‘Desmond shall do that,’ he said to himself. ‘Ay, Desmond shall do that. ’Twill come better from him. My lord’s heart will be softened. ’Twill be less of a shock than if I told him. Ay, ay,’ he said aloud, as Kilpatrick impatiently bade him begone and fetch Desmond. ‘He shall be here inside an hour, my lord.’
‘God bless you, old friend,’ said his lordship, shaking hands with him. ‘You’re a pragmatical old Puritan, but you’ve taken ten years off my age to-day.’
Peebles descended to the pantry, where he found Blake still in intimate converse with the whisky bottle.
‘Mr. Blake, would ye do my lord and me a service?’
‘By my troth, I will, then,’ said Blake.
Peebles called a groom, and bade him prepare a horse and carriage.
‘I want ye, Mr. Blake, to drive to Maguire’s cottage over at Cornboy. There you’ll find Moya Macartney—tell her she must come with you. Then drive on to Doolan’s Farm, and pick up Desmond. Bring them both here, and I’ll have a boy posted in the road to warn me that ye’re coming.’