Richard Burke’s face was like a black cloud, and a groan, deep and terrible, came from his lips.
“That was it,” said Eva. “Do I not know that it was?” said she to Burke. “Ay, well do I know it. And Desmond, too, knows it now.”
“Desmond knows!” cried Burke more cheerfully, and he looked almost happy. This was not my case. What horrible thing was coming? I asked myself, for that something horrible had taken place I had no doubt whatever, and my spirits sank like a stone.
“Listen,” said Eva. “Desmond sent back the two justices empty-handed to the President, but what he bade them tell him I cannot say. When they departed I noted their demeanour, and it was not that altogether of men who were wholly dissatisfied with the issue of their mission. Even then,” cried she, with a fierceness the like of which was never seen in her before, “I believe he meditated treachery.”
“Treachery! A Desmond a traitor!” said Burke, upon whose countenance the cloud had come back, for the drift of Eva’s words was clear enough.
“No sign, however,” said she, “did the Earl show of anything of the kind. Never was he gayer than during the next few days, and I hoped that all was as fair for Grace O’Malley’s plans as it seemed. Two days after you had gone, Ruari, he and his chief men and our mistress and myself, with a great host of attendants, went down the stream from the castle, and made a visit to the two galleys lying in the bay.”
“Tibbot told me of it,” said I.
“Desmond had a purpose in it,” said Eva, “as I can see now. He wished to show Tibbot his friendship for our mistress, and never after that manifestation of it would Tibbot suspect, he thought, that there would be aught amiss with her at Askeaton in so long as she was with him.”
“A shrewd trick,” said I bitterly.
“What has taken place? Where is Grace O’Malley?” cried Burke, restless, troubled, tortured even.