George sat bolt upright in his boat. "Never got my letters! Then how----"
"Ah, be aisy now, me dear young masther," pleaded Tim, and took a tiny note from his pocket. "This was all the mistress cud write, being watched like a mouse, an' by a cat too, divil take the slut."
George scarcely heard what Tim was saying. He was devouring two or three lines of Lesbia's dear writing, which stated that she would always be true to him, and that Tim would reveal all.
"Reveal what," cried the young man, kissing the letter before transferring it to his pocket.
"The divil's divarsions," grumbled Tim. "Write an answer, sor."
"I have no pencil, no paper," said George in dismay. "But tell me exactly what has occurred, Tim, and then I'll see what can be done."
Tim nodded. "Sure, it's dying for you she is, me dear sor. The masther wants her to marry the Captain, bad luck to his sowl!"
"I know that, but----"
"Howld yer whist, sor," growled the little man, flinging up his long arm. "I have mighty little time to spake. The masther doesn't trust me, forby he knows I wish to see me dear mistress happy wid you, sor, so he's got a she-divil in the house, Mrs. Petty by name, who kapes a watch inside. Thin there's Captain Sargent's man. The Shadow they call him for his thin looks, though Canning is his name, bad luck to it. He watches outside, an' whin your boat comes in sight he passes the worrd to Mrs. Petty an' she--may the father av lies fly away wid her--shuts Miss Lesbia in her room."
"But this is tyranny!" cried George, exasperated. "Do you mean to say that Mr. Hale has his daughter watched in this manner?"