ght
than he had ever been before. The triumph that was never to be
intoxicated him. He was Montrose, he was Claverhouse--a Montrose whom
no Philiphaugh awaited, a Claverhouse whom no silver bullet would slay.
He saw himself riding in processions, acclaimed by thousands, dictating
to senates, the idol of a rejoicing Dublin.

His people had kindled a huge bonfire in the middle of the forecourt,
and beside this he extended a gracious welcome to a crowd of strong
tenants, whose picturesque figures, as they feasted, sang, drank, and
fought, the fire silhouetted on the house front and the surrounding
walls; now projecting them skywards, gigantic and menacing, now
reducing them to dwarfs. A second fire, for the comfort of the baser
sort, had been kindled outside the gates, and was the centre of
merriment less restrained; while a third, which served as a beacon to
the valley, and a proclamation of what was being done, glowed on the
platform before the ruined tower at the head of the lake. From this
last the red flames streamed far across the water; and now revealed a
belated boat shooting from the shadow on its way across, now a troop of
countrymen, who, led by their priest, came limping along the lake-side
road; ostensibly to join in the religious services of the morrow, but
in reality, as they knew, to hear something, and, God willing, to do
something towards freeing old Ireland and shaking off the grip of the
cursed Saxon.

In the more settled parts of the land, such a summons as had brought
them from their rude shielings among the hills or beside the bogs,
would have passed for a dark jest. But in this remote spot, the notion
of overthrowing the hated power by means of a few score pikes,
stiffened by half as many sailors from the Spanish ship in the bay, did
not seem preposterous, either to these poor folk or to their betters.
Cammock, of course, knew the truth, and the Bishop. Asgill, too, the
one man cognisant of the movement who was not here, and of whom some
thought with distrust--he, too, could appraise the attempt at its true
worth. But of these men, the two first aimed merely at a diversion
which would further their plans in Europe; and the last cared only for
Flavia.

But James McMurrough and Flavia herself, and Sir Donny and old Timothy
Burke and the O'Beirnes and the two or three small gentry, Sullivans or
McCarthys, who had also come in--and in a degree Uncle Ulick-these saw
nothing hopeless in the plan. That