We passed as whimsical tourists, and delighted our entertainers with glowing accounts of the scenery of Connemara, Wicklow and Kerry.

We remained with them two nights, on pretence of being engaged in sketching the enchanting views in the neighbourhood; and left, promising, that if we returned by the same road, we would delay a week.

Our destination was Dunmanway, near which a friend of mine lived, in whose house I hoped we might remain concealed, while means of escape would be procured somewhere among the western headlands.

A short journey brought us to this house.
My friend was absent, but daughters of his, whom I had not seen since childhood, recognised and welcomed us.

We had then travelled 150 miles, and fancied that, as no one could think of our making such a journey without walking one half-mile of road, we would be safe there for many days.