e voice that broke the silence shook
under the weight of the speaker's feelings.

"You'll be leaving here this day," the man muttered.

"I?" the Colonel said, taken by surprise. "Not at all."

"We wish you no harm, but to see your back. But you'll be leaving
here."

The Colonel, his first wonder subdued, looked from one to another. "I
am sure you wish me no harm," he said.

"None, but to see your back," the man repeated, while his companions
looked down at the Colonel with a strange fixedness. The Celtic nature,
prone to sudden rage, stirred in them. The stranger who an hour before
had been indifferent to them now wore the face of an enemy. The lake
and the bog--ay, the secret grave yearned for him: the winding-sheet
was high upon his breast. "Stay, and it's but once in your life you'll
be sorry," the man growled, "and faith, that'll be always!"

"But I cannot go," the Colonel answered, as gently as before.

"And why?" the man returned. The McMurrough was not of the speakers,
but stood behind them, glowering at him with a dark face.

"Because," the Colonel answered, "I am in my duty here, my friends. And
the man who is in his duty can suffer nothing."

"He can die," the man replied, breathing hard. The men who were on the
Colonel's side of the table leant more closely about him.

But he seemed unmoved. "That," he replied cheerfully, "is nothing. To
die is but an accident. Who dies in his duty suffers no harm. And were
that not enough--and it is all," he continued slowly, "what harm should
happen to me, a Sullivan among Sullivans? Because I have fared far and
seen much, am I so changed that, coming back, I shall find no welcome
on the hearth of my race, and no shelter where my fathers lie?"

"And are not our hearths cold over many a league? And the graves----"

"Whisht!" a voice broke in sternly, as Uncle Ulick thrust his way
through the group. "The man says well!" he continued. "He's a
Sullivan----"

"He's a Protestant!"

"He is a Sullivan, I say!" Uncle Ulick retorted, "were he the blackest
heretic on the sod! And you, would you do the foul deed for a woman's
wet eye? Are the hearts of Kerry turned as hard as its rocks? Make an
end of this prating and foolishness! And you, James McMurrough, these
are your men and this is your house? Will you be telling them at once
that you will be standing between him and harm, be he a heretic ten
times over? For shame, man! Is it for raising the corp of old Sir
Micha