You may fancy if her voice across my shoulder that night was not music in my ears! It humoured her to talk of all the perils we had encountered together, and of the ups and downs in our lots since that first day I brought her in the boat from Rathmullan to Knockowen. Then she spoke of her father and the peril he was in, and of the feuds and dangers that beset our distracted country. From that we came to talk of my adventures, and of Tim. But I could not find it in my heart to tell her of the paper under the hearth at Kilgorman, or of the villainy by which her father came into the estates he now held.
Near the end of our talk I mentioned that I had seen Captain Lestrange in Derry.
She was silent a little, and then said,—
“He is the man my father says I must marry.” This was a speech I found no ready answer to, except a mumbled, “He is a fortunate man.”
“He does not think so,” said Miss Kit with a laugh. “He is good and kind, but he loves his liberty more than any woman.”
“And what says my little lady to that?” I faltered.
“Vive la Liberté,” said she. “Heigho, Barry, are we nearly there?”
We were past Delft, where no one supposed but we were a belated pair of market folk trudging home. Our horse had dropped into a leisurely jog, and the morning sky was beginning to show streaks of grey.
“Are you weary?” said I, putting my hand on the little arm that held me round.
“No, Barry, I am very happy so,” said she; and after that we were silent till the stars began to fade and the towers and spires of the Hague loomed ahead against the northern sky.