“They 're not very attentive, I must say, brother Peter, or they would not leave us standing, with our own gate locked against us.”
“I see Darby running as fast as he can. Here he comes!”
“Oh, by the powers, ye're welcome home, your honor's reverence, and the mistresses!” cried Darby, as he fumbled at the lock, and then failing in all his efforts,—not very wonderful, seeing that he had taken a wrong key,—he seized a huge stone, and, smashing the padlock at a blow, threw wide the gate to admit them.
“You are initiated at once into our Irish ways, Fifine,” said Miss Barrington. “All that you will see here is in the same style. Let that be repaired this evening, sir, and at your own cost,” whispered she to Darby, into whose hand at the same moment Peter was pressing a crown piece.
“'T is the light of my eyes to see your honors home again! 'Tis like rain to the new potatoes what I feel in my heart, and looking so fresh and well too! And the young lady, she isn't—”
From what dread anticipation Darby's sudden halt saved him the expression is not for me to say, but that Peter Barrington guessed it is probable, for he lay back in the carriage and shook with laughter.
“Drive on, sir,” said Miss Dinah to the postilion, “and pull up at the stone cross.”
“You can drive to the door now, ma'am,” said Darby, “the whole way; Miss Polly had the road made while you were away.”
“What a clever girl! Who could have thought it?” said Barrington.
“I opine that we might have been consulted as to the change. On a matter as important as this, Peter, I think our voices might have been asked.”