“There goes a shot! that was a cannon,” cried Mark, in ecstasy, as he lifted his hand to catch the sound—“another! another! they're landing—they're coming—you'll see me again before day-break, father,” said he, embracing the old man tenderly, while he turned to bid Kate adieu. She stood with her hands before her eyes, her bosom heaving violently. Mark gazed at her for a moment, and pressing his lips to her cheek, merely whispered one word, and was gone.
Hemsworth's horse, which Kerry had found in the stable, stood ready awaiting Mark, and without a moment's loss of time, he sprung on the animal's back, and dashed down the road at full speed. Meanwhile the loud firing of cannon continued at intervals towards the Bay, and more than one rocket was seen to throw its bright glare through the blackness of the night.
“They're landing at last,” cried Mark, as every report set his heart bounding with eager hope, and forward he rode through the storm.
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE GLEN AND THE BAY
Kerry O'Leary's intelligence was correct in every particular. Hems-worth was not only living, but, save some bruises, and a cut upon his forehead, was little the worse for his adventure. The brushwood had caught him in his descent, and broken the fall; and although the height was considerable, when he reached the ground he was merely stunned, and not seriously injured. After a little time he was able to walk, and had succeeded in advancing about half a mile up the glen, when he was met by Wylie and a party of his followers, returning after escorting the chaise some miles on the road.
Neither our space nor our inclination permit us to dwell on the scene that followed, where Hemsworth, outwitted and duped as he believed himself, gave way to the most violent passion, accusing every one in turn of treachery, and vowing a deep and bloody vengeance on the whole House of O'Donoghue.
Seated on Wylie's horse, and supported on each side by two men—for at first his weakness increased, as he found himself in the saddle—he went along at a foot's pace. He would not listen to Wylie's proposal of returning to the “Lodge,” but constantly called out—“To Keim-an-eigh as fast as possible—to the dragoons!” and at last passion had so far supplied energy, that he was able to press on faster, when suddenly a twinkling light through the gloom apprised him that he was near the little way-side inn.
“Get me some wine, Wylie, and be quick!” cried he, as they reached the door.
“You had better get off, and rest a few moments, sir,” said the other.