ing tired, their eyes
still heavy with sleep, the Bartons breakfasted for the last time in
Mount Street.

At the Broadstone they met Lord Dungory. Then, their feet and knees
cosily wrapped up in furs, with copies of the _Freeman's Journal_ lying
on the top, they deplored the ineffectiveness of Mr. Forster's Coercion
Act. Eight hundred people were in prison, and still the red shadow of
murder pointed across the land. Milord read from the newspaper:

'A dastardly outrage was committed last night in the neighbourhood of
Mullingar. A woman named Mary ---- had some differences with her sister
Bridget ----. One day, after some angry words, it appears that she left
the house, and seeing a man working in a potato-field, she asked him if
he could do anything to help her. He scratched his head, and, after a
moment's reflection, he said he was going to meet a "party," and he
would see what could be done. On the following day he suggested that
Bridget might be removed for the sum of one pound. Mary ---- could not,
however, procure more than fifteen shillings, and a bargain was struck.
On the night arranged for the assassination Mary wished to leave the
house, not caring to see her sister shot in her presence, but Pat
declared that her absence would excite suspicion. In the words of one of
the murderers, the deed was accomplished "nately and without unnecessary
fuss."'

'I wonder,' said Mrs. Barton, 'what those wretches will have to do
before the Government will consent to suspend the Habeas Corpus Act, and
place the country in the hands of the military. Do they never think of
how wickedly they are behaving, and of how God will punish them when
they die? Do they never think of their immortal souls?'

'_L'ame du paysan se vautre dans la boue comme la mienne se plait dans
la soie_.'

'_Dans la soie! dans la soie! oh, ce Milord, ce Milord!'_

'_Oui, madame_,' he added, lowering his voice, '_dans le blanc paradis
de votre corsage_.'

Three days after life at Brookfield had resumed its ordinary course.
Once breakfast was over, Arthur retired to the consideration of the
pectoral muscles of the ancient Briton, Milord drank his glass of sherry
at half-past one, and Mrs. Barton devoted herself to the double task of
amusing him and encouraging Olive with visions of future fame. Alice was
therefore left definitely to herself, and without hindrance or comment
was allowed to set up her writing-table, and spend as much time as she
please