“I’m going to propose that you shall follow me, sir,” replied the young man in an authoritative tone. “I understand that in conversation last night between your step-daughter and you and The—the owner of this vessel, the question of my name was brought up, and that it was decided that I was a fraud. Now, I’m not much given to making a fuss, but there are some things, especially at certain times, that I can’t stand—not for one little minute. This is one of ’em. Now I’m going to suggest that we hail one of those boats there and go ashore at once—you and Miss Kate and I—and clear this matter up without delay.”
“We’ll remain here till The O’Mahony returns!” said O’Daly, stiffly. “’T was his request. ’T is no interest of mine to clear the matther up, as you call it.”
“Well, it was no interest of mine, Mr. O’Daly,” remarked Bernard, placidly, “to go over the mining contracts you’ve made as trustee during the past dozen years and figure out all the various items of the estate’s income; but I’ve done it. It makes a very curious little balance-sheet. I had intended to fetch it down with me to-day and go over it with you in your underground retreat.”
“In the devil’s name, who are you?” snarled Cormac, with livid face and frightened eyes. “That’s just what I proposed we should go right and settle. If you object, why, I shall go alone. But in that case, it may happen that I shall have to discuss with the gentleman who has just arrived the peculiarities of that balance-sheet I spoke of. What do you think, eh?”
O’Daly did not hesitate.
“Sur, I’ll go wid you,” he said. “The O’Mahony has no head for figures. ’T would be flat injustice to bother him wid ’em, and he only newly landed.” Bernard walked lightly across the deck, humming a little tune to himself as he advanced, and baiting a short foot from where Kate stood.
“O’Daly’s going ashore with me,” he remarked. “He dare not!” she answered, over her shoulder. “The O’Mahony bade him stop here.”
“Well, this is more or less of a free country, and he’s changed his mind. He’s going with me. I—I want you to come, too.”
“’Tis loikely!” she said, with a derisive sniff.
“Kate,” he said, drawing nearer to her by a step and speaking in low, earnest tones, “I hate to plead this sort of thing; but you have nothing but candid and straightforward friendship from me. I’ve done a trifle of lying for you, perhaps, but none to you. I’ve worked for you as I never worked for myself. I’ve run risks for you which nothing else under the sun would have tempted me into. All that doesn’t matter. Leave that out of the question. I did it because I love you. And for that selfsame reason I come now and ask this favor of you. You can send me away afterward, if you like; but you can’t bear to stop here now, thinking these things of me, and refusing to come out and learn for yourself whether they are true or false, for that would be unfair, and it’s not in your blood—in our blood—to be that.”