To fly would have been instant ruin; he accordingly commenced an old Irish song at the very top of his lungs.

Sir Robert Whitecraft was not himself of the party, but scarcely any individual was met by them whom they did not cross-examine.
"Hallo, my good fellow," said the leader of the party, "what is that you're singin' ?" Reilly stared at him like a man who was sorely puzzled; "_Ha neil bearla agum;_" that is, "I have no English." "Here, Connor, you can speak Irish; sift this able-bodied tyke." A conversation in that language then took place between them which reflected everlasting honor upon Connor, who, by the way, was one of Reilly's tenants, but himself and his progenitors were Protestants for three generations.

He was a sharp, keen man, but generous and honorable, and after two or three glances at our hero, at once recognized him.
This he could only intimate by a wink, for he knew that there were other persons there who spoke Irish as well as either of them.

The dialogue, however, was not long, neither was it kind-hearted Connor's wish that it should be so.

He was asked, however, if he knew any thing about Willy Reilly, to which he replied that he did not, only by all accounts he had left the country.