at you'd better go
back. We had the greatest difficulty in getting Mr. Babberly through,
and the crowd is angrier now."

"I'm going on," said Moyne.

"I cannot be responsible," said the officer. "I haven't enough men to
control this crowd. If you go on--"

Moyne pushed his way through the cordon of police. I followed him. At
first the people drew back a little and let us pass into the middle of
the crowd. Then one man after another began to hustle us. Moyne linked
his arm in mine and helped me along. A man struck him in the face with
the flat of his hand. It was a sharp slap rather than an actual blow.
Moyne flushed deeply, but he neither spoke nor struck back. Then
suddenly the people seemed to forget all about us. A wild cheer burst
from them. Hats were flung into the air. Sticks were waved. Some one
began firing shots from a revolver in rapid succession. It was a
fusillade of joy, a kind of salute to McNeice who appeared at the
window of the committee-room. Moyne and I pushed our way on. When we
were clear of the crowd Moyne spoke to me again.

"You'd better take them at once," he said. "It's impossible to know
what'll happen here to-night."

"But you?" I said.

"Oh, I shall stay."

"Don't be a fool, Moyne," I said. "You're the one of all others who
ought not to stay. Don't you see that whatever way things go you're in
for it? The mob thinks you're a traitor. I wouldn't trust those
fellows we've just left not to kill you. And when the soldiers have
shot them down and the subsequent investigation begins, the Government
is bound to fix on you as a ringleader. There'll be panic to-morrow
and savage vindictiveness the next day. McNeice and Malcolmson will
frighten the Government and the Government will have you hanged or
beheaded afterwards for causing the trouble. The English people will
clamour for a victim, and you're exactly the sort of victim they'll
like. Your one chance is to get out of this. Go to Castle Affey
to-night, and telegraph to _The Times_ to-morrow to say that you
dissociate yourself--"

Moyne stopped me.

"Look here, Kilmore," he said. "I've heard all you have to say, and I
agree with it, more or less. I don't suppose I'll be either murdered
by the mob or shot by the military, but--"

"You will," I said, "if you stay here."

"Even if I am," he said, "I'll have to stay."

"In the name of goodness, why?"

"You know the way we've been talking for the last two years--our side,
I mean."