“Stand back, sir,” she exclaimed. “What can you mean by approaching me? Keep your distance.”
“Why, good God! my dear Julia, what means this? Do you not know me?”
“Know you! No, sir,” she replied, “how could I know such a person?”
She had unconsciously paused a moment when the Whiteboy, as she believed him to be, first made his appearance, but now she pursued her way home, the latter, however, accompanying her.
“Why, my dear Julia, I am thunderstruck! What can I have done thus to incur your displeasure?”
“You are rude and impertinent, sir, to address me with such unjustifiable familiarity. It is evident you know me, but I am yet to learn how I could have formed an acquaintance with a person whose blackened face indicates the nature of his last night's occupation.”
The person she addressed suddenly put up his hand, and then looking at his fingers, immediately disclosed a set of exceedingly white and well-formed teeth, which disclosure was made by a grin that almost immediately quavered off into a loud and hearty laugh.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, on recovering his gravity, “it is no wonder, my dear Julia, that you should not know me. Since I went out to shoot with Mogue Moylan, yesterday morning, I have gone through many strange adventures.”
“What!” she exclaimed, with evident symptoms of alarm and vexation, “Frank M'Carthy!” and, as she spoke, the remarkable conversation which she had had with Mogue Moylan, and the information he had given her with respect to M'Carthy's connection with the Whiteboys, instantly flashed upon her, accompanied now by a strong conviction of its truth.
“Explain yourself, Mr. M'Carthy,” she exclaimed, in a tone of voice which indicated anything but satisfaction. “How am I to account for this unbecoming disguise, so much at variance with your habits of life and education?—perhaps I should not say your habits of life—but certainly with your education. Have you, too, been tempted to join this ferocious conspiracy which is even now convulsing the country?”