“In the secret?” says my lord. “What do you mean, Henry? I give you my word, I am in no secret from which you are excluded.”
The Master had changed countenance, and I saw he was struck in a joint of his harness.
“How?” says Mr. Henry, turning to him with a huge appearance of surprise. “I see you serve your masters very faithfully; but I had thought you would have been humane enough to set your father’s mind at rest.”
“What are you talking of? I refuse to have my business publicly discussed. I order this to cease,” cries the Master very foolishly and passionately, and indeed more like a child than a man.
“So much discretion was not looked for at your hands, I can assure you,” continued Mr. Henry. “For see what my correspondent writes”—unfolding the paper—“‘It is, of course, in the interests both of the Government and the gentleman whom we may perhaps best continue to call Mr. Bally, to keep this understanding secret; but it was never meant his own family should continue to endure the suspense you paint so feelingly; and I am pleased mine should be the hand to set these fears at rest. Mr. Bally is as safe in Great Britain as yourself.’”
“Is this possible?” cries my lord, looking at his son, with a great deal of wonder and still more of suspicion in his face.
“My dear father,” says the Master, already much recovered. “I am overjoyed that this may be disclosed. My own instructions, direct from London, bore a very contrary sense, and I was charged to keep the indulgence secret from every one, yourself not excepted, and indeed yourself expressly named—as I can show in black and white unless I have destroyed the letter. They must have changed their mind very swiftly, for the whole matter is still quite fresh; or rather, Henry’s correspondent must have misconceived that part, as he seems to have misconceived the rest. To tell you the truth, sir,” he continued, getting visibly more easy, “I had supposed this unexplained favour to a rebel was the effect of some application from yourself; and the injunction to secrecy among my family the result of a desire on your part to conceal your kindness. Hence I was the more careful to obey orders. It remains now to guess by what other channel indulgence can have flowed on so notorious an offender as myself; for I do not think your son need defend himself from what seems hinted at in Henry’s letter. I have never yet heard of a Durrisdeer who was a turncoat or a spy,” says he, proudly.
And so it seemed he had swum out of this danger unharmed; but this was to reckon without a blunder he had made, and without the pertinacity of Mr. Henry, who was now to show he had something of his brother’s spirit.
“You say the matter is still fresh,” says Mr. Henry.
“It is recent,” says the Master, with a fair show of stoutness and yet not without a quaver.