face to face with Captain Augustin. The
fiery little Frenchman disdained to give way, in a trice angry words
passed, and--partly out of mischief, for the moment was certainly not
propitious--Asgill repeated the proposal which Colonel John had just
made. The Colonel had stood in the background during the debate about
the mare, but thus challenged he stood forward.

"It's a fair compromise," he argued. "And if Captain Augustin is
prepared to pay twenty per cent----."

"He'll not have his cargo, nor yet a cask!" The McMurrough replied with
a curt, angry laugh. "Loss and enough we've had to-day."

"But----"

"Get me back the mare," the young man cried, cutting the Colonel short
with savage ridicule. "Get me back the mare, and I'll talk. That's all
I have to say."

"It seems to me," Colonel John replied quietly, "that those who lose
should find. Still--still," checking the young man's anger by the very
calmness of his tone, "for Captain Augustin's sake, who can ill bear
the loss, and for your sister's sake, I will see what I can do."

The McMurrough stared. "You?" he cried. "You?"

"Yes, I."

"Heaven help us, and the pigs!" the young man exclaimed. And he laughed
aloud in his scorn.

But Colonel John seemed no way moved. "Yes," he replied. "Only let us
understand one another"--with a look at Uncle Ulick which made him
party to the bargain--"if I return to-morrow evening or on the
following day--or week--with your sister's mare----"

"Mounseer shall have his stuff again to the last pennyworth," young
McMurrough returned with an ironical laugh, "and without payment at
all! Or stay! Perhaps you'll buy the mare?"

"No, I shall not buy her," Colonel John answered, "except at the price
the man gave you."

"Then you'll not get her. That's certain! But it's your concern."

The Colonel nodded, and, turning on his heels, went away towards the
house, calling William Bale to him as he passed.

The McMurrough looked at the Frenchman. He had a taste for tormenting
some one. "Well, monsieur," he jeered, "how do you like your bargain?"

"I do not understand," the Frenchman answered. "But he is a man of his
word, _ma foi_! And they are not--of the common."

CHAPTER V

THE MESS-ROOM AT TRALEE

If England had made of Ireland a desert and called it peace, she had
not marred its beauty. That was the thought in Colonel Sullivan's mind
as he rode eastward under Slieve Mish, with the sun rising above the
lower spurs