Some time elapses before he speaks again, and Mona is almost hoping he may have fallen into a quiet slumber, when he opens his eyes and says, regretfully,—,
"She has reason," says the old man, earnestly and approvingly, rounding his sentence after the French fashion, as the Irish so often will: "she has said it," he goes on, "she always does say it; she has brains, has my colleen. Ye don't stir out of this house to-night, Mr. Rodney; so make up yer mind to it. With Tim Ryan abroad, an' probably picked up and carried home by this time, the counthry will be all abroad, an' no safe thravellin' for man or baste. Here's a cosey sate for ye by the fire: sit down, lad, an' take life aisy.",
"It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage of the proceedings have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought Geoffrey was that sort of fellow.".
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