‘Miserable!’ cried Desmond, almost sobbing too; ‘I’m the most miserable and the happiest man in Ireland. But, oh, Dulcie, darling, I’ve sworn----’ ‘But you mustn’t!’ said Dulcie, laying her fingers on his lips. ‘My sweetheart mustn’t swear.’ ‘I mean, Dulcie, that while this shadow is over me I can never hold my head up again. I must leave this place. I’ve neither land nor title, father nor mother----’ ‘I don’t want your land or your title,’ interrupted Dulcie, ‘nor your father and mother. I want _you_, and I’ve got you, and I shall keep you. Try to get away if you dare! You can’t!’ A sound behind them made them both start, and, turning quickly, Desmond beheld Peebles standing in the doorway. He turned away to brush the tears from his eyes, but Dulcie hailed the intruder with delight. ‘Come in, Mr. Peebles,’ she cried, ‘and talk to this stubborn boy. He won’t listen to me a bit.’ ‘Is that so?’ said Peebles dryly, scratching at the scrap of gray whisker which decorated his cheek. ‘I thought jest noo he seemed very attentive to your discourse! Desmond, laddie,’ he continued, ‘my lord has sent me after you. Noo, noo, ye’ll just hear me deliver my message. He’s oot of his mind, almost, clean daft, and neither pancreatic emulsion nor leever pills will hae much power to help him through in this trouble, I’m thinking.’ ‘Tell Lord Kilpatrick from me,’ said Desmond, when he could trust his voice, ‘that I’ve nothing more to say to him.’ ‘Hoot, lad!’ said Peebles. ‘Blood’s thicker than water. Ye can’t shake off the ties of relationship in that fashion, and cast awa’ your father like an old glove. For, after all, ye ken, he _is_ your father.’ ‘No!’ said Desmond. ‘He’s no father of mine.’ ‘Then he himself is sairly mista’en,’ quoth the old servitor. ‘He’s been leevin’ for years under that impression!’ ‘The man who broke my mother’s heart is neither kith nor kin to me! Dulcie, good-bye! God bless you for all your goodness. You must try to forget me.’ ‘Oh, Desmond!’ cried the girl, ‘you can’t leave us; you can’t, dear. Stay! Stay for my sake, I implore you!’ ‘To be pointed at by everyone as the wretched thing I am. To know that my mother’s name is a byword, and I myself am an outcast. You don’t know what it is you ask me. ’Tis more than I can do.’ ‘For my sake, Desmond!’ ‘I can’t,’ cried the poor, proud boy; ‘I can’t, even for your sake.’ ‘And where are ye going?’ asked Peebles. ‘Eh, Desmond, lad, what will ye do?’ ‘Do! Hide myself at any rate from those that have known me. The world’s wide, old friend; don’t fear for me!’ And he made a movement to the door. ‘Stop!’ cried Peebles. ‘Since ye _will_ gang, listen to a word I hae to say to you. Never think shame o’ the mother that bore ye, Desmond. _I_ kenned her, lad; I kenned her weel. She was a brave woman, as true and honest as she was loving, and ’twas for _your_ sake that she took the weary road o’ death.’