stap my vitals! he doesn't
leave this room alive."

At his words a fierce cry leaped from tense throats. A circle of white
furious faces girdled me about. Rapiers hung balanced at my throat and
death looked itchingly at me from many an eye.

As for me, I lazed against the table with a strange odd contraction of the
heart, a sudden standing still and then a fierce pounding of the blood.
Yet I was quite master of myself. Indeed I smiled at them, carelessly, as
one that deprecated so much ado about nothing. And while I smiled, the
wonder was passing through my mind whether the smile would still be there
after they had carved the life out of me. I looked death in the face, and
I found myself copying unconsciously the smirking manners of the
Macaronis. Faith, 't was a leaf from Volney's life I was rehearsing for
them.

This but while one might blink an eye, then Lord Balmerino interrupted.
"God's my life! Here's a feery-farry about nothing. Put up your toasting
fork, De Vallery! The lad will not bite."

"Warranted to be of gentle manners," I murmured, brushing again at the
Mechlin lace of my coat.

"Gentlemen are requested not to tease the animals," laughed Creagh. He was
as full of heat as a pepper castor, but he had the redeeming humour of his
race.

Macdonald beat down the swords. "Are you a' daft, gentlemen? The lad came
with Balmerino. He is no spy. Put up, put up, Chevalier! Don't glower at
me like that, man! Hap-weel rap-weel, the lad shall have his chance to
explain. I will see no man's cattle hurried."

"Peste! Let him explain then, and not summer and winter over the story,"
retorted O'Sullivan sourly.

Lord Balmerino slipped an arm through mine. "If you are quite through with
your play acting, gentlemen, we will back to reason and common sense
again. Mr. Montagu may not be precisely a pronounced Jack, but then he
doesn't give a pinch of snuff for the Whigs either. I think we shall find
him open to argument."

"He'd better be--if he knows what's good for him," growled O'Sullivan.

At once I grew obstinate. "I do not take my politics under compulsion, Mr.
O'Sullivan," I flung out.

"Then you shouldn't have come here. You've drawn the wine, and by God! you
shall drink it."

"Shall I? We'll see."

"No, no, Kenn! I promise you there shall be no compulsion," cried the old
Lord. Then to O'Sullivan in a stern whisper, "Let be, you blundering Irish
man! You're setting him against us."

Balmerino was righ