"Don't be a fool, Moyne," I said. "You're the one of all others who ought not to stay. Don't you see that whatever way things go you're in for it? The mob thinks you're a traitor. I wouldn't trust those fellows we've just left not to kill you. And when the soldiers have shot them down and the subsequent investigation begins, the Government is bound to fix on you as a ringleader. There'll be panic to-morrow and savage vindictiveness the next day. McNeice and Malcolmson will frighten the Government and the Government will have you hanged or beheaded afterwards for causing the trouble. The English people will clamour for a victim, and you're exactly the sort of victim they'll like. Your one chance is to get out of this. Go to Castle Affey to-night, and telegraph to _The Times_ to-morrow to say that you dissociate yourself--" Moyne stopped me. "Look here, Kilmore," he said. "I've heard all you have to say, and I agree with it, more or less. I don't suppose I'll be either murdered by the mob or shot by the military, but--" "You will," I said, "if you stay here." "Even if I am," he said, "I'll have to stay." "In the name of goodness, why?" "You know the way we've been talking for the last two years--our side, I mean." I knew the way Babberly had been talking. I knew the way Lady Moyne had goaded him and others to talk, but poor Moyne hardly ever talked at all. All he ever wanted was to be left alone. "Well, I can't exactly go back on them now when they're doing what we said they ought to do. I've got to see the thing through. After all it's my fault that those poor fellows are in this horrible mess." He glanced back as he spoke. He was thinking of the angry crowd we had left behind us. "So you'll take care of the ladies," he said. "Run them down to Castle Affey and make yourself as comfortable as you can. They won't be expecting you, but they'll manage some sort of dinner." "I'm not going," I said. "I'm staying on in Belfast." "But why should you? You've no responsibility. You've never taken any part in our--It's very good of you to think of staying. It really is. And I appreciate the spirit in which--But--" "For goodness' sake, Moyne," I said, "don't give me credit for any kind of heroism. That _noblesse oblige_ attitude of yours doesn't suit me a bit. It isn't in my line." "But hang it all, Kilmore, you can't be staying here for the fun of it." "I've often told you," I said, "that I'm writing a history of the Irish Rebellions. I naturally want to see one, and there isn't likely to be another in my time. That's my only reason for staying in Belfast." We found Lady Moyne waiting for us when we reached the hotel. She was wearing a long cloak, and had a motor-veil tied over her head. She was evidently prepared to start at once. "I've ordered the car," she said. "It ought to be round now. Marion's coming with me, Lord Kilmore. I think she'd be better out of Belfast for the next few days."