Desmond’s countess grew pale and silent, and I noted that the furtive glances she stole at my mistress were touched at first with dismay, then with anger. She must have known the kind of stuff of which her husband was made, but her rage, as might be seen, was directed wholly against my mistress. I felt a sort of compunction, and sometimes wished that we had never come to Askeaton at all.
And this wish was made much stronger, for Richard Burke, who bore and endured for awhile the utmost torture when he saw how matters stood between Grace O’Malley and the Earl, told me that he could suffer to see it no longer, and so was determined to speak to her and remonstrate with her.
What passed between them I do not know, but it was of such a nature that the MacWilliam shortly afterwards withdrew in high dudgeon from the castle with all his men.
I attempted to restrain him from going, but in vain. He admitted that he had received no promise from Grace O’Malley of her hand, but as she had not repulsed him utterly when he had preferred his suit to her, and had come to Kerry at her request, he had hoped that the matter was in a fair way to be settled as he desired. Now, he said, she had no thought of him, her whole mind being taken up with Desmond.
I endeavoured to gainsay this, but without success, and I had sorrowfully to witness the departure of the Burkes from Askeaton. I so far prevailed upon him, however, that he agreed to stay in the district, and, having obtained permission from the Earl, he pitched his camp a few miles away in the woods.
Richard Burke’s troubles made me think of my own love affairs, which were in the same position as before, for, albeit, I had a secret, satisfying conviction that Eva O’Malley had no special regard for de Vilela, I still adhered to my resolution not even to appear to come between them. Wherein, perhaps, in my stupid pride, I did my dear, to say nothing of myself, a great injustice, for she might have supposed that I cared for nothing but the fierce, mad joy of battle. But never loved I anyone save her alone.
It was on the second or third day after Richard Burke had left us that the arrival of the messengers from the President of Munster with a letter for Desmond threw me into a state of great concern. And when I knew what the tenor of that letter was, I was disquieted the more, for I could but conclude that what I had dreaded would happen with respect to the intimacy of Sabina Lynch and Fitzgerald had indeed come to pass.
The Earl received the President’s messengers with some state, several of his gentlemen and myself being with him.
As he read the letter they presented to him, he was evidently disconcerted by its contents, looking now at it, now at the messengers; but when he had perused it a second time, he laughed strangely, and said he would give no answer at once, but would consider what was to be done.