popularly called Prince Michael, partly because he claimed descent
from ancient Fenian princes, and partly because he was credited with
a plan to make himself prince president of Ireland, as the last
Napoleon did of France. He was undoubtedly a gentleman of honorable
pedigree and of many accomplishments, but two of his accomplishments
emerged from all the rest. He had a talent for appearing when he was
not wanted and a talent for disappearing when he was wanted,
especially when he was wanted by the police. It may be added that
his disappearances were more dangerous than his appearances. In the
latter he seldom went beyond the sensational--pasting up seditious
placards, tearing down official placards, making flamboyant
speeches, or unfurling forbidden flags. But in order to effect the
former he would sometimes fight for his freedom with startling
energy, from which men were sometimes lucky to escape with a broken
head instead of a broken neck. His most famous feats of escape,
however, were due to dexterity and not to violence. On a cloudless
summer morning he had come down a country road white with dust, and,
pausing outside a farmhouse, had told the farmer's daughter, with
elegant indifference, that the local police were in pursuit of him.
The girl's name was Bridget Royce, a somber and even sullen type of
beauty, and she looked at him darkly, as if in doubt, and said, "Do
you want me to hide you?" Upon which he only laughed, leaped lightly
over the stone wall, and strode toward the farm, merely throwing
over his shoulder the remark, "Thank you, I have generally been
quite capable of hiding myself." In which proceeding he acted with a
tragic ignorance of the nature of women; and there fell on his path
in that sunshine a shadow of doom.

While he disappeared through the farmhouse the girl remained for a
few moments looking up the road, and two perspiring policemen came