‘The captain is telling me how he put down the Fenians in the rising of ‘61,’ said Nina calmly.
‘And did he? I say, Curtis, have you really suppressed rebellion in Ireland?’
‘No; nor won’t, Mr. Joe Atlee, till we put down the rascally press—the unprincipled penny-a-liners, that write treason to pay for their dinner.’
‘Poor fellows!’ replied Atlee. ‘Let us hope it does not interfere with their digestion. But seriously, mademoiselle, does it not give you a great notion of our insecurity here in Ireland when you see to what we trust, law and order.
‘Never mind him, Curtis,’ said Kilgobbin. ‘When these fellows are not saying sharp things, they have to be silent.’
While the conversation went briskly on, Nina contrived to glance unnoticed at her watch, and saw that it wanted only a quarter of an hour to nine. Nine was the hour she had named to Donogan to be in the garden, and she already trembled at the danger to which she had exposed him. She reasoned thus: so reckless and fearless is this man, that, if he should have come determined to see me, and I do not go to meet him, he is quite capable of entering the house boldly, even at the cost of being captured. The very price he would have to pay for his rashness would be its temptation.’
A sudden cast of seriousness overcame her as she thus thought, and Kate, perceiving it, rose at once to retire.
‘You were not ill, dearest Nina? I saw you grow pale, and I fancied for a moment you seemed faint.’
‘No; a mere passing weakness. I shall lie down and be better presently.’
‘And then you’ll come up to aunt’s room—I call godmother aunt now—and take tea with Gorman and us all.’