“Which will be----?” “I can’t name the day; but I hope it will be an early one.” “A mysterious journey--eh?” “No; but one which it is not at all necessary to take an opinion upon.” “By the way, you wrote the letter to that Irish fellow the other evening--what did you do with it?” “It is on the writing-table.” “And I suppose I may make use of it, if I need it?” “Yes; it’s a matter that other things have driven out of my head; but the letter is yours, if you wish.” “And you will stand by me, I hope, if I get into a scrape?” “Don’t count on me. I’m a capricious fellow, and whenever a thing does not come off at once, I never can vouch for the spirit in which I may resume it.” “That’s hearty, at all events!” “No; but it is unmistakable.--Rickards, hurry the cook, if he will let you, and order the carriage for eight o’clock.” “And posters for me for Dalradern at the same hour,” said Ladarelle. “Grog is worth a score of such fellows!” muttered he below his breath, as he strolled to his room. “Grog would never strike out a plan, and leave a man in the lurch afterwards.” When they met at dinner, Grenfell took care that the conversation should be as general as possible, never by a chance alluding to any subject of personal interest to either of them; and, as the clock struck eight, and he heard the tramp of the horses on the gravel, he arose and said: “Don’t forget to say all sorts of things to Sir Within for me, and to Mademoiselle, too, when she is visible. Good-by, and ‘bonne chance!’” “Good-by! I wish I could have had a few words with you before you started. I wish you would have told me something more definite about the plan. I wish----” What he continued to wish is not on record, for once more Grenfell uttered his good-by, and the next moment he was gone. CHAPTER XLI. THE DARK TIDINGS It was a dull, lowering October day, sky and sea alike lead-coloured, when the boat that bore Grenfell rounded the southern point of Arran, and opened a view of the island in all its extent. His first visit there had not left any favourable impressions of the place, though then he saw it in sunshine, warm-tinted and softened; now all was hard, bleak, and cold, and the ruined Abbey stood out amongst the leafless trees, like the ghost of a civilisation long dead and buried. “There he is himself, Sir,” said the steersman to Grenfell, as he pointed to a lone rock on the extreme point of a promontory. “You’d think he was paid for sitting there, to watch all the vessels that go north about to America. He can see every craft, big and little, from Belmullet to Craig’s Creek.” “And does he stay there in bad weather?” “I never missed him any day I came by, no matter how hard it blew.” “It’s a dreary look-out.” “Indeed it is, your honour! more by token, when a man has a comfortable house and a good fire to sit at, as Mr. Luttrell has, if he liked it.”