How did his lordship's father espouse her ladyship? Was it not after the then prevailing fashion of high-spirited Irish gentlemen? Did he not carry her off before all competitors, as many another noble member of the Abduction Club had carried away his bride? True, the Abduction Club had ceased to exist five and twenty years ago; but in the present unsettled condition of the country, there was no reason why a leaf should not be taken from its book. Lord Kilwarden would hush the matter up, which would merely be a little scandal, strictly limited within the family circle. Miss Doreen would be Madam Shane: good luck to the winsome colleen! Her money would be his--so would be the forty-five thousand pounds for which he had sold his vote. Come what might, then, there would be no need to talk of drowning himself in claret--of being thrust forth a beggar in the world. Shane listened and brightened up. The abduction idea was good, and jumped with his Irish romance. He would marry the ice-maiden without having to woo her--a proceeding that he knew he could not accomplish. But how about Terence? He would interfere--knight of the rueful countenance though he professed to be. My lady too--what should prevent her from speaking before these arrangements could be carried out? The ruinous words were on the tip of her tongue. Terence was at Strogue, and bound to remain there. He could not leave the grounds without breaking his parole. Cassidy was delivered of a real inspiration; and nothing could be easier than to carry it out. Did not the chancellor say only an hour ago that the tussle was close at hand--that the Great Measure was to be again brought forward without delay? Well then. Master Terence must disappear. Nonsense! No _sbirri_ in long cloaks as in an opera. Major Sirr and faithful Cassidy could manage that. He could be locked up by an error of orders just for a little. Was he not a state-prisoner on parole? and was not the younger Emmett--foolish young scapegrace, who thought he concealed his identity under the name of Hewitt--busily preparing to dash his head against a wall? What easier than to suggest that Councillor Crosbie--already so gravely compromised--had broken his parole and gone off to join the baby-conspirators? The Battalion would come up by dozens to swear it. They would minutely describe where and how--the other side of the country--they had captured him a second time; would claim rewards for doing so. Afterwards he should be forthcoming without a hair of his head being injured--his affectionate brother need not fear for his life. Apologies would be made if need were (for Government seemed determined to treat him very leniently), and all would be right as a trivet. Whether any one would speak or no, so that later on he might assume his title, was an after consideration. By the time he was released, Lord Glandore would have voted; Doreen would be Madam Shane; Lord Kilwarden would have blessed his children.