“That wasn’t what happened to me, my lord,” said Denis regretfully; “’twas a black day fer Ireland; yer lordship niver spake a thruer word! But, as fer me, my shoes had bin running away from me so—the very divil seemed to be in ’em—that I cut some stout thongs of hide and bound those boots to me legs before I wint into the battle, fer, thought I, av I don’t I’ll be afther losing them, the jewels! I was right in the thick of it, an’ a hot day it was, as yer honor knows, and but for that divil of a Dutchman that they call king, we moight have won, but he drove his men through the river loike a demon! Well, sir, I was right in the thick of the carnage; I’d jist cut a clane swathe through the Dutch Blues, and I was daling death and desthruction on ivery side, following in th’ thrack of Sarsfield, whin, all of a suddent, me shoes turned me around and comminced to run. I was beside meself with the shame of it, me lord. I cut at those thongs with my sword an’ I swore an’ called on the saints and the divils, but niver a bit could I get those boots off, and away they ran, loike the wind, splash through the mud and the mire, and they niver sthopped until we reached Dublin; but, my lord,” Denis lowered his voice and winked one eye, “even my shoes didn’t get there—before King James!”
“Alas, no,” said his master sternly, “it was a king we lacked,” and he rose and walked twice across the room, his face darkly clouded.
His man watched him keenly, with an expression of deep concern and simple affection,—the humble devotion of a faithful dog.
“You will clean my sword and call me an hour before sunrise, Denis,” he said; “I will snatch some hours’ rest, even if it happens to be my turn to-morrow,” and he laughed as he began to cast off his garments with his servant’s help.
Denis shook his head sadly. “Ah, me Lord Clancarty,” he said with a break in his voice, “’twould be a sad day fer me, and you are so ready to die with a smile on your lips. Ye were iver so, but ye’ll break a heart some day, me lord, jist as recklessly—an’ ye’ll forgive me fer saying it.”
“There is not much that I would not forgive you, old Denis,” said the young nobleman kindly, “we’re old friends and tried. But what have I to live for at best, unless it be the headsman’s block? I am a proscribed and penniless outlaw, Denis; if, by any chance, I am recognized, I go to the Tower. I have no friends here; not even my wife knows who I am—and why should she? It seems but folly to think of her, when I have only an exile’s life to offer her—I am a fool, a wretched fool!”
“Indade, me lord, ye greatly misjudge a woman av you think she’ll be afther counting yer money—or the costs ayther,” said Denis quietly; “a woman niver thinks of it, bless her heart, she jist falls in love, and thin to the divil with prudence or wisdom ayther. And, by the Virgin, me Lady Clancarty is none of yer cowards. I’ve sane the spark in her eye, me lord, and if it plazes her, she’ll fight yer battles, sir, to the ind of time.”
Lord Clancarty smiled. “Exactly, Denis,” said he, “but if I do not please her?”
Denis was on his knees, drawing off his master’s shoes.
“She’d be a blind woman, thin, sir,” he said, “and faix, I’ll wager me lady knows a foine man whin she sees wan. But, pshaw, sir, by to-morrow night ye may be stark and stiff and ready for the churchyard,” and Denis shook his head dolefully.