A TIPPERARY SHOT.
By the Author of “Myself and my Relatives,” “Little Flaggs,” &c.
CHAPTER VII. THE ASSASSIN’S SHOT.
I now found myself placed in a rather novel position—about to accompany a man in a ride of several miles through a lonely country, while impressed with the conviction that at any point of the road he might fall a victim to the ferocity of a lawless tenantry. He was going forth in defiance of a threat and a warning, fully convinced that he would risk as much by staying at home as by braving the danger abroad. Before we set out Barnett came to me with a paper, which he requested me to sign as a witness in company with Tom Nugent. It was a codicil to his will, made long since.
“It is well to have one’s affairs all settled,” he said pleasantly, when we had both placed our names to the document. “Now, Stapleton, I shall be ready to go in a few moments,” and he left the room.
“He’s in for it now,” said Nugent, who looked grave and anxious; “but he never could have shirked going out this day after getting that notice to intimidate him. If he comes back alive this evening he’ll have gained a triumph that will be of service to him, perhaps as long as he lives. There’s nothing like showing you don’t care a snap o’ your finger for threats of that kind. Barnett is as brave a fellow as ever I saw. See how his hand never shook as he wrote his signature before us there a while ago. god grant I may see him alive again. I think I’ll stop at Knockgriffin till you’ll be likely to return. I never could rest easy, thinking of that poor young fellow and his sister and all that, if I went home early, as I had fixed to go.”
“Now, Stapleton!” called out Barnett’s fine ringing voice from the hall; and I hurried to join him. His sister met me as I left the room, and I could perceive that she was much agitated, though not weeping.
“God bless you, Captain Stapleton!” she said, in some excitement. “I thank you from my heart for going with Denis to-day. You may serve to protect him in some measure. Very few would have liked to accompany him this morning; but you are a brave man, and I honour you. Good-bye, and many, many thanks.”
She gave me her hand, and I received it with an earnest pressure. Without exaggeration, I may say I would have exposed myself to a far greater amount of danger than I was then likely to incur, merely to receive the reward of such words as had just then greeted my ears. Never did I spring into my saddle with a lighter heart than I did that fresh summer morning, and never before did I think the perfume of the breeze or the look of the country more charming, as we left the demesne and entered upon the high road. Now and then, as we rode along, I thought of my mother’s letter and the advice it contained, against which I was directly acting that day. Occasionally, too, I dwelt upon the information Travers had sent me respecting the destiny of our regiment after its removal from Templemore. To-morrow I must be at Cashel again, in all the fuss of packing up and preparing for a move. As the day advanced I grew somewhat dispirited again, and dwelt more deeply on the separation I must endure next day. I forgot all about Sir Denis and his danger, all about the grateful words uttered to myself by his sister; nothing was uppermost in my mind but the terrible fact that I must leave Knockgriffin before twenty-four hours had passed away! We rode over mile after mile of quiet, pleasant country, sometimes chatting, sometimes plunged in thought. I beheld the ruins of Athassel Priory; but cannot say I admired them particularly, my mind was too perturbed to permit me taking note of external things. When Sir Denis had transacted his business at Golden, we turned our horses’ heads towards home, having still some hours of broad daylight before us. As usual, there appeared very few wayfarers on the roads. It was a sultry, peaceful evening. The sun, which had been shining warmly all the day, now lessened its power, though the effect of its previous brilliancy yet hovered in the atmosphere. I thought it a very melancholy evening—so still, so unruffled by breath of wind, almost ominous in its oppressiveness.
“Well, the day is nearly over, Stapleton, and a short time will bring us to Knockgriffin,” said Barnett, rousing me from a miserable reverie. “So far we have escaped the vigilance of an assassin, if any has been on the watch for me. We are almost within our own boundaries now.”
“I am delighted for your sake that the day has turned out so fortunate,” replied I, endeavouring to appear glad at anything.
“Such a charming evening as it is too! Let us pause here to watch the effect of the sunset upon those hills.”
We checked our horses’ pace, and lingered to look at the red rays of the declining sun