Uncle Nathan, too, was in the "full enjoyment of his mind." The relief he had "providentially" been able to afford to Emily's mind was the medium of an abundant satisfaction. As the darkness began to gather, he found an opportunity of conversing with Henry, whose entire devotion to Emily during the day had rendered him a stranger in the gentlemen's cabin. The plot which Hatchie had revealed to him had caused him but little anxiety. Maxwell's wounded arm, he concluded, would delay its execution. But he gave the particulars to Henry, who was not at all satisfied that it would not be undertaken.
"We must watch to-night," said he.
"Sartain, we'll keep a good look-out; but the scamp can't do anything while he is wounded."
"But he had confederates."
"Perhaps he has. But here is another friend," said Uncle Nathan, as he perceived Pat Fegan, who had for some time been watching an opportunity to speak to him.
"Sure, the naiger would like to spake wid yous," said Pat, in a whisper.
"What's the matter, Pat?" asked Henry.
"Nothin', your honor," replied Pat, promptly; "I was only tellin' this gintleman that a poor divil was dhrunk on the lower deck, and he'd betther go and praych timperance to him."
"No, no, Partrick, that's too bad," interrupted Uncle Nathan, reprovingly; "I must teach you to tell the truth."
Pat opened his eyes with astonishment when he heard Uncle Nathan explain to Henry the part he had borne in the drama, and was about to utter in plain Irish his opinion of a man who would thus betray a confidence, when Henry explained that he was an old friend of Hatchie and the lady.