above his head, his left--palm upward, stretched forward in an
attitude of entreaty.

It seemed as though the SOUL of the man was pleading with them to
take the oath that would bind THEIR souls to the "Cause."

Crowding around him, eyes blazing, breasts heaving, as if impelled
by one common thought, the men and women clamoured with outstretched
hands:

"We swear!"

In that moment of exaltation it seemed as if the old Saint-Martyrs'
halo glowed over each, as they took the oath that pledged them to
the "CAUSE,"--the Cause that meant the lifting of oppression and
tyranny: immunity from "buckshot" and the prison-cell: from famine
and murder and coercion--all the component parts of Ireland's
torture in her struggle for her right to self-government.

A moment later the crowd was hushed. A tremour ran through it. The
sounds of marching troops: the unintelligible words of command,
broke in on them.

Father Cahill plunged in amongst them. "The constabulary," he cried.
"Back to your homes."

"Stay where you are," shouted O'Connell.

"I beg you, my children! I command you! I entreat you! Don't have
bloodshed here to-day!" Father Cahill turned distractedly to