look
particularly hopeful, but I had undoubted faith in St. Alleyne's
ingenuity, and it was a great satisfaction to me to see Lucy, and let
her into the secret of our expedition. Her eagerness, indeed, was much
greater than mine, and she made me promise to send her a telegram
directly there was any good news to communicate.

It was a bitterly cold night in January when St. Alleyne and I crossed,
and I am not a particularly good sailor. I remained on deck for the sake
of the air, the saloon being hopeless, and made what efforts I could to
keep myself warm. Every now and then I looked into the smoking-room,
where my friend was consuming large cigars; I envied him his occupation,
but rejected all his invitations to join him. After a time he came out
and wrapped me up in half a dozen rugs on a seat. By the time we reached
Dublin I was numb to the heart, and knew I was in for a violent cold.

However, we made no delay, but caught the mail for the south. The
carriage was warmer than the boat, and by a judicious arrangement of
rugs I managed to bring back some heat into my blood, and with it came a
revived interest in our expedition. St. Alleyne had said nothing about
his plan since starting, but as I looked across at him I could see that
he was thinking hard. He caught my eye and smiled.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Much," I said.

"You look a poor starved rat of a man, even now."

"I'm sorry," I said, "that I haven't your terrific constitution."

"It hasn't been much good to me so far," he said, "and I'll thank you,
Mr. Mildmay, for one of those excellent cigars of yours."

"I think I could manage one myself," said I, sitting up.

"Bravo! Now we can talk seriously.... I've been thinking, Phil."

"I could see that!"

"You could, could you? Well, I've hit on a plan--a beautiful plan."

"Capital!" I said.

"But the carrying through depends upon you."

"Am I in fit condition?" I asked.

"Faith, you'll be in too good condition presently. It depends on your
sickness."

It was always necessary to beg St. Alleyne to explain: I did this
forcibly, and he brought his head close to mine.

"I told you, I think," he said, "that in my opinion my cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan, is mad?"

"You did."

"Well," he said, "she's not so mad, neither. She has some idea of true
charity. Now Norah is a great hand with the sick; she has a way with
her, as we say over here, and Mrs. O'Callaghan encourages her to visit
them; it's all p