"Cholera or typhus, as it may be," said Crow, not a little surprised at the unmistakable terror of the other's face.

"And she's gone to see it!" exclaimed the Jew.

"To do more than see it. She 'll nurse the sick man, and bring him medicine and whatever he wants."

"And not afraid?"

"Afraid!" broke in Crow. "I'd like to know what she's afraid of. Ask Mr.

Scanlan what would frighten her." But Mr. Scanlan had already slipped noiselessly from the room, and was already on his way down the sh.o.r.e.

"Well," said Merl, lighting his cigar, and drawing an arm-chair close to the fire, "I don't see the advantage of all that. She could send the doctor, I suppose, and make her servants take down to these people whatever she wanted to send them. What especial utility there is in going herself, I can't perceive."

"I'll tell you, then," said Crow. "It's more likely the doctor is busy this minute, ten or fifteen miles away,--for the whole country is down in sickness; but even if he was n't, if it were not for her courage in going everywhere, braving danger and death every hour, there would be a general flight of all that could escape. They'd rush into the towns,--where already there's more sickness than they know how to deal with. She encourages some,--she shames more; and not a few are proud to be brave in such company, for she is an angel,--that's her name,--an angel."

"Well, I should like to see her," drawled out Merl, as he smoothed down his scrubby mustachios.

"Nothing easier, then," rejoined Crow. "Put on your coat and hat, and we 'll stroll down the beach till she comes out; it can't be very long, for she has enough on her hands elsewhere."

The proposition of a "stroll" in such weather was very little to Mr.

Merl's taste; but his curiosity was stronger than even his fear of a drenching, and having m.u.f.fled and shawled himself as if for an Arctic winter, they set out together from the inn.

"And you tell me," said he, "that the Martins used to live here,--actually pa.s.s their lives in this atrocious climate?"

"That they did,--and the worst mistake they ever made was to leave it,"

said Crow.

"I confess you puzzle me," said Merl.

"Very possibly I do, sir," was the calm reply; "but you'd have understood me at once had you known this country while they resided at Cro' Martin. It was n't only that the superfluities of their wealth ran over, and filled the cup of the poor man, but there was a sense of hope cherished, by seeing that however hard the times, however adverse the season, there was always 'his Honor,' as they called Mr. Martin, whom they could appeal to for aid or for lenient treatment."

"Very strange, very odd, all this," said Merl, musing. "But all that I hear of Ireland represents the people as if in a continual struggle for mere existence, and actually in a daily state of dependence on the will of somebody above them."

"And if that same condition were never to be exaggerated into downright want, or pushed to an actual slavery, we could be very happy with it,"

said Crow, "and not thank you, or any other Englishman that came here, to disturb it."

"I a.s.sure you I have no ambition to indulge in any such interference,"

said Merl, with a half-contemptuous laugh.

"And so you're not thinking of settling in Ireland?" asked Crow, in some surprise.

"Never dreamed of it!"

"Well, the story goes that you wanted to buy an estate, and came down to have a look at this property here."

"I'd not live on it if Martin were to make me a present of it to-morrow."

"I don't think he will," said Crow, gravely. "I am afraid he could n't, if he wished it."

"What, do you mean on account of the entail?" asked Merl.

"Not exactly." He paused, and after some silence said, "If the truth were told, there's a great deal of debt on this property,--more than any one suspects."

"The Captain's enc.u.mbrances?" asked Merl, eagerly.

"His grandfather's and his great-grandfather's! As for the present man, they say that he's tied up some way not to sell, except for the sake of redeeming some of the mortgages. But who knows what is true and what is false about all this?"

Merl was silent; grave fears were crossing his mind how far his claims were valid; and terrible misgivings shot across him lest the Captain might have been paying him with valueless securities.

"I gather from what you say," said he, at last, "that it would be rather difficult to make out a t.i.tle for any purchaser of this estate."

"Don't be afraid of that, sir. They'll make you out a fair t.i.tle."

"I tell you again, I'd not take it as a present," said Merl, half angrily.

"I see," said Crow, nodding his head sententiously. And then fixing his eyes steadily on him, he said, "You are a mortgagee."

Merl reddened,--partly anger, partly shame. Indeed, the feeling that such a capacity as Mr. Crow's should have pushed him hard, was anything but complimentary to his self-esteem.

"I don't want to pry into any man's affairs," said Crow, easily. "Heaven knows it's mighty little matter to Simmy Crow who lives in the big house there. I 'd rather, if I had my choice, be able to walk the wood with my sketch-book and brushes than be the richest man that ever was heartsore with the cares of wealth."

"And if a friend--a sincere, well-wishing friend--were to bind himself that you should enjoy this same happiness you speak of, Mr. Crow, what would you do in return?"

"Anything he asked me,--anything, at least, that a fair man could ask, and an honest one could do."

"There's my hand on it, then," said Merl. "It's a bargain."

"Ay, but let us hear the conditions," said Crow. "What could I possibly serve you in, that would be worth this price?"

"Simply this: that you'll answer all my inquiries, so far as you know about this estate; and where your knowledge fails, that you'll endeavor to obtain the information for me."

"Maybe I could tell you nothing at all--or next to nothing," said Crow.

"Just ask me, now, what's the kind of question you 'd put; for, to tell truth, I 'm not over bright or clever,--the best of me is when I've a canvas before me."

Merl peered stealthily at the speaker over the great folds of the shawl that enveloped his throat; he was not without his misgivings that the artist was a "deep fellow," a.s.suming a manner of simplicity to draw him into a confidence. "And yet," he thought, "had he really been shrewd and cunning, he 'd never have blurted out his suspicion as to my being a mortgagee. Besides," said he to himself, "there, and with that fact, must end all his knowledge of me." "You can dine with me to-day, Mr.

Crow, can't you?"

"I 'm engaged to the stranger in No. 4,--the man I'm making the drawings for."

"But you could get off. You could ask him to excuse you by saying that something of importance required you elsewhere?"

"And dine in the room underneath?" asked Crow, with a comical look of distress at this suggestion.

"Well, let us go somewhere else. Is there no other inn in the neighborhood?"

"There's a small public-house near the gate of Cro' Martin, to be sure."

"Then we'll dine there. I'll order a chaise at four o'clock, and we 'll drive over together. And now, I 'll just return to the house, for this wading here is not much to my taste."