“Neal,” said the other, turning quickly. “What brings you here? God, man, you mustn’t stay. My father is in the house and Lord O’Neill. Thank God the rest of them are gone.”
“What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?”
“There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it was who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such scrambling.”
“You and your father stayed,” said Neal.
“Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, Neal.”
The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. Clair she came close to Neal and whispered—
“There’s for you. There’s plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. I’ll be tongued by the master after, it’s like, but I’ll give it for the sake of Jemmy Hope, who’s a better gentleman than them that wears finer coats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor serving wench no more than if she’d been the first lady in the land.”
Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised him.
“O’Neill,” he said to his companion, “pardon me a moment. This is a young friend of mine to whom I would speak a word.”
He led Neal to the window.