"I was," replied Mr. O'Moore. "Now I am an Australian. But come in, whoever you are, gentlemen; this house is at your service."
The invitation so hospitably given was accepted without ceremony. Lady Helena and Mary Grant, conducted by Mrs. O'Moore, entered the house, while the colonist's sons relieved the visitors of their fire-arms.
A large, cool, airy room occupied the ground-floor of the house, which was built of stout beams arranged horizontally. Several wooden benches, built into the walls, and painted in gay colors, ten stools, two oaken trunks, in which white china and jugs of polished pewter were arranged, and a long table, at which twenty people could be comfortably seated, constituted the furniture, worthy of the house and its hardy inhabitants.
Dinner was soon served. Dishes of soup smoked between roast beef and legs of mutton, flanked by large plates of olives, grapes, and oranges. The host and hostess had such an engaging air, and the fare was so tempting, so ample, and so abundantly furnished, that it would have been unbecoming not to accept this rural bounty. The domestics of the farm, the equals of their master, had already come to partake of the repast; and the host reserved the place of honor for the strangers.
"I expected you," said he, quietly, to Lord Glenarvan.
"You did?" replied the latter, very much surprised.
"I always expect those who are coming," replied the Irishman.
Then, in a grave voice, while his household stood respectfully, he invoked a Divine blessing. Lady Helena was much affected by his perfect simplicity of manner, and a look from her husband told her that he likewise was touched by it.