Kathleen came in with fuel to light the fire, and looking rather hard at
me, passed by, and was soon busy blowing up the turf. She was a very
handsome dark-eyed girl, about nineteen years of age, stout, and well
made. "What is your name?" said I.
"Kathleen, at your service, sir."
"Listen to me, Kathleen," said I, in a low voice. "You are a woman, and
all women are kind-hearted. I have overheard all that passed between
your mistress and you, and that McDermott has stated that I am a tithe
collector and an attorney, with a warrant. I am no such thing. I am a
gentleman who wish to speak to Sir Henry de Clare on a business which he
does not like to be spoken to about; and to shew you what I say is the
truth, it is about the daughter of his elder brother, who was killed
when hunting, and who is supposed to be dead. I am the only evidence to
the contrary; and, therefore, he and McDermott have spread this report
that I may come to harm."
"Is she alive, then?" replied Kathleen, looking up to me with wonder.
"Yes; and I will not tell Sir Henry where she is, and that is the reason
of their enmity."
"But I saw her body," replied the girl in a low voice, standing up, and
coming close to me.
"It was not hers, depend upon it," replied I, hardly knowing what to
answer to this assertion.
"At all events, it was dressed in her clothes; but it was so long before
it was discovered, that we could make nothing of the features. Well, I
knew the poor little thing, for my mother nursed her. I was myself
brought up at the castle, and lived there till after Sir William was
killed; then we were all sent away."
"Kathleen! Kathleen!" cried the landlady.
"Call for everything you can think of one after another," whispered
Kathleen, leaving the room.
"I cannot make the peat burn," said she to the landlady, after she had
quitted the little room; "and the gentleman wants some whisky."
"Go out then, and get some from the middle of the stack, Kathleen, and
be quick; we have others to attend besides the tithe proctor. There's
the O'Tooles all come in, and your own Corny is with them."
"My Corny, indeed!" replied Kathleen; "he's not quite so sure of that."
In a short time Kathleen returned, and brought some dry peat and a
measure of whisky. "If what you say is true," said Kathleen, "and sure
enough you're no Irish, and very young for a tithe proctor, who must
grow old before he can be such a villain, you are in no very pleasant
way. The O'Tooles are here, and I've an idea they mean no good; for
they sit with all their heads together, whispering to each other, and
all their shillelaghs by their sides."
"Tell me, Kathleen, was the daughter of Sir William a fair-haired,
blue-eyed girl?"
"To be sure she was," replied Kathleen, "and like a little mountain
fairy."
"Now, Kathleen, tell me if you recollect if the little girl or her
mother ever wore a necklace of red beads mixed with gold."
"Yes, that my lady did; and it was on the child's neck when it was lost,
and when the body was found it was not with it. Well I recollect that,
for my mother said the child must have been drowned or murdered for the
sake of the gold beads."
"Then you have proved all I wished, Kathleen; and now I tell you that
this little girl is alive, and that I can produce the necklace which was
lost with her; and more, that she was taken away by Sir Henry himself."
"Merciful Jesus!" replied Kathleen; "the dear little child that we cried
over so much."
"But now, Kathleen, I have told you this, to prove to you that I am not
what McDermott has asserted, no doubt, with the intention that my brains
shall be knocked out this night."
"And so they will, sure enough," replied Kathleen, "if you do not
escape."
"But how am I to escape? and will you assist me?"
And I laid down on the table ten guineas from my purse.
"Take that, Kathleen, and it will help you and Corny. Now will you
assist me?"
"It's Corny that will be the first to knock your brains out," replied
Kathleen, "unless I can stop him. I must go now, and I'll see what can
be done."
Kathleen would have departed without touching the gold; but I caught her
by the wrist, collected it, and put it into her hand.
"That's not like a tithe proctor, at all events," replied Kathleen; "but
my heart aches and my head swims, and what's to be done I know not." So
saying, Kathleen quitted the room.
"Well," thought I, after she had left the room, "at all events I have
not been on a wrong scent this time. Kathleen has proved to me that
Fleta is the daughter of the late Sir William; and if I escape this
snare, Melchior shall do her justice." Pleased with my having so
identified Melchior and Fleta, I fell into a train of thought, and for
the first time forgot my perilous situation, but I was roused from my
meditations by an exclamation from Kathleen. "No, no, Corny, nor any of
ye--not now--and mother and me to witness it--it shall not be, Corny,
hear me, as sure as blood's drawn, and we up to see it, so sure does
Corny O'Toole never touch this hand of mine." A pause, and whispering
followed, and again all appeared to be quiet. I unstrapped my
portmanteau, took out my pistols, which were loaded, re-primed them, and
remained quiet, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible.
It was more than half an hour before Kathleen returned; she looked pale
and agitated. "Keep quiet, and do not think of resistance," said she;
"it is useless. I have told my mother all, and she believes you, and
will risk her life to save him who has watched over the little girl whom
she nursed; but keep quiet, we shall soon have them all out of the
house. Corny dare not disobey me, and he will persuade the others."
She then went out again, and did not return for nearly an hour, when she
was accompanied by her mother. "Kathleen has told me all, young sir,"
said she, "and do what we can, we will; but we hardly know what to do.
To go to the castle would be madness."
"Yes," replied I: "but cannot you give me one of your horses to return
the way I came?"
"That was our intention; but I find that the O'Tooles have taken them
all out of the stable to prevent me; and the house is watched. They
will come at midnight and attack us, that I fully expect, and how to
conceal you puzzles my poor head."
"If they come, we can but persuade them that he has escaped," replied
Kathleen; "they will no longer watch the house, and he will then have
some chance."
"There is but one chance," replied the mother, who took Kathleen aside,
and whispered to her. Kathleen coloured to the forehead, and made no
reply. "If your mother bids you, Kathleen, there can be no harm."
"Yes; but if Corny was--"
"He dare not," replied the mother; "and now put this light out, and do
you get into bed, sir, with your clothes on." They led me to a small
bed-room, a miserable affair; but in that part of the country considered
respectable. "Lie down there," said the mother, "and wait till we call
you." They took the light away, and left me to myself and my own
reflections, which were anything but pleasant. I lay awake, it might be
for two hours, when I heard the sound of feet, and then a whispering
under the window, and shortly afterwards a loud knocking at the door,
which they were attempting to burst open. Every moment I expected that
it would yield to the violence which was made use of, when the mother
came down half-dressed, with a light in her hand, hastened to me, and
desired me to follow her. I did so, and before she left my room, she
threw the window wide open. She led me up a sort of half-stairs,
half-ladder, to a small room, where I found Kathleen sitting up in her
bed, and half-dressed. "O mother! mother!" cried Kathleen.
"I bid ye do it, child," replied the mother, desiring me to creep into
her daughter's bed, and cover myself up on the side next the wall.
"Let me put on more clothes, mother."
"No, no, if you do, they will suspect, and will not hesitate to search.
Your mother bids you."
The poor girl was burning with shame and confusion.
"Nay," replied I, "if Kathleen does not wish it, I will not buy my
safety at the expense of her feelings."
"Yes, yes," replied Kathleen, "I don't mind now; those words of yours
are sufficient. Come in, quick."