Pale as death, Conseltine watched him until he disappeared altogether, and then, pale as a spectre, walked up the riverside. He was safe now, and the only man who could denounce him and bring any certain proof of his guilt was silenced for ever.
‘The drunken fool!’ he muttered. ‘That threat has cost him his life. Had he lived, he would have done what he threatened to do—so he’s better where he is!’
He looked back across the river. Blake’s Hall stood untouched, but all around it was the dark mass of the moving bog, still creeping across the vale. Where the bridge had fallen, a great lake of water, fed by the river, was spreading and spreading. The rain still fell heavily, adding to the general desolation.
He turned and hastened till he reached the road leading to the village and Castle of Kilpatrick. As he strode along, he passed numbers of men, women, and children hurrying in the same direction, but spoke to none and was heeded by none, until he was close upon the village, when he came suddenly face to face with his son.
‘Father!’ cried Richard, aghast at the wild figure before him. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What has happened?’
In a few brief words, Conseltine related what had occurred—the search for Blake, the strange convulsion of nature, his own escape, and the death of Feagus. Then Richard, on his side, had something to tell which made Conseltine sick with rage and dread. What that ‘something’ was will be known in the sequel. The result of the communication was that father and son made no attempt to return to Kilpatrick Castle, but within a few hours of their meeting had gained the nearest railway-station and were on their way to Dublin.
CHAPTER XVI.—IN WHICH LORD KILPATRICK NAMES HIS HEIR.
It was not till Blake was half-way on the road to Maguire’s cottage that the personal significance to himself of the errand with which Peebles had entrusted him dawned upon him. His first impulse was to tell the driver to return to the Castle, and to request Peebles to find another messenger.