By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long winter evenings the listeners often “croon” an accompaniment, droning in low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with the singer’s voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with her, repeating “Ochone, ochone” down four notes from the octave of the keynote through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the end of the last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, which struck sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl’s voice died away, he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg Macllrea was beside them.
“I tell’t the master where ye were,” she said, “and I tell’t Mr. Donald. They couldn’t come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my lone. But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my song. I brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn’t be famished out here on the hillside.”
She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal’s feet.
“Sit down, Peg,” said Hope, “sit down and eat with us. You’re a good girl to think of bringing us the food, and you’ll be wanting some yourself after your walk.”
“I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be gettin’ back now. But I’ve a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He bid me tell you that you’re trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin’s house the morrow night at eight o’clock.”
CHAPTER X
Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk to Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the district through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in strong sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of troops would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command was perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and determined were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the smith fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number of men stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them was Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. They did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came within earshot.
“The place of the muster,” said the piper, “is the Roughfort. Mind you that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them.”
“And will M’Cracken be there?”