret object, which was the separation of Ireland from England with the assistance of France, they were obliged, either to abandon their project, or rise in open rebellion. The latter course was quickly chosen, and immediately the whole country was in arms. The old hatred, that had existed between the Catholics and Protestants during the contest between James II., and William, Prince of Orange, revived again, with additional fury and bitterness. The Catholics were exasperated at the long continued restrictions laid upon them by the penal code, which deprived them of equal privileges with the Protestants, though they were far superior in numbers.

Ireland was obliged to rely mostly upon her own resources in quelling this rebellion, as the English troops had been drawn off for other service. Every citizen, capable of bearing arms, took part in the general war; this was a necessity, as well as a means of mutual revenge, since parties of frantic, bigoted men prowled nightly about isolated dwellings, or through the villages and towns, ready to fire them at any favorable opportunity. None could trust his Catholic neighbor or friend; each stood ready to guard his fireside, or to grasp his weapons and go forth at the sound of the alarm bells that announced a fresh insurrection.

In scenes like these, we again find Dermot Neilson and Kathleen, after a lapse of nearly thirteen years. They occupied the old homestead of his father, in the vicinity of Armagh, but in an opposite direction from Kathleen's early home. They bore their years well and happily. Five or six beautiful children enlivened and graced their fireside.

The house was square, solid-built, with immense doors, deep windows, and huge wooden shutters. It stood upon an elevation that sloped in velvety greenness down to the highway, and commanded a fine view of the neighboring town, upon the east side; upon every other it looked out on green fields and orchards, with their never-failing stone walls and thick hawthorne hedges. At the west of it, and farther back from the road was a pleasant and spacious stone house, occupied by a much-prized, wealthy neighbor, though a Catholic. Only a hedge divided the yards. A small garden lay in the rear of the house, gay with a profusion of flowers, of which Kathleen was passionately fond.

From the beginning of the rebellion, Colonel Neilson had the command of a regiment of volunteers, and had several times been engaged in skirmishes. A sort of Indian warfare had been kept up, without any important engagement. On the present occasion, a somewhat formidable body of Catholics were marching towards Armagh; for this emergency the citizens were called out.

Two or three hours of suspense and anxiety had passed after Colonel Neilson's hasty departure, when a messenger arrived with the intelligence, and demanded Sloan's services. The whole household was startled at the exciting news, but Kathleen calmly made the necessary preparations.  Sloan gloried in his strength, and went through the motions of fight, talking meantime with his imaginary foe; it was not without much ado that Kathleen succeeded in placing safely in his hands the trusty gun that seemed likely to give vent to the teeming patriotism of its holder, before he should get among those for whom its contents were intended.

"Be quiet, Sloan, or you'll shoot us. Take care the rebels don't see you beating a retreat instead of the enemy," said the eldest of the children, the womanly Azile, who in some vexation at his boasting and sundry evolutions, was doing her best to fasten the important orange knot upon the breast of his jacket.

"An' d'ye think I'd be running away wi' mesilf, Miss Aile? Ye're too bad, altogether --"

"Halloa!" shouted the impatient messenger, from without, who waited in the saddle for the recruit.

Sloan rushed headlong into the yard, and without further words sprang up behind the horseman and galloped away, without hearing the "God 'speed you" that followed him.

"We are all alone, mother. What if those pikemen should come?" asked the younger ones, frightened into stillness by all they had heard, with open ears and eyes.

"I would fasten you children up somewhere, and play soldier myself. There is a good sword left yet," said Kathleen, with a voice calmer than her feelings, while she endeavored to return to employments for which she had no thoughts.

The frightened children grouped together in one of the low, wide windows that looked out upon the highway, watching the passers along the road. Their fears were presently forgotten, and, little by little, they ventured upon the lawn, where manifold games soon absorbed their indefinite terrors. Several hours passed thus, when a scream from one of the number directed the attention of the rest to long lines of soldiers and horsemen, winding along the road.

"Mother! Mother!" screamed one little fellow, his face expressing the utmost fright; and gasping for breath as he ran and threw himself into her arms for protection.

"The pikemen are coming to kill us," exclaimed the pale-faced Mary, weak with terror.

"No such thing I They are our men!" shouted the manly Terence, pointing towards the town, from which direction they were marching. This was evident enough to the alarmed mother, when she came out among the children, and remained with them till the several companies had passed. Sunset tipped the polished arms with burning light before all had gone, with ominous tread, over the low range of hills, beyond which the little army disappeared.

Those who had watched their movements remained listening to the thick, rumbling sound that still came back to them from the paved highway. The mother thought with trembling of the many who measured a death-tread, and shuddered for the sake of one who was among them. Endeavoring to shake off the gloomy misgivings that crept over her in the coming twilight, she called the children cheerfully, and sent them to get ready for dream-land in her own apartment, which, with its motherly look and associations, had the power to charm away half the fears of the little ones. The blue chintz hangings about the bed gave them a sense of hidden security; they nestled quietly down behind the dropped curtains, but no sooner were they alone, than mysterious whispers among them of the dreaded pikemen, awoke all their fears again; they crept softly out of bed, clinging to each other, fairly scrambled for the door, and, by the time it was opened, screamed out in real terror.

Once more the mother reassured them, and now that windows and doors were securely fastened, she trimmed a dim light, and sat quietly near them, listening to their sweet voices in their soothing, nightly prayer of "Our Father;" then lulled them to sleep with one of her sweetly sung hymns. Deep sleep quickly dispelled dreams as well as fears; they had no thoughts for the battle that fiercely raged beyond the hills. The gloomy boom of cannons came rolling and echoing along at intervals with the sure tidings of death. Kathleen could no longer repress her anxiety for the result, and her aversion to the depressing stillness and loneliness about her. Impelled by the feeling that urges one to a scene of excitement or danger, she arose, placed the night-lamp in safety, gazed a moment upon the children to assure herself of their sound slumbers, and, wrapping a light shawl about her, glided noiselessly from the quiet room. She passed through the wide hall to the wide entrance that opened into the garden, walked rapidly along the main walk to a gap in the hedge dividing it from the adjoining orchard, and fled fearlessly along in the deep shadow of the trees. The sounds of battle grew louder and nearer as she hastened over the fields, round the base of one of the low hills into a quiet, lonely glen, and crossed a rivulet that watered it-the way faintly lighted by a bright blaze flaming up from behind the hills which still hid the stretch of lowland, where the scene of strife was being frightfully enacted.

With a few bounds, she disentangled herself from the long grass bordering the brook, and reached the stone wall that skirted the road. Climbing to the top, she looked beyond upon the strange scene. A field of yellow grain waved on the slope across the highway, and at its foot lay the battle-field, alive with brutal, human passions, growling artillery, and shouts mingled with the stunning shocks of cannon and musketry. Here and there well disciplined troops wheeled round in orderly contest, but for the most part, confusion prevailed. Hatred between the two parties was too keen for deliberate movements. Hand to hand, in deadly struggle, was the general choice. Blinding flashes from the artillery mingled with the steady brilliancy of a flaming building near by, which cast a lurid glare upon the fierce faces, upturned in combat at one moment the next, trampled under foot by those who eagerly pressed forward from behind them.

The deceptive light and shadow upon the undulating hills, towered them to greater height. The grain, upon the lighted slopes, lay in sheets of flaming yellow; black, curling clouds of powder-fumed smoke, rolled heavily up the hill-sides and hung over the field of blood, where every object was tinged with the crimson light shed from the columns of flame, wreathing upward on the other side of the battle-field.

Kathleen looked on with a fascinated gaze though filled with horror at the sight of fast falling victims in the bloody strife, till her quick ear caught the sound of groans of distress. After a single moment of hesitation, she obeyed her impulse, and cautiously crossed the road. She was soon carefully laying back the tall grain and finding her way through it to the spot whence the sound proceeded. A dark object lay upon the ground, from which she shrank at the first glance, but a distressed entreaty recalled her.

"Water I Give me water!" was the thick utterance of the wounded man who had dragged himself there to die. Kathleen's first thought was of the rivulet she had passed in the glen, and she stooped to find the soldier's hat, intending to fill it, but it was gone.

"Water! oh, water!" he groaned again.

Eager to relieve his agony, she unloosed the powder-flask fastened in his belt, emptied it, and fled back to the cool stream. Kathleen was quick-footed, and had long ago learned to leap the stone walls; she required but a few moments to fill the flask and return to the wounded man, who eagerly drained it. His parched lips and throat were cooled with the grateful draught; and the excessive pain of his wounds was relieved when Kathleen bound them carefully with her handkerchief and shawl, torn in strips. His thanks were mingled with prayers to the Virgin and execrations upon his foes, till his voice grew faint and husky. Again Kathleen filled the flask, placed it beside him, and turned to go, lest she should be endangered by the occasional shot that fell near them. But, hesitating, she asked of Colonel Neilson's safety. Epithets expressive of hatred were the only reply.

"I am his wife," exclaimed Kathleen, indignantly, and turned again to leave him.

"The holy mother bless ye're kind heart, he's a brave mon, an' a good sthroke. He was there wi' himself, sure, for me two eyes saw him."

The shouts of victory from the Orangemen, that came up the hill-side, cut short what he would have added, and changed his words to angry vociferations. Kathleen, fearing lest retreating or scattered soldiers would intercept her return, gave one glance at the smoking field and lessening fire-light, and made good her flight. She bounded over the fences, through the glen, across the fields to her home, where a profound quiet rested upon everything in and around the peaceful dwelling, in strong contrast with the frightful scenes from which she had just fled. Passing noiselessly in, and fastening the door behind her, she found her way back to the dimly lighted chamber, where the little ones still luxuriated in undisturbed, sweet sleep. Throwing herself down: beside the two who breathed fragrantly upon her own pillow, she tried to calm herself to sleep and forgetfulness; but the cries of the wounded were still ringing in her ears; the sights and sounds of battle were too vividly and frightfully present for her eyelids to close, till the early morning hours, with reassuring light, calmed her excited imagination. Then she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Hours had passed when, suddenly waking into the broad daylight, her eyes met those of her husband, who bent kindly over her. She started up in surprise, and anxiously inquired if he had escaped wounds.

"Safe and sound, Kathleen – not even the honor of a scratch. A sky-light in my hat, and bullet tracks in my coat, are all that I can boast of," was his laughing reply.

He then told her of the defeat of the Catholics, and of the arrival of French troops at Killala, where the rebels were gathering from all quarters. Lord Cornwallis was, however, on the march, with a strong body of English troops, and the volunteers of Armagh were to join him at a stated town. But a few hours remained for rest and preparation; accordingly, Kathleen busied her wifely fingers in renewing Colonel Neilson's dusty and tarnished equipments, sadly thinking of the long separation, and of the wearisome marches and fierce battles through which he must pass, perhaps at the cost of his life. The thought was more unendurable after witnessing the frightful scenes of the previous night.

Partings in old times were more serious events than in these days of lightning and steam. Knowing the long silence that must ensue, and full of gloomy forebodings, Kathleen clung to her husband, overcome with grief at the separation. He could offer few words of comfort, but knelt before God and implored protection over those whom he left – the God upon whom Kathleen had not yet learned to rely – then tore himself from the weeping family, mounted his it horse and rode quickly away, waving back a farewell with his hand before he disappeared from sight, while Kathleen stood watching him, and striving to restrain the tears that continually blinded her. When she could no longer see him, she yielded to her tears. But her spirit was proud and courageous; she soon turned family-ward to dispel her unhappiness in its cares and duties.

A week of quiet home-life had gone without anything unusual to interrupt the daily routine of affairs. The bustling activity which invariably pervades a thrifty household on a bright morning, had settled into a pleasant stillness. The doors had done opening and shutting; the quaint, high-backed chairs, the circular table rubbed to a faultless polish, and the various parlor ornaments were suffered to rest after a half-hour’s dance with the duster; the heavy wooden shutters were partly closed, and a general neatness, coolness and quiet succeeded. The children were at play in the garden; Joe was sailing a miniature boat in a tub of water, and talking of the sea to his younger brother, Terence; and Mary, frail and timid, sat beside their mother in her own apartment, opposite the parlor, and opening into the same hall.

As they sat thus, a quick, bounding footstep along the walk, a figure glancing past the windows, a rushing sound in the hall, were but an instant's impression, and Kathleen saw a deathly pale, terrified face, with distended eyes, dart past the open door, looking towards her. Before she had time to rise, the figure returned – a shoeless, hatless, shaggy-headed man, with torn, dusty garments, as if he had just escaped a struggle.

"Save – hide me! They'll murther the soul of me!" he hoarsely cried, looking and moving wildly about the room for a hiding place.

Kathleen sprang toward the door, selected a ponderous key from a number that hung behind it, and bidding him follow her, went speedily along the hall, up the winding staircase to a door at the left of the landing that opened into a narrow passage, leading to a large store-room. This room extended over the rear of the house, from which it also had access, and, as was the case with every other dwelling, was used as a kind of store-house. Long rows of hams, bacon, pork, cheese, jars of butter, and well-filled barrels and bins were arranged in perfect order. After she had unlocked and thrown open the door, Kathleen stood a moment, as if hesitating where to place the fugitive, while he immediately crept behind a row of barrels.

"That won't do. Come here!" said she, vigorously piling back the contents of an apple bin.

He obeyed her, and dove down among the hard, glossy fruit, while she as quickly tumbled it over him, concealing him completely in the midst of the fragrant bin. Smoothing the apples as they lay before being disturbed, she turned away, locked the door, fled back to her room, and restored the key to its accustomed nail. Mary sat there, still looking intently towards the door, pale and agitated.

"Don't look so frightened, child, or you'll betray it all. They must not see you thus," said her mother, lifting her gently and laying her upon the bed; but she had hardly placed her there, before the rush of feet and angry voices resounded in the hall. Three men, without ceremony, approached her apartment with boisterous inquiries. , 4

"Where is that Catholic rebel? Out with him, if ye've harbored the like o' him!" roughly spoke a heavy-built, scowling, brutal looking man. Kathleen advanced a little towards them with an undaunted air, and. replied calmly but with much firmness of voice and manner,

"You address me rudely, sir. I have no further information to give you."

"Madam,” interfered a tall, square-shouldered man with fierce, gray eyes, "Madam, we are in pursuit of a man who was seen to enter the house. We shall search, if you have concealed him," said he with a clear, rolling accent, and a deferential air, that bespoke his superiority over his companions.

"Search as much as you please. I am no Catholic," replied she, indifferently.

"Wait a bit, till we find him, an' Ill gi'e him a taste o' steel. He slipped out o' me hand, or he'd been slapeing as harmless as a doove yester' eve," said the first speaker, clasping the handle of the long, knife-like weapon in his belt, while he cast a suspicious glance around the apartment.

"A poor cause that needs such vindicators! You might better defend your country against invaders, than to hunt down the vanquished, and murder in cold blood!" exclaimned Kathleen, unable to restrain her indignation at his brutality.

He darted a fierce glance at her, and turned with the others to search the premises, determined not to be daunted by woman, yet somewhat ashamed of his misdirected patriotism. Every room was thoroughly ransacked, but in spite of their faithfulness in peering into every suspicious looking nook, no fugitive was to be found. They were sure of his presence, and the self'-constituted sentinel, without, was quite as certain he had not made his escape. Finding their way at last to the store-room, and trying in vain to gain entrance, the fierce-eyed man returned to Kathleen, while the other one remained grumbling before the door.

"The key of the upper room, if ye plase, madam," said the intruder. He was provoked at the cool pertinacity with which she pointed to the bunch of keys, leaving him to select at his leisure, and the implied threat conveyed in the words that accompanied the movement.

"Take it if you choose, but remember you are searching the house of one of your officers, without leave."

"Who?" said he, looking surprised.

"Colonel Neilson," she answered, and withdrew her attention to Mary, who really seemed an invalid.

The man hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and took the keys, and returning to his companion, consulted upon further measures. But they had gone too far to be foiled in their errand, and opening the door, entered. All was quiet. They looked behind every article that could afford concealment, and left no barrel or chest unopened. The hunted man lay half smothered in his strange prison, breathless, and almost paralyzed with fear, as he heard the voices of his enemies close by, uttering bitter invectives, and felt their hands on every shivering nerve, as they rolled over the apples that covered him, to select a few of the choicest to console their disappointment. He dared not move till long after their retreating footsteps sounded along the hall. They slowly returned to the lower apartments, looking in here and there, still suspicious. The keys were restored to Kathleen, who, as she received them, said, with a provoking smile,

"The same success to all your like undertakings!"

The look of defiance in her face inclined them to resume the search, but her apparent indifference to their movements puzzled them again, and they walked slowly away, muttering and looking back occasionally, in hope of discovering some confirmation of their suspicions. But Kathleen remained quiet long after they disappeared; she did not venture to release her prisoner till quite confident of his safety.

The unlocking of the door, and her cheerful voice were welcome sounds to the exhausted man, who, when he crept from his hiding place, could scarcely stand.

"God bless ye, misthress. The Holy Vargin be with ye foriver. The goodness of ye'll niver lave me. God bless ye!" exclaimed he, falling upon his lknees in tears, unable to thank her enough for saving him.

"Show the same humanity towards the Protestants who all in your hands, is all I ask in evidence of your gratitude," said she, inducing him to go below with her to obtain wherewith to refresh his weariness.

Restored and refreshed, he left at nightfall, sorrowful that so generous and kind a benefactor should be a lost heretic; to the day of his death, he paid the priest for prayers to save her soul from purgatory!

Accounts of continued strife and bloodshed, aggravated murders and the various horrors of a civil contest, together with the anxiety regarding Colonel Neilson's protracted absence, depressed Kathleen's spirits, and made her long to fly from a country deluged with the blood of its own sons; she saw no promise of peaceful settlement of the cause in which they fought. Her thoughts wandered to the land where shouts of liberty rang up and resounded throughout the world. Her longing to seek its shores became a purpose, strengthened by the scenes which followed, though the very thought of forsaking her loved birth-place brought quick, burning tears.

Darkness had come almost unawares, while she stood one evening on the lawn, thinking thus, and leaning against the gnarled trunk of a wide-spreading old tree, quite overshadowed by the thickly-leaved branches. The stars began to glimmer out mistily here and there, and sometimes a light breeze noisily fluttered the leaves, then subsided, leaving a lonely quiet. Kathleen was impelled to go in, yet remained sad and dispirited. While lingering thus, she caught the sound of stealthy footsteps and low whispering; presently, she detected the outline of two persons crouching and creeping along the hedge that separated the grounds from those of McIlvor – the Catholic neighbor, so highly valued by Colonel Neilson, notwithstanding their differences.

Kathleen watched the figures breathlessly, as they stole along under the thick hedge, sure of some evil design, yet endeavored to know their intentions before she fled. She bent forward and listened intently to the whispers that came to her in the intervals of the slightly stirring breeze, but she could distinguish nothing till they both stopped nearly opposite her and crouched under the hedge.

"Can it be me or mine they seek?" flashed upon her thoughts, with a quick, twinging heartbeat.

Again she listened with every sense concentrated in hearing. When the noisy leaves kept, quiet, she heard the few utterances of a coarse, gruff voice.

"You'll be shooting first, Barney," –  then followed something in a lower whisper she could not catch. "When he's well off the steps," – again the babbling leaves drowned the voice, – " said he'd be going at nine o' the clock."

 "Enough!" almost spoke Kathleen, in her eagerness, for she knew McIlvor was going to Armagh that night. "He shall not die, if I can help it," said she to herself, all her courage roused at the baseness of the meditated murder. She was about to retreat along the darkness of the trees, when McIlvor's door opened, and the sound of his voice with others came cheerfully to her ear. Without an instant's reflection, she bounded towards the hedge, sprang through a gap close by the concealed men, and with an agile spring was upon Mcllvor's steps. He stood at the entrance. Kathleen flung her arms around him, and exclaimed with all her strength,

"If you shoot, you'll kill Neilson's wife!" and without waiting to explain, she drew him back into the house, closed and secured the door – a useless precaution, for the two men fled in dismay at the sudden apparition of their victim's preserver.

The reaction from fright overcame Kathleen, and she wept abundantly while relating to the surprised family what she had overheard. The excitement of the narrow escape, and the constant dread lest the avoided danger was but a precursor of coming evil to the whole household, gave them little rest that night. McIlvor had reason, as a member of the United Society, to dread the hatred of the Royalists; he knew not at what moment the example of his party might recoil upon his own home, and lay it in ruins. His wife shuddered and crossed herself, as she imagined the horror of seeing him stretched a corpse upon his own threshold. Blinding tears welled up as she attempted to speak her gratitude to Kathleen, who willingly escaped to her own home, leaving them in active preparation to charm away evil from their fireside. Strips of red cloth already decorated the entrance, and other outward appeals to their saints occupied and calmed their forebodings.

Kathleen felt more keenly than ever the wretched condition of Ireland. The bitter warfare, with its inhuman butchery, the desolated homes, the wasting harvests, the superstition and bigotry among the educated as well as the ignorant classes, the fierce struggle between the two parties, each for the ascendancy of its own religion and influence in government, gave a hopeless, dismal prospect. "Oh for a home in a free land!" sighed Kathleen, when going to rest, after taking every precaution for security, though never sure of waking in safety.

WEEKS of suspense and fear dragged heavily along till the news of Lord Cornwallis' victory, which spread far and near, gave infinite relief to the unprotected, and crushed the wild hopes of the Catholics, whose main dependence had been upon the French. The successful landing of French troops, the prompt rallying of the Irish, which increased their army to a formidable body, and the advantage of the Catholics in numbers, had given rise to the certainty of victory on their part. This unexpected, entire defeat, after several successful skirmishes, struck terror into those who, in expectation of being the triumphant, party, had committed depredations and murder in every quarter.

"Ye'd betther be lookin' to yer head, Tom, thin sprawlin' about here o' days and takin' yersel out o' nights. Why, but ye gets som'at for the mouths of us whin we's starvin? A lazy bit ye are!" said a coarse-featured woman in a calico short-gown, red petticoat, and wide-bordered cap that flapped back and forth in comical time-keeping with her steps. She went hither and thither with long strides, now picking up the baby, whose travels around the beardless floor did not improve the condition of its begrimmed face and hands, and then giving a stinging slap upon the round cheeks of the little urchin who busied himself in making the pig squeal in the corner; for one room was all the hut contained. Impatient at the noise that drowned even her sharp voice, she tumbled the boy headlong into the opposite corner, with perfect unconcern as to how he might find himself. Wiping the baby's face with a coarse towel that hung over her arm, and which had performed the same service for the scanty dishes that garnished the top of an old chest, she seated the child upon the floor again, approached the door, rested her hands upon her hips, and scowling ferociously, made a tongue-attack upon the indolent fellow who sunned himself on a bench at the side of the shanty.

"Where's the good to be there wi' yer slapin' cap on? Wake yer wits, mon, and stir about wi' yersel'. Off to yon big house, an' the lady'll give ye a bit for us," nodding her head in the direction of Colonel Neilson's house, which lay a mile or so over the fields in plain sight.

"Faith, an' d'ye think I'll be askin' favors of thim Protestants? More's the shame for ye, whin ye knows they've bate us."

"Shame to yersel', mon. Why but ye went to battle wi' the rest jist? Up wi' ye, and get sum'ut for the likes of us that has ne'er seen a dthrop to ate sin' the lady fetched hersel'. An' didn't I brake the ground for the praties this blessed mornin', wi' me own hands, long afoore ye was coom back from Mike's? Then tellin' shame to me it is! Out upon ye, mon!" cried she with rising temper, catching up a pan and flinging it at him.

A skillful dodge, acquired from necessary practice, saved him the intended stroke. But he arose, picked up his cap, slouched it upon his head, thrust his hands deep into his empty pockets, and went shuffling along, grumbling as he walked. Over the stone fences he tumbled, and found his way lazily through the fields, till he reached the hedge-enclosed grounds of Colonel Neilson. There he lingered and hesitated, still unwilling to ask a favor of Protestants, yet sure it could "be had for the asking." He knew equally well he would meet with a rebuff at McIlvor's, since they were wearied with the frequent importunities of his family. Tom was a lazy fellow, and would rather steal than work, any day, if he could escape the penalty which must be paid with life. Work was a more terrible task than ever, after the past weeks of excitement and association with those who were busied nightly in bloody affrays, or firing houses.

"I’ll not be asking thim," concluded he, after much rambling and hesitation. "No more is the use, for where's the harm in takin' from thim as has plinty. I'll be helpin' mysel' while the masther is away," muttered he, as he seated himself upon the top of a stone wall, preferring to kick it with his heels for an hour, rather than to listen to the reproaches of his more energetic wife. The more he thought upon his plan, the more satisfied he became. He finally strolled off to his usual haunt, a mile distant, and far back from the highway, known as "Mike's" –  a place in no better condition than his own miserable home, but more attractive, from its being the resort of an association of lawless fellows.

Night came softly down, offering rest to the guilty in their haunts, as well as to those whose homes were hallowed with peace and truth. Midnight found the reckless pursuing their crimes, stealing hither and thither in bands; but lulled, with its stillness, every one of Kathleen's household into refreshing slumber. The old clock in the corner struck one, with its usual precision, and the long pendulum clicked back and forth with its accustomed moderation. Yet Kathleen awoke suddenly at the stroke, sure that some other sound had disturbed her. She partly arose, looked intently about the apartment and listened, but all was quiet and she returned to her rest. While still listening and conjecturing as to what it might have been, the same unexplainable sound came again, apparently from the upper part of the house. Bounding to the floor and enveloping herself in a loose robe, she took a sword from its place against the wall at the head of her bed, and with a night-lamp in the other hand, stepped softly out into the hall. Nothing unusual was there; she stood still and listened. A muffled sound, as of some one treading across the floor of the upper rooms, came to her, and immediately she ascended the stairs and stood upon the landing. She scarcely breathed in her eagerness to detect the exact direction of the stealthy noise. Again, she heard, it distinctly in the store-room, and without an instant's thought, pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and as quickly flung back the door. Raising the light above her and looking forward into the long room, she saw a man, whose face was concealed under a black mask, standing midway between her and the broken window, holding a well filled bag as if about to drag it after him. He instantly dropped it and stood still, confounded at the sudden apparition. Kathleen grasped the sword firmly, and without moving from near the entrance, said boldly and courageously,

"Walk down those stairs before me, or I'll strike you to the heart. Tom Lawson, I know you," exclaimed she, keeping the shining blade between them.

Without a word he obeyed her superior courage, passed through the door and descended before her. She kept the sword in threatening attitude between them, lest he might turn suddenly upon her. The life of each lay in the other's power; for should she deliver him into the hands of justice, hanging would be the penalty of his thievish propensity, and he could no more than lose his life if he took hers, which was his only chance of escaping exposure. But whether from want of weapons, or lack of courage, he obeyed unresistingly, unlocked the door and went out into the darkness as she commanded.

Kathleen secured the door behind him, and after a sentinel excursion through the house, returned to her own apartment to watch nervously till daylight. A tap upon one of the windows startled her, but determined to exhibit no fear, she directly opened it. Tom stood beneath, and spoke in a voice of anxiety and entreaty.

"Madam, me life is in yer hand. Spare it for God's sake. Ye knows I wud ne'er have doon the like but for the starvin' wife and childers. They've ne'er a bit for their mouths, and what'll coom to thim if ye give me over to the hangman? Och, madam, if there's a dthrop of marcy left in yer blessed heart, do not tell it on me."

"What in the name of justice did you attempt to rob me for, Tom, when, if you had asked, I should have given what you needed? Have I ever refused your family food or clothing? Is it thus you return my gifts?"

"The blessed Mary protect ye, madam. I'll niver be doing the like again, but don't till it on me – don't till it on me. I'1 niver slape in pace till ye forgives it to me, and gi'es me yer word for it, ye'll not bethray me." Thus he entreated and plead till she gave her promise of secrecy, which should not be binding in case of a second offence.

"God bless ye, madam. God bless ye foriver. Long life to ye and the wee ones. Ye'r marcy will light me till the breath laves \me.

"Kathleen closed the window, unwilling to hear words that might be belied. For the sake of his poor wife, she had given her word to save him, though she had little hope of his reform.

The next morning, Kathleen went forth, heavily laden, to the little hovel in the field, but no Tom was there, neither were his wife and children to be found. The little hut was deserted, and had scarcely a trace of having been inhabited, excepting a pile of old straw in a corner and the little mound of black peat near the door. The sudden removal was not to be wondered at, since they were but slightly burdened with worldly goods. With the pig under one arm and the baby under the other, the mother could easily march off, leaving the bag of potatoes and few household utensils for Tom to shoulder.

Kathleen reproached herself for not sooner coming to their aid, though the guilty disappearance solved the summer's mystery of vanishing fruit and vegetables. On returning home, she found all in joyful commotion at the unexpected arrival of Colonel Neilson. The children ran about, clapped their hands and shouted with overwhelming gladness, telling the good news the twentieth time to every one they met. Happy exclamations, running to and fro, laughter and tears, betrayed the tidings to Kathleen, before the words could be uttered. The sudden relief from long suspense and anxiety for each other, gave too intense joy for words; an earnest and deep ejaculation was all Colonel Neilson could express as he clasped his weeping wife in his arms.

"Thank God, we are all unharmed yet," exclaimed he at last, looking at Kathleen's now illuminated features, and upon the bright faces upturned all about him. The first gush of greeting over, the thousand and one questions answered on all sides, they gathered together in the wide hall where the breeze came in, fresh and cool, from the garden. Little Willie helped himself to a seat on his father's knee, and another scrambled up behind him. The rest clustered about, eager to hear the recital of his adventures. Thus they sat, listening to the rapid sketches of the past weeks; of the battles and long marches, over heaths and barren moors, along the seashore and among the humble thatched huts of the poor, wild Irish, along the western coast.

"But there's one scene I never can forget," said he, speaking rapidly and looking earnestly at Kathleen.

"If ever I meet that man I shall burn to revenge innocent blood."  Passing his hand over his brow, as if to smooth away a painful remembrance, he hesitated a moment, but the recital was too nearly upon his lips to be repressed.

"Before we joined Lord Cornwallis we came to a little hamlet near Elphin which seemed nearly deserted. Beyond, at some distance, thick smoke went curling up to the clouds. Suspecting some wrong or misfortune, a few of us, after the soldiers were quartered, went in the direction of the fire. Upon coming to the scene beyond a thick orchard, we were struck with horror on beholding a blazing barn, surrounded by a handful of miscreants, who were keeping in the flames a crowd of helpless women and children, gathered there for refuge. Screams of terror and pain came from the victims – such screams as will ring in my ears forever. One man, evidently a priest, whose every feature is impressed with odious distinctness upon my memory, seized a beautifully fair child who was creeping front under the planks to escape, and, thrusting a pitch-fork deep into its tender flesh, tossed it back into the flames Ah, hal" exclaimed he, shuddering at the recollection and starting up in his excitement, "if I could but have shot him! But he escaped me. We routed the fiendish brutes, though too late to save the poor wretches, who were quickly smothered and scorched. Before the affray was over, the building fell with a deafening crash, burying every soul in its ruins. Oh, that priest!" said he, angrily closing his teeth over his words.

Kathleen's face expressed sickened horror, while she listened, and the young auditors looked wonderingly aghast, as they comprehended what was told them. It left an unhappy feeling with them all, more especially as their joy at the new arrival was lessened by the knowledge that peace and order were not yet restored, and that any moment might again break the family circle.

"We cannot stay here," said Kathleen earnestly and sorrowfully. "We can no more be happy in dear old Ireland. A wretched, mistaken bigotry and oppression from every quarter, have already drenched her soil with blood. Erin, Erin, is a dear, holy name, but my heart warms towards the land of freedom. America and Liberty!" exclaimed she enthusiastically. Colonel Neilson could not respond as fervently to the suggestion, for he loved Ireland with all her misery, nor could he forsake her shores now.

"We will see, – we will see, Kathleen. I own I have thought much of it, but I will stand by our brave old isle, till this trouble has swept by. Were I to go from her now, every blade of grass in her green sod might well cry shame to the deserter. But look to the future with your keen eyes, Kathleen!"