“How very kind,” said Daireen. “But can he tell me where I live ashore, for no one has thought fit to let me know anything about myself. I will never forgive you, Mrs. Crawford, for ordering that I was not to be awakened this morning. It was too cruel.”
“Only to be kind, dear; I knew what a state of nervousness you were in.”
“And now of course,” continued the girl, “when I come on deck all the news will have been told—even that secret about the Castaway Islands.”
“Heavens':” said the colonel, “what about the Castaway Islands? Have they been submerged, or have they thrown off the British yoke already?”
“I see you know all,” she said mournfully, “and I had treasured up all that Mr. Harwood said no one in the world but himself knew, to be the first to tell you. And now, too, you know every one aboard except—ah, I have my secret to tell at last. There he stands, and even you don't remember him, papa. Come here, Standish, and let me present you. This, papa, is Standish Macnamara, and he is coming out with us now to wherever we are to live.”
“Good gracious, Daireen!” cried Mrs. Crawford.
“What, Standish, Prince of Innishdermot!” said the colonel. “My dear boy, I am delighted to welcome you to this strange place. I remember you when your curls were a good deal longer, my boy.”
Poor Standish, who was no longer in his sailor's jacket, but in the best attire his Dublin tailor could provide, blushed most painfully as every one gazed at him—every one with the exception of Daireen, who was gazing anxiously around the deck as though she expected to see some one still.
“This is certainly a secret,” murmured Mrs. Crawford.
“Now, Daireen, to the shore,” said Colonel Gerald. “You need not say good-bye to any one here. Mrs. Crawford will be out to dine with us to-morrow. She will bring the major and Doctor Campion, and Mr. Harwood says he will ride one of my horses till he gets his own. So there need be no tears. My man will look after the luggage while I drive you out.”