“What has Sabina Lynch to do with Grace O’Malley?” I asked.
“I will not conceal from you,” said Burke, “that I am not in love with Sabina Lynch, but am in love with your mistress. Once I imagined that it was Owen O’Malley’s intention to wed you to his daughter, but neither you nor she has a passion for the other. Is it not so?”
“Yes,” I replied. “She is an elder sister to me—I am no more than a younger brother to her.”
“I love Grace O’Malley,” said he, “with all my soul and with all my strength. I mean to ask her to be my wife——”
I broke in harshly.
“This is no time, surely, to talk of such a matter,” I cried, “now when she is a prisoner, and helpless in the hands of people who are her bitter enemies. Rather let us cast about for some means of delivering her.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Burke, “than to assist you—only remember it is not well to place any confidence in Sabina Lynch.”
Then we spent the next hour discussing plans, and having formed one which had some promise of success, Burke left the galley as secretly as he came—his boat disappearing into the darkness of the night.
After he had gone, I tried in vain to sleep, and finding my thoughts but dismal company, had myself rowed over to The Winged Horse, where I saw Tibbot, the pilot, whom I informed of the visit of Richard Burke, and of what we had concerted to do for the deliverance of Grace O’Malley. And as we could not foresee what the next step of the Governor might be, it was agreed that Tibbot’s galley should be kept ready for instant action, and to provide against any surprise by keeping her out in the bay, at such a distance that she should be out of the range of the calivers and bombards mounted on the walls of Galway.