It was after much consideration he saw himself at the little wicket of the garden, where he dismounted, and, fastening his bridle to the gate, knocked at the door. Though he could distinctly hear the sound of voices within, and the quick movement of feet, his summons was unanswered, and he was about to repeat it for the third time when the door was opened.
"Is your mistress at home, Jeanie?" said he, recognizing with a smile the girl's courtesy to him.
"Yes, sir, she's at home," was the dry answer.
"Will you just tell her, then, that Sir Arthur Lyle would take it as a great favor if she'd permit him to speak to her?"
The girl disappeared with the message, but did not return again for several minutes; and when she did, she looked slightly agitated. "My mistress is very sorry, sir, but she canna see ye the day; it's a sort of a headache she has."
"Mr. Anthony, is he at home?" asked he, curious to remark the effect of his question.
"He's no just at name the noo," was the cautious reply.
"He has not been up at the Abbey to-day," said he, carelessly; "but, to be sure, I came through the 'bracken,' and might have missed him."
A little dry nod of the head, to acknowledge that this or anything else was possible, was all that his speech elicited.
"Say that I was very sorry, Jeanie, that Mrs. Butler could not see me, and sorrier for the reason; but that I hope tomorrow or next day to be more fortunate. Not," added he, after a second thought, "that what I wanted to speak of is important, except to myself; don't forget this, Jeanie."
"I winna forget," said she; and courtesying again, closed the door. Sir Arthur rode slowly back to report that his embassy had failed.
Day after day went over, and no tidings of Maitland. When the post came in of a morning, and no letter in his hand appeared, Mark's impatience was too perceptible to make any comment for his sisters either safe or prudent. Nor was it till nigh a week passed over that he himself said, "I wonder what has become of Maitland? I hope he's not ill." None followed up the theme, and it dropped. The expected guests began to drop in soon after, and, except by Mark himself, Mr. Norman Maitland was totally forgotten. The visitors were for the most part squires, and their wives and families; solid, well-to-do gentlemen, whose chief objects in life were green crops and the poor-law. Their talk was either of mangold or guano, swedes or the union, just as their sons' conversation ranged over dogs, horses, meets, and covers; and the ladies disported in toilette, and such details of the Castle drawing-rooms as the Dublin papers afforded. There were Mr. and Mrs. Warren, with two daughters and a son; and the Hunters, with two sons and a daughter. There were Colonel Hoyle and Mrs. Hoyle, from regimental head-quarters, Belfast; and Groves Bulkney, the member for the county, who had come over, in the fear of an approaching dissolution of Parliament, to have a look at his constituents. He was a Tory, who always voted with the Whigs; a sort of politician in great favor with the North of Ireland, and usually supposed to have much influence with both parties. There were Masseys from Tipperary, and M'Clintocks from Louth; and, lastly, herald of their approach, three large coffin-shaped trunks, undeniably of sea-origin, with the words "Cap. Gambier Graham, R.N.," marked on them, which arrived by a carrier, with three gun-cases and an immense array of fishing-tackle, gaffs, and nets.