“And where is the high-road to Athlone?”
“Yonder, sir, where the two trees are standing.”
“Have you seen the coach pass,—the mail for Athlone?”
“Yes, sir, she went through the town about half an hour ago.”
“Are ye certain, boy? are ye quite sure of this?” cried he, in a voice of great agitation.
“I am quite sure, sir; they always change horses at Moone's public-house; and I saw them 'draw up' there more than half an hour since.”
“Is there no other coach passes this road for Dublin?”
“The night mail, sir, but she does not go to-night; this is Saturday.”
“What is to be done?” said the youth, in deep sorrow; and he seated himself on a stone as he spoke, and hid his face between his hands.
As he sat thus, I had time to mark him well, and scan every detail of his appearance.