my
shoulder against the door, but I might as well have tried to batter
down the wall itself. The door was as firm as Macgillicuddy Reeks. I
know when I am beat as well as the next man, and, losing no more time
there, I ran as fast as I could along the wall, out of the lane, and
so to the front of the house. The main entrance was protected by great
gates of wrought iron, which were opened on occasion by a man in a
little cubby of a cabin that stood for a porter's lodge. The man
wasn't there, and the gates were locked; but part of one of the huge
wings of wrought iron was a little gate that stood ajar. This I pushed
open, and, unmolested, stepped inside.

The trees and shrubbery hid from me the scene that was taking place
inside the little wooden door. I dashed through the underbrush and
came to the edge of a broad lawn, and there was going on as fine a
scrimmage as any man could wish to see. Jem Bottles had his back
against the wooden door, and was laying about him with a stout stick;
half a dozen tall fellows in livery making a great show of attack,
but keeping well out of range of his weapon. Poor Paddy had the broad
of his back on the turf, and it looked like they were trying to tear
the clothes off him, for another half-dozen were on top of him; but I
can say this in his favour, Paddy was using his big feet and doing
great execution with them. Every now and then he planted a boot in the
well-fed front of a footman or under-gardener, and sent him flying.
The whole household seemed to be present, and one could hardly believe
there was such a mob in a single mansion. The Earl of Westport was
there, and who stood beside him but that little villain, Doctor Chord.

But it was the Countess herself that was directing operations. She had
an ebony stick in her hands, and when Paddy kicked one of her
underlings the vigorous old lady smote the overturned servant to make
him to the fray again. It was an exciting scene, and Donnybrook was
nothing to it. Their backs were all toward me, and I was just bubbling
with joy to think what a surprise I was about to give them,--for I
drew my sword and had a yell of defiance on my lips,--when a cry that
nobody paid the least attention to turned my mind in another direction
entirely.

One of the first-floor windows was open, and over the sill leaned Lady
Mary herself, her face aflush with anger.

"Father! Mother!" she cried. "Are not you ashamed of yourselves,
making this commotion on a