He turned and hastened till he reached the road leading to the village and Castle of Kilpatrick. As he strode along, he passed numbers of men, women, and children hurrying in the same direction, but spoke to none and was heeded by none, until he was close upon the village, when he came suddenly face to face with his son.
‘Father!’ cried Richard, aghast at the wild figure before him. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What has happened?’
In a few brief words, Conseltine related what had occurred--the search for Blake, the strange convulsion of nature, his own escape, and the death of Feagus. Then Richard, on his side, had something to tell which made Conseltine sick with rage and dread. What that ‘something’ was will be known in the sequel. The result of the communication was that father and son made no attempt to return to Kilpatrick Castle, but within a few hours of their meeting had gained the nearest railway-station and were on their way to Dublin.
CHAPTER XVI.--IN WHICH LORD KILPATRICK NAMES HIS HEIR.
It was not till Blake was half-way on the road to Maguire’s cottage that the personal significance to himself of the errand with which Peebles had entrusted him dawned upon him. His first impulse was to tell the driver to return to the Castle, and to request Peebles to find another messenger.
‘By the Saints, but ’tis a fine business I’m in for--a two-mile ride with Moya Macartney and Desmond--and ’tis a comfortable quarter of an hour I’ll be after having.’
His habitual recklessness prevailed, however, aided by the thought that, as the bearer of the message of peace, he might have a better chance of pardon for past peccadilloes. He arrived at Maguire’s cottage, which had a lonely and deserted aspect, in the bright mid-day sunshine. No curl of smoke from the chimney announced the presence of an occupant, and the door was fast shut. It opened at his knock, and disclosed Moya.
‘God save all here!’ said Blake, with his customary swagger rather broadened.
‘Amen to that, Patrick Blake,’ said Moya calmly, ‘for some of us need His mercy. What is it ye want here?’
‘Just yourself,’ said Blake. ‘I’m from the Castle with a message from Mr. Peebles. Ye’re asked for there.’
‘I’m going on to Doolan’s farm to take him,’ said Blake. ‘I’ve the carriage waitin’ here.’ He hesitated for a moment, and then added, with more show of feeling than was common with him: ‘I’m a quare sort o’ messenger to send on this errand, and God knows ye’re little likely to relish my society. It’s no sort o’ use in the world to say I’m sorry, or to offer apologies for what’s past, but I hope it’s good news I’m bringin’ ye. In fact, I _know_ it’s good news.’ He took off his hat with a gesture that was almost dignified. ‘Will ye do me the honour to accompany me, Lady Kilpatrick?’