“Well, I think that if you were to see Lord Cashel and tell him, in your own quiet way, who you are; that you are rector of Ballindine, and my especial friend; and that you had come all the way from County Mayo especially to see Miss Wyndham, that you might hear from herself whatever message she had to send to me—if you were to do this, I don’t think he would dare to prevent you from seeing her.” “If he did, of course I would put it to him that you, who were so long received as Miss Wyndham’s accepted swain, were at least entitled to so much consideration at her hands; and that I must demand so much on your behalf, wouldn’t that be it, eh?” “Exactly. I see you understand it, as if you’d been at it all your life; only don’t call me her swain.” “Well, I’ll think of another word—her beau.” “For Heaven’s sake, no!—that’s ten times worse.” “Well, her lover?” “That’s at any rate English: but say, her accepted husband—that’ll be true and plain: if you do that I think you will manage to see her, and then—” “Well, then—for that’ll be the difficult part.” “Oh, when you see her, one simple word will do: Fanny Wyndham loves plain dealing. Merely tell her that Lord Ballindine has not changed his mind; and that he wishes to know from herself, by the mouth of a friend whom he can trust, whether she has changed hers. If she tells you that she has, I would not follow her farther though she were twice as rich as Croesus. I’m not hunting her for her money; but I am determined that Lord Cashel shall not make us both miserable by forcing her into a marriage with his _roué_ of a son.” “Well, Ballindine, I’ll go; but mind, you must not blame me if I fail. I’ll do the best I can for you.” “Of course I won’t. When will you be able to start?” “Why, I suppose there’s no immediate hurry?” said the parson, remembering that the new suit of clothes must be procured. “Oh, but there is. Kilcullen will be there at once; and considering how long it is since I saw Fanny—three months, I believe—no time should be lost.” “How long is her brother dead?” “Oh, a month—or very near it.” “Well, I’ll go Monday fortnight; that’ll do, won’t it?” It was at last agreed that the parson was to start for Grey Abbey on the Monday week following; that he was to mention to no one where he was going; that he was to tell his wife that he was going on business he was not allowed to talk about;—she would be a very meek woman if she rested satisfied with that!—and that he was to present himself at Grey Abbey on the following Wednesday. “And now,” said the parson, with some little hesitation, “my difficulty commences. We country rectors are never rich; but when we’ve nine children, Ballindine, it’s rare to find us with money in our pockets. You must advance me a little cash for the emergencies of the road.”