"If you wish it. But why this excitement? It's the dullest place in the world."
"Dull--dull! Why, she's there by this time!"
"Who, in the name of mercy?"
"Mrs. Davenport."
CHAPTER XXX.
[ANOTHER VISITOR.]
O'Brien was struck dumb. "Mrs. Davenport," he thought, in a dazed, unbelieving way--"Mrs. Davenport at Kilcash! It can't be possible. There is some mistake." Here was a complication on which he had never counted--which it would have been idle to anticipate. The position in which he found himself was perplexing, absurd. It was useless to hope any longer that Alfred was not desperately in love with this woman, who had recently been the central figure in a most notorious and unpleasant inquiry. Alfred had seen her only a few times, and could not have exchanged a word with her since that awful night. It was absurd.
"Mrs. Davenport," said Jerry, slowly, "had, I thought, gone away by this time. How do you know she is in Ireland, or on her way there? Who told you?"
Alfred smiled and sat down.
"A friend found it out for me. She did go to France for a week, but she came back the day before yesterday, and is in Ireland now. I am most anxious to see her again. Poor woman!--she must have suffered horribly."