‘You must come with me, Desmond,’ said the old man. ‘I’ve news for ye—news that will keep no longer.’
‘If ’tis good news,’ said Desmond, ‘sure ’tis welcome, and all the more welcome for being unexpected.’
‘Good!’ cried Peebles—‘it’s the best! It’s better than I ever dared to hope!’
‘Faith, then,’ returned the boy, ‘let’s have it!’
‘Not here, laddie, not here!’ said Peebles. ‘’Tis only in your private ear that I can whisper it yet.’
‘We’ll lave ye alone,’ said the honest farmer. ‘Come, Bridget; come, children.’
‘No, no!’ said Peebles. ‘I’ve no time to bide. Ye must come wi’ me, Desmond. It’s not a’ good news I bring ye. There’s danger near one ye love, laddie.’
‘Dulcie?’ cried Desmond.
‘No—Lady Dulcie’s safe, for a’ I ken, and I saw her not three hours syne, the bonnie doo, blooming like the rose o’ Sharon. Come, lad, put on your hat—I’m rested noo. We’ll gang together, and I’ll tell ye as we gang.’
Desmond obeyed, in a great state of bewilderment, and Peebles, when they were some hundred yards away from the farm, began his story by a question: