“I know not where she is,” said Eva slowly, while the tears gathered in her eyes. “I know not.”
“What?” cried he.
“Patience,” urged I, myself consumed with impatience, anger, and a multitude of terrible passions.
“Let me go on,” said Eva, with a choke. “It was shortly after we had returned from the ships,” continued she bravely—”three or four days perhaps—when there was a great stir at the castle, for messengers had come with tidings of the landing of the Spaniards. A letter, too, they brought from Sir James Fitzmaurice, who was in command, as it appeared, of the expedition. I questioned one of the messengers,” said Eva shyly, “if he had seen you, Ruari, and he told me that he had.”
I secretly blessed my dear for this reference to me, but as I did not desire to interrupt her story I kept silence.
“We were all in good heart,” said she, “by reason of the coming of the men from Spain, and Grace O’Malley in particular rejoiced exceedingly. Desmond himself, however, was strangely quiet. Then that night—How can I tell you?” and she broke down utterly and wept aloud.
Burke’s eyes were full of fright, but mine too brimmed over when I looked at my dear and saw her shaken with sobs. And I wept also, nor am I ashamed of these tears of sympathy.
“’Tis no time to weep,” said she after a pause, and resumed her tale, but in broken accents. “That night, as we were retiring to sleep, I observed that Grace O’Malley had lost all her gaiety and brightness, and was in some great distress of mind. I implored her not to withhold her confidence from me, and to tell me what was her trouble.
“Then it appeared that Desmond had read to her the letter of Fitzmaurice, and, when she had heard it to the end, declared that he had placed his whole future in her hands, as he loved her passionately and could not live without her. If she would consent to become his wife, it would be a very easy matter to get a divorce from the countess, and thereafter they would be married.”
“His wife!” ejaculated Burke.