Kilgorman

"Arrah, darlints, sure it's glad I am to see you; and it's expecting you I've been, for didn't Lord Edward send me word to look to the young leddy? Come away, honey; for you look as white as the painted angel beyant there. So they sneaked you away, did they? And all because his honour was hanging the boys. Never ye fear, dearie, you'll be safe with old Biddy, even if the whole of the United Irishmen come after you.--And you, Barry, you're welcome too, though your father Mike wouldn't let me be mother to you. Dear, oh. There's many changes to us all since then.

The last time I set eyes on yez 'twas in Paris, and little I looked to see you again when they had us all to the prison. And where's Tim at all? He's the boy, and a rale gentleman."

"Give us some food, Biddy dear," said Miss Kit, "and tell us all the news to-morrow."

"'Deed I will," said the good soul, and she bustled about till the whole household was awake to give us breakfast.

I waited only to allay my hunger, and then rose.

"Good-bye just now, Miss Kit," said I.

Her face fell.

"Oh," said she, "you're not going to leave me, Barry!"

"Till to-night. I am pledged to pay the Dutchman for saving my life by working for him this day. After that--"

"Oh, go," said she, holding out her hand, "for he deserves all the thanks in the world for saving you for me."

She blushed as she saw how I lit up at the words, but left her hand in mine as I raised it to my lips.

"Farewell, my dear Barry," said she. "Heaven bless you, and bring you safely back!"

All the world then seemed turned to brightness, and I stepped out like a man who treads on air. But at the door I remembered myself enough to return and seek Biddy in her kitchen.

"Biddy," said I, "tell me one thing, as you will answer for it at the last day--which of us two, Tim or I, is the son of Mike Gallagher, and which is the son of Terence Gorman?"

She turned very white and sank into a chair. But I had no time to parley, and I urged her to speak.

"As I hope for salvation," said she, and her breath came hard and her bosom heaved fast, "the one of you that has the mole between his shoulder-blades is the Gorman's boy."

"It is Tim then," I exclaimed, and hastened to my horse.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

DUTCH JUSTICE.

I should be no better than a hypocrite were I to deny that, as I rode my weary, borrowed nag back that morning along the Delft road, there shot in and out of the turmoil of my feelings a sharp pang of disappointment.

It was no disloyalty to Tim; it was no greediness for name and wealth.

It was but the das.h.i.+ng of a pa.s.sing hope that I might find myself, after all, a gentleman, and so prove worthy to be regarded by Miss Kit as something more than a trusty servant. As a Gorman, and her cousin, I might claim her with the best of her suitors. As the son of Mike Gallagher,

Yet to serve her was something--to have s.n.a.t.c.hed her from the scoundrel Martin, and set her in a safe place, was some little triumph to set against the disappointment of Biddy's news; and as I jogged Delft-ward that morning, I fell to considering how best I could help her to her home and Tim into his estate.

More people were about now than when I rode last, and some opened their eyes to see a sailor on horseback. But I answered no questions and halted for no parleys. At Delft I hoped to find a road round outside the town, fearing lest I might encounter the owners of the nag on the streets. But I found no way except that straight through the midst of the town.

As I crossed the market-place two soldiers accosted me and ordered me to dismount and give an account of myself. As they spoke only Dutch, and I knew none of the language, it was hard for us to understand one another.

But the feel of their muzzles on my ears convinced me I had better obey; and abandoning the luckless animal, I was conducted to the guard- house and there locked up until business hours.

I demanded, in the best French I could muster, on what charge I was thus laid by the heels.

My captors grunted by way of answer, and searched my pockets, from which they drew my pistol and the little leather case containing my mother's letter.

I repeated my question in English, at which they p.r.i.c.ked their ears, spoke something to one another in which the word "spy" occurred, and clapped irons on my ankles.

Evidently then my crime was not horse-stealing, but that of being an English spy, which meant, I supposed, a volley at ten paces before noon.

So here was an end to the business of Miss Kit, my sweetheart, and Tim, my brother.

I confess, as it all dawned on me, I found myself smiling over my big hopes and resolves of an hour ago. But I had long enough to wait to lose all sense of humour, and sink into the most woeful depths of despair. It always happened so. The cup was ever at my lips, and as often rudely dashed aside. My little mistress had never before spoken so gently; my mother's dying charge had never been nearer fulfilment.

And now, what could be further from my reach than either? How I execrated that ill-starred jade, and the Dutch skiver, but for whom I might at this moment have been my own master.

In due time I was marched into the burgomaster's presence, and deemed it wise to make no further mystery of myself. I demanded an English interpreter, unless the magistrate would hear me in French, which latter he graciously agreed to do.

"Sir," said I, "my name is Gallagher; I am an Irishman, a servant of King George, and a sailor in Admiral Duncan's fleet. I am, as I believe, the sole survivor of the wreck in mid-sea of his Majesty's s.h.i.+p _Zebra_, foully blown up by her mutinous crew. I was picked up by the Dutch brig _Scheldt_, now lying at Rotterdam. I am no spy. I rode last night to visit an acquaintance--a countrywoman at the Hague--and am on my way now to fulfil my promise to the skipper of the _Scheldt_ to give him a day's labour in unlading his brig in return for his kindness to me. The sailor's coat and cap I wear were given me by him."

The magistrate heard my story attentively, and not altogether unfavourably.

"Admiral Duncan's fleet," said he, "is in arms against the Dutch republic."

"It is," said I.

"How many sail does he muster?" demanded my judge.

"I cannot tell you, mynheer," said I.

"Where do his s.h.i.+ps lie?"

"Mynheer," said I, "would you expect a Dutch sailor to betray his country to an English magistrate? I refuse to answer."

He frowned, less at my refusal than at the terms in which it was couched.

"Give me the name of your acquaintance at the Hague," said he, changing the subject.

I gave him Biddy's name.

"What was your business with her?"

"I never expected to land on Dutch sh.o.r.es, and so had no special business; but finding myself here, I sought her out."

This all seemed fair enough; and the burgomaster, who was an honest man and blessed with true Dutch stolidity, after consulting with his clerk and colleague, informed me that inquiries would be made, and that meanwhile I should remain in custody.

To my request to be allowed to send a letter to Biddy he returned a flat and suspicious refusal. Nor, till my case stood clearer, would he order the removal of the irons. So for the next twenty-four hours I lay in a damp cell, with black bread and water to support my spirits, and the thought of my little mistress to carry me through the weary hours.

About noon next day I was again summoned to the burgomaster's court, where, among the curious crowd a.s.sembled to see the supposed English spy, I recognised not only the Dutch skipper, but Martin. Biddy was not there.

The burgomaster wore an air of sternness and self-importance which boded no good.