Swiftly the boy climbed the stairs and looked out. The hag's aged eyes had not deceived her. The street was surrounded by a cordon of soldiers, who stopped passengers at either end at the bayonet's point. A guard of yeomanry was stationed at the front door; another at the private back-entrance, which was accessible by a tortuous passage into a side-street. A short person with hooked beak, eyes too close together, shaded by brows which met in a tuft over his nose, was knocking. It was Major Sirr. How could he know of this back-entrance? How did he know that the watchword was 'Mr. Green'? There was of a surety hideous treachery somewhere! Robert returned to his comrades and told them who was outside. Then Cassidy had been muddleheaded once again! The news he had brought was worse than none, for it was misleading. Instead of bidding them escape forthwith from Cutpurse Row, he had told them to avoid their homes. The houses was surrounded. _The secret back entrance upon which they relied was known_. Who was the Judas? Having revealed so much, how much more might he not reveal? With troubled brain and clouded eye Tom Emmett looked on one and then another of the haggard faces before him. The knocking continued. Some step must be taken. Happily half a dozen of the delegates were absent. The town-major might smoke out the nest. Some of the hornets were abroad. This was a mercy. The entire brood would not be taken. Who were the absent ones? Terence! Tom Emmett wrung his hands together as the light broke on him. How blind! It was to him Cassidy had vaguely pointed. What a snake in the grass, with his clever military plan and pinchbeck enthusiasm! Tom remembered now the behaviour of Miss Wolfe to her cousin at the ball. Her veiled warnings. She was as true as steel. Alas! She could aid them no longer with her counsels. She had seen through her cousin, and, her family feeling coming into jarring juxtaposition with her devotion to unhappy Erin, had retired from the field, too deeply wounded to take any further part in the affray. Yes! It must be Councillor Crosbie who was the Judas. Tom Emmett saw it now that it was too late. In a few hasty words he conveyed his impression to his brother. Robert opened his mouth indignantly to defend the councillor; but he only sighed, for, from whatever side the treachery came, it was soul-wearing. His forebodings of a few minutes since crowded up again like visions in a nightmare. A pitfall had been cunningly prepared for the patriots to their undoing. A few were yet abroad who might take a responsible part, but this was a withering blow. Treachery? Of course there was. It was altogether a bewildering occupation to pass trusted characters and names in mental review with an eye to the detection of the traitor. That there was a traitor there could now be no doubt, but Robert swore to himself with sturdy faith, that, be he whom he might, his name was not Terence Crosbie!