"How did she come to have the care of Miss Winifred and to live in the old castle?" I inquired.
"Well, none of us knows—that is, to be sure about it. Master Roderick, he was a gay, sportin' lad. I mind him well, tearin' about the country on his white horse, stoppin' a night now at the ould place above; and away agin, no one knew whither. His father, who owned the place before him and lived in it every year for a few weeks, was dead and so were all belongin' to him." The landlord drew breath and lowered his voice somewhat. "Well, in some of his wanderin's about the country what does he do but get married, an' we never seen the bride down here at all, at all; but it was the talk of the country-side that she was of a fine ould stock an' a rale lady. But he never brought her next or nigh the ould place. Perhaps it was ashamed of its bein' ruinous-like or afeard of the gossip of the country-side."
I listened with the deepest attention.
"It was on All-Hallow-Eve that Winifred there came to the castle. Mrs. Meehan, who had been nurse to Master Roderick himself, was brought up from the village in haste. Fires were lighted, beds got ready, and toward nightfall a gentleman in black rode up to the castle door. Now, some that saw him say it was the young gentleman himself riding his white horse, but more says it was a stranger; and coming the way he did and on that night of all nights! It's a quare story, and no wonder that the child's different from other childer."
"How old was she when she came?"
The landlord reflected.
"Well, I think it would be about seven, though none of us ever rightly knew."
"Did the father visit her?"
"From that time to this," said the landlord, impressively, "he was never seen in the country-side. There seemed to be some secret or other in the business; and Granny Meehan never opened her mouth about it, only bowin' and scrapin' with Miss Winifred here and Miss Winifred there. Some do say that she's afeard of the colleen, and knows well enough that she's not of mortal stock. But that's the ould people!" he concluded, with a toss of the head. "Meself thinks she's Master Roderick's daughter; though why he should give her up and never come near her is more than any mortal can tell."
"It is a curious story," I said; "quite a romance, and fits in well with your lovely country here and the remains of that grand old castle. But who is this curious companion Winifred goes about with and does not care to name?"