Holding her hand, Harry went stealthily into the room, and drew her with him as quietly as possible, till they reached a corner of the room on the right of the fireplace. This corner was all shrouded in gloom, so that if the sleepers had awakened they could have seen nothing. Here the two found themselves quite secure for the time being; and as all the room was perfectly silent, they were not afraid to resume their stealthy whispers.
"Have you been lonely to-day, Katie?" asked Harry, in a tender voice.
"Oh, a little."
"A little!" repeated he, in a reproachful tone.
"But there's been such an awful lot of fun," said Katie; "I've been almost bursting to tell some one—that's you, you know."
"Fun?" said Harry, wonderingly; "what fun?"
"Oh, that absurd old Paddy King, Don Carlos, as he calls himself—only he's no more a king than I am. Don't you think he's some strolling Irish vagabond adventurer?"
"Irish vagabond? I don't know," said Harry. Now Harry had only heard "His Majesty" speak in Spanish, and therefore did not see the point at all.
"Well, for my part, I'm sure he's an Irishman," said Katie. "Mrs. Russell says that he learned some English from an Irish priest; but that wouldn't account for his queer songs."
"Songs?"