CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
MARTIAL LAW.
I spent the rest of that day in wandering over the familiar haunts on Fanad, in the vain hope of encountering Tim.

Towards night, worn-out with weariness and excitement, I abandoned the quest, and dropped back on the tide to Rathmullan.
The place was full of reports of the new orders which had come from Dublin for the disarming of the people, and of the military rigour with which soldiers and magistrates between them were putting their powers into force.

Nearly a hundred stands of arms had, it was rumoured, been captured the day before at Milford, and one man who resisted the search had been hung summarily on the nearest tree.
As I sat screened off in a quiet corner of the inn over my supper, a new-comer entered and joined the group who were discussing the news of the day in the public-room.
"Well ?" was the greeting of one or two as he entered.
"Whisht, boys! we're done intirely," said the new-comer.
"How done?
Did he not pass that road ?" "He did; but never a hair of him was singed." "I knew Paddy was a botch with the gun," said one; "there should have been better than him for such a job.

Was he taken ?" "'Deed, I don't know how it all happened, but you're out about Paddy.
He did his best, I'm told, and there were two to second him.

But the job had got wind, and Paddy got a shot in the arm before he could let fly.