He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute or two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric’s last words had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric was a man of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the influence of a great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is sometimes stopped mysteriously by influences which are not very easily baffled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might have been wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric. General Clavering himself broke the silence. “These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart,” he said. “The gentry want their combs cut as much as the croppies. I’m not going to be insulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord before his name. I’ll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I’ll make him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast before a company of men holding His Majesty’s commission, that he hanged a soldier in discharge of his duty.” “A yeoman,” said Colonel Durham, “and some of the yeomen deserve hanging.” “God Almighty!” said Clavering, “are you turning rebel, too? I don’t care whether a man deserves it or not, I’ll not have the king’s troops hanged by filthy Irishmen.” He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering had boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in the existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like Lord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying out of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to laugh the matter off. “But this,” he said, “is over wine. Men say more than they mean when they are engaged in emptying mine host’s cellar. Come, gentlemen, another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we’ll do him this much grace--we’ll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at the end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate.” Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord O’Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. “Well,” said Lord O’Neill, “will they spare him?” “No.” “More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could manage to write.” “None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without taking my troubles and my friend’s troubles on your shoulders.”