By good luck the strong wind carried me in clear of the bank and so into fairly still water, and in half-an-hour more I was in under the light of Knockowen, mooring my boat in his honour’s little harbour.
It must have been near midnight, and I was wondering how I should waken the house and deliver my message, when a voice close beside me said,—
“Are the guns all landed and taken up to the house?”
It was his honour’s voice. But I could not see him in the dark.
“I beg your pardon, your honour,” said I, “it’s me, Barry Gallagher.”
A quick step came down to where I stood, and a hand was laid on my shoulder.
“You! What do you here?” said his honour sharply, for he had evidently expected some one else.
“If you please, sir, my mother’s sick, and she sent me to bid you come before she died.”
He made a startled gesture, as I thought, and said, “What does she want me for?”
“It’s to tell your honour something. I couldn’t rightly say what, for she spoke strangely.”