As I stepped into the street, he was compelled to rein in his horse, and then to pass by the side of me.
“What a greedy, clumsy friar he is!” laughed Sabina Lynch.
In truth, I was as clumsy as clumsy could be, for as I drew myself up and tried to stand erect I hit my shoulder against Richard Burke’s foot, whereupon he stopped.
“Father,” said he, good-humouredly, “have you no care for yourself? Then, prithee, have a care for me.”
And he smiled; but when he had looked into my face, and had met my eyes, I saw the blood suddenly leave his cheeks, and knew that he had penetrated my disguise.
He gave so great a start that his horse leaped up under him, and, as it did so, the friar’s cowl, which covered my head and partially hid my face, was thrown back, and there stood I, Ruari Macdonald, disclosed and discovered, before Sabina Lynch.
She gazed from the one to the other of us in silence, then, striking her horse violently, galloped off, exclaiming: “Treason, treason!”
Richard Burke was in a maze.
“Ruari!” he gasped, and could say no more.
“I have come to Galway,” said I quickly, “that I might have knowledge of the Governor’s intentions against us. This is no place for us now,” cried I, to rouse him, for he was like one that dreamed, “come, come with me before the hue and cry is raised.”