Four—six—eight—ten—twelve!—all issued into moonlight, and grouped themselves around the casement. The leader spoke in smothered tones:
“Hackett! Pat!—hush! no reply. All’s right; he’s at the Colonel’s door. Hackett!”—another pause—“‘Tis safe, and Mary has succeeded. I told you I would show you in; and now for vengeance!” Ay! and vengeance that was to be so easily obtained; for Knockloftie appeared buried in the deep repose which ever attends a false security. The leader turned, “No quarter, boys,” jumped into the open casement, and added, “Mercy to none!”
The words and action were simultaneous. Halligan had passed his head already through the aperture, when a voice, like an echo, responded in deeper tones “Mercy to none!”—A pistol exploded—and the robber chief dropped heavily from the window, a dead man!
To all, the assailants and the assailed, that fatal shot proved the signal. The expected assault was made upon the front, the more daring of the party rushing on with sledge-hammers to try and force an entrance—but not a stroke fell upon the door. From every aperture a withering cross-fire was opened. It was returned by a random volley, which splintered the windows, but inflicted no loss upon those within, who were already carefully protected. In the rear of the building, a still bloodier repulse attended the night attack while their leader reconnoitred, the ruffian group behind had been covered by a dozen muskets, and within a few moments after the robber’s fall, half his companions formed a lifeless heap upon the pavement.
[Original]
When my father rushed up stairs, the struggle in front was over. Dead and dying men were extended before the door—and in the clear moonlight those who escaped the fire from the house, were seen flying in wild disorder. As in lawless efforts generally, numbers had only produced embarrassment, and rendered failure more fatal.
One glance satisfied my father that the attempt had been fearfully repulsed; and he hastened to the sad but safe asylum, where those most dear to him had been placed for their security. My mother and the children had been already removed by the priest and servants to their respective chambers—and Colonel O’Halloran, with a dead and living woman, was left in possession of the melancholy apartment.
Mary Halligan was seated as when my father had quitted the room; her eyes were fixed upon the wood-fire—a minute passed—and not a word was uttered. My father laid his hand upon her shoulder, “Mary!” said he, “treachery! and from you!”