Dyck smiled. “You’ve a lot of faith in me, Michael—but I’ll tell you this—I never was so thirsty in my life. My mouth’s like a red-hot iron. Send me some water. Give the warder sixpence, if you’ve got it, and send me some water. Then go to Will McCormick, and after that to my father.”
Michael shook his head dolefully.
“Mr. McCormick’s aisy—oh, aisy enough,” he said. “He’ll lep up at the idea of defendin’ you, but I’m not takin’ pleasure in goin’ to Miles Calhoun, for he’s a hard man these days. Aw, Mr. Dyck, he’s had a lot of trouble. Things has been goin’ wrong with Playmore. ‘Pon honour, I don’t know whether anny of it’ll last as long as Miles Calhoun lasts. There’ll be little left for you, Mr. Dyck. That’s what troubles me. I tell you it’d break my heart if that place should be lost to your father and you. I was born on it. I’d give the best years of the life that’s left me to make sure the old house could stay in the hands of the Calhouns. I say to you that while I live all I am is yours, fair and foul, good and bad.” He touched his breast with his right hand. “In here is the soul of Ireland that leps up for the things that matter. There’s a song—but never mind about a song; this is no place for songs. It’s a prison-house, and you’re a prisoner charged—”
“Not charged yet, not charged,” interrupted Dyck; “but suspected of and arrested for a crime. I’ll fight—before God, I’ll fight to the last! Good-bye, Michael; bring me food and clothes, and send me cold water at once.”
When the door closed softly behind Michael Clones, Dyck sat down on the bed where many a criminal patriot had lain. He looked round the small room, bare, unfurnished, severe-terribly severe; he looked at the blank walls and the barred window, high up; he looked at the floor—it was discoloured and damp. He reached out and touched it with his hand. He looked at the solitary chair, the basin and pail, and he shuddered.
“How awful—how awful!” he murmured. “But if it was her father, and if I killed him”—his head sank low—“if I killed her father!”
“Water, sir.”
He looked up. It was the guard with a tin of water and a dipper.