“We’re on an errand of mercy,” she said.
“Oh,” said Miss Rutherford, “not vengeance. I’m disappointed.”
“Mercy is a much nicer thing,” said Priscilla, “besides being more Christian.”
“All the same,” said Miss Rutherford, “I’m disappointed. Vengeance is far more exciting.”
“To a certain extent,” said Priscilla, “we’re taking vengeance too. At least Frank is, on account of his ankle you know. So you needn’t be disappointed.”
“That cheers me up a little,” said Miss Rutherford, “but do explain.”
“It’s quite simple really,” said Priscilla. “Though it may seem a little complicated. You explain, Cousin Frank, and be sure to begin at the beginning or she won’t understand.”
“Lord Torrington,” said Frank, “is Secretary of State for War, and his daughter, Lady Isabel—but perhaps I’d better tell you first that as I was coming over to Ireland I met——”
“‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,” said Priscilla, waving her hands towards the sea, “‘this dark and stormy water?’”
“‘Oh I’m the chief of Ulva’s Isle, and this Lord Ullin’s daughter.’ You know that poem, I suppose.”