“Thank God,” muttered O'Donoghue; “that scoundrel never leaves me a night's rest, when I hear he's in the neighbourhood. Will you see what's in it, Archy?—my head is quite confused this morning; I got up three hours before my time.”
Sir Archibald resumed his spectacles, and broke the seal. The contents were at some length it would seem, for as he perused the letter to himself, several minutes elapsed.
“Go on, Kerry,” said O'Donoghue; “I want to hear all about this business.”
“Well, I believe your honour knows the most of it now; for when I came up to the glen, they were all safe over, barrin' the mare; poor Kittane, she was carried down the falls, and they took her up near a mile below the old bridge, stone dead; Master Mark will fret his heart out when he hears it.”
“This is a very polite note,” interposed Sir Archy, as he laid the letter open before him, “from Sir Marmaduke Travers, begging to know when he may be permitted to pay his personal respects to you, and express his deep and grateful sense—his own words—of your son's noble conduct in rescuing his daughter at the hazard of his life. It is written with much modesty and good sense, and the writer canna be other than a true gentleman.”
“Travers—Travers,” repeated O'Donoghue; “why that's the man himself. It was he bought the estate; he's Hemsworth's principal.”
“And if he be,” replied M'Nab, “canna an honest man ha'e a bad servant? There's nothing about Hemsworth here. It's a ceevil demand from one gentleman to anither.”
“So it is, then, Sir Marmaduke, that has been staying at the lodge these some weeks past. That was Mark's secret—poor dear boy, he wouldn't tell me, fearing it would annoy me. Well, what is it he wants.”
“To visit you, O'Donoghue.”
“What nonsense; the mischiefs done already. The mortgage is forclosed; and as for Carrignacurra, they can do nothing before the next term; Swaby says so, at least.”