The attack meditated by George Freyne was carried out one day, and revealed by Phil, who went tearing to the shore to find Gheena.
"Save an' bless us, Miss Gheena, but Hartigan is afther bein' below in the yard an' all the horses soult! When he clapped his eyes on them, 'How much,' says he, 'for we have too many,' an' the Masther says 'Lump them,' says he, 'for a quiet sale.' An'----"
"Redbird an' all." Phil was sobbing openly. "The craythur I reared from a foal to g'out to be run afther by thim haythens, and where will we all be, Miss Gheena? And God save us, don't get a wakeness, Miss!"
Gheena had not moved. She stood dreary, stricken; they were using their power. She was to live a virtual prisoner in her own home--no horses, no next season to dream of directly this one was dead.
"An' when he sighted the grey over the half door, 'He has the head of a rogue,' says he; 'lave him there;' but he come around an' said there was weddin's always, an' so he'd take him too. So Miss Mona's horse as well. And, Miss Gheena----"
For Gheena, abandoning all dignity, sat down and wept hopelessly, with Crabbit walking round, deeply upset.
"You next," said Gheena, feeling the dog's cold nose.
"You next." Phil went away back, crying himself, through the budding wood, with its sheen of blue anemones and tender green of growing moss. He clambered heavily over the sunk fence to meet Darby on the avenue--Darby, riding, whistling as he came, some touch of the spring making him happy.
"It is Miss Gheena," said Phil, answering Darby's look. "The horses soult from undther her feet, an' she cryin' the eyes out of her head. The Masther an' his wars. Isn't it enough that there is a war in France?" burst out Phil, "not to be colloging with it in Castle Freyne. Black oats was bad enough; sure we always took a grain of white, but when there's use for neither white nor black--"
"Hartigan of Guntreen. He is within yet, atin' beef."
Darby turned and rode away down the road.
When Gheena, shaken and exhausted, her grief being rapidly burnt up by anger, came through the wood, she saw a motor at the door. This carefully-planned-out visit by Lancelot was a clumsy effort of diplomacy. Dearest George had mapped it out.