'An' what was it, Barney?' asked Mrs Kearney kindly. 'Don't be frightened now; but tell me.'
'Arrah, ma'am,' he sobbed, 'I dreamed I saw Martin; an' two men with their faces blackened rode up to him on the plains of Boyle an' shot him. Oh, wirra, wirra, one of them was Larry!'
Poor Mrs Kearney fell to wringing her hands, and sobbing wildly at the extraordinary dream of the poor fool; while her husband rushed to his son's room in the hope of finding Larry; but his bed was empty, as was that of Luke the servant. Full of terrible forebodings, the farmer began to question Barney more particularly as to his dream; but he could only repeat again and again that two men fired at Martin on the plains of Boyle; one of them was Larry, the other was Luke: this he maintained with a persistency which it was almost impossible to doubt. No one thought of returning to bed; and while they were consulting as to what was best to be done, the softie again uttered a wild shriek, and rolled over on the floor, as a bullet entered the kitchen window and lodged in the opposite wall, followed by another, which whizzed past Owen Kearney's head.
'The Lord have mercy upon us!' he exclaimed, crossing himself devoutly. 'Where will it end?' And he held his wife, who was almost insensible from the fright, close in his arms. At that instant a bright light illuminated the whole kitchen; and in a moment the truth flashed across his brain—his steading was in flames. Not daring to open his door to look out, he tried to think what was best to be done; for perhaps the house over his head was blazing too, or would be in a few minutes. Casting a hasty glance round, he lifted his wife in his arms, meaning to carry her to the front of the house and out of sight of the flames; when a violent knocking at the door startled him, and he recognised his niece's voice demanding admittance. Hastily unbarring it, he saw her accompanied by a party of soldiers, who, when they found no lives had been taken, set to work bravely to protect the property which was yet untouched by the fire. But there was little left for them to do. The cattle had been hamstrung, the horses stolen, and a lighted brand placed in every stack of oats and the thatch of every outhouse. The work of devastation had been done only too well.
'They're taken, uncle—them that set the haggard a-fire,' said Dora as soon as she was able to speak. 'I brought the soldiers to the house; and,' she added, 'one of the villains said he had finished off Owen Kearney. Thank God, it is not true!' and she threw herself into his arms.
'Yes; I heard him,' said one of the soldiers; 'and we've sent him to safer lodgings than we took him from. It seems, Mr Kearney, that your niece was returning home from a visit to a neighbour's, when she heard two men whispering in the lane at the end of the meadow. As they were in front, and she didn't like their looks, she kept behind, and heard them say that there were two gone to Boyle to look out for the Volunteer, and that they were going to do for old Kearney and his wife, "string" the cattle and fire the haggard. Like a sensible girl, she turned round quietly and ran as quick as she could towards Castlerea. By good luck she met us half-way; and though we were going on another errand, we turned back at once with her, and netted the rascals who did this pretty piece of business.—I sent six men on towards Boyle, to see if they could learn anything of the villains that followed your son,' added the sergeant.
'Where's Larry, uncle?' asked Dora, after she had tried ineffectually to console her aunt. 'Why isn't he here?'
'You're all I have now, alanna,' Kearney said, pressing her to his breast. 'Martin is gone, and Larry is gone. Well, well, God is good.'
'Miss Dora, Miss Dora!' cried Barney Athleague faintly, 'come here a minute.'
In the general confusion, every one had forgotten the poor softie, who lay on the floor quite insensible.