Some glimmering of Lady Fitzgerald's early history had been known to both of them, as it had been known almost to all in the country; but in late years this history had been so much forgotten, that men had ceased to talk of it, and this calamity therefore came with all the weight of a new misfortune.
"And, Æneas, who told you of it?" she asked, as they sat together over the fire, in their dingy, dirty parlour.
"Well, strange to say, I heard it first from Father Barney."
"Oh, mercy! and is it all about the country in that way?"
"Herbert, you know, has not been at any one of the Committees for the last ten days, and Mr. Somers for the last week past has been as silent as death; so much so, that that horrid creature, Father Columb, would have made a regular set speech the other day at Gortnaclough, if I hadn't put him down."
"Dear, dear, dear!" said Mrs. Townsend.
"And I was talking to Father Barney about this, to-day—about Mr. Somers, that is."
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"And then he said, 'I suppose you know what has happened at Castle Richmond?'"
"How on earth had he learned?" asked Mrs. Townsend, jealous that a Roman Catholic priest should have heard such completely Protestant news before the Protestant parson and his wife.