“I must know before three days,” interrupted M'Nab.
“His honour's waiting for Mr. Swaby,” said Kerry, who now ap-peared in the room, without either of the others having noticed his entrance.
Sir Archy rose with an angry brow, but spoke not a syllable, while he motioned Kerry to leave the room.
“You must join my brother-in-law, sir,” said he at last; “and if our conversation is not already become the gossip of the house, I entreat of you to keep it a secret.”
“That, of course,” said Swaby; “but I'm thinking I've hit on a way to meet your wishes, so we'll talk of the matter again this evening;” and thus saying, he withdrew, leaving Sir Archy in a frame of mind very far, indeed, from tranquil or composed.
Swaby's surprise at his interview with Sir Archy, whom he never had the slightest suspicion of possessing any property whatever, was even surpassed by his astonishment on hearing the favourable turn of O'Donoghue's affairs; and, while he bestowed the requisite attention to follow the old man's statement, his shrewd mind was also engaged in speculating what probable results might accrue from this unexpected piece of fortune, and how they could best be turned to his own benefit. O'Donoghue was too deeply interested in his own schemes, to question Swaby respecting his business with M'Nab, of which Kerry O'Leary had already given him a hint. The attorney was, therefore, free to deliberate in his own mind how far he might most advantageously turn the prosperity of the one, to the aid of the other, for the sole benefit of himself. It is not necessary, nor would it conduce to the object of this story, to ask the reader's attention to this interview. It will be enough to say, that Swaby heard with pleasure O'Donoghue's disclosure, recognizing, with practised acuteness, how far he could turn such unlooked-for prosperity to his own purposes, and subsidize one brother-in-law, at the expense of both.
While thus each within the limit of this narrow household was following out the thread of his destiny, eagerly bent on their several objects, Kate O'Donoghue sat alone, at the window of her chamber, buried in deep thought. The prospect of her approaching visit to the capital presented itself in so many aspects, that, while offering pleasures and enjoyments none relished more highly than herself, she yet saw difficulties which might render the step unadvisable, If not perilous. Of all considerations, money was the one which least had occupied any share in her calculations; yet now she bethought herself, that expense must necessarily be incurred, which her uncle's finances could but ill afford. No sooner had this thought occurred to her, than she was amazed it had not struck her before, and she felt actually startled, lest, in her eagerness for the promised pleasure, she had only listened to the suggestion of selfishness. In a moment more she determined to decline the invitation. She was not one to take half measures when she believed a point of principle to be engaged; and the only difficulty now lay, how and in what manner to refuse an offer proffered with so much kindness. The note itself must open the way, thought she, and at the instant she remembered how Mark had taken it from the breakfast-table.
She heard his heavy step as he paced backwards and forwards in his chamber overhead, and without losing another moment, hastily ascended the stairs to his door; her hand was already outstretched to knock, when suddenly she hesitated; a strange confusion came over her faculties—how would Mark regard her request?—would he attribute it to over-eagerness on the subject of the invitation. Such were the questions which occurred to her; and as quick came the answer—“And let him think so. I shall certainly not seek to undeceive him. He alone, of all here, has vouchsafed me neither any show of his affection nor his confidence.” The flush mounted to her cheek, and her eyes darkened with the momentary excitement; and at the same instant the door was suddenly thrown open, and Mark stood before her.
Such was his astonishment, however, that for some seconds he could not speak; when at last he uttered in a low, deep voice—
“I thought I heard a hand upon the lock, and I am so suspicious of that fellow, Kerry, who frequently plays the eaves-dropper here——”