Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert. Machray Robert
once.
“Quick, quick!” she cried, pointing to a door. “There is the stair! That is the way!”
They stopped, however, for a little, to get a couple of heavy cloaks with which they hoped they might be able to conceal themselves somewhat from curious eyes. Short as the time was which this took, it was enough to permit Sabina Lynch to enter the apartment, and she at once perceived not only that my mistress had recovered in a marvellous brief space, but also what our project was.
“Seize her,” said Grace O’Malley, as she and Eva were leaving the room.
I rushed towards the woman, and, clapping my hand to her mouth, prevented her from giving forth the scream she was on the point of uttering. As I was glancing about for something with which I might gag her, and so effectually silence her, my mistress again appeared, and said, her eyes blazing with anger: —
“Bring her with you, if you can; the way is clear.”
“A gag!” I said, and Grace O’Malley made with her own hands one, with which she stuffed Sabina Lynch’s mouth, and next she bound the woman’s arms. Then I took Sabina Lynch up, and in silence we descended the stair which led us into the street some twenty yards from the main entrance into the Mayor’s house.
It was now dark, but not sufficiently so as to hide us completely from observation, and an instant’s thought convinced me that carrying a bound woman, as I was doing, it was impossible to go very far without being seen by someone who would instantly give the alarm. Therefore, still keeping in the shadow of the house, I sent forth into the night the O’Malley battle cry, knowing that our men could not be out of hearing; and the sound had not died away when there arose a great noise and shouting.
“O’Malley! O’Malley! O’Malley!” was heard on all sides.
“To me, to me – here!” I cried.
And, in less time than seemed likely, there were gathered about us nearly all our men, but mixed with them several Burkes, O’Flahertys, and others of the Irish. Recognising their mistress, the O’Malleys set up a joyful sound. Forming some of them in a line across the street, I begged Grace O’Malley and Eva to take with them the rest, and to hasten toward the gate, and this they accordingly did, while two of our people carried Sabina Lynch between them in the same direction.
In the meantime the flight of my mistresses had been discovered. I saw lights flitting about the courtyard, and heard the words of command given in the strident tones of Sir Nicholas, then the tramp, tramp of the feet of the soldiers smote upon the night air.
To have a conflict in the streets of Galway, just at the place where the English were strongest, was not to be thought of, as it was not more foolish than it was unnecessary, so I ordered my men to retreat as swiftly as was practicable towards the gate, and to endeavour to catch up to Grace O’Malley before the gate was reached by them.
But when we came to the gate we found it had already been forced by our chieftainess, who had taken the feeble guard completely unprepared, and so had quietly made an end of them. It was all the work of a few seconds; yet in the struggle, short as it was, Sabina Lynch had effected her escape. Without delay we proceeded to embark in the galleys, and to put out to sea.
While we were engaged in this manner the great bell of the church of St. Nicholas suddenly boomed sharply through the night: soldiers began to appear on the battlements, torches flared from the walls, and bullets and arrows poured upon us as the galleys drew away from the quay. Some of the shots were aimed so well that two of our people, one of whom was Walter Burke, were slain and several others wounded.
Then, as we proceeded on our way into the bay, the sputtering fire ceased.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DIE CAST
That night I reflected with joy that the die was cast, as, after our breaking out of Galway, there could be no peace between Grace O’Malley and Sir Nicholas – at any rate, until the matter was composed in some definite fashion.
I trod the deck with a feeling of extraordinary buoyancy, and sniffed the salt air with delight as the galleys headed for Inishmore, the largest of the three isles of Arran, which have been thrown for a protection by the hand of God, almost in a straight line, across the entrance to the bay of Galway.
All that I cared for in the world was held in these ships, now speeding over the water under the leadership of Tibbot the Pilot.
It was with deep satisfaction that I went over the events of the evening which had brought us with such success out of the town, and I looked forward with wide-eyed eagerness to the morning when I should meet my mistress, and hear her narrative of all that had passed when she and Eva were prisoners in the mansion of the Lynches.
Eva, who had kept up so bravely while the danger was greatest, had become faint and unstrung when the peril was past. Grace O’Malley would suffer no one but herself to tend her, and thus I had had no opportunity for conversing with either of them after we had made good our escape.
When we had arrived at the island, and had let go our anchors in a fair depth of water in a small bay, which was sheltered from the full shock of the Atlantic by a range of abrupt craggy headlands, I went on board The Grey Wolf to see my mistresses, but Grace O’Malley received me alone, her foster-sister not having altogether recovered from the fatigue of the preceding evening. There was a new hardness, even a harshness, both in the face and voice of Grace.
At first, however, she was in no mood for recounting her experiences, and could do nothing but lament the fact that Sabina Lynch had managed to get away when the gate was forced. Indeed, her escape appeared entirely to overshadow in her mind her own escape and that of Eva.
“Had it not been for her plottings and schemings,” said she, “I should have brought the Governor round to my will. I had several interviews with Sir Nicholas, and at the beginning he was inclined to grant my suit, but soon I felt I was being thwarted by one more subtle than Sir Nicholas. How that woman hates me! I did not suspect her at once, for I had given her no cause of offence.”
“Did you find out,” asked I, “why she hates you?”
“’Tis from jealousy,” said she. “Sabina Lynch would be Queen of Connaught, but she thinks that as long as I am free and powerful I am her rival.”
“Is there no other reason?” inquired I, remembering the words of Richard Burke. “Is there not between you two a cause more personal?”
“There may be,” she replied thoughtfully; “for clever as she is, she was not sufficiently so to conceal from me her predilection for the MacWilliam. But what is that to me? Richard Burke is nothing to me.”
“You may be much to him, however,” I answered, whereat she grew more thoughtful still. Being a woman, I said to myself, she could hardly have failed to read the signs of his regard for her. Then I told her of the midnight visit he had paid me, saying nothing, nevertheless, of what Richard Burke had confided to me in regard to his love for herself.
“He is a friend,” said she, after musing for awhile, “and I may have need of many such.”
“Tell me what passed between you and Sir Nicholas.”
She paced the floor of the poop-cabin with quick, uneven steps; then she stopped and spoke.
“After our first meeting,” said she, “he was much less open with me, asking me many questions, but giving no expression of his own views with respect to the ships. Two things, however, he impressed upon me. One was that he considered that I should make immediately a suitable marriage – ”
“A suitable marriage!” I exclaimed.
“The other was that it was common report that my father had left great riches behind him, and that, as he had never paid any tribute to the Queen, I must now make good his deficiencies in that respect.”
“Tribute,” said I blankly.
“He proposed to marry me – for he declared I was in reality a ward of the Crown, and, therefore, at his disposal – to Sir Murrough O’Flaherty, a man old enough to be my father – and