‘Don’t couple my name with yours in that connection, Conseltine. I forbid ye. My hands are clane, and the only thing on my conscience is that I didn’t inform against ye.’
Conseltine’s face was livid with anger, as the other continued:
‘And it’s nice of ye to bring me put into the wet to talk with me, as if I wasn’t a dacent man, except for my dealing with the likes of you. I’m tired of doing dirty work for one that hasn’t the brains of a brent goose, or the pluck of a louse—I am, sir! How will ye get out of it all? tell me that.’
‘We sink or swim together,’ answered Conseltine. ‘I didn’t come here to listen to abuse. I want your advice.’
‘Then come in to the fireside,’ snarled Feagus, moving towards the inn.
‘No! Can’t you understand that something must be done at once? That old fool is against us, so is Blake; and when Desmond Macartney hears that we’re concerned in his mother’s death, he’ll never rest till he’s hunted us down. Come away with me to Blake’s at once, and see what can be done with him.’
For some time Feagus was obdurate, but at last he listened to his companion’s arguments, and agreed to accompany him to Blake’s Hall. The way thither led by a track across the open moor or ‘mountain,’ and, after refreshing himself with one stiff tumbler of Jamieson at the inn, Feagus followed Conseltine through the drizzling rain.
A dreary day, a dreary prospect. The ground was covered with a soft, soaked blanket of mud, moss, and heather, and low, gray vapours were trailing on every side across the rain-washed hills. Not one ray of sunlight broke the gloom, but far away to seaward moved a white mass like smoke, ever shifting and changing. The air was strangely still, for the rain was too thin and mist-like to produce the slightest sound.
It was a miserable walk of three Irish miles from the village of Cordale to the valley inhabited by Blake. The two men hastened along in gloomy silence until they had covered half the distance. Then Feagus paused with an oath, and looked fiercely into the pale, determined face of his companion.
‘I’m a fool to follow ye!’ he cried. ‘I’d be a wiser man if I took the car to Sligo, and left ye here to fight the devils you’ve raised.’