She was worse, far worse than when we left her in the morning; and I could have died of shame when I came to think that all those hours she had lain alone and untended. I struck a light and put it in the window.

"Is that Barry?" said she faintly.

"Ay, mother, it's Barry," said I, going to the bed and bending over her.

"Bring the light, and let me look at you," she said.

I obeyed. She scrutinised my face eagerly, and then turned her head wearily on the pillow.

"Barry," said she presently.

"Well?" said I, as I took the hot worn hand in mine.

She lay silent a long while, so that I thought she had fallen asleep, then she said,--

"Where is father?"

"Away with the boats."

"And Tim?"

"I can't say. Tim and I fought the day, and--"

"Fought? Ay, there'll be fighting enough before wrong's made right, Barry. Listen! I'm dying, son, but I must see him before I go."

"Is it Tim?" said I.

"No." Then she lifted herself in her bed, and her face was wild and excited as she clutched my hand. "Barry, it's Gorman I must see-- Maurice Gorman. Fetch him to me. Make him come. Tell him I'm a dying woman, and must speak before I go. There's time yet--go, Barry!"

"Mr Gorman!" exclaimed I. What could my mother want with his honour down at Knockowen?

"Ay, and quickly--or it will be too late."

Knockowen was across the lough, five miles up above Dunree. It would be hours on a night like this before he could be here. But my mother continued to moan, "Go, Barry--make haste." So, much against my will, I put on my cap and prepared to leave her alone. At the door she called me back.

"Kiss me, Barry," said she. Then before I could obey her she fell to raving.

"Give me back the la.s.sie," she cried, "dead or alive. She's more to me than all Kilgorman! Trust me, Mr Maurice--I'll breathe never a word if you'll but save Mike. It's false--he never had a hand in it! Some day truth will out--if the lad's mine no harm shall come to him. I'll use him against you, Mr Maurice. The truth's buried, but it's safe.

There's more than earth under a hearthstone." And she laughed in a terrible way.

After a minute she opened her eyes again and saw me.

"Not gone, Barry? For pity's sake, fetch him, or I must go myself."

And she even tried to get up from her bed.

This settled it, and I rushed from the house, whimpering with misery and terror.

What was it all about? Why did she send me away thus on a fool's errand? For Mr Gorman was not likely to come out on a night like this at the bidding of Mike Gallagher's English wife.

If there had only been some one I could have sent to mind her while I was gone! But our cabin on the bleak headland was miles from a neighbour--Knockowen, whither I was speeding, was indeed the nearest place.

For a lad of twelve it was no easy task on a dark stormy night like this to cross the lough. But I thought nothing of that. Most of my short life I had spent afloat, and I knew every rock and creek along the sh.o.r.es.

The boat lay tugging at her moorings when I got down to her, as if impatient to be away. Luckily her mast was up. It would need but the least taste of canvas to run her across. The business would be coming back in the face of the wind.

Sure enough, when I cast off, she rushed through the water like something mad. And again my spirits rose as I heard the hiss of the foam at her bows, and felt her rear and plunge among the big boisterous waves.

After a time I could catch the light at Knockowen as it flickered in the wind, and put up my helm so as to clear the shoal. This would bring me close under Kilgorman rock, whence I could drive before the wind as far as Knockowen.

To my surprise, as I closed in on the sh.o.r.e I saw strange lights at the water's edge, and casting my eyes up towards Kilgorman (which I never did in those days without a qualm, because of the ghost that haunted it) I seemed to see a moving light there also.

I said a hurried prayer, and put round my helm into the wind before my time. Even the shoal, thought I, was less to fear than the unearthly terrors of that awful deserted house.

By good luck the strong wind carried me in clear of the bank and so into fairly still water, and in half-an-hour more I was in under the light of Knockowen, mooring my boat in his honour's little harbour.

It must have been near midnight, and I was wondering how I should waken the house and deliver my message, when a voice close beside me said,--

"Are the guns all landed and taken up to the house?"

It was his honour's voice. But I could not see him in the dark.

"I beg your pardon, your honour," said I, "it's me, Barry Gallagher."

A quick step came down to where I stood, and a hand was laid on my shoulder.

"You! What do you here?" said his honour sharply, for he had evidently expected some one else.

"If you please, sir, my mother's sick, and she sent me to bid you come before she died."

He made a startled gesture, as I thought, and said, "What does she want me for?"

"It's to tell your honour something. I couldn't rightly say what, for she spoke strangely."

"I'll come in the morning if the weather mends," said he.

"I've the boat here for you, sir," I ventured to say, for I guessed the morning would be too late.

"Leave her there, and go up to the house. You may sleep in the kitchen."

What could I do? For the first time that night I knew for certain I hated his honour. My mother's dying message was nothing to him. And she, poor soul, lay in the cabin alone.

Knockowen was a poor shambling sort of house. Strangers wondered why Maurice Gorman, who owned Kilgorman as well, chose to live in this place instead of the fine mansion near the lough mouth. But to the country people this was no mystery. Kilgorman had an evil name, and for twelve years, since its late master died, had stood desolate and empty-- tenanted only, so it was said, by a wandering ghost, and no place for decent Christian folk to dwell in.

As I lay curled up that stormy night in his honour's kitchen, I could not help thinking of the strange lights I had seen as I rowed in by the sh.o.r.e. Where did they come from, and what did they mean? I shuddered, and said one prayer more as I thought of it.

Then my curiosity got the better of me, and I crept to the window and looked out. The wind howled dismally, but the sky was clearing, and the moon raced in and out among the clouds. Away down across the lough I could see the dim outline of Fanad, below which was the little home where, for all I knew, my mother at that moment lay dead. And opposite it loomed out the grey bleak hill below which, even by this half light, I fancied I could detect the black outline of Kilgorman standing grimly in the moonlight.

It may have been fancy, but as I looked I even thought I could see once more moving lights between the water's edge and the house, and I slunk back to my corner by the fire with a shiver.