The last individual whose interview with the conjurer we shall notice
was no other than Harry Woodward, our hero. On entering he took his
seat, and looked familiarly at the conjurer.
"Well," said he, "there was no recognition?"
"How could there?" replied the other; "you know the thing's impossible;
even without my beard, nobody in the town or about it knows my face,
and to those who see me in character, they have other things to think of
than the perusal of my features."
"The girl was with you?"
"She yes, and I feel that, unless we can get Shawn-na-Middogue taken off
by some means or other, your life will not, cannot, be safe."
"She won't betray him, then? But I need not ask, for I have pressed her
upon that matter before."
"She is very right in not doing so," replied the conjurer; "because, if
she did, the consequence would be destruction to herself and her family.
In addition to this, however, I don't think it's in her power to betray
him. He never sleeps more than one night in the same place; and since
her recent conduct to him--I mean since her intimacy with you--he would
place no confidence in her.
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