"Does Miss O'Callaghan know you care for her?" I asked.
"I suppose any girl knows," he said.
"Did you ever speak to her about it?"
"Not seriously," he said.
"Isn't it possible she thinks you were playing with her and may be
playing still; and, granted she cares for you, mayn't that be driving
her into the convent?"
His face was suddenly flushed with a kind of pitying shame.
"By Jove!" he said. "It may be so, Phil; I never meant to play with her,
I swear that."
"I believe you," I said, "but it looks as though there might be
something in what I suggest."
"It does," he answered.
"Have you written to her?"
He tapped me once more with the poker.
"No, and if I did she'd never get the letter. I know my cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan. She thinks all the St. Alleynes are a bad lot, because, I
suppose, my grandfather was a wild devil once. That's where I have to
suffer for my name."
"But you could convince her otherwise, I suppose?"
"I'd undertake to do it, if I were sure of Norah."
I knocked the ashes from my pipe and stood up. The situation interested
me; my own happiness was so near that I was prepared to do a great deal
for my friend.
"Well," I said, "suppose I go over with you, how am I to help?"
He rose and stood by my side, putting his right arm round my shoulder.
He was quite his old cheerful self again.
"We'll think of that when we get there," he said. "You must draw Mrs.
O'Callaghan off while I talk to the girl somehow. If I have a sure
friend at hand the thing can be managed. I knew you'd come, old man. My
cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan," he added, "has burnt her own boats; if she
hadn't played me this trick I might never have discovered that I wanted
Norah."
[Illustration: "MY FRIEND WAS CONSUMING LARGE CIGARS."]
"Oh, yes, you would," I said.
"You know, of course," he said, pinching my ear.
When I awoke the next morning I confess that our project did not look
particularly hopeful, but I had undoubted faith in St. Alleyne's
ingenuity, and it was a great satisfaction to me to see Lucy, and let
her into the secret of our expedition. Her eagerness, indeed, was much
greater than mine, and she made me promise to send her a telegram
directly there was any good news to communicate.
It was a bitterly cold night in January when St. Alleyne and I crossed,
and I am not a particularly good sailor. I remained on deck for the sake
of the air, the saloon being hopeless, and made what efforts I could to
keep myself warm. Every now and then I looked into the smoking-room,
where my friend was consuming large cigars; I envied him his occupation,
but rejected all his invitations to join him. After a time he came out
and wrapped me up in half a dozen rugs on a seat. By the time we reached
Dublin I was numb to the heart, and knew I was in for a violent cold.
However, we made no delay, but caught the mail for the south. The
carriage was warmer than the boat, and by a judicious arrangement of
rugs I managed to bring back some heat into my blood, and with it came a
revived interest in our expedition. St. Alleyne had said nothing about
his plan since starting, but as I looked across at him I could see that
he was thinking hard. He caught my eye and smiled.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Much," I said.
"You look a poor starved rat of a man, even now."
"I'm sorry," I said, "that I haven't your terrific constitution."
"It hasn't been much good to me so far," he said, "and I'll thank you,
Mr. Mildmay, for one of those excellent cigars of yours."
"I think I could manage one myself," said I, sitting up.
"Bravo! Now we can talk seriously.... I've been thinking, Phil."
"I could see that!"
"You could, could you? Well, I've hit on a plan--a beautiful plan."
"Capital!" I said.
"But the carrying through depends upon you."
"Am I in fit condition?" I asked.
"Faith, you'll be in too good condition presently. It depends on your
sickness."
It was always necessary to beg St. Alleyne to explain: I did this
forcibly, and he brought his head close to mine.
"I told you, I think," he said, "that in my opinion my cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan, is mad?"
"You did."
"Well," he said, "she's not so mad, neither. She has some idea of true
charity. Now Norah is a great hand with the sick; she has a way with
her, as we say over here, and Mrs. O'Callaghan encourages her to visit
them; it's all part of the convent scheme."
"I begin to see," I said; "I'm to be sick."
"And who," said he, "would you rather see in your suffering than an
angel like Norah?"
"I'd rather see Lucy," I said.
"Well, well, you're a constant creature. I have a little place over here
near Stromore, as you know; but you mustn't be ill there; you must go to
the hotel." He paused and looked at me.
"Go on," I said.
"And being very low," he continued, very slowly, "you'll speak to Biddy
about it."
"Who's Biddy?" I asked.
"Mahony's daughter; he runs the hotel. And you'll say that you'd like to
see someone--a woman for choice--as you have something weighing on your
mind; and then you might drop Miss O'Callaghan's name. Now Biddy was
Norah's maid for a time, and what more natural than that she should
suggest bringing her old mistress to the poor sick guest?"
"You're a rogue," I said.
"Then Norah will come to you," he went on, "and I shall be in the next
room, and after a time you'll speak of me, and then--"
"We must wait for the rest," I said, "But what will your cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan, be doing all the time?"
"She'll be talking to Mahony about the price of oats downstairs."
"This is a very charming plan," I said, "but will it work? And do you
think me humbug enough to mix myself up in such an affair?"
"You're humbug enough for anything," he said, "but have you the nerve?"
"It doesn't need much nerve," I said.
"You haven't seen Norah," he replied.
"Well, I'll risk it; I came over here to help you, and I may as well do
it, little as the job suits me."
"Oh," he laughed, "it'll be grand to see my cousin Mrs. O'Callaghan's
face!"
It was important to our plan that St. Alleyne and I should not seem to
be together, so he gave me final instructions before we reached Stromore
Station. "You must get the bedroom over the door," he said, "because
there's a sitting-room next to it, and we must have them both."
"Suppose it's already occupied?" I said.
[Illustration: "WE SWUNG UP THE ROAD FROM THE STATION."]
"You don't know Stromore in the winter," he said; "there won't be a soul
in the place, and Mahony will kneel at your feet."
"I hope he won't," I said, "because I might feel inclined to kick him."
"Kick Mahony!" he cried, "the man's six feet two, and as strong as an
ox. You'd better begin to be sick almost at once, hadn't you?"
"I feel bad enough," I said.
We shook hands in the carriage as the train pulled up at Stromore; on
the platform we did not know each other.
I secured a car at once, and told the man to drive to the St. Alleyne
Arms, and as we swung up the road from the station I looked back and saw
his lordship coming slowly down the steps.
"Do ye know," asked my driver, "how long his lordship's come for?"
"His lordship!--whose lordship?"
"Lord St. Alleyne," he said, looking at me incredulously.
"What do I know about the man?" I asked. "Where is he?"
"He's there, sure, comin' down the shteps."
"Indeed," I said, and told the man to hurry, as I was cold.
I had no difficulty in securing the two rooms I wanted, and as I took
possession of them I felt some of the pangs of a conspirator. I was
also, as a matter of fact, quite sufficiently unwell to see things
rather gloomily, and as I sat by my window after lunch, and looked out
into the grey street, I confess that I wished myself engaged in a less
dubious enterprise.
[Illustration: "THE GIRL GLANCED UP AT THE INN."]
And then, as I sat there, I heard the brisk sound of wheels, and a
carriage drove by, and in it there sat a lady of a rather severe aspect
and a girl. The girl glanced up at the inn as she passed; from out of a
nest of white fur, there looked a face that made me come nearer to
forgetting Lucy than anything I could have imagined. "That," said I to
myself, "is Norah, and the other is Mrs. O'Callaghan. My dear St.
Alleyne, I'll begin my part of the game this minute if it's to help you
to win that child."
And indeed there was no time to be lost, for we had arranged that St.
Alleyne was to call at eleven o'clock the next morning to see how things
were getting on. I accordingly looked for a bell-rope, but, being unable
to find one, I opened the door and called downstairs. Biddy came up
light as a bird, and with a merry engaging smile on her face.
"Biddy," I said, "I feel ill, and I think I'll go to bed. I've caught a
bad cold, and it may turn to fever with me."
"Lord save us!" she cried, "will I send for the docther?"
"No, I'll see how I am later. And, Biddy, at six o'clock, I might try to
eat some dinner."
"To be sure, sorr," she said. "Can I do anythin' for ye now?"
"No," said I, pressing my hand against my forehead, "but if I want
anything I'll ring."
"There's no bell," she said, "so you must just knock on the flure, an'
I'll hear ye."
With that she departed, and I made up the fire and got slowly into bed.
My head did ache a little, but not enough to make me unhappy, and it
seemed to me, as I lay in the midst of that apparently dead Irish town,
that I was coming perilously near to playing the fool. But my confidence
in St. Alleyne was unbounded, and under all his lightness of manner it
was plain that he was in deadly earnest; so presently, thinking of him
and of the face I had seen, and being horribly tired after the previous
night, I fell comfortably asleep.
When I awoke it was dark outside and there was only the red glow of
firelight in the room. I got up to light a candle, and felt rather
lightheaded and feverish; it gave me some satisfaction to realise that I
should not have to altogether act my part. I looked at my watch and
found that it was a quarter to six. I lay down again and listened;
beyond the slight movement in the house there was not a sound to be
heard; I might have been in a lodge in the wilderness.
Presently I heard Biddy's light step on the stairs, and there was a
tentative knock at the door.
"Come in," I cried, and she entered with dinner and a lamp.
"Are you betther, sorr?" she asked.
"No," said I, "but worse."
"Will I send for Docther Nolan now?"
"No, Biddy, I'll try to eat some dinner."
"Do, poor soul!" she said. She drew a little table to the bedside, and,
having set the food on it, left me. It was not a good dinner; a healthy
appetite and an easy conscience might have been satisfied with it, but
neither of these was mine at the moment, so I did no more than just play
with it. Then I knocked on the floor for Biddy, who came up at once. She
was always smiling; she had one of those faces to which only laughter or
tears seem natural.
"Have ye done, sorr?" she asked, in undisguised surprise.
"Yes," I said, "I can't eat."
She suggested Doctor Nolan again.
"No, I'm afraid a doctor could do no good until I've got something off
my mind."
"Will I sind for a priest, thin?" she asked.
"At present, Biddy, it's not a matter for a priest, but if you knew of
some good woman, not a nun, but still in the world--" I paused from
sheer inability to go on; I was so unused to this kind of thing that any
sign of suspicion on Biddy's part would have meant disaster. But Biddy
had a kind heart, and instantly scented a romance.
"Ah," she said, "I see how it is wid ye."
I said nothing, but lay still, watching her face. I tried once or twice
to mention Miss O'Callaghan's name, but my lips refused to approach it
without a weakness that might have betrayed me. And then, all at once,
Biddy did it for me.
"I might ast Miss O'Callaghan to see ye," she said.
My face burned. "And who's Miss O'Callaghan?" I asked.
"A dear, dear heart," said Biddy, "an' just the lady to help ye if it's
love you're throubled about. She's had throuble herself," she added,
"an' may his lordship be made to pay for it!"
"What do you mean about Miss O'Callaghan and his lordship?"
"Was I her maid for three years and not know her secrets?"
I begged Biddy to explain, which she refused to do; but I gathered
enough from her to judge that my surmise had been correct, and that
Norah was wholly his lordship's if he could get fair speech with her.
"Biddy," said I, "you're a good girl, and if you can bring Miss
O'Callaghan to see me at half-past eleven to-morrow I'll dance at your
wedding."
"I'll go to her now," she said; "rest quiet, now, till I come back."
When Biddy had gone I was almost sorry that I had not taken her
completely into my confidence, but her interest seemed so deeply engaged
on my behalf that I felt sure she would work strongly on Miss
O'Callaghan's feelings; and so it proved, for she returned in an hour to
say that the lady would come on the following morning. After this piece
of news I calmly went to sleep again, and only awoke to find Biddy once
more at my bedside with breakfast.
I assured her that I felt somewhat better, and would be ready for Miss
O'Callaghan when she came. Just as I had finished breakfast I heard St.
Alleyne's voice below. Presently Biddy came up with curiosity shining
from her face.
"Why didn't ye tell me," she said, "that ye knew his lordship?"
"Biddy, can I trust you?" I asked.