“Fra' the West, I think, for he said the roads were heavy down in them parts.”
“Let him come in,” said Daly; and, with his hands crossed behind his back, he continued to walk the room. “Some poor fellow for a renewal of his lease, or an abatement, or something of that kind,—they 'll never learn that I 'm no longer the owner of that estate that still bears my name, and they cling to me as though I had the power to assist them, when I'm defenceless for myself. Well, what is it? Speak out, man,—what do you want with me?”
The individual to whom this question was addressed stood with his back to the door, which he had cautiously shut close on entering, but, instead of returning an answer to the question, he cast a long and searching glance around the room, as if to ascertain whether any other person was in it. The apartment was large, and, being dimly lighted, it took some time to assure him that they were alone; but when he had so satisfied himself-, he walked slowly forward into the light, and, throwing open his loose coat of gray frieze, exhibited the well-known figure of Freney the robber.
“What, Freney!—the man of all Ireland I wish to see.”
“I thought so, sir,” said the other, wiping his forehead with his hand, for he was flushed and heated, and seemed to have come off a long journey. “I know you sent for me, but I was unable to meet your messenger, and I can seldom venture to send that young villain Jemmy into the capital,—the police are beginning to know him, and he 'll be caught one of these days.”
“You were n't in Kildare, then?” said Daly.
“No, sir, I was in the far West,—down in Mayo. I had a little business in Ballina a short time back, and some fellow who knew me, and thought the game a safe one, stole my brown horse out of the inn-stable, in the broad noon-day, and sold him at the fair green at Ballinasloe. When I tell you that he was the best animal I ever crossed, I need n't say what the loss was to me; the nags you saw were broken-down hackneys in comparison. He was strong in bone and untiring, and I kept him for the heavy country around Boyle and down by Longford. It is not once, nor twice, but a dozen times, Matchlock has saved me from a loop and a leap in the air; but the rascal that took him well knew the theft was safe,—Freney, the highwayman, could scarcely lodge informations with a magistrate.”
“And you never could hear traces of him?” “Yes, that I did, but it cost me time and trouble too. I found that he was twice sold within one week. Dean Harris bought him, and sold him the day after.” Here Freney gave a low cunning laugh, while his eyes twinkled with malignant drollery.
“He did n't think as highly of him as you did, Freney?” “Perhaps he had n't as good reason,” said the robber, laughing. “He was riding home from an early dinner with the bishop, and as he was cantering along the side of the road, a chaise with four horses came tearing past. Matchlock, true to his old instinct, but not knowing who was on his back, broke into a gallop, and in half a dozen strides brought the dean close up to the chaise window, when the traveller inside sent a bullet past his ear that very nearly made a vacancy in the best living of the diocese. As I said, sir, the dean had had enough of him; he sold him the next morning, and that day week he was bought by a young fellow in the West whom I found out to be a grandson of old Hickman.”
“Was he able to ride a horse like this?” said Daly, doubtfully.