And so Fred Neville was the Earl of Scroope. He had still one other task
to perform before he could make his journey home. He had to send tidings
in some shape to Ardkill of what had happened. As he returned to the
barracks from Mr. Crowe's residence he thought wholly of this. That
other matter was now arranged. As one item of the cost of his adventure
in County Clare he must pay two hundred a year to that reprobate, the
Captain, as long as the reprobate chose to live,--and must also pay Mr.
Crowe's bill for his assistance. This was a small matter to him as his
wealth was now great, and he was not a man by nature much prone to think
of money. Nevertheless it was a bad beginning of his life. Though he had
declared himself to be quite indifferent on that head, he did feel that
the arrangement was not altogether reputable,--that it was one which
he could not explain to his own man of business without annoyance, and
which might perhaps give him future trouble. Now he must prepare his
message for the ladies at Ardkill,--especially to the lady whom on his
last visit to the cottage he had found armed with a dagger for the
reception of her husband. And as he returned back to the barracks
it occurred to him that a messenger might be better than a letter.
"Simpkinson," he said, going at once into the young man's bed-room,
"have you heard what has happened to me?" Simpkinson had heard all about
it, and expressed himself as "deucedly sorry" for the old man's death,
but seemed to think that there might be consolation for that sorrow. "I
must go to Scroope immediately," said Neville. "I have explained it all
to Johnstone, and shall start almost at once. I shall first lie down and
get an hour's sleep. I want you to do something for me." Simpkinson was
devoted. Simpkinson would do anything. "I cut up a little rough just now
when you mentioned Miss O'Hara's name." Simpkinson declared that he did
not mind it in the least, and would never pronounce the name again as
long as he lived. "But I want you to go and see her to-morrow," said
Neville. Then Simpkinson sat bolt upright in bed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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