juries with suspicion, remained firm and
composed. Lacy was a tall handsome young man,
with a good colour and a clear calm eye. He
was dressed with extreme care, his white hands
were loosely bound together. Walsh, a far
more harmless man, was a sturdy, square-built
fellow, with firm and rather a fierce look. The
prisoners seemed to entertain little apprehension
till Mr. Doherty suddenly rose, turned to the
dock, shook his lifted hand, and called " Kate
Costello."

This woman was the witness on whose
reluctant evidence the whole case for the prosecution
turned. The case up to her appearance stood
thus: Fitzgerald and Lacy had been sent for from
a distance by Paddy Grace's relatives to do " the
job." The band was formed, and the ambuscade
laid; but something defeating their plans, the
murder was adjourned for another week. On
Sunday, the 30th of September, another band
of assassins was collected, and they met at the
house of a farmer, named John Keogh, living
near the barrack on which the Maras were at
work; here they were waited on by Keogh's
poor relation and servant, Kate Costello. On
the morning of Monday, the 10th of October,
the conspirators proceeded to a wooded hill,
called " the grove," above the barracks, where
their fire-arms had been hidden. There fresh
men joined them, and Kate Costello brought
them food and whisky. They remained hiding
there till five o'clock, when it was announced
that the Maras were coming down from the
scaffolding and going home. The men then
came down from the grove and murdered Daniel
Mara, as we have seen. With their hands still
red with an innocent man's blood, these ruffians
went to the house of a respectable, orderly
farmer, named John Russell. He gave the
red-handed men welcome, and placed food before
them. Mary Russell, his daughter, a delicate
gentle girl, rushed up to them as they entered,
and exclaimed with earnestness:

"Did you do any good?"

Peg Russell, an old crone, moping by the
fireside, also roused herself, raised her shrivelled
yellow hand, and cried with bitter
querulousness:

"You might as well not have killed any, since
you did not kill them all."

The first witness that leaped on the table was
Fitzgerald, the robber, a fine athletic young
man of about three-and-twenty. His black
eyes were full of fire, and wore a watchful
expression; his broad chest was almost bare; his
muscular legs were bare about the knee. He
proved a most methodical and exact witness,
detailing his actions for a whole month with
great accuracy. This man had been in the
habit of robbing by night the very peasants,
whose outrages he at other times put himself
forward to redress. He entered farm-houses
armed, and demanded board and lodging. By
day he would often compel passing travellers to
kneel down to him while he presented a musket
at their heads. Yet with all this he was
chivalrous in many things, and was a favourite
with the peasantry. He was especially anxious
to assure the spectators that he had not sold
the cause for gold, but simply to save his own
neck.

When Fitzgerald had finished, there was a
great anxiety in the court about the appearance
of Kate Costello. The friends of the prisoners
began to believe " that she would never turn
against her people;" but suddenly the door of
the witness-room opened, and a little withered
woman entered, and tottered to the table. Her
hands were white and clammy; her eyes closed;
her long black hair was dishevelled; and her
head drooped on her shoulder. Her voice was
an almost inarticulate whisper, and she almost
swooned and could not be recovered till she
was sprinkled with water. The rod used to
identify prisoners was then put into her hands,
and she was desired to turn to the dock, and to
point out the murderers she had seen in the
grove.

Walsh, one of the prisoners, instantly cried
out: " O God, you're going to murder me
entirely. I'll not stand here to be murdered,
for I'm downright murdered. God help me!"

Walsh then, growing somewhat calmer,
begged the judge to allow other prisoners to be
put with him and Lacy in the dock, in order to
test the witness more severely. The judge
instantly acquiesced in this demand. The jail
being at some distance, some time was lost
in this delay, and during this time Kate
Costello sank back in her chair apparently almost
lifeless.

It was about four o'clock in the morning,
and the candles were burning low in their
sockets, when the band of prisoners entered
the court, astonished and alarmed at the sudden
summons. The only sound was the clank of the
fetters and the grounding of the soldiers' brass
bound muskets on the pavement. Again Kate
Costello rose with the fatal index-rod in her hand.
The face of Walsh was wrung with the
intensest anxiety, and some women, among the
spectators exclaimed: "Oh Kate!"—- a passionate
adjuration that seemed to thrill her to the
heart. It was not Walsh or Lacy that she cared
for, but her own kinsmen, who were also
accomplices, and shortly to be tried. She herself
had been threatened with death unless she
disclosed the truth. If she did disclose it, her
life was also in peril. Terrible alternative! At
last she advanced towards the dock, raised the
trembling rod a second time, and laid it on the
head of Walsh. To him it was the touch of
death, and he showed that he felt he was lost.
As she sank back in her chair, and dropped the
rod, a deep murmur of horror and pity ran
through the crowd, mingled with curses and
stifled execrations from those in the background.

Walsh, who, while there was hope, had been
convulsed with agitation, now became calm
and composed as his landlord came forward and
gave him a high character for integrity and
good conduct. Both prisoners were at once
found guilty.

Kate's relations, Patrick and John Keogh,
were tried a few days after the execution of
Lacy and Walsh. It was rumoured that John