“My dear Markham,” he said, “it was very lucky you were passing where my daughter saw you. You know this man Despard--how could I have him in my house?” “In your house!” cried Markham. “Thank God I was here to prevent that.” The Cape cart was already upon the avenue and the lamps were lighted. But a little qualm seemed to come to the colonel. “Are you sure he is not injured--that he has quite recovered from any possible effects?” he said. Then came the husky voice of the man. “Go'night, king, go'night. I'm alright--horse know's way. We're tram'led on, king--'pressed people--but wormil turn--wormil turn--never mind--Go save Ireland--green flag litters o'er us--tread th' land that bore us--go'night.” The cart was in motion before the man's words had ceased. CHAPTER XXXIX. Look you lay home to him: Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with. What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. I must leave thee, love... And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind For husband shalt thou-- Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife.--_Hamlet_. |OSWIN Markham lay awake nearly all that night after he had reached the hotel. His thoughts were not of that even nature whose proper sequence is sleep. He thought of all that had passed since he had left the room he was lying in now. What had been on his mind on leaving this room--what had his determination been? “For her,” he said; “for her. It would have been for her. God keep me--God pity me!” The morning came with the sound of marching soldiers in the street below; with the cry of bullock-wagon-drivers and the rattle of the rude carts; with the morning and the sounds of life--the breaking of the deadly silence of the night--sleep came to the man. It was almost midday before he awoke, and for some time after opening his eyes he was powerless to recollect anything that had happened during the night; his awakening now was as his return to consciousness on board the _Cardwell Castle_,--a great blank seemed to have taken place in his life--the time of unconsciousness was a gulf that all his efforts of memory could not at first bridge. He looked around the room, and his first consciousness was the recollection of what his thoughts of the previous evening had been when he had slept in the chair before the window and had awakened to see Despard ride away. He failed at once to remember anything of the interval of night; only with that one recollection burning on his brain he looked at his right hand.