“You can go, O’Byrne; I want to have a chat with my fair young child,” said the clergyman, who had witnessed Eileen’s stately courtesy and exit.
Minchin and O’Byrne strolled out into the summer night, making sure of finding Redmond on the terrace overlooking the moat.
“We have bail for his appearance,” said Minchin, “as his hat is decorating the antlers of a lordly stag in the entrance hall.”
The two gentlemen smoked their cigars as they leisurely went in quest of the missing one, and from terrace they proceeded to garden, from garden to pleasaunce, and from pleasaunce to gate-house, but no trace of him could be found. “He is in the stables,” suggested the O’Byrne; and they returned to the enormous quadrangle in which the houses were quartered, but none of the helpers had seen him, and the stables were all locked for the night.
“He is a romantic, hot-headed young dog, and is just taking a cooler. He will turn up by and by, I warrant me; or mayhap he has hied him to my lady’s bower.” And Minchin laughed at the conceit.
“Where is Redmond?” asked Father O’Doherty, as they regained the drawing-room.
“We were going to ask you,” said the O’Byrne. “Where is Eileen?”
“The poor child has a bad headache and has gone to lie down.”
“Come along, Mr. Minchin, and we’ll take our cruiskeen lawn. In the meantime I shall send some of the men to scour the wood in pursuit of this invisible guest. I needn’t ask you to join us, father?”
“No, sir; a little wine at dinner is my quantum.”