They saw at a little distance the figure of a tall old man carrying a gun, and followed by a couple of sporting dogs.
“Daireen,” said Standish, stopping suddenly as if a thought had just struck him. “Daireen, promise me that you will not let anything my father may say here to-day make you think badly of me.”
“Good gracious! why should I ever do that? What is he going to say that is so dreadful?”
“I cannot tell you, Daireen; but you will promise me;” he had seized her by the hand and was looking with earnest entreaty into her eyes. “Daireen,” he continued, “you will give me your word. You have been such a friend to me always—such a good angel to me.”
“And we shall always be friends, Standish. I promise you this. Now let go my hand, like a good boy.”
He obeyed her, and in a few minutes they had met Daireen's grandfather, Mr. Gerald, who had been coming towards them.
“What, The Macnamara here? then I must hasten to him,” said the old gentleman, handing his gun to Standish.
No one knew better than Mr. Gerald the necessity that existed for hastening to The Macnamara, in case of his waiting for a length of time in that room the sideboard of which was laden with bottles.