“Jump into the carriage, children,” cried Violet, kissing Doris wildly, “and hide!” She opened the door of the old family coach, and the children popped in. The next moment she was half lifted, half pushed into the dogcart. The bags were shot in, Mr Fanshawe took the reins. Patsy clambered up behind and they started. “Let her have her mouth, sir,” said Patsy, as they turned out of the yard, “and don’t press her till she warms to her work. We’ve time and plenty, for it’ll take an hour before the ould Gineral kicks Larry sober. Mind the post, sir—that’s right—but mind the turnin’ at the drive.” They passed the turning safely, then down the moonlit drive, Fly-by-night dancing with her own shadow in the moonlight, then through the park gates and the sleeping village of Castle Knock they went, the mare’s hoofs ringing on the hard high-road to Tullagh. -------------- “I say, this is a go!” said little Lord Gawdor. “Hush!” said Doris. “We can slip out when they put the carriage back in the coach-house.” She pulled the carriage door to, and they listened. They had not to listen long. Hurried steps came through the kitchen, and then Mr Boxall’s voice and the General’s. “They’ve gone in the dogcart. What’s this carriage doing. Hi you, sir,”—the sound of a kick—“Hi you, sir—he’s drunk—Hi, you drunken beast,”—kick, kick. “Lit up,” came Larry’s voice. “Lave me be, or I’ll kick the stuffin’ out of you when I get on me pins. Whoa-up—what’s the matter? Gineral—why, it’s you. I wasn’t dhrunk, I’s only aslape—what do you say—Misther Fanshawe? Why, he’s dew be this to be off to Tullagh to kitch the train.” “Up you get,” came the General’s voice, “on to your legs—up on the box with you—there you are, take the reins, drive for all you’re worth, and mark you, if you stop before we overtake them, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. You can find the road to Tullagh, can you, you half-drunken beast?” “Arrah, get in wid you,” came Larry’s voice from the box—“in wid you, and I’ll drive you to the divil (hic)—in you get. Tullagh is it?—Right y’are.” The General bounced in and shut the door, and the old coach started with a jerk and took the corner of the stable-yard, just shaving overset and destruction. Mr Boxall, running to the corner, saw the vehicle in the moonlight making full speed down the avenue; he saw the General’s head suddenly protruded through the right window, and heard his voice, borne on the night breeze, shouting, “Stop! hi, stop! the d—d thing is full of children!” and Larry’s voice, “Aisy—sit aisy, we’ll be afther overtaking thim in a minit.” Who he would be “afther overtaking” must have been a very dark question in Mr Lyburn’s mind, obsessed as it was with whisky and the two ideas—Tullagh and speed. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE OFF HUB