“What?” said he. “Tell me what you mean.”
And I told him my story. He listened, switching his cane against his leg, and watching my face with keen interest.
“It is part of the fortune of war,” said he, “that the innocent suffer for the guilty. But this must be seen to at once. The Scheldt will probably make for Holland by the north route. If so, she will not arrive at Rotterdam for a week or two. By that time I will communicate with some one I know near there, and see she is taken care of. Hang the fools!” muttered he. “What good can come to any one by such an act?”
“Indeed, my lord,” said I, “if I may venture to say so; Ireland has little to look for from her professed friends in Donegal, where private spite and greed are the main support of your confederacy.”
“You are not the first who has told me that,” said he gloomily. “No doubt you are glad to see our weakness in this quarter.”
“I should be but that my brother, although absent, is the nominal head there, and it’s little credit to him.”
“Tim Gallagher is too good a man to be wasted.”
“Do you know where he is?” I inquired.
“Abroad on his country’s service,” said Lord Edward. “You must be content with that. Here our ways part. Good-bye, my lad.” And he gave me a friendly nod.
“Your lordship will pardon me one question. Have you any objection to tell me the address of the friend in Holland to whose care you propose to commend Miss Gorman?”