“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “it is evident that you are going to be hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really providential that you didn’t steal his breeches. He would probably have flogged you first and hanged you afterwards if you had.” “Damn your infernal insolence,” broke out General Clavering furiously, “You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty acres of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting me. I’ll teach you, my lord, I’ll teach you. By God, I’ll teach you and every other cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You shall know your masters, by the Almighty, before I’ve done with you.” Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General Clavering, and spoke slowly and deliberately. “I ride at once to Dublin,” he said. “I shall lay an account of your doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty’s representative there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him to do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court of justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise you as my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen to a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not arrest, try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows.” General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid his hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his hands behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight at the furious man in front of him. “Do you propose,” he said, “to stab me and then hang my son?” This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. “Let me tell you, sir, that you’re a damned idiot, an incompetent officer, a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. You had this infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only allowed him to walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of clothes to go in. You’re the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop to horse. Scour the country for him. Don’t leave a house that you don’t search, nor a bed that you don’t run your sword through. Don’t leave a dung-heap without raking it, or a haystack that you don’t scatter. Get that man back for me, wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I’ll have you shot for neglect of duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen buried alive in the same grave with you.” The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters and making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of “gelt cats.” With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed.