‘Weel said!’ cried Peebles. ‘Eh, there’s the real grit in ye, laddie! But I’m thinking that maybe ye’ll find mair virtue in the title o’ Lord Kilpatrick than ye think for. Think o’ Lady Dulcie, Desmond. Can ye ask her, the bonnie doo, to share sic a life as ye’d hae to live for years and years to come, before ye’ve made a name and position for yersel’? It looks easy at your age to conquer the world, but the fight’s a long and bitter one. And then, there’s the plain justice of the case. Let right be done. Your mother’s Lady Kilpatrick, and you’re Desmond Conseltine, my lord’s heir, and I’ll see them damn’d--the Lord forgive me for swearin’!--before I’ll let yon brace o’ murderin’ thieves prosper at your expense. No, no, Moya, my lass. There’s nae hurry for the moment. We can afford the time to bide and turn it over till we’ve hit on the best means o’ gettin’ your rights--but hae them ye shall, and Desmond, too, or my name’s no’ Peebles. But save us a’, here are ye twa poor creatures standing here drippin’ water. Ye’ll be takin’ yer deaths o’ cauld. I must find ye anither shelter, my lady, where ye may bide quiet and canny till matters are arranged. I’ll hae to find how the land lies, and prepare my lord’s mind. I hae’t! There’s Patsy Maguire’s cottage. He’s gone to Dublin to sell his stock for emigrating to America. He’ll not be back for a week, and the bit sticks o’ furniture are a’ there. ’Tis a lonesome place. Ye’ll not be disturbit, and nobody need ken that ye’re there. I’ll send ye all ye can want by a sure hand. Kiss your son, and say good-bye to him for a day or twa. Trust to me!’ Desmond and his mother took each other again in their arms, and for a minute the deep silence of the night was broken only by the babble of the brook and the sound of their sobs and kisses. Then the old mill, which had been blazing furiously, though unheeded, fell in upon itself with a thunderous crash. ‘Lord save us!’ cried Peebles, ‘come awa’ if ye don’t want the countryside about us! It’s jest a wonder that naebody’s come already. Hoot! they’re coming!’ A noise of distant voices and the clatter of feet became audible. ‘Quick, quick!’ cried the old man. ‘Get back hame, Desmond; I’ll see to your mother.’ He took Moya by the arm, and with gentle violence forced her from the scene, while Desmond moved off in the contrary direction. Once or twice he had to hide behind trees and boulders from the people who were now passing towards the mill attracted from all quarters by the blazing timbers.