Neville had decided on the advice of Barney Morony, that he would on this morning go down southward along the coast to Drumdeirg rock, in the direction away from the Hag’s Head and from Mrs. O’Hara’s cottage; and he therefore postponed his expedition till after his visit.  When Father Marty started to Ennistimon to look after that sinner O’Leary, Fred Neville, all alone, turned the other way to Ardkill.

CHAPTER VIII.

I didn’t want you to go.

Mrs. O’Hara had known that he would come, and Kate had known it; and, though it would be unfair to say that they were waiting for him, it is no more than true to say that they were ready for him.  “We are so glad to see you again,” said Mrs. O’Hara.

“Not more glad than I am to find myself here once more.”

“So you dined and slept at Father Marty’s last night.  What will the grand people say at the Castle?”

“As I sha’n’t hear what they say, it won’t matter much!  Life is not long enough, Mrs. O’Hara, for putting up with disagreeable people.”

“Was it pleasant last night?”

“Very pleasant.  I don’t think Father Creech is half as good as Father Marty, you know.”

“Oh no,” exclaimed Kate.

“But he’s a jolly sort of fellow, too.  And there was a Mr. Finucane there,—­a very grand fellow.”

“We know no one about here but the priests,” said Mrs. O’Hara, laughing.  “Anybody might think that the cottage was a little convent.”

“Then I oughtn’t to come.”

“Well, no, I suppose not.  Only foreigners are admitted to see convents sometimes.  You’re going after the poor seals again?”

“Barney says the tide is too high for the seals now.  We’re going to Drumdeirg.”

“What,—­to those little rocks?” asked Kate.

“Yes,—­to the rocks.  I wish you’d both come with me.”

“I wouldn’t go in one of those canoes all out there for the world,” said Kate.

“What can be the use of it?” asked Mrs. O’Hara.

“I’ve got to get the feathers for Father Marty’s bed, you know.  I haven’t shot as many yet as would make a pillow for a cradle.”

“The poor innocent gulls!”

“The poor innocent chickens and ducks, if you come to that, Miss O’Hara.”

“But they’re of use.”

“And so will Father Marty’s feather bed be of use.  Good-bye, Mrs. O’Hara.  Good-bye, Miss O’Hara.  I shall be down again next week, and we’ll have that other seal.”

There was nothing in this.  So far, at any rate, he had not broken his word to the priest.  He had not spoken a word to Kate O’Hara that might not and would not have been said had the priest been present.  But how lovely she was; and what a thrill ran through his arm as he held her hand in his for a moment.  Where should he find a girl like that in England with such colour, such eyes, such hair, such innocence,—­and then with so sweet a voice?