“Throth I've been just thinkin' that I heard the voice before, but when or where is more than I can tell.”
“Not know your friend Francis M'Carthy?”
“Eh, Mr. Francis M'Carthy! and, Lord o' life, Mr. M'Carthy, how do you come to have a black face? Surely you wouldn't belong to this business—black business I may call it—that's goin'?”
“Well, I should hope not, Cannie; but, for all that, you see me with a black face—ha!—ha!—ha!”
“I do indeed, Mr. Frank, and, between you and me, I'm sorry to see it.”
“You will not be sorry to hear, however, that my black face saved my life last night.”
“Arra thin, how was that, sir, if it's a fair question?”
M'Carthy then gave him a brief, and by no means a detailed account of the danger he had passed.
“Well,” said the other, “everything's clear enough when it's known; but, as it's clear that you have enemies in the neighborhood, I think the wisest thing you could do would be to lave it at wanst.”
“Such, in fact, is my determination,” replied M'Carthy; “no man, I believe, who is marked ought to remain in the country; that is, when he has no local duties that demand his presence in it, as I have not.”