Jocelyn Thew's eyes watched him with a curious
softness.
"Yes," he acknowledged, "I can tell you why, if he really saw a likeness in
me to the person he spoke of, it might remind him of strange things. You
know him by name, of course--Michael Dilwyn?"
"He wrote the wonderful Sinn Fein play, 'The New Green,' didn't he?"
Katharine asked eagerly. "I heard you mention it to him. My aunt and I were
there at the first night."
"He wrote that and some more wonderful poetry. He has spent more than half
his life working for the cause of Ireland. He was the father and patriarch
of the last rising. One of his sons was shot at Dublin."
"And who is Sir Denis Cathley?"
"The Cathleys are another so-called revolutionary family," Jocelyn Thew
explained. "The late Sir Denis, the father of the man whom he supposed me
to be, was Michael Dilwyn's closest friend. They, too, have paid a heavy
price for their patriotism or their rebellious instincts, whichever way you
choose to look at the matter."
"I think," Katharine declared, "that Mr. Dilwyn is the most
picturesque-looking man I ever saw. I don't believe that even now he is
altogether convinced as to your identity."
"He has probably reached an age," was the cool reply, "when his memory
begins to suffer.
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