“A vixen,” he cried. “Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you’re a sly one. To think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister’s son, God rot you, lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, sergeant, till we see if he’s telling the truth.” Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. He gripped the horse’s mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch at the throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face from the hilt of Twinely’s sword threw him to the ground. He fell half stunned. He heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what was happening. He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of one of the trooper’s horses. “We’re going to take you back into Antrim,” said Captain Twinely. “I don’t deny that I’d rather deal with you here myself, but you’re a fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won’t hear of losing their share of the reward. It’ll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering isn’t the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and march.” “Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. Her face is a bonny one for kissing now.” Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. He shut his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the suggestion was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. “Shut your devil’s mouth,” he said to the sergeant, “isn’t what you’ve done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had broken your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the country of the biggest blackguard in it.” “Thon’s fine talk,” growled the sergeant, “but who bid us strip the wench? Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?” Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant’s words, or the grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary and dejected, was dragged with them.