"How d'ye do, my dear sir," said Charles. "Glad to see you out. I have been trying to kill a salmon with trout tackle, and have done quite the other thing."
Father Mackworth looked at him, but did not speak a word. Then he looked round, and young Murtagh Tiernay came up and led him away; and Charles got up on the road and watched the pair going home. And as he saw the tall narrow figure of Father Mackworth creeping slowly along, dragging his heels as he went, he said, "Poor old fellow, I hope he will live to forgive me."
Father Mackworth, poor fellow, dragged his heels homeward; and when he got into his room in the priest's tower, Murtagh Tiernay said to him, "My dear friend, you are not angry with me? I did not tell you that he was come back, I thought it would agitate you."
And Father Mackworth said slowly, for all his old decisive utterance was gone, "The Virgin bless you, you are a good man."
And Father Mackworth spoke truth. Both the Tiernays were good fellows, though papists.
"Let me help you off with your coat," said Murtagh, for Mackworth was standing in deep thought.
"Thank you," said Mackworth. "Now, while I sit here, go and fetch your brother."
Murtagh Tiernay did as he was told. In a few minutes our good jolly old Irish friend was leaning over Mackworth's chair.
"Ye're not angry that we didn't tell ye there was company?" he said.