Tom Moore Part 71

"It is all for the best, sir," he went on with a sincerity that was convincing. "I did not know, I was not sure, that your daughter loved me. She, bless her pretty head, was too full of life and laughter to read her own heart. My adversity has brought her to me with outstretched arms and a love more tender, more true, than even I dreamed it could be. No, no, sir. Keep your mouth shut to please me."

"It is really your wish that I do this?"

"Sure it is," replied Moore, satisfied that he had carried his point.

"But the Prince, Tom?"

Moore's face saddened, but he rid himself of his regret with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Poor man," he said. "He thinks harshly of me, no doubt. Ah, well, perhaps it is better so, Mr. d.y.k.e. And yet I 'd be easier in my mind if he knew how I regard him. I have no feelings save those of friends.h.i.+p and grat.i.tude in my heart for him but he 'll never know."

"Yours is a generous soul, Thomas."

"To-night I can say as truly and fondly as on that evening his favor plucked me from poverty and failure, 'G.o.d bless the Prince Regent.'"

"It is needless to say I echo that sentiment, Mr. Moore."

Moore turned with a low cry. The Prince had stepped noiselessly from behind the curtain to the centre of the room, and stood with a smile on his face, enjoying his involuntary host's surprise.

"Your Highness," stammered Moore, for once thoroughly abashed. "Your Highness!"

"Aye, Wales himself. Good evening, Mr. d.y.k.e. It seems that I have wronged you, Moore."

"Your Highness heard?"

"Every word, gentlemen."

"I am not sorry," said Mr. d.y.k.e, softly.

"But," said Moore, rallying from his astonishment, "how came your Highness here?"

The Prince's eyes twinkled, but his face was grave, almost solemn.

"For that information, sir, I must refer you to your neighbor, one Mr.

Sweeny."

"Then you, sir, are the gay spark?"

"No doubt a spark, since I shall make light of my adventure, but in reality not so very gay."

Bessie came hurrying along the hall and flinging open the door entered breathlessly.

"Oh, Tom, Tom," she cried. "The hall below is full of men. They are searching for the strange gallant who won Jane Sweeny from the grocer's son."

The Prince took a pinch of snuff.

"Egad!" said he. "A remarkable achievement, it seems. I 'm beginning to be proud of it."

"The Prince!" exclaimed the girl in amazement.

"An uninvited guest, Mistress d.y.k.e," said his Highness, jovially.

"And therefore doubly welcome, sir," returned Moore, at the door listening to the murmur that came from below. "Your Highness, they are coming up I am afraid. They have traced you here."

"Devilish awkward," muttered the Prince, looking around for a weapon; "I shall have to fight, I fancy."

"No, no," said Moore. "That is no way to get out of this mess. We would be beaten down in a moment."

"_We?_"

"Aye, Sire, Mr. d.y.k.e, you and I. I have a better scheme, if you will trust yourself to me."

"I prefer you to our friends."

"Then hide in the next room," said the poet, drawing back the curtain.

"I 'll get them off your track or my name is not Tom Moore. Whatever you hear, don't stir out, your Highness."

Buster entered in a rush.

"Ho, sir," he panted, "the 'ole parcel hof 'em his a-coming hup!"

"Hus.h.!.+" said Moore. "This way, Sire."

Wales obeyed his host's instructions and vanished in the adjoining room, his manner still cool and unruffled.

"Buster, can you lose those rascals in a chase over the roofs?"

"Hi can, sir," replied the boy valiantly. "Hi 'll give 'em such a run has they reads habout hin their primers."

Moore tossed him an old hat and coat from the cupboard.

"The way is clear, lad," he said, peering out the window. "Out with you and when I whistle show yourself somewhere and then run like the devil.

When you are tired, drop your hat and coat and you 'll be safe."

"Drop nothing," said Buster. "Hi knows too much to be guilty hof hany such shocking waste as that."

He hurried out of the window, landing on the roof below as lightly as any cat, as the sound of the approaching mob grew louder. There was but little time to spare, and Moore wasted none of it.

"Bessie," he commanded, "lock the door behind us when we go out in the hall. When I sing, you scream for help at the top of your voice. Then, whatever I say swear to like a darlin'. Come, Mr. d.y.k.e."

Moore grabbed the old gentleman by the arm and hurried him out in the hall as the first of Wales' pursuers set foot on the flight of stairs leading to the attic.

"The Harp that once thro' Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul--"

A woman's scream rang through the house.

"Help! Help! Tom! Help!"