“Whose name, madam?”
“The man—the dreadful man, who planned it all. Sick—Sickamore—no, not Sickamore—”
“Sickleton, perhaps,” said Cashel, strangely puzzled to make out what was coming.
“Yes, Sickleton had actually done the very same thing twice before, just to get possession of the rich plate and all the things on board.”
“This is too bad,” cried Cashel, indignantly; “really, madam, you must pardon my warmth, if it even verges on rudeness; but the gentleman whose name you have associated with such iniquitous suspicions saved all our lives.”
“That's what I like in him better than all,” whispered Aunt Fanny to Olivia; “he stands by his friends like a trump.”
“You have compelled me,” resumed Cashel, “to speak of what really I had much rather forget; but I shall insist upon your patience now for a few minutes, simply to rectify any error which may prevail upon this affair.”
With this brief prelude, Cashel commenced a narrative of the voyage from the evening of the departure from Kingstown to the moment of the vessel's sinking off the south coast.
If most of his auditors only listened as to an interesting anecdote, to others the story had a deeper meaning. The Kennyfecks were longing to learn how the excursion originated, and whether Lady Kilgoff's presence had been a pre-arranged plan, or a mere accidental occurrence.
“All's not lost yet, Livy,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck in her sister's ear. “I give you joy.” While a significant nod from Aunt Fanny seemed to divine the sentiment and agree with it.