The Irishman shut his lips stubbornly; he did not trust the daughter of Lord Sunderland.
“Will you not tell me?” cried Betty, in distress, “I know that he is wounded—I must see him! I will not be denied! I command you—nay,” she added, reading his inflexible face, “I beg and pray you,—give me news of him!”
Denis eyed her closely, relenting just a little, and that little was enough.
“He’s very ill,” he said sullenly.
“Is he in danger?” cried Lady Clancarty, tears gathering in her eyes, “tell me, man, tell me,” and she wrung her hands. “Can’t gold tempt you? Take me to him!”
Denis made a strange motion; it seemed as if he would snatch her purse and then forbore to do it, but his eyes devoured it.
“Faix, I don’t know av I can thrust ye,” he said, looking at her keenly; “ye’ve done him harm enough already.”
“But I trust you!” cried Lady Betty, “I am your master’s wife,—take me to him. See, I will go with you alone—can’t you trust me now?”
The man looked down yet a little while, in evident hesitation, and she watched him, trembling, not with fear, like another woman, but with hope.
“Faix, I’ll take ye,” he said bluntly, “if ye’ll go alone. Look ye, me lady, if ye bethray him, I’d as lief kill ye as not. I love me lord!”