te corner, it
was not with such forces as they could command, it was not with a
handful of cotters and peasants, that Ireland could be saved, or the
true faith restored!

She was still standing a pace within her door, and thinking such
thoughts when a foot stumbled heavily on the stairs. She recognised it
for James's footstep--she had heard him stumble on those stairs
before--and she laid her hand on the latch. She had never had a real
quarrel with him until now, and, bitterly as he had disappointed her,
ruthlessly as he had destroyed her illusions about him, outrageously as
he had treated her, she could not bear to sleep without making an
attempt to heal the breach. She opened the door, and stepped out.

James's light was travelling up the stairs, but he had not himself
reached the landing. She had just noted this when a door between her
and the stairs opened, and Payton looked out. He saw her, and, still
flushed with claret, he misunderstood her presence and her purpose. He
stepped towards her.

"Thought so!" he chuckled. "Still listening, eh? Why not listen at my
door? Then it would be a pretty man and a pretty maid. But I've caught
you." He shot out his arm and tried to draw her towards him. "There's
no one to see, and the least you can do is to give me a kiss for a
forfeit!"

The girl recoiled, outraged and angry. But, knowing her brother was at
hand, and seeing in a flash what might happen in the event of a
collision, she did so in silence, hoping to escape before he came upon
them. Unfortunately Payton misread her silence and took her movement
for a show of feigned modesty. With a movement as quick as hers, he
grasped her roughly, dragged her towards him and kissed her.

She screamed then in sheer rage--screamed with such passion and such
unmistakable earnestness that Payton let her go and stepped back with
an oath. As he did so he turned, and the turn brought him face to face
with James McMurrough.

The young man, tipsy and smarting with his wrongs, saw what was before
his eyes--his sister in Payton's arms--but he saw something more. He
saw the man who had thwarted him that day, and whom he had not at the
time dared to beard. What he might have done had he been sober, matters
not. Drink and vindictiveness gave him more than the courage he needed,
and, with a roar of anger, he dashed the glass he was carrying--and its
contents--into Payton's face.

The Englishman dropped where he was, and James stood ove