"Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library.
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