“Don’t know,” said Cyril. “Perhaps he thought you looked as though a ride would do you good. He seems a decent enough old chap, anyhow. His wife is a Scythian lady, Wright tells me.”
“Oh, by the bye, that reminds me,” said Caerleon; “we must call to-morrow. I’ll tell Wright to hunt up our visiting-cards, and we’ll do the thing in style.”
But Caerleon and his brother were not destined to make the acquaintance of the O’Malachy’s family in the orthodox fashion they had contemplated, for in the morning, as they breakfasted, they heard excited voices outside their door. They had just decided that it would not do to pay their call until the afternoon, and that the morning might profitably be spent in climbing one of the mountains which surrounded the little town, and Cyril, who was not devoid of curiosity, thought that the present would be a good opportunity of consulting the landlord as to the best way to take. Opening the door, therefore, he stepped out casually, to find the landlord, his wife, and the servants engaged in an animated colloquy with a very handsome lady in an elaborate dressing-gown, who was standing on the outer stair and talking French and German alternately.
“You tell me that she is gone?” she was saying. “But no! I say it is impossible. She would be terrified.”
“There is no danger, madame,” suggested the landlord, soothingly; “and no doubt the gracious young lady knows this.”
“No danger!” cried madame, vivaciously. “When there may at this very moment be wolves, brigands, avalanches, menacing my child? What though she does think she is safe? Her very confidence may be her greatest danger. She must be followed—rescued—immediately.”
“I assure you, madame, that mademoiselle is perfectly safe,” repeated the landlord. Madame wrung her hands.
“My excellent man, how can you understand a mother’s feelings? I tell you my daughter must be rescued. If there is no one else, I will go myself, although I have never walked a mile in my life, and the Herr Oberst is quite helpless with his gout.”
“It is unnecessary for madame to incommode herself,” said the landlord, sulkily. “If she insists upon it, two of the men shall go, although it is absolutely impossible to spare them from the farm.”
“Naturally I insist upon it,” returned madame. “What is your farm to me? The men shall be paid. Send them off at once. If only there was some friend near who might help us!”