"You once showed me a group picture of a very delightful scene in a West Indian flower court, with the fountain and bird cages. Besides yourself and a young Spanish captain there were a charming girl and an old hidalgo with a fierce beard and a mass of iron gray hair—a man once seen never forgotten."
"Ah! Yes, General Porfidio de Brabant, the noblest Roman of them all, whose voice is like the thunder burst of his tropical home, and yet who obeys her slightest wish as meekly as a lamb."
"Just so—sweet Porfidio is in Dublin."
"I am not surprised, since I have reason to believe she is here. In fact the woman disguised as a Sister of the Holy Grail was Georgia, his niece, and the girl in the picture."
Darby's thin lips gathered as though prepared to emit a whistle, for like a flash he comprehended a very important matter in connection with his employer; but his will got the better of his inclination and not the faintest sound followed.
"More than this, sir, I am afraid he has some connection with these reckless schemers you have come here to watch."
"It would not surprise me—the senor general is of Spanish descent and doubtless loves the institutions of Spain, so that with his generous and ardent nature he is ready to risk all he has in order to help the wretched mother country in her great hour of need. It does not matter, since they will accomplish nothing here. These Irish plotters are master masons in the art of promising much and having some one else pull their chestnuts from the fire. Still, it is our duty to know the many strings perfidious Spain has to her bow."
"Just so, sir. I am going now."
"My blessing go with you, Darby. I shall anticipate a rich and racy story when we twain meet again. Meanwhile, again farewell."
When he stood alone Roderic heard a clock in a not distant belfry chime the hour.