"Oh, auntie, if you only wouldn't," said the beseeching little Maureen.
"Child, I will. There is no saying what may happen if I don't go."
"May—may—I mean, would you like me to come with you?"
"You—you little brat—no. Get out of my way!"
Maureen said no more. Mrs. O'Brien with considerable difficulty found herself mounted on the tall dogcart, and soon The O'Shee, the lady, and the groom were out of sight. They went like a gust of wind, as Maureen said afterwards. Her heart was beating wildly. She was full of untold terror. She had no one to confide in, however, so she went, in her accustomed, steadfast sort of way, to prepare the best dinner she could think of for Uncle Pat. Pegeen always loved to have her in the kitchen, and soon she was very busy shelling peas and removing the stalks from enormous strawberries and whipping up a great bowl of cream. She hoped that step-auntie would stay a very long time with Colonel Herbert, and that her darling Uncle Pat would come back tired, weary, no doubt, but with no one to worry him, when he sat down to his excellent dinner.
Meanwhile the lady on the dogcart had a somewhat adventurous drive, for The O'Shee, worthy of his name, bolted and jibbed and shied at every single thing he met. Jacobs had not the slightest idea how to drive, so Mrs. O'Brien, who had, whatever her faults, plenty of courage, took the reins into her own hands, relegated the groom to the back seat, and by dint of wild exertion and desperate efforts got The O'Shee to the gates of Colonel Herbert's place, Rathclaren.
Now the dogcart was exceedingly shabby and the half-broken-in colt was not a pretty object, as he stood quivering and shaking, nor was Jacobs anything to boast of, for the only decent livery was worn by the servant who had taken the Rector and his son to Kingsala. Mrs. O'Brien therefore made up her mind to leave Jacobs and the colt and dogcart in a remote shady lane, while she herself walked gracefully up the avenue to Colonel Herbert's mansion.
Colonel Herbert was an old bachelor, one of the most noted hunters in the neighbourhood, and exceedingly particular about his dress and appearance. He had never liked Mrs. O'Brien, but he put up with her for the sake of that good man, the Rector. He certainly disliked Mrs. O'Brien's style of dress, which he considered most unsuitable for any lady. He was, however, a gentleman—every inch of him—and when Mrs. O'Brien explained that she had left her restless horse somewhere at the gates, and would like to have a talk with him over a matter of extreme privacy, he took her into his study, a luxuriously-appointed room, very different from the poor Rector's, and inquired anxiously how his dear friend the said Rector was.
"But poorly," said Mrs. O'Brien. "He may, however, revive; there is no saying. He has had the best medical advice, and I suppose will soon be himself again."
"I trust so, indeed," said Colonel Herbert. "Your husband, madam, is one of the saints of God."