Andy moved off. Before going, however, he had something to say, as usual:—
“Tell me, Misther Art”—this new name startled me, Andy had evidently taken me into his public family—“do ye think Misther Dick”—this was another surprise—“has an eye on Miss Norah?” There was a real shock this time.
“I see him lukin’ at her wance or twice as if he’d like to ate her; but, bedad, it’s no use if he has, for she wouldn’t luk at him. No wondher! an’ him helpin’ to be takin’ her father’s houldin’ away from him.”
I could not answer Andy’s question as to poor old Dick’s feelings, for such was his secret, and not mine; but I determined not to let there be any misapprehension regarding his having a hand in Murdock’s dirty work, so I spoke hotly:—
“You tell anyone that dares to say that Dick Sutherland has any act or part, good or bad—large or small—in that dirty ruffian’s dishonourable conduct, that he is either a knave or a fool—at any rate he is a liar! Dick is simply a man of science engaged by Murdock, as any other man of science might be, to look after some operations in regard to his bog.”
Andy’s comment was made sotto voce, so I thought it better not to notice it.
“Musha! but the bogs iv all kinds is gettin’ mixed up quarely. Here’s another iv them. Misther Dick is engaged to luk afther the bogs. An’ so he does, but his eyes goes wandherin’ among thim. There does be bogs iv all kinds now all over these parts. It’s quare times we’re in, or I’m gettin’ ould!”
With this Parthian shaft Andy took himself down the hill, and presently I saw the good effects of his presence in stimulating the workmen to more ardent endeavours, for they all leaned on their spades whilst he told them a long story, which ended in a tumult of laughter.
I might have enjoyed the man’s fun, but I was in no laughing humour. I had got anxious long ago because she had not visited the hill-top. I looked all round, but could see no sign of her anywhere. I waited and waited, and the time truly went on leaden wings. The afternoon sun smote the hill-top with its glare, more oppressive always than even the noontide heat.
I lingered on and lingered still, and hope died within me.