The man who could betray his guest was not likely to be true to any cause. That he had sent Fitzmaurice’s letter to the President was, I considered, a thing not only possible, but in the highest degree probable. Thus the prospect on all sides of us was dark indeed. Sooner or later, then, Grace O’Malley would be in the power of the English, at the mercy of the President of Munster, a helpless captive in Limerick gaol! She might be there already, for aught we knew, and therefore it behoved us at once to endeavour to discover if she were shut up in Limerick. And, if haply this were the case, what could we do? What could my mistress look for at the hands of the English? How could we assist her? It might even now be too late, and my flesh crept upon my bones at the thought. “I will go to Limerick,” said I, as the result of my reflections; but when we had discussed the matter it appeared to be better that someone else should be sent. “I am too marked a man.” said Burke; and one of his gallowglasses would do as well, for, if Grace O’Malley were in Limerick gaol, there was not a soul in that city who would not know of it, and thus anyone on the spot could easily obtain the knowledge we sought. I was not persuaded to this course without much difficulty, and Burke himself was most determined at first to go; but there was the same objection in his case that there was in mine. Neither of us could have been long in the streets of Limerick without being recognised. At length, a messenger was despatched, Burke going out from the tent to tell him what he was to do. No sooner had Burke left Eva and myself alone together, than my dear fell a-weeping, as if her heart would break, all her wonderful fortitude utterly gone. I took her into my arms--these great, strong arms of mine, now weak and trembling like those of a little child--and tried to soothe her grief. Perhaps my love and our common sorrow taught us what to say, yet I spoke not of love at all. But what I said and what she said about ourselves I cannot put into writing--and I would not, if I could, for there are words and there are times which are sacred beyond expression; and such were those words, and such this time. She was my love and I was hers; and though we spoke not of it, we both knew, and the knowledge of it folded us about like a garment. Much, too, had we to say to each other about de Vilela and about Fitzgerald, and how strangely they had passed in and out, out and in, of the woof of our lives. She evidently had a kind of affection for them both, and when I was inclined to question her about this she said that they had both been wounded and helpless, and that she had nursed and tended them, and so had come by this feeling. But ever as our talk came back to Grace O’Malley our hearts were heavy.