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"You have slain the Dark Master as you promised, Brian," she said quietly. "And have you forgotten also that you meant to claim a reward from me for that deed?" Brian laughed, and his face softened as happiness laid hold upon his heart. "I have not forgotten that, Nuala; but now I am not going to ask that reward in the same way I had intended."
His family interest, however, was strong among the native Princes, and whatever his secret sympathies may have been, he had taken no active part against them in the battle of Clontarf. By his mother, the Lady Gormley of Offally, he was a half O'Conor; by marriage he was son-in-law of Brian, and uterine brother of Malachy.
She was sorting ribbons with a somewhat melancholy face when Brian passed through the glass door and made his way to the counter. "Is that where ye have yourself hidden?" he inquired gaily. "They thought to keep ye shut up out o' me sight, but I was a match for them as cute as they were. 'Twas a shame for them not to let you come in to dinner."
Richard stood waiting, severe, inflexible, with that ominous gleam in his eyes. Hugo rose and followed like a dog at his master's call. From the moment that Brian marked his sullen, hang-dog expression and drooping head, he gave up his hope of proving Hugo's innocence. He would gladly have absented himself from the interview, but Richard summoned him in a voice that admitted of no delay.
I remember," with sudden horror, "Oliver Whyte's friend." "Yes," in a hoarse whisper, "and one of the witnesses at the trial." There was not much sleep for Brian that night. He left Madge almost immediately, and went home, but he Aid not go to bed.
"If you are Brian Luttrell, as Vasari swears you are swearing it to his own detriment, too, which inclines me to believe that it is true the Strathleckie estate is yours." "You can't prove that I am Brian Luttrell." "But I might prove when we get back to Scotland that you bore the name of Brian Luttrell for three or four-and-twenty years of your life."
Having thus purified himself, he returned home; but, on passing the hill where he had minced the Friar, he was astonished to see the same man celebrating mass, attended by a very penitential looking congregation of spirits. "Ah," said Brian Braar, when mass was over, "you are now a happy man.
"Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert?" muttered Cedric; "Normans both; but Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood must not be impeached; they are welcome, since they have chosen to halt more welcome would they have been to have ridden further on their way But it were unworthy to murmur for a night's lodging and a night's food; in the quality of guests, at least, even Normans must suppress their insolence.
There was a subdued accent of inquiry in the last four words. Brian laughed a little, and put his hand in his pocket, whence he drew out four gold pieces and a few little Swiss and Italian coins. "You see these, Father?" he said, holding them out in the palm of his hand.
You do understand, I know." With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. And Brian did understand. He knew, too, that she wanted to have her father to herself. Even in the very fulfillment of his desire he was obliged to stand aside, obliged even yet to be patient. Never surely had an impulsive, impetuous man a longer training.
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