olute man, restrained by no fine scruples,
prepared to take risks himself, and not too prone to think for others.
In Ireland his life was forfeit, Great Britain counted him renegade and
traitor. So that to find himself recognised, though grateful to his
vanity, was a shock to his discretion.

"Well, and knowing me?" he replied at last, with the tail of his eyes
on the Bishop, as if he would gladly gain a hint from his subtlety.
"What of me?"

"You have your home, your rank, your relations abroad," Colonel
Sullivan answered firmly. "And if a descent on the coast be a part of
your scheme, then you do not share the peril equally with us. You are
here to-day and elsewhere to-morrow. We shall suffer, while you sail
away."

"I fling that in your teeth!" Cammock cried. "I know you too, sir,
and----"

"Know no worse of me than of yourself!" Colonel Sullivan retorted. "But
if you do indeed know me, you know that I am not one to stand by and
see my friends led blindfold to certain ruin. It may suit your plans to
make a diversion here. But that diversion is a part of larger schemes,
and the fate of those who make it is little to you."

Cammock's hand flew to his belt, he took a step forward, his face
suffused with passion.

"For half as much I have cut a man down!" he cried.

"May be, but----"

"Peace, peace, my friends," the Bishop interposed. He laid a warning
hand on Cammock's arm. "This gentleman," he continued smoothly, "thinks
he speaks for our friends outside."

"Let me speak, not for them, but to them," Colonel Sullivan replied
impulsively. "Let me tell them what I think of this scheme, of its
chances, of its certain end! I will tell them no more than I have told
you, and no more than I think justified."

He moved, whether he thought they would let him or not, towards the
window. But he had not taken three steps before he found his progress
barred. "What is this?" he exclaimed.

"Needs must with so impulsive a gentleman," the Bishop said. He had not
moved, but at a signal from him The McMurrough, the O'Beirnes and two
of the other young men had thrust themselves forward. "You must give up
your sword, Colonel Sullivan," he continued.

The Colonel retreated a pace, and evinced more surprise than he felt.
"Give up--do you mean that I am a prisoner?" he cried. He had not
drawn, but two or three of the young men had done so, and Flavia, in
the background by the fire, was white as paper--so suddenly had the
shad