fled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals,
and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might have
been wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric.

General Clavering himself broke the silence.

"These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart," he said. "The gentry
want their combs cut as much as the croppies. I'm not going to be
insulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord
before his name. I'll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I'll
make him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast
before a company of men holding His Majesty's commission, that he hanged
a soldier in discharge of his duty."

"A yeoman," said Colonel Durham, "and some of the yeomen deserve
hanging."

"God Almighty!" said Clavering, "are you turning rebel, too? I don't
care whether a man deserves it or not, I'll not have the king's troops
hanged by filthy Irishmen."

He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering
had boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in the
existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would
probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like
Lord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish
landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all
classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying
out of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to
laugh the matter off.

"But this," he said, "is over wine. Men say more than they mean when
they are engaged in emptying mine host's cellar. Come, gentlemen,
another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we'll do him
this much grace--we'll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at
the end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate."

Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord
O'Neill. He said nothing to Maurice.

"Well," said Lord O'Neill, "will they spare him?"

"No."

"More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil
times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could
manage to write."

"None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without
taking my troubles and my friend's troubles on your shoulders."

For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an
occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or