The tea was drunk, and the songs sung to the accompaniment of a wild Irish harp, which made excellent music in Eva's fair hands. A light supper followed, and then to bed, after various arrangements for the following days, which Sir Brian insisted Redland should give to them; while Father John, whose time was his own, as he had a curate, promised to remain at the abbey also for a few days.
Near to midnight Redland found himself in a very tidy and comfortable room with a blazing fire, and as he undressed his thoughts took the form of soliloquy.
"Pleasant enough all this," he said, as he sat before the fire, "and not a bad beginning, at all events. Sir Brian is a gentleman certainly, although his prejudices—natural, too—master him; the priest, however, is my strong card, and I must stick to him; while as to Eva—Miss McMurrough—who in the world could have thought of finding such a choice and beautiful blossom in such a site? She is equally Rich in blood and beauty, and no mistake, and her soprano has a great deal of the Jenny Lind fine timbre about it. I'm in luck, at any rate, so here goes to enjoy and make the most of it." Thus saying he went to bed.
For the next few days a great deal was done. The yacht was recovered and made available; fish were caught, birds shot, views taken, cottages visited, histories detailed, dinners eaten, songs sung, and conversations enjoyed, in all which the stranger took part, making himself both useful and agreeable; putting Sir Brian in mind of "the good days," charming the priest by his humane and liberal philosophy, and gradually stealing into Eva's good graces so far, that when one evening he said to her he must think of going, she sighed, and said plaintively—
"Yes, that's the worst of your coming, Mr. Redland, for when you leave us how shall we ever get over your loss? Though of course one ought to be always prepared for misfortune, and no one who wished you well would think of detaining you in so dreary a place."
"Dreary! it has been a paradise to me, I assure you. Miss McMurrough, and when duty demands my presence elsewhere, inclination will be sure to draw me back by the hair of the head, and—and by the cords of the heart as well."
The latter part of the sentence was spoken partly to himself and escaped Eva's ear.
It so chanced that, the next morning, Father John left them, after a hearty invitation to Redland to visit his cottage at the side of the mountain; but it was doomed that his place was supplied about mid-day, or rather toward dinner-time, by no less a person than the formidable "agent," Mr. Redmond Hennessey, himself who announced to his "friend," Sir Brian, that, having a day to spare, he came to tax his hospitality.
"Beside," he said, as he and Sir Brian sat in conclave, while Redland and Eva were wandering on the banks of the lough—"beside, Sir Brian, a report has reached me that a stranger has intruded himself on your hospitality whom I think you ought to beware of."