It was crazy; he knew it even as the idea took possession of his mind. It was as crazy as Owen’s idea of saving enough from the wages of a builder’s laborer to buy back Rosnagree, yet, it gave him strength to step forward and shut the cupboard door. The thing to do was to find them, those two Conroy heirs, but that wouldn’t be too difficult. England would have to be searched, but England wasn’t that big, and it was thickly veined with Irish connections. Possibly their mother still had relatives in Castlemore, they wouldn’t take long to trace, in which case he could be on his way tomorrow. It was crazy, of course it was crazy, and yet—There was a new vigor in his step as he went up the stairs to bed.

Chapter 14

Next morning, it did not seem so simple. What good would the money be to them now? Each of the young Conroys was probably settled already in the station of life he had chosen, perhaps married, with children. Was it right to unsettle them now?

And yet the money was due to them. It was the measure of what the Conroys owed them. Or was it? Surely they were owed more, much more? What money could compensate for the loss of Rosnagree?

Well, then, why shouldn’t one of them have Rosnagree? That would solve all the problems at a blow. Yes, one of them would follow Frank, would use the money from the cupboard to buy stock, fix up the house and outbuildings, restore everything to what it had been in the old days. And if he was married, why all the better – the future of the family would be secure.

But first, it would be necessary to come to an agreement with Frank, or rather, with Mama (for, though she no longer held the pursestrings, she had never formally made the place over). Would he go see her? Yes, he would; he wasn’t afraid. How could she possibly refuse him? When, though? Why, the sooner the better, today, now, while the mood was on him. It would be a relief to see her and to get the whole business over and done with before someone, anyone of them, God forbid, should die. Frank had mentioned that she was not well. There was no time to lose.

He cut himself a hunk of bread in the kitchen. Quickly he buttered it and took it out with him to the car, losing no time. He was just getting in, munching away, when a voice hailed him from the gateway.

“Padre!”

Oh, no, he groaned, Drewitt! In the midst of death, we are in life! He held the door open, resignedly looked around.

“Just a moment, Padre!”

“I’m going out, Mr. Drewitt. Couldn’t you call again?”