“Have patience, Ruari” said she, “you must soon know everything; but be patient—”
“Our mistress?” asked I, at no time very patient, and now devoured with questions.
“Wait a little, wait a little,” said she, and she broke into weeping again, so that my heart smote me at the sight of her grief. But when I would have taken her in my arms again to try to comfort her, she waved me off, and, shaking up her horse, rode on in front.
The day breaking clearly as we went along, I observed that those behind me were two women of my mistress’s and Eva’s, and the man I had brought with me from The Cross of Blood to Askeaton. My mind was now in such a tangle that I had to resign myself passively, and to become, as it were, rather a spectator of than a participator in what was going on.
In truth, I felt more at sea than ever before in my life, and was even inclined to prick myself, like a boy, to see if we were indeed living, or merely moving in some spectral land of shades and phantoms.
Nor did this air of unreality wear away until we had arrived at the camp of the Burkes. But as we emerged from the trees into the open, we were at once recognised by those on guard, for they had seen both Eva and myself frequently in the galleys, and thus we were well known to them.
They raised so loud and fervent a shout of welcome that the MacWilliam quickly appeared on the ground to ascertain what was happening. He gazed at us like one sorely puzzled; then, as he came forward to greet us, there was an expression of alarm.
“Eva O’Malley!” he exclaimed. Then he came up to me, and as I held out my hand he gasped with astonishment, for my hands were bleeding from the unhealed cuts inflicted by the ropes with which I had been tied, my dress was in disorder, and my feet, which were bare, were spattered with blood.
“What has happened?” cried he hoarsely. “Where is your mistress? What? What?”