General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene Arms. He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who had commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could get on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for his guests. In the public room a larger party was gathered--yeomanry officers, captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of the country squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was over. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept the night before. Lord O’Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him still, but he was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, holding his hand, and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the window. The laughter of the party in the room below reached them, and the noisy talk of the troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, snatches of song, and calls for wine mingled with the groans which his extreme pain wrung from the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words about strength and courage which Lord Dunseveric spoke. A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn door. They had a prisoner with them--a wretched-looking man, with torn clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. But Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. “A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked for General Clavering, and entered the inn.” “Very well, Maurice.” Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. “I must leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you want.” “Where are you going, Eustace?” “I’m going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now whom I want to help if I can--the young man I told you about, who saved me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could have saved you, too.” “That’s past praying for now,” said Lord O’Neill, “but you’re right, Eustace, you’re right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There’s been blood enough shed to-day--Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be no more of it.” Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his officers sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, and Lord Dunseveric heard the orders he received. “Put him into the market-house to-night. I’ll hang that fellow in the morning, whatever I do with the rest.” “The market-house is full, sir,” said Captain Twinely, “the officer in command says he can receive no more prisoners.” “Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don’t stand there talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an empty cellar?”