“Whom do you mean?” asked Mrs Massey.
“Brian O’Harrall, to be shure,” was the answer; “he’s broken out of the Ring Tower, nobody knows how—except he got the help of the devil and his imps.”
“Thank Heaven I did not meet him! it would have well-nigh driven me out of my wits,” said the widow, trembling at the thoughts of the supposed danger she had escaped.
“Good night, Mrs Massey; keep your door closed, lest he should turn like a fox and bolt in,” cried Pat Magragh, as he and his companions hurried away in pursuit, as they believed, of the escaped criminal. Mrs Massey did as she was advised, and sat down, endeavouring to calm her agitation, and feeling but little inclined to go to bed.
“It is useless to sit up, mother,” observed Owen, after Mrs Massey had been talking for some time about the escape of O’Harrall. “The man, if he has got away, is certain not to return. At all events, you will be as safe in bed as anywhere else.”
After some persuasion Mrs Massey consented to retire to bed, and after listening for some time at last fell asleep. The window of Owen’s room looked directly down upon the outbuilding in which the fugitive was concealed. Owen felt much relieved, from believing that those who had gone on were not likely to think of examining the place; still, he could not go to sleep, and putting out his candle he sat down at the window to watch, hoping that O’Harrall would take the opportunity of slipping out and getting off to a distance, no watched in vain. After some hours he heard the tramp of feet along the road and the voices of men shouting to each other. They were the people who had gone in chase of O’Harrall. Could the outlaw have continued his flight and, after all, have been captured? Owen listened attentively, and felt convinced that they were returning to the city without having overtaken the fugitive, he could no longer restrain his wish to ascertain whether O’Harrall was still in the loft, and cautiously descending the stair, he lighted a lantern and went out. To place the ladder so as to reach the trap was the work of a moment. He ascended to the loft, and throwing the light towards the further end, he saw the man he came to look for sleeping soundly.
Before Owen had advanced a step O’Harrall awoke and, springing to his feet, saw who it was.
“I came to tell you,” said Owen, “that the men who had gone in pursuit of you have, to the best of my belief, returned to the city, and now would be a favourable time to make your escape.”
O’Harrall hesitated. “What o’clock is it?” he asked.
“Just past midnight,” refilled Owen.