“It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that’s what you want to be saying to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But a’ the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and what was to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from going, too? Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in Antrim town?” Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen’s horses on the road. He heard their voices, their laughter, their oaths. “Neal,” said Peg, “you’re a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye from thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D’you mind how I bit him?” The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. “Neal,” whispered Peg, “will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie wouldna begrudge it to me now, I’m thinking.” He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and kissed her lips. “Hush, Peg, hush,” he whispered. “There’s a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant.” Neal recognised Captain Twinely’s voice. “There might be some damned croppy lurking in the meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we’ll have some sport hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are all stopped. We’ll have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end.” Neal stood upright. “I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war.” It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. “By God,” said the captain, “if it isn’t that damned young Ward again. Come, croppy, come, croppy, I’ll give you a run for your life. I’ll give you two minutes start by my watch, and I’ll hunt you like a fox. It’s a better offer than you deserve.” Neal stood still, and made no answer. “To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running.” The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught sight of her. “There’s another of them, Captain, lying in the grass.” “Rout him out, rout him out,” said Captain Twinely, “we’ll run the two. We’ll have sport.” The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and knocked him down. “Ho, ho,” laughed Captain Twinely, “he’s a game cub. Get through the hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We’ll hunt the other fellow first.” “The other seems to be wounded, sir,” said one of the men. “He has his leg bandaged.” “Then slit his throat,” said the captain, “he can’t run, and I’ve no use for wounded men.” Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. “It’s a girl,” he said, “would you murder a girl?” Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth.