The letter was not a long one, and, in brief, was nothing more or less than an invitation from Desmond, asking my mistress to go on a visit to him at Askeaton, where his countess would give her a warm welcome, so soon as spring was come, or as early as would be convenient for her.
With regard to any rising against the Queen he said not a word, but intimated that he was very desirous of meeting one of whom he had heard so much, and of discussing with her such matters as affected their mutual interests.
This last phrase Grace O’Malley took as a hint that the Earl, not caring to commit himself to anything definite on paper, was of the same mind as herself, for they had no interests in common save such as lay in the expulsion of the English from the island.
Now the message my mistress had sent him was frank and open, so that there could not be two opinions as to its import. But these words of his, it seemed to me, partook in no degree of the same character. They might mean much or little or even nothing at all, so vague were they.
If I had not seen the Earl my view might have been different, but in the cloudiness of his letter I again saw his weakness and want of purpose. I did not, I could not, suspect him of anything worse. However, Grace O’Malley, although I expressed to her what I felt about Desmond, was assured that he could only mean one thing, and that was that he shared in her ideas, and would be ready to give such effect to them as he could.
“Yes,” said she, “Garrett Desmond is the man.”
And she was the more certain of this when I went on to tell her that I had heard a great deal at Askeaton, and that with hardly a pretence of secrecy, of the army which the King of Spain was to send in aid of the Irish the following year.
“Do you not see,” said she, “that Desmond must be heart and soul in the business, or else he would have suffered none of this talk of Philip of Spain?”
I had, indeed, made a similar reflection when at Desmond’s castle, but what I distrusted was the character and strength of the man himself. But my mistress was my mistress, so I said no more then of the Earl.
I had had no small disputings with myself as to whether I should tell Grace O’Malley about what had occurred with respect to Sabina Lynch or not. I could not blame myself, albeit these very searchings of my spirit did show some doubt if I had done what was best, and tell her I did.