“I don’t see the good of doing all that,” said Frank.
“The good of it is this. We must keep Aunt Juliet on our side in case of accidents. She’s got a most acute mind and will throw all kinds of obstacles in the way of the pursuers. As long as she thinks that Miss Torrington--Lady Isabel, I mean--is really going in for leading a beautiful scarlet kind of life of her own; but if she once finds out that she’s gone and got married to a man, any man, even one who can’t manage a boat, she’ll be keener than any one else to have her dragged back.”
“What do you mean to do with her?” said Frank.
“We’ll plant her down on Inishbawn. That’s the safest place in the whole bay for her to be. Of course Joseph Antony Kinsella will object; but we’ll make him see that it’s his duty to succor the oppressed, and anyhow we’ll land her there and leave her. I don’t exactly know what it is that they’re doing on that island, though I can guess. But whatever it is you may bet your hat they won’t let Lord Torrington or the police or any one of that kind within a mile of it. If once we get her there she’s safe from her enemies. Every man, woman and child in the neighbourhood will combine to keep that sanctuary--bother! there’s a word which exactly expresses what a sanctuary is kept; but I’ve forgotten what it is. I came across it once in a book and looked it out in the dict. to see what it meant. It’s used about sanctuaries and secrets. Do you remember what it is?”
Frank did not give his mind to the question. He was thinking, with some pleasure, of the baffled rage of Lord Torrington when he was not allowed to land on Inishbawn. Lady Isabel would be plainly visible sitting at the door of her tent on the green slope of the island. Lord Torrington, with violent language bursting from him, would approach the island in a boat, anticipating a triumphant capture. But Joseph Antony Kinsella would sally like a rover from his anchorage and tow Lord Torrington’s boat off to some distant place. With invincible determination the War Lord would return again. From every inhabited island in the bay would issue boats, Flanagan’s old one among them. They would surround Lord Torrington, hustle and push him away. Children from cottage doors would jeer at him. Peter Walsh and Patsy, the drunken smith, would add their taunts to the chorus when at last, baffled and despairing, he landed at the quay. The vision was singularly attractive. Frank ran his hand over his bandaged ankle and smiled with joy.