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Rosnacree House, the home of Sir Lucius Lentaigne and his ancestors since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes brought the family to Ireland in search of religious freedom, stands high on a wooded slope above the southern shore of a great bay. From the dining-room windows, so carefully have vistas been cut through the trees, there is a broad prospect of sea and shore.
In Rosnacree House, along with Sir Lucius, lives Juliet Lentaigne, his maiden sister, elderly, intellectual, dominating, the competent mistress of a sufficient staff of servants. She lived there in her girlhood. She returned to live there after the death of Lady Lentaigne. Priscilla, Sir Lucius' only child, comes to Rosnacree House for such holidays as are granted by a famous Dublin school.
We think that Lord Torrington has promised to make Barnabas a bishop in the army, which Cousin Frank says he can do quite easily if he likes, being the head of the War Office. Father kept harping on, especially at luncheon, when Barnabas was there, to find out why they fled to Rosnacree.
Mannix behaved as a good wife should under such circumstances. She lifted every care, not directly connected with the army, from her husband's mind. The beginning of Frank's holidays synchronised with the close of the parliamentary session. She arranged that Frank should spend the holidays with Sir Lucius Lentaigne in Rosnacree.
The Reverend Barnabas Pennefather disappeared into the tent which was still standing. Priscilla looked around her cheerfully. "It's clearing up," she said. "There's quite a lot of blue sky to be seen over Rosnacree. We'll all dry soon." She gathered the bottom of her skirt tight into her hands and wrung the water out of it. "Where are you going to take him to?" she said to Miss Rutherford.
There is no sponge fishery in Rosnacree Bay. There never has been. Miss Rutherford, so to speak, intercepted Priscilla's wink. "By sponges," she said, "I mean " "Won't you sit down?" said Priscilla. She picked her stockings from the gunwale of the boat, leaving a clear space beside Miss Rutherford. "Bother!" she said, "the dye out of the purple clocks has run. That's the worst of purple clocks.
She was puzzling about the young man who had left her, endeavoring to arrive at some theory of who he was and what he could be doing in Rosnacree. After awhile she turned over on her side, fumbled in her pocket and drew out two more biscuits in crumbly fragments. She munched them contentedly. At eleven o'clock she raised herself slowly on one elbow and looked round.
The thunder cloud burst over Rosnacree. Sir Lucius and Lord Torrington drove into the town and pulled up in front of Brannigan's shop at a quarter to twelve. They looked round the empty harbour in some surprise. Sir Lucius went at once into the shop. Lord Torrington, being an Englishman with a proper belief in the forces of law and order, walked a few yards back and entered the police barracks.
She tucked the middle of it under her armpit, pressed her side tight against the gunwale, and with the blade trailing in the water steadied the Tortoise on her course. There is a short cut back to Rosnacree quay from the bay in which Miss Rutherford was left. It winds among a perfect maze of rocks, half covered or bare at low water, gradually becoming invisible as the tide rises.
"There'll be only myself then to take the strange gentleman to Inishbawn in the boat." "And who's better fit to do it? Haven't you known the bay since you were a small slip of a boy?" "I have surely." "Is there a rock or a tide in it that isn't familiar to you?" "There is not." "And is there a man in Rosnacree that's your equal in the handling of a small boat?" "Sorra the one."
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