“Some say it's all for the better,” resumed she, doubtfully. “But hush,—he's stirring; leave him quiet, and I 'll call you when he's ready.”
“And I can depend—”
“To be sure you can. He forgets many a thing; but no man living can say that he ever misremembered a duel.” And with these words, in a low whisper, she motioned Massingbred to the door.
Jack obeyed in silence, and, ascending to his room, lay down on the bed. He determined to pass the interval before morning in deep thought and self-examination; but, somehow, he had scarcely laid his head on the pillow when he fell off into a heavy sleep, sound and dreamless.
The day was just breaking when he was aroused by a somewhat rude shake, and a voice saying,—
“Come, up with you. We 've a sharp ride before us!”
Jack started up, and in an instant recalled all the exigencies of the hour.
“I have sent the 'tools' forward by a safe hand,” continued Magennis; “and Joan has a cup of tea ready for us below stairs. So lose no time now, and let us be off.”
The humble meal that awaited them was soon despatched, and they were speedily mounted on the pair of mountain ponies Magennis had provided, and whose equipments, even in the half-light of the morning, rather shocked Mas-singbred's notions of propriety,—one of his stirrup-leathers being a foot shorter than the other, while an old worsted bell-rope formed the snaffle-rein of his bridle.
The road, too, was rugged and precipitous, and many a stumble and scramble had they in the uncertain light; while the swooping rain dashed violently against them, and effectually precluded all thought of conversation. Two hours, that seemed like ten, brought them at length upon the highroad; after which, by a brisk canter of forty minutes, they reached Oughterard.