"We do the best we can, Mr. Creagh," said he, interrupting the priest. "And no good will be done at such a time as this by unnecessary difficulties."
"No, no, certainly not. But still I do think—" And Mr. Creagh was girding up his loins for eloquence, when he was again interrupted.
"I am rather in a hurry to-day," said Herbert, "and therefore, if you please, we won't make any change now. Never mind the book to-day, Sally. Good day, Mr. Creagh." And so saying, he left the shop and walked rapidly back out of the village.
The poor coadjutor was left alone at the shop-door, anathematizing in his heart the pride of all Protestants. He had been told that this Mr. Fitzgerald was different from others, that he was a man fond of priests and addicted to the "ould religion;" and so hearing, he had resolved to make the most of such an excellent disposition. But he was forced to confess to himself that they were all alike. Mr. Somers could not have been more imperious, nor Mr. Townsend more insolent.
And then, through the still drizzling rain, Herbert walked on to Desmond Court. By the time that he reached the desolate-looking lodge at the demesne gate, he was nearly wet through, and was besmeared with mud up to his knees. But he had thought nothing of this as he walked along. His mind had been intent on the scene that was before him. In what words was he to break the news to Clara Desmond and her mother? and with what words would they receive the tidings? The former question he had by no means answered to his own satisfaction, when, all muddy and wet, he passed up to the house through that desolate gate.
"Is Lady Desmond at home?" he asked of the butler. "Her ladyship is at home," said the gray-haired old man, with his blandest smile, "and so is Lady Clara." He had already learned to look on the heir of Castle Richmond as the coming saviour of the impoverished Desmond family.
CHAPTER XXVI.
COMFORTLESS.
"But, Mr. Herbert, yer honor, you're wet through and through—surely," said the butler, as soon as Fitzgerald was well inside the hall. Herbert muttered something about his being only damp, and that it did not signify. But it did signify,—very much,—in the butler's estimation. Whose being wet through could signify more; for was not Mr. Herbert to be a baronet, and to have the spending of twelve thousand a year; and would he not be the future husband of Lady Clara? not signify indeed!