“Her ladyship must be got away,” he said. “And your daughter, Kilmore. She’s here, isn’t she? This town will be no place for women to-morrow. Luckily I have the car. You’ll take them, won’t you? Castle Affey will be the best place for the present.”
“What are you going to do yourself?” I asked.
We passed through the door and down the flight of steps to the street. The crowd outside caught sight of us at once. Some one shouted aloud.
“More traitors!”
The news of the result of the meeting and the part we took in it had somehow reached the people already. An angry roar went up from the crowd. Those who were nearest to us cursed us. A police-officer with eight men forced a way through the crowd. At a word from their officer the men drew their batons and stood in front of us.
“I think, my lord,” said the officer to Moyne, “that you’d better go back. We had the greatest difficulty in getting Mr. Babberly through, and the crowd is angrier now.”
“I’m going on,” said Moyne.
“I cannot be responsible,” said the officer. “I haven’t enough men to control this crowd. If you go on—”
Moyne pushed his way through the cordon of police. I followed him. At first the people drew back a little and let us pass into the middle of the crowd. Then one man after another began to hustle us. Moyne linked his arm in mine and helped me along. A man struck him in the face with the flat of his hand. It was a sharp slap rather than an actual blow. Moyne flushed deeply, but he neither spoke nor struck back. Then suddenly the people seemed to forget all about us. A wild cheer burst from them. Hats were flung into the air. Sticks were waved. Some one began firing shots from a revolver in rapid succession. It was a fusillade of joy, a kind of salute to McNeice who appeared at the window of the committee-room. Moyne and I pushed our way on. When we were clear of the crowd Moyne spoke to me again.