“What does this mean, sirrah? How did you dare to take her to Kilgorman after the charge I laid upon you?”
“Barry take me, indeed!” broke in Miss Kit, with a mighty toss of her head. “Barry takes me nowhere. It was I took him, whether he would or not; and a very poor adventure he made of it. You shall take me yourself next time, father.”
“Understand,” said his honour, looking very black, “that no one, not even my daughter, is permitted to go where I forbid.—As for you, you prying fool,” added he, turning on me, “you shall see whether I am to be obeyed or not.”
I deemed it prudent to say nothing, and retired, pretty determined that were his honour Saint Patrick himself he should not keep me out of Kilgorman. But I had missed my chance.
After that day my position at Knockowen became more irksome than ever, for I was taken from my work in the stables, and a new boy appointed in my place to tend the horses and accompany Miss Kit when she rode out. And I was kept all day within doors, at everybody’s beck and call, from cock-crow, when I had to light the fires, to midnight, when I had to see his honour’s clothes brushed and laid out in his dressing-room.
My only liberty, if liberty it might be called, was when the boat was wanted. There my seamanship made me necessary. But since no one thought of sailing towards the lough mouth, but only across or up towards Rathmullan, there was no chance of my defying his honour’s regulations that way.
For a week or two even my mother’s message was driven from my head by hatred of my rival, the new groom—a villainous-looking rascal, some years my elder, who yet had not even the merit of being a good horseman to commend him.
Rightly or wrongly, I suspected that part of his business was to keep a watch on me. And if anything could determine me to defiance that was enough. As to Miss Kit, I humbly hoped she liked the change as little as I; for since her liberty was cut off from one road, and her new lackey had neither looks nor conversation to commend him, her love of riding gradually flagged, and presently Martin—that was the fellow’s name—had to lead out her riderless horse for exercise.
The trying thing to me was that Martin would not even do me the compliment of recognising me as his enemy. It was not for lack of invitation, nor was it owing to cowardice. But he was a dogged, short-sighted villain, taken up with his own concerns, and not choosing to trouble his head with those of others.
But one day I had the luck to startle him out of his reserve. Miss Kit came down to the yard that morning, and for the first time for more than a week ordered out her horse.