"If I could but catch him he would not travel far again. Was there no
news of him at Knockowen?"
"'Deed no; only lamenting from the ladies when his empty boat came
ashore."
Then they passed out of hearing, never even looking my way. At last,
when I judged they had abandoned the pursuit for a time and were
returned to Rathmullan, I ventured out on to the headland, and one day
even dared to walk as far as to the old cabin at Fanad.
It had become a ruin since I saw it last. The winter's winds had lifted
the thatch, and the wall on one side had tumbled in. There was no sign
of the old life we lived there. The little window from which the
guiding light had shone so often was fallen to pieces. Even the
friendly hearth within was filled with earth and rubbish.
I left it with a groan; it was like a grave. As I wandered forth,
turning my way instinctively to the old landing-place, a flash of oars
over the still water (it was a day of dead calm) sent my heart to my
mouth. The place was so desolate that even this hint of life startled
me. Who could it be that had found me out here?
Quick as thought I dropped on my hands and knees and crawled in among
the thick bracken at the path-side. There was one place I remembered of
old where Tim and I had often played--a deep sort of cup, grown full of
bracken, and capped by a big rock, which to any one who did not know it
seemed to lie flat on the soil. Hither I darted, and only just in time,
for the boat's keel grated on the stones as I slipped into cover.
I peered out anxiously and as best I could without showing myself. By
their footsteps and voices there were two persons. And when they came
nearer, and I caught a momentary glance as they climbed the path to the
cabin, I recognised in one of them the face of one of my late captors.
Whether they were here after me or on some other mischief I could not
guess. But I hid low, as you may fancy.
Then a sudden thought came to me. The boat was down at the pier. Why
should I stay where I was, hunted like a partridge, while across the
lough I should at least be no worse off, and have seven clear miles of
water between me and my pursuers? Now was my time if ever. Besides--
and once more I think I blushed, even under the bracken--on the other
side of the lough was my little Lady Kit.
So while the two men walked up the steep path to the cabin I slipped
from my hiding-place and ran down to the boat. And a minute later I was
clear of the land, with my bows pointing, as they had pointed so often
before, for the grim turrets of Kilgorman.