THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 107 



being accommodated, for French turned the scale 

 at fourteen stone, all muscle, and he was a match 

 for any two men present. 



He waited a moment. Then he took off his hat 

 to Miss Grimshaw. 



" I must apologise to you," he said, " for losing 

 my temper. Let us on to Cloyne, for this is no 

 place for a lady to be at all." 



He touched the fiddle-headed devil he was 

 riding with the spur, making him plunge and 

 scatter the ragamuffins who were hanging on the 

 scene with open mouths, and, cannoning against 

 and nearly unseating one of the " half -mounted 

 rat-catchers," he took the road to Cloyne, followed 

 by the girl. 



It was the first time he had come in clash with 

 his countrymen; the storm had been brewing a 

 long time, but it had burst at last. To think that 

 he, Michael French, in his own county, had been 

 ordered not to follow the hounds, by a herd of 

 dirty-fisted, petty farmers, was a thought to make 

 his blood boil. Petty spite, needle-sharp, that 

 was the weapon the Patriots were using against 

 Michael French by day. In their own disgusting 

 language he was a " First Offender." Even yet, 

 if he chose to give in and eat humble pie out of the 

 grimy hands of the men who would be his masters, 

 he might find forgiveness. If not, would follow 

 boycotting, and who knows what else. 



He knew this, and he knew that he had no hope 

 of help from the law. The police might arrest his 



