“Hush! I cannot tell you now. I must speak to your father, if he returns in time. Leave me alone with him when he comes, and I will tell you afterwards. If he does not return, I will tell you before the end.”
Nadia returned to her place, and they talked no more until the sounds of bustle outside announced an arrival.
“It is your father,” said Madame O’Malachy; “I hear his voice. Besides,” as Nadia’s face showed signs of incredulity, “no one else would arrive so late. His business must have taken a shorter time than we anticipated, and no doubt he started on his return journey two days ago, and so missed the telegram.”
Nadia went out, and found the O’Malachy in the passage, engaged in hearing from the waiter what had occurred. He looked anxious and worried.
“This is a bad businuss, Nadia,” he said. “Where is your mother?”
Nadia took him into the room, and, mindful of her mother’s injunction, left them alone together. From her post in the passage she could hear their voices, her mother’s anxious and pleading, the O’Malachy’s gruff and obdurate. After a time he opened the door and called to her to come in, telling her to get him something to eat, but refusing to yield to her suggestion that he should take his meal in another room. Presently he sent her away to unpack his portmanteau and get out what he needed, and then he himself saw the doctor, and received his assurance that there would be no marked change in the patient’s condition before morning. Nadia had made preparations for sitting up with her mother; but he ordered her peremptorily to bed, and declared his intention of taking the night-watch himself. It was evident that he did not mean to leave her alone with Madame O’Malachy for a moment, and her anxiety became keen. A look from her mother warned her to obey, and she left the room, but lingered in the passage. Presently she heard Madame O’Malachy urging her husband to make himself comfortable in the cushioned chair which had been brought down for him, and rest a little after his journey, and before very long there was perfect silence in the room. Nadia opened the door softly, and peeped in. A low “Hush!” from her mother brought her noiselessly to the side of the bed, where Madame O’Malachy lay wide awake, while the O’Malachy was beginning to give audible evidence of having fallen asleep in his chair.
“Kneel down here,” whispered Madame O’Malachy, “where your father cannot see you if he wakes. Nadia, I have been trying to induce him to abandon the plot we had arranged—so much of it, at least, as threatens Carlino’s life—but he will not consent. He has got hold of the idea that the King and Lord Cyril were playing with him all the time we were at Bellaviste, and he says he will not allow himself to be made a fool in the eyes of Europe. He will not consent to relinquish his revenge.”
“And you have arranged to murder the King?” gasped Nadia. “Oh, mother!”
“What did you say, Barbara?” asked the O’Malachy, sitting up and looking round sharply. “If you want anything, don’t be afraid of asking me for ut. Sure I wasn’t asleep, but I can’t get the noise of the train out of me ears.”
“Thanks, O’Malachy, I want nothing,” returned his wife, and he settled himself once more in his chair; but it was some time before the two women ventured to begin their conversation afresh.