CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRAYNOR AS ORATOR
Three weeks rolled over,—an interval not without its share of interest for the inhabitants of the little village of Leenane, since on one morning Mr. Craggs had made his appearance on his way to Clifden, and after an absence of two days returned to the Castle. The subject for popular discussion and surmise had not yet declined, when a boat was seen to leave Glencore, heavily laden with trunks and travelling gear; and as she neared the land, the “lord” was detected amongst the passengers, looking very ill,—almost dying; he passed up the little street of the village, scarcely noticing the uncovered heads which saluted him respectfully. Indeed, he scarcely lifted up his eyes, and, as the acute observers remarked, never once turned a glance towards the opposite shore, where the Castle stood.
He had not reached the end of the village, when a chaise with four horses arrived at the spot. No time was lost in arranging the trunks and portmanteaus, and Lord Glencore sat moodily on a bank, listlessly regarding what went forward. At length Craggs came up, and, touching his cap in military fashion, announced all was ready.
Lord Glencore arose slowly, and looked languidly around him; his features wore a mingled expression of weariness and anxiety, like one not fully awakened from an oppressive dream. He turned his eyes on the people, who at a respectful distance stood around, and in a voice of peculiar melancholy said, “Good-bye.”
“A good journey to you, my Lord, and safe back again to us,” cried a number together.
“Eh—what—what was that?” cried he, suddenly; and the tones were shrill and discordant in which he spoke.
A warning gesture from Craggs imposed silence on the crowd, and not a word was uttered.
“I thought they said something about coming back again,” muttered Glencore, gloomily.
“They were wishing you a good journey, my Lord,” replied Craggs.