As a matter of fact, the Clerkenwell explosion was not the work of the Fenian organisation at all, but of a small gang of low-class London Irish within its ranks. At this time, moreover, the organisation had ceased to be formidable. In the beginning of 1867 Fenianism was a power to be reckoned with, both in the United Kingdom and in America; but the events of the year had utterly discredited the movement and demoralised the conspirators. The most ordinary police precautions would have prevented prevented the outrage, and a competent intelligence department would have prevented the wild scare which the outrage produced.

The apathy which had prevailed till then gave place at once to unreasoning panic. The explosion occurred on 8 Friday. The Cabinet met next day and decided to adopt heroic measures to cope with what was supposed to be a great national crisis. On the Monday a Home Office circular called for the enrolment of special constables, and a body of over 50,000 was thus raised in London within the month, and more than double that number throughout the provinces.

Another project decreed by the Cabinet was the organisa

tion temporarily of a Secret Service Department. To undertake this duty the Home Secretary nominated Colonel the Hon. William Feilding of the Guards, who had done good work in Ireland in checking the spread of Fenianism among the troops. Lord Mayo's choice fell on me, and I was invited to co-operate. When I came to London the following week, the scheme submitted to me was that we should take up our quarters in a private house in some quiet street and "work underground." To this I objected, not only for professional reasons, but because I believed that secrecy on such lines would be impossible. In Mexico, it is said, people speak the truth only when they wish to deceive; and a display of openness is always a good screen for secrecy. I would consent to remain only if attached to a Government Department. Lord Mayo took my view of the matter, and I was installed in the law room at the Irish Office. Colonel Feilding carried out the other project with the help of Captain Whelan of the 8th Regiment. They were both friends of mine, and the joint scheme worked admirably.

The panic which prevailed in London at this time was absolutely ludicrous. When I took up 'The Times' on the morning of my arrival (December 19), I learned that, the night before, "a great number of detective police were sent out on duty into different parts of the city." And further, that "the South Kensington

Museum, the British Museum, the gas factories, the powder magazines, &c., &c., were all protected by officers of the police and military." By every post Ministers received letters from panic-stricken folk, or from lunatics or cranks,' reporting suspicious incidents, or giving warning of plots upon public or private property. And the "specials" had a bad time of it, doing "sentry-go" in the streets on foggy nights when they ought to have been in their beds.

My friendship with Montague Corry, afterwards Lord Rowton, dated from this time. When meeting him at the Home Office I persuaded him that it was quite unnecessary to carry a revolver. All the private secretaries carried arms, he told me. And the Fenians were credited with the intention not only of murdering public officials, but of burning public buildings and private houses. Paragraphs and letters in the newspapers every day gave warning that "Fenian fire," or "Greek fire as it was called, would be used for this purpose, and advising that, as water would not quench it, a supply of sand should be kept in readinessadvice which was acted on at Whitehall, if not elsewhere.

As a matter of fact, the Clerkenwell explosion frightened the Fenians quite as much as it frightened the Government. The wretched men who fired that fuse meant only to make a breach in the prison wall, and it never occurred to them that they would wreck the

opposite houses. And though, as I have said, the Fenian leaders in London had no part in the outrage, they expected to suffer in consequence of it; and if sensible measures of repression had been adopted they would have submitted without a protest. But when they discovered that by exploding a cask of gunpowder they could throw not only the public but the Government of this country into hysterics, they rallied from their fright and set themselves to profit by the lesson.

I suppose I ought to have accepted the situation and posed as the saviour of my country; but my efforts were chiefly aimed at preventing or exploding scares. In some quarters my cynical scepticism was not appreciated; but I had a powerful "backer" in Mr Liddell, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Home Office, a man who was the impersonation of sound judgment and common-sense.

The following characteristic incident may serve to illustrate the daily occurrences of this period. Lord Derby received a letter, evidently from a lady of culture, giving details of a serious Fenian plot to attack the Bank of England on a certain night. The writer added that it would not be convenient to her to see any one on the subject; nor would anything be gained by an interview, as she could add nothing to her written statement. But she implored the Prime Minister not to neglect the warning, as the quarter

came was a guarantee of its value. This matter was deemed too serious to trust to special constables, and it was proposed to double the usual military guard at the Bank. I protested that by action of this kind we were reviving Fenianism and creating future trouble; and I sought and obtained Lord Derby's consent to my investigating the matter before any orders were issued.

That afternoon I set out upon my errand. The address given in the letter proved to be a lodging-house which had an unmistakably Irish name upon the door, and it occurred to me at once that the writer might have overheard what she narrated, and that her story might after all be important. Gaining admittance by a ruse and under an assumed name, I was shown into a room on the first floor, half boudoir, half bedroom. There I was received by a very charming elderly lady, who shook hands with me, saying "You have come from Lord Derby." "Lord Derby!" I exclaimed; "do you mean the Prime Minister?" "Yes," said she with a smile, "you can't deceive me; I have ways of finding out things. I have no doubt you have my letter to Lord Derby in your pocket." With a laugh I assented, and proceeded to talk about the subject of my visit. But she insisted on talking about herself, in order, as she said, to satisfy me that she was deserv

sketch of her life, and showed me a number of letters from persons of distinction in whose houses she had lived either as governess or companion,letters which gave proof that she was held by them in high esteem. Some forty minutes were spent in this way before I could lead her to the business I had in hand. She then lowered her voice and repeated to me the substance of her letter to the Prime Minister. I discussed the matter with her and tried in vain to induce her to disclose the source of her information. But at last her nerve-power of resistance gave way, and she told me that she was in the habit of receiving heavenly visions, and that this plot had been divinely revealed to her.

I was completely taken aback. Till then her whole manner and bearing had impressed me most favourably, and I was looking forward to apologising at headquarters for my dogmatism. But there was more to follow. Then and there she lapsed into some sort of trance, her eyes became fixed, and in a changed voice she described what was passing before her. I was held like the wedding-guest by the Ancient Mariner. Mariner. To this day the incident still lives in my memory. I will not attempt to explain it, but will only add that the Bank of England was never raided by the Fenians nor was the military guard increased.

After that he and she were alone on Olympus.

There was not a ghost of a doubt in either from the first,

The

Gerkal was frequented because it was only a few hours from the headquarters of a Division in the plains. hotels and boarding-houses were filled with young married women who had no husbands or houses to look after. They played badminton and flirted with beardless boys up for the musketry class, whom they spoilt to a turn; and having nothing better to do, they discussed one another in an ungenerous spirit and engineered cliques which were held together by antipathies outside the circle. Margaret was not of these.

The club was full of dyspeptic invalids who nursed their spleen. It was no place for an able-bodied man with more than ten days' leave. On the third day Gerard Hayden began to pack. He would rather grill, he said, than "stick it out" another day. But in the evening he met Margaret.

They met on the Mall. Margaret was watching the clouds lift and the multitudinous little watercourses shining through and catching the glint of the sun. Gerard knew her companion. She was a Mrs Chioester, the wife of a man in his brother's regiment at Meerut.

He stopped and spoke to her. Margaret looked up slowly, but before he had met her eyes he knew that something had changed for him.

"Margaret, let me introduce Captain Hayden, - Miss Fettes." First he saw a brown mushroom hat of tweed with a fur brim and a feather which just failed by a shade to repeat the deep rich brown of her hair. There were masses of it. When she turned towards him he became aware that her eyes were brown too, a shade darker, and she had the clear nutty complexion which only English women attain who live a great deal out of doors where there is little sun. She had not the features of a pretty woman; yet she was beautiful. It was partly the rare restfulness of the poise of the head,

partly the veiled depth of her eyes and the mysterious reserve in them which was half frankness. They seemed to be waiting for something. He knew in a second by their sleepy responsiveness and the way she carried her head, the certainty and buoyancy of it, that one might trust her absolutely in great things and small.

Then he heard her voice, and the music of it broke down his last defences.

"Are you in Strangway's Horse?" she said. "It must be your brother we know at Meerut."

While they were talking the mists unrolled from the plain. A sheet of water caught the sun's rays through a filmy cloud and reflected them with intense brilliance. The air became so clear that the horizon seemed to melt away.

It was not a scene they could turn their backs on. Hayden threw his overcoat over a dripping garden - seat inside the palings, and they sat and watched the shifting panorama of mist and cloud driven before the sun. It was the beginning of a break in the rains. Mrs Chicester was enchanted; she was full of suggestions as to how to turn it to account. She thought a picnic was essential. Hayden and Miss Fettes agreed that it would be sinful to waste the chance.

It was a gorgeous evening. They seemed to be looking across an illimitable expanse of sand and rock and water, from which the waves had just re

ceded, leaving pools that glimmered in the sun. A month ago the plains were parched and burnt to shades of copper and gun - metal. Now the strange evening light lent them the purple of the sea. In the far distance the vapours curled over the rocks like breakers. To the west the Sutlej spread out like an estuary, the Sirhind Canal lay across the sand, a silver wire ; to the east the Gajjar sought escape through the foothills in a dozen new channels about Pinjor. On all sides the bare, ribbed

Sewaliks lay with their gaping fissures like starved leviathans stranded by the sea, and in between myriads of little streams met and parted and shone like a network of dewy gossamer in the morning sun. It seemed as if the last ebb of the tide parcelled over the broken shingle were racing towards the ocean, seeking an outlet into the purple beyond.

They sat there long after the sun had set, watching the last glow dying from the pinetrunks and the grey striated rocks. The pale euphorbias became luminous and spectral. The blue of the sky merged into a deeper blue and became night.

Mrs Chicester was the first to stir.

Margaret, we've forgotten the lace,' she said. "And we'll be late for dinner.' Hayden and Margaret laughed.

After they had said goodnight Mrs Chicester turned back.