aid, "that in the course of the
next couple of months England will find herself with her hands full,
so full with Irish affairs that it will be impossible for her to act
elsewhere. A civil war in Ireland----"

"My nephew," said Ascher, "is not very clever. He may think that. He is,
I believe, an excellent soldier. But if he were a banker I should not
employ him to find out things for me. I should not rely on the reports
he brought me. He lacks intelligence. Very likely he believes what you
have said."

"But you don't?"

"No. I do not. I do not believe that Irish affairs will be in such a
state that they will determine England's action. You see I have the
privilege of knowing Gorman."

"You don't know Malcolmson," I said, "and he's a most important factor
in the problem. He's like your nephew, an excellent soldier, but lacking
in intelligence. You don't realise what Malcolmson is capable of."

"I do not know Colonel Malcolmson personally," said Ascher. "I am right,
am I not, in styling him _Colonel_ Malcolmson?"

"Yes. He retired some years ago as Colonel of my old regiment"

"Does a man retire from his loyalty," said Ascher, "when he retires from
his regiment? Will your friend give up his honour because he has given
up his command? Will he aid the enemies of England?"

"Of course," I said, "if you put it to Malcolmson in that way---- He's
a positive fanatic on the subject of loyalty. But he doesn't know, he
doesn't understand. He hasn't had the warning that your nephew has just
given you."

"You are an Irishman," said Ascher, "and you ought to know your
countrymen better than I do. But it will surprise me very much if
England finds herself hampered by Ireland when the crisis comes."

It was Von Richter who broke up our party. He pleaded the necessity for
early rising next morning as his excuse for going away before the hour
at which the law obliges people to stop eating supper in restaurants.
I wondered whether he and Mrs. Ascher had made a satisfactory plan
for running guns into Galway. According to Ascher it did not make much
difference whether the Irish peasants had rifles in their hands or
not. It was soothing, though humbling, to feel that, guns or no guns,
Volunteers or no Volunteers, Ireland would not matter in the least.

CHAPTER XV.

Gorman's play achieved a second success. The Parthenon was crammed every
night, and it was the play, not the pretty dresses or the dancing, which
filled the ho