"He's a burglar like as not," thought Hannah, but there was something so masterful and big and grave about this dark-eyed man that she could not by any possibility attempt to oppose him. She accordingly put him into the study and a few minutes later John Mansfield entered the room. John Mansfield was thought a tall man by his English parishioners, but as he crossed the room to welcome the stranger, who was totally and completely a stranger to him, he looked small by comparison with Fergus Desmond.
Fergus, however, was immediately fired by that curious admiration for the man himself, which all those who knew him felt. There was, according to Phinias, "the spiritual eye" very distinctly visible in John Mansfield.
"I must introduce myself," said Fergus. "I am an Irishman."
"Ah, to be sure, sit down, won't ye?" said John Mansfield. His heart gave a thump in his breast. Ireland for him at that moment only meant Desmondstown, where his little Margot, his little treasure, was staying.
"And my name," continued Fergus, dropping into a chair, "is Fergus Desmond."
"Not—not of Desmondstown!" gasped John Mansfield. "My God, speak the truth at once, lad—not of Desmondstown?"
"Yes, of Desmondstown, where else?"
"Then you have brought bad news—something has gone wrong with my—my little darling."
"No, sir, nothing has gone wrong. Ease your mind, once and for all. The child has won the love of everyone in the house, and The Desmond and Madam they want to keep her. That's what I've come about, Mr. Mansfield. For the matter of that, you are my brother-in-law, sir. You have married my sister Priscilla."
"I have so," said Mansfield, "and she's a good woman."