But no; he would have them now, so he might try them on, and, accordingly, to humour him, I undid the upper straps of my portmanteau. Scarcely had I done so than I saw the leather had been slit.
My cry of dismay brought Father O'Rourke and Mr. Gordon over me at once, and with shaking hands I undid the straps and threw it open. The larger canvas-bag, which held the thousand guineas, was gone!
"O God in Heaven," I groaned, sinking on the ground, "that there are such damned scoundrels in this world!" And for the first time since a child I could not restrain myself, and burst into tears.
Father O'Rourke turned over the things, but I knew it was useless, and then said, in the strangest, dryest kind of voice:
"Well, I call on you to witness this happened in Scotland, and in the Highlands."
"Stop, sir," I cried; "this is intolerable! None of your insulting reflections on countries. There are more rogues hanged in Ireland than ever existed in Scotland."
"Yes, we find the quickest end to put them to is a rope's end."
"Look you here, sir, you have done nothing but insult me from the day you met me, and had you any right to the sword you carry, I would read you a lesson that would last you to the end of your life!"
"Thankful am I," he returned, as cool as ever, "that I never was under such a school-master. But let us spare our iron for those scoundrels, and especially for that smooth-tongued, red-headed, black-hearted Colin Dearg. If I could only have my left hand comfortable on his dirty throttle. I wouldn't need the other to feel his pulse with. Cheer up, Giovannini! If we've any luck we'll have it safely back, and you'll hand it to the Prince yet. Courage, my lad! Surely old campaigners like you and me are not to be outfaced by a lot of sneaking blackguards like these!"
"I'll lay my soul," I said, slowly, having forgotten all my rage—and I believe now Father O'Rourke only provoked me to distract my attention from my trouble—"I'll lay my soul that scoundrel Creach is at the bottom of this!"