There was a something in her tone, like a faint note in melody, that vibrated through me. What was it?
Father O’Dowd would only swallow a few mouthfuls of food. “Up, guards, and at them! Eh, Mr. Hawthorne?”
“The duke never uttered those words. I can give you exactly what occurred. When Napoleon was advancing at the head of the remnant of his shattered army the duke—”
“Excuse me, my dear sir, but I have to marshal an army for my Waterloo. Animum curis nunc huc, nunc dividit illuc—this way and that way my anxious mind is turning. Ormonde, you’ll come over to me to-morrow, and be prepared to address a meeting of your constituents. Don’t be later than one o’clock. And now sans adieux all!” And the worthy priest, buttoning up his ulster, sprang upon the car.
In vain we implored of him to stay. In vain I asked to be permitted to accompany him. No. “I am all aflame,” he cried. “I go to light a fire that will not be extinguished until the high-sheriff is compelled to declare a Catholic and a Home-Ruler the member for this Orangest of all Orange counties. I feel like one inspired. Nemo vir magnus sine aliquo afflatu divino unquam fuit.” And with this quotation ringing in our ears Father O’Dowd sped upon his mission out into the night.
“An’ so yer goin’ for to be the mimber? Good luck to ye, Masther Fred darlint!” exclaimed Peter O’Brien, who was wild with delight at the intelligence, regarding the election as a foregone conclusion.
“I hope so, Peter.”
“For to repale the Union, Masther Fred?”
“Not quite so fast, Peter.”
“Och, murther!” he groaned, with disappointment delineated in every feature. “I thought ye wor for tee-total separation like Dan.”