than see Lord Torrington sink into his grave with rheumatic fever for
want of a drop of whisky I'll expose you publicly. Cousin Frank, come
here."

"Whist, Miss, whist! Sure if I had the whisky I'd give it to you."

Lord Torrington, with Lady Isabel weeping beside him, was on his way
up to the Kinsellas' cottage. Frank was speaking earnestly to Mr.
Pennefather, who seemed disinclined to follow his father-in-law. When he
heard Priscilla calling to him he hobbled towards her.

"Cousin Frank," she said, "here's a man who grudges poor Lord Torrington
a drop of whisky to save his life, although for weeks past he has
been--what is it you do when you make whisky? I forget the word. It isn't
brew."

Frank, vaguely recollecting the advertisements which appear in our
papers, suggested that the word was required "pot".

Priscilla pointed an accusing finger at Kinsella.

"Here's a man," she said, "who for the last fortnight has been potting
whisky--what a fool you are, Cousin Frank! Distil is the word. Joseph
Antony Kinsella has been distilling whisky on this island for the last
month as hard as ever he could. He's been shipping barrels full of
it underneath loads of gravel into Rosnacree, and now he's trying to
pretend he hasn't got any. Did you ever hear such utter rot in your
life? I'm not telling Lord Torrington yet, Joseph Antony; but in a
minute or two I will unless you go and get a good can full."

"For the love of God, Miss," said Kinsella, "say no more. I'll try if I
can find a sup somewhere for the gentleman. But as for what you're after
saying about distilling----"

"Hurry up," said Priscilla threateningly.

Kinsella went off at a sharp trot towards the south end of the island.

"Of course," said Priscilla in a calmer tone, "he really may not have
any more. That might have been the last barrel which I saw under the
gravel the day before yesterday when our anchor rope got foul of the
centreboard. I don't expect it was quite the last, but it may have been.
It's very hard to be sure about things like that. However, if it was the
last he'll just have to turn to and distil some more. I don't suppose
it takes very long, and there was a fire burning on the south end of the
island this morning. I saw it."

Half an hour later Lord Torrington, wrapped in two blankets and a
patchwork quilt, clothing which he had chosen in preference to Joseph
Antony's Sunday suit, was sitting in front of a blazing fire in the
Kinsell