It was a bitterly cold night in January when St. Alleyne and I crossed, and I am not a particularly good sailor. I remained on deck for the sake of the air, the saloon being hopeless, and made what efforts I could to keep myself warm. Every now and then I looked into the smoking-room, where my friend was consuming large cigars; I envied him his occupation, but rejected all his invitations to join him. After a time he came out and wrapped me up in half a dozen rugs on a seat. By the time we reached Dublin I was numb to the heart, and knew I was in for a violent cold. However, we made no delay, but caught the mail for the south. The carriage was warmer than the boat, and by a judicious arrangement of rugs I managed to bring back some heat into my blood, and with it came a revived interest in our expedition. St. Alleyne had said nothing about his plan since starting, but as I looked across at him I could see that he was thinking hard. He caught my eye and smiled. "Feel better?" he asked. "Much," I said. "You look a poor starved rat of a man, even now." "I'm sorry," I said, "that I haven't your terrific constitution." "It hasn't been much good to me so far," he said, "and I'll thank you, Mr. Mildmay, for one of those excellent cigars of yours." "I think I could manage one myself," said I, sitting up. "Bravo! Now we can talk seriously.... I've been thinking, Phil." "I could see that!" "You could, could you? Well, I've hit on a plan--a beautiful plan." "Capital!" I said. "But the carrying through depends upon you." "Am I in fit condition?" I asked. "Faith, you'll be in too good condition presently. It depends on your sickness." It was always necessary to beg St. Alleyne to explain: I did this forcibly, and he brought his head close to mine. "I told you, I think," he said, "that in my opinion my cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan, is mad?" "You did." "Well," he said, "she's not so mad, neither. She has some idea of true charity. Now Norah is a great hand with the sick; she has a way with her, as we say over here, and Mrs. O'Callaghan encourages her to visit them; it's all part of the convent scheme." "I begin to see," I said; "I'm to be sick." "And who," said he, "would you rather see in your suffering than an angel like Norah?" "I'd rather see Lucy," I said. "Well, well, you're a constant creature. I have a little place over here near Stromore, as you know; but you mustn't be ill there; you must go to the hotel." He paused and looked at me. "Go on," I said. "And being very low," he continued, very slowly, "you'll speak to Biddy about it." "Who's Biddy?" I asked. "Mahony's daughter; he runs the hotel. And you'll say that you'd like to see someone--a woman for choice--as you have something weighing on your mind; and then you might drop Miss O'Callaghan's name. Now Biddy was Norah's maid for a time, and what more natural than that she should suggest bringing her old mistress to the poor sick guest?" "You're a rogue," I said.