Part 45 (1/2)

And there was another misery at Castle Morony. It reached Mr. Jones's ears that Peter was anxious to give warning. It certainly was the case that Peter was of great use to them, and that Mr. Jones had rebuked him more than once as having made a great favour of his services. The fact was that Peter, if discharged, would hardly know where to look for another place where he could be equally at home and equally comfortable. And he was treated by the family generally with all that confidence which his faithfulness seemed to deserve. But he was nervous and ill at ease under his master's rebukes; and at last there came an event which seemed to harrow up his own soul, and instigated him to run away from County Galway altogether.

”Miss Edith, Miss Edith,” he said, ”come in here, thin, and see what I have got to show you.” Then, with an air of great mystery, he drew his young mistress into the pantry. ”Look at that now! Was ever the like of that seen since the mortial world began?” Then he took out from a dirty envelope a dirty sheet of paper, and exposed it to her eyes. On the top of it was a rude coffin. ”Don't it make yer hair stand on end, and yer very flesh creep, Miss Edith, to look at the likes o' that!” And below the coffin there was a ruder skull and two cross-bones. ”Them's intended for what I'm to be. I understand their language well enough. Look here,” and he turned the envelope round and showed that it was addressed to Peter McGrew, butler, Morony Castle. ”They know me well enough all the country round.” The letter was as follows:

MR. PETER MCGREW,

If you're not out of that before the end of the month, but stay there doing things for them infernal blackguards, your goose is cooked. So now you know all about it.

From yours,

MOONLIGHT.

Edith attempted to laugh at this letter, but Peter made her understand that it was no laughing matter.

”I've a married darter in Dublin who won't see her father shot down that way if she knows it.”

”You had better take it to papa, then, and give him warning,” said Edith.

But this Peter declined to do on the spur of the moment, seeming to be equally afraid of his master and of Captain Moonlight.

”If I'd the Captain here, he'd tell me what I ought to do.” The Captain was always Captain Clayton.

”He is coming here to-morrow, and I will show him the letter,” said Edith. But she did not on that account scruple to tell her father at once.

”He can go if he likes it,” said Mr. Jones, and that was all that Mr.

Jones said on the subject.

This was the third visit that the Captain had paid to Morony Castle since the terrible events of the late trial. And it must be understood that he had not spoken a word to either of the two girls since the moment in which he had ventured to squeeze Edith's hand with a tighter grasp than he had given to her sister. They, between them, had discussed him and his character often; but had come to no understanding respecting him.

Ada had declared that Edith should be his, and had in some degree recovered from the paroxysm of sorrow which had first oppressed her.

But Edith had refused altogether to look at the matter in that light.

”It was quite out of the question,” she said, ”and so Captain Clayton would feel it. If you don't hold your tongue, Ada,” she said, ”I shall think you're a brute.”

But Ada had not held her tongue, and had declared that if no one else were to know it--no one but Edith and the Captain himself--she would not be made miserable by it.

”What is it?” she said. ”I thought him the best and he is the best. I thought that he thought that I was the best; and I wasn't. It shall be as I say.”

After this manner were the discussions held between them; but of these Captain Clayton heard never a word.

When he came he would seem to be full of the flood gates, and of Lax the murderer. He had two men with him now, Hunter and another. But no further attempt was made to shoot him in the neighbourhood of Headford. ”Lax finds it too hot,” he said, ”since that day in the court house, and has gone away for the present. I nearly know where he is; but there is no good catching him till I get some sort of evidence against him, and if I locked him up as a 'suspect,' he would become a martyr and a hero in the eyes of the whole party. The worst of it is that though twenty men swore that they had seen it, no Galway jury would convict him.” But nevertheless he was indefatigable in following up the murderer of poor Florian. ”As for the murder in the court house,” he said, ”I do believe that though it was done in the presence of an immense crowd no one actually saw it. I have the pistol, but what is that? The pistol was dropped on the floor of the court house.”

On this occasion Edith brought him poor Peter's letter. As it happened they two were then alone together. But she had taught herself not to expect any allusion to his love. ”He is a stupid fellow,” said the Captain.

”But he has been faithful. And you can't expect him to look at these things as you do.”

”Of course he finds it to be a great compliment. To have a special letter addressed to him by some special Captain Moonlight is to bring him into the history of his country.”

”I suppose he will go.”

”Then let him go. I would not on any account ask him to stay. If he comes to me I shall tell him simply that he is a fool. Pat Carroll's people want to bother your father, and he would be bothered if he were to lose his man-servant. There is no doubt of that. If Peter desires to bother him let him go. Then he has another idea that he wants to achieve a character for fidelity. He must choose between the two. But I wouldn't on any account ask him for a favour.”