“I am very glad to serve you, Mr. Trevor,” the young man replied, blushing like a girl, “I thought Lord Savile’s attitude toward you quite unwarranted.”
“We Irishmen do not look for courtesy at the hands of our conquerors, except in a few rare instances,” Clancarty said; “but it is due to you, Sir Edward, to tell you that my name is not Trevor; I assumed it for convenience only; I am the proscribed exile, Donough Macarthy of Clancarty.”
Young Mackie stopped short with a gasp.
“Lady Clancarty’s husband!” he cried, turning deadly pale.
Lord Clancarty bowed. “The same,” he said smiling, “and in telling you, I confide in your honor not to reveal my identity—even to Lady Clancarty, unless I fall, and then—I would have her ladyship know that she was free.”
But young Mackie had not yet recovered his composure; he stared at the earl strangely.
“Does she not divine your identity?” he asked, and the pain in his face was so easy to read that Lady Clancarty’s husband smiled again.
“I think not,” he responded; “but we must go on unless we would be tardy at keeping the tryst.” Then he glanced sharply at the boy, “I take it for granted that you are willing to stand by me; if not—I fully pardon you, Sir Edward, and I can go alone.”
Young Mackie’s face crimsoned.
“Nay, my lord,” he said bluntly, “I did not offer to stand by you for love, but for honor’s sake, and now—I will—for her sake,” and he raised his hat reverently.