Like O'Brien, he came to the conclusion that impossible ghost or still more impossible man, the affair was none of his. He wasn't going mad; that was the great thing.
That day the two friends chatted the matter over while they sat before O'Hanlon's fire after dinner, and they both agreed that they would then and there say good-bye to Mr. Michael Fahey, whether he was matter or spirit.
The solicitor had no more certain news of the beastly Fishery Commissioners. They were still hovering about the neighbourhood; but no one alive, themselves included, could tell what they were going to do, or were not going to do, but they were still deucedly hard on weirs. And--no; it would not be at all safe for Jerry to go to London--just at present.
The two friends separated early, Jerry going back to "The Munster." He had no desire for a further time in Kilcash. Alfred Paulton would be soon fit to travel, and then once more he should go back to the village; but he now had business to watch in Kilbarry. Certificates, and memorials, and declarations, and so on, had to be obtained or attended to, and although O'Hanlon did all the business in connection with the weirs and the Commissioners, both men deemed Jerry's presence advisable. He was extremely popular in the town, and the request of a principal is always more efficacious than that of an agent.
He had been only a few days at "The Munster," when a letter put into his hand one morning caused him an agreeable surprise. The envelope bore the London postmark, and the superscription, shaky though it happened to be, was unmistakably in the handwriting of Alfred himself.
Jerry broke the cover hastily, and read the brief pencil note with pleasure, until he came to the last two sentences--"I do not know where she is. They will not tell me anything about her."
"Not cured, by Jove!" said Jerry to himself, with disappointment. "One would think his illness and relapse would have put some sense into his head, or knocked some nonsense out of it. But, after all, what is there wrong in it? Why shouldn't he fall in love with whom he likes? She is older than he, and I am sure she would not marry him, even if a sleepy Government would only have the good sense and good taste to hang Blake instead of worrying honest folk about weirs and other things. Alfred is the best fellow in the world. Who could associate with Madge and not be good--except, of course, myself? But Alfred is dull; there's no denying that. He's more than a trifle mutton-headed. Madge has all the brains of the family, and the best heart, too, only she's going to throw that away. Is she? Wait till you see, Madge. My darling!"
He crooked his arm and held it out from him, and looked at the sleeve of his coat tenderly, as though a head rested there.
"I'll spoil you with love when I get you. Spoil you with love! No woman ever yet was spoiled with love. It's the flattery and foolishness which spring from a desire to win a woman any way, no matter how, so long as you win, that spoil women. I'd like to see a Fishery Commissioner spooning. By Jove, it would be a fine thing if a fellow had a sister a Commissioner was spooning! First you could get him to allow you to do anything you liked, and the moment he turned crusty, you would only have to ask your sister to poison him. I'm sorry I haven't a sister. But, stay, I will have one soon. Edith must marry a Commissioner. When Madge and I are settled, I will ask Edith to stay with us, and fill the house from garret to basement with Commissioners. (I wonder how many of the beasts there are?) But I must not say anything to Madge about this scheme until we are married. If I mentioned it now she might object to the poison--there is no depending on women, until they are married. But once a woman is married you may count on her for anything. Look at Lady Macbeth! What a wife she was to have at a fellow's elbow! Why, she wasn't merely a wife--she was a spouse. What the difference is I don't know; but I'm sure she was a spouse more than a wife--just as an awful father or mother is a parent. But what is it I was thinking of?"
Jerry could be cool and collected and coherent when he liked, but he did not like it now.