Fenton--the ragged and gigantic robber, who was so much changed by famine and misery that he did not know him--the stranger--his daughter--Ginty Cooper, the fortune-teller--Lord Cullamore--the terrible pistol at his brain--Dunroe--and all those who were more or less concerned in or affected by his schemes, flitted through his disturbed fancy like the figures in a magic lantern, rendering his sleep feverish, disturbed, and by many degrees more painful than his waking reflections.
It has been frequently observed, that violence and tyranny overshoot their mark; and we may add, that no craft, however secret its operations, or rather however secret they are designed to be, can cope with the consequences of even the simplest accident.

A short, feverish attack of illness having seized Mrs.Morgan, the housekeeper, on the night of Fenton's removal, she persuaded one of the maids to sit up with her, in order to provide her with whey and nitre, which she took from time to time, for the purpose of relieving her by cooling the system.
The attack though short was a sharp one, and the poor woman was really very ill.

In the course of the night, this girl was somewhat surprised by hearing noises in and about the stables, and as she began to entertain apprehension from robbers, she considered it her duty to consult the sick woman as to the steps she ought to take.
"Take no steps," replied the prudent housekeeper, "till we know, if we can, what the noise proceeds from.

Go into that closet, but don't take the candle, lest the light of it might alarm them--it overlooks the stable-yard--open the window gently; you know it turns upon hinges--and look out cautiously.

If Sir Thomas is disturbed by a false alarm, you might fly at once; for somehow of late he has lost all command of his temper." "But we know the reason of that, Mrs.Morgan," replied the girl.