Once again Dyck looked the visitor straight in the eyes, and back in the horizon of Mallow’s life-sky there shone the light of an evil star.
“There’s the call to dinner,” remarked Miles Calhoun, as a bell began ringing in the tower outside. “Come with me, Mr. Mallow, and I’ll show you your room. You’ve had your horse put up, I hope?”
“Yes, and my bag brought in.”
“Well, come along, then. There’s no time to lose. I can smell the porker crawling from the oven.”
“You’re a master of tempting thoughts,” remarked Mallow enthusiastically.
“Sheila—Sheila!” said Dyck Calhoun to himself where he stood.
CHAPTER III. THE QUARREL.
The journey to Dublin was made by the Calhouns, their two guests, and Michael Clones, without incident of note. Arrived there, Miles Calhoun gave himself to examination by Government officials and to assisting the designs of the Peep-o’-Day Boys; and indeed he was present at the formation of the first Orange Lodge.
His narrow nature, his petty craft and malevolence, were useful in a time of anxiety for the State. Yet he had not enough ability to develop his position by the chances offered him. He had not a touch of genius; he had only bursts of Celtic passion, which he had not mind enough to control.