He disliked Richard Burke as a man as much as he admired
him as a tenant; but he had taken a fancy to Desmond, lent him books from
his library, took him out shooting when the weather and Richard
permitted, and played chess with him sometimes of a rainy afternoon. His
housekeeper said that Master Desmond was the only human being whose
presence the squire could endure when the gout was on him. In short, Sir
Willoughby and Desmond were very good friends.
Desmond had almost reached the gate of the Hall when, at a sudden turn of
the road, he came upon a man seated upon a low hillock by the roadside,
idly swishing at the long ripe grass with a cane. At the first glance
Desmond noticed the strangely-clad right hand of his overnight
acquaintance; the shabby clothes, the red feather, the flaming neckcloth.
The man looked up at his approach; the winning smile settled upon his
swarthy face, which daylight now revealed as seamed and scarred; and,
without stirring from his seat or desisting from his occupation, he
looked in the boy's face and said softly:
"You are early afoot, like the son of Anchises, my young friend. If I
mistake not, when Aeneas met the son of Evander they joined their right
hands. We have met; let us also join hands and bid each other a very good
morning."
Desmond shook hands; he did not know what to make of this remarkable
fellow who must always be quoting from his school books; but there was no
harm in shaking hands.
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