When Jerry O'Brien reached Kilbarry that afternoon, he drove straight to O'Hanlon's office, and briefly recounted to the astonished solicitor what he and Jim Phelan had seen at the Black Rock the day before. O'Hanlon was for a few moments speechless with amazement. When his amazement wore off a little, he found himself bound in on all sides with perplexities. He told himself a hundred times that here was evidence enough to satisfy the most sceptical of judges and juries; and yet he, a mere solicitor, could not make up his mind to believe. O'Brien, Phelan, and himself had seen something they would swear was the figure of a man, and Phelan and himself would swear that what they had seen was in the likeness of that Mike Fahey who had committed suicide years ago by throwing himself into the Puffing Hole while, in respect of a groundless charge, pursued by the police. It was distracting--it was incredible; but it must be believed.

He remembered when he was told at school that if a penny had been put out at five per cent, compound interest in the year 1 A.D., it would then equal in value a mass of gold containing a globe as big as the earth for every second of time since the beginning of the Christian era. At first he had said this astounding statement was not true, but when it was plainly demonstrated that it was even a ridiculous understatement, he did not say it was not true, but he could not believe it, although the figures were irrefutable.

This history of the reappearance of Fahey, or some shade or likeness of him, was now above question. It stood on as firm a basis as testimony could desire, and yet it was naught to him but myth. Many of the greatest truths are unbelievable. This was a little truth, but in its integrity was impenetrable.

The one great consolation was that he, O'Hanlon, need no longer fear his brain was playing him false.

Like O'Brien, he came to the conclusion that impossible ghost or still more impossible man, the affair was none of his. He wasn't going mad; that was the great thing.

That day the two friends chatted the matter over while they sat before O'Hanlon's fire after dinner, and they both agreed that they would then and there say good-bye to Mr. Michael Fahey, whether he was matter or spirit.

The solicitor had no more certain news of the beastly Fishery Commissioners. They were still hovering about the neighbourhood; but no one alive, themselves included, could tell what they were going to do, or were not going to do, but they were still deucedly hard on weirs. And--no; it would not be at all safe for Jerry to go to London--just at present.

The two friends separated early, Jerry going back to "The Munster." He had no desire for a further time in Kilcash. Alfred Paulton would be soon fit to travel, and then once more he should go back to the village; but he now had business to watch in Kilbarry. Certificates, and memorials, and declarations, and so on, had to be obtained or attended to, and although O'Hanlon did all the business in connection with the weirs and the Commissioners, both men deemed Jerry's presence advisable. He was extremely popular in the town, and the request of a principal is always more efficacious than that of an agent.

He had been only a few days at "The Munster," when a letter put into his hand one morning caused him an agreeable surprise. The envelope bore the London postmark, and the superscription, shaky though it happened to be, was unmistakably in the handwriting of Alfred himself.

Jerry broke the cover hastily, and read the brief pencil note with pleasure, until he came to the last two sentences--"I do not know where she is. They will not tell me anything about her."

"Not cured, by Jove!" said Jerry to himself, with disappointment. "One would think his illness and relapse would have put some sense into his head, or knocked some nonsense out of it. But, after all, what is there wrong in it? Why shouldn't he fall in love with whom he likes? She is older than he, and I am sure she would not marry him, even if a sleepy Government would only have the good sense and good taste to hang Blake instead of worrying honest folk about weirs and other things. Alfred is the best fellow in the world. Who could associate with Madge and not be good--except, of course, myself? But Alfred is dull; there's no denying that. He's more than a trifle mutton-headed. Madge has all the brains of the family, and the best heart, too, only she's going to throw that away. Is she? Wait till you see, Madge. My darling!"

He crooked his arm and held it out from him, and looked at the sleeve of his coat tenderly, as though a head rested there.

"I'll spoil you with love when I get you. Spoil you with love! No woman ever yet was spoiled with love. It's the flattery and foolishness which spring from a desire to win a woman any way, no matter how, so long as you win, that spoil women. I'd like to see a Fishery Commissioner spooning. By Jove, it would be a fine thing if a fellow had a sister a Commissioner was spooning! First you could get him to allow you to do anything you liked, and the moment he turned crusty, you would only have to ask your sister to poison him. I'm sorry I haven't a sister. But, stay, I will have one soon. Edith must marry a Commissioner. When Madge and I are settled, I will ask Edith to stay with us, and fill the house from garret to basement with Commissioners. (I wonder how many of the beasts there are?) But I must not say anything to Madge about this scheme until we are married. If I mentioned it now she might object to the poison--there is no depending on women, until they are married. But once a woman is married you may count on her for anything. Look at Lady Macbeth! What a wife she was to have at a fellow's elbow! Why, she wasn't merely a wife--she was a spouse. What the difference is I don't know; but I'm sure she was a spouse more than a wife--just as an awful father or mother is a parent. But what is it I was thinking of?"

Jerry could be cool and collected and coherent when he liked, but he did not like it now.

Days passed by uneventfully with Jerry at Kilbarry. He answered Alfred's letter, but made no reference to Mrs. Davenport. He thought it safer not. He was quite sure neither Mr. nor Mrs. Paulton would look with favour on their son taking a continued interest in the widow. To him there was something grotesque in Alfred falling in love with a widow. Beyond doubt Alfred was in love with this strange and beautiful woman. Jerry did not wonder at his young friend's enthusiasm. He would have been a cold-blooded man under thirty who could see her without feeling profound admiration. But Alfred would have to get over this infatuation. It could never come to anything. Of course time would cure him. Up to this, time had apparently been losing its opportunity. When a man is in love with the sister of a friend, it makes matters pleasanter if the girl's brother is involved in a similar enterprise. But Jerry would rather forego such an advantage in his case than that matters should become serious between Alfred and the beautiful widow.

Daily Jerry saw O'Hanlon, and daily urged upon him the desirability of despatch. So importunate was the younger man, that his friend and adviser at length became suspicious and finally certain of the cause from which Jerry's anxiety for haste sprang. "When the weirs are out of danger," said the solicitor, "I know the next job you'll give me to do."

"What is it?" said Jerry, colouring slightly, and looking his companion defiantly in the face.

"A settlement--a settlement! A marriage settlement, I mean!"--with a wink.

"Don't be a fool, O'Hanlon. I wish you'd get a settlement about the weirs."

At length the day came on which Jerry set out for London for the purpose of bringing over his friend for change of air and scene. In two senses of the phrase, the weirs were still where they had been five weeks ago. One of these senses was satisfactory: the weirs had not been pulled down by the ruthless Commissioners. The other sense was discouraging: the Commissioners had not yet done with the weirs, and the weirs were still in danger of being pulled down, as engines which obstructed the free navigation of the river Bawn. Notwithstanding this, Jerry made the journey in the best of humours, and having arrived without adventure or accident at Euston, drove to his old lodgings and renewed his acquaintance with the civil landlady and the odious table-cover.

His first call next morning was at Dulwich. He had not written to say the hour at which he would reach Carlingford House, and when he arrived and asked the servants after each member of the family, he found they were all out with the exception of the invalid. At first this rather chilled Jerry, but upon a moment's consideration he thought that after all it was best Alfred and he should have a few moments together alone. There was no reason, as far as he knew, for precautions of any kind; but Alfred might be excitable, and it was desirable that Mrs. Davenport's name should occur but sparingly, or not at all.

He was shown into a little back drawing-room, where he found Alfred sitting in an easy-chair at the window. Alfred rose with eager alacrity. The two friends held one another by the hand for some time in silence. Then Jerry spoke and thanked heaven Alfred looked so well, quite well, better than ever he had seen him before--thinner no doubt, but better. "Why, you have got a colour like a bashful girl in a little fix!"

"I--I have just heard surprising news."

"What is it?" asked Jerry, looking keenly at his friend.

"First, tell me when are we to go to Ireland--to Kilcash?"

"Whenever you like, my dearest Alfred."

"But how soon?" he asked eagerly.

"Whenever you like, my dear boy, I am at your disposal. But do not run any risk--do not hasten away for my sake."

Jerry was thinking of how little it would cost him in the way of self-denial if he were obliged to pass a month under this roof.

"But will you hurry away for mine?"

"For yours, my dear Alfred! Of course I'll do anything you wish. But how hurry away for yours?"

"Then we can start to-morrow for Kilcash?"

"To-morrow! Why, what's the matter, Alfred?"

"Ah, I know it is too late for to-day. But to-morrow we set out for Kilcash."

"If you wish it. But why this excitement? It's the dullest place in the world."

"Dull--dull! Why, she's there by this time!"

"Who, in the name of mercy?"

"Mrs. Davenport."