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SOCIETY
Gallaudet. Sc'
1758
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THREE GIRLS
AND A HERMIT





THREE GIRLS
川
​AND A HERMIT
By
DOROTHEA CONYERS
t
Author of "The Strayings of Sandy
"The Boy, some Horses, and the Girl"
etc
い
​"9
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1908


432173B
L
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN


CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
HOW THE TRIP WAS TALKED OF
PAGE
CHAPTER II
TREATING CHIEFLY OF YOUNG HORSES
16
CHAPTER III
BEYOND THE PURPLE HILLS
34
CHAPTER IV
BALLYDARE
50
CHAPTER V
SOME SHEEP AND OTHER THINGS
71
CHAPTER VI
LIFE PROVES DISAPPOINTING
93
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST MEET
108
CHAPTER VIII
RETURNING A CALL.
134


vi
Contents
CHAPTER IX
PAGE
A TRIP TO THE SEA .
153
CHAPTER X
CLENNELFORD
"17о
CHAPTER XI
THEATRE-GOING
. 182
CHAPTER XII
THE HIRELINGS AND THE GEOGHANS
204
CHAPTER XIII
A GAY AFTERNOON
221
.
CHAPTER XIV
OF DEER-HUNTING AND THE HERMIT
242
CHAPTER XV
THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY
266
CHAPTER XVI
THE MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS
292
CHAPTER XVII
HOW THE TRIP SUCCEEDED
.
316


THREE GIRLS AND A HERMIT
CHAPTER I
HOW THE TRIP WAS TALKED OF
"L
“
)
IFE!” Moira Considine used the word with
dramatic emphasis. "I want to see life.”
She spelt the word mentally with a leaded capital,
waving tanned, well-shaped hands at the rugged
Kerry landscape, as if to point out that it was a
mere rusty side-track on the world's great railway.
Mountains, dimly purple in summer's haze, framed the
picture, seen rising in majesty high above the rough
peaks. Cones of smaller hills, crouching, humble
subjects, at the monarch's heels. A lake, the sky's
clear blue tinting it, rippled to shore through a belt
of rushes, little wavelets, where the rushes ceased,
mouthing at a pebbly shore. A fuchsia hedge, tangle
of scarlet and green, edged the little garden, the lower
bells dropping on the water. The west wind, blowing
gently, brought with it clean scents of heather and
peat, and a kiss of salt on its breath. Brooding over
all was a peace such as only Ireland knows.
But the three Miss Considines, in the folly of their
youth, looked at none of these things. Familiarity
had bred a bitter contempt of the lonely beauty.
Towering hill-crests, boom of distant waves, lap of
I


2
Three Girls and a Hermit
waters, scent of salt and heather, had been their daily
portion since, sixteen years before, they had arrived
at Borrisdeane, three lonely, blackly clad children,
and remained there ever since. Their father, an
improvident failure, had sent his children to his sister,
promised with airy carelessness to pay her, and then
died himself, penniless. Miss Maria Considine, now
dead, had been of a soured disposition; she accepted
her burden without a murmur, but Borrisdeane,
sufficing her outlook, must suffice her nieces, and she
kept them there without interval of trip or change.
They recalled this now, forgetting their many hours
of happiness : the joys of fishing in the hill-locked
lake, of rushing noisily to the sea and wading deep
in the tumbling waters, of coming in hungry and
dripping, to feast on hot griddle-bread and eggs and
honey. Borrisdeane in the last few years had grown
to be looked on in the light of a prison ; Lake
Cottage, their little home, as a dungeon cell. With
youth's careless ingratitude, they had taken their life
as a matter of course ; never seen or cared, save with a
laugh at stinginess, how Aunt Maria's black dresses
grew rustier year by year, how much she denied
herself to clothe them in warm jerseys and blue
serges, how many times her head ached when she
dragged herself to the daily lessons they rebelled at,
how her daily glass of claret vanished that they
might have the honey they loved. For Aunt Maria,
being one of the many who confuse religion with
intolerance, and holiness with perpetual gloom, had
never sought for their love. Without a murmur she
had accepted their ingratitude; never breathed through
these years that they were dependent on her charity,


How the Trip was Talked Of 3
)
and then passed suddenly and quietly, before she
had fully arranged her will with the stiff precision she
had meant to. Sudden heart failure had taken her
from them one still spring night, and the girls, left
in complete freedom, brewed mischief long ere her
grave was green. They had duly driven to distant
Tramee, there to lay in a stock of mourning garments
and shroud their faces in veils, which to a thoughtful
mind suggested eclipses, but they found it hard to
put on sorrow, and after a short time left off trying.
It was later, when the sorrows of change unstrapped
Biddy's tongue, that they saw, and even then dimly,
all their aunt had done for them.
Biddy, the old-shawled, check-aproned servant,
adored them too deeply to say anything now. She
had slaved for them without grudging, and kept
house now with a stern refusal to try the strange new
dishes which Moira would have had. Biddy held
her trio in check when they would have worked
havoc in the kitchen ; but their hearts yearned for
change. Sitting in the garden or gathered round
the peat fire in the chilly evenings, their tongues
clacked noisily as they whipped themselves on to a
deed which savoured, none too faintly, of folly. If
they could live alone here, why not elsewhere?
Mrs. Desmond, the clergyman's wife, on being con-
sulted, had nervously murmured there could not be
much difference.
They were talking of it now, and Biddy baking
bread for tea, listened with growing uneasiness.
Moira, the second girl, paced up and down the
little garden talking loudly, while Eva and little quiet
Kathleen hung upon her words.
1


4
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
a
From earliest childhood she had led and they had
followed. Hot-tempered, self-willed, possessed of an
.
over-ready tongue, Moira had swayed their pliant
natures to her will, until she scarcely knew what it
was to be thwarted. No one but the Hermit ever
questioned her decisions, or forced her to a path she
did not want to tread on.
It was Moira who had taken them bathing with
all their clothes on, so that they might practise the
saving of life in a common-sense way, and having
swum out of her depth was unable to get in, and
would have been drowned if the Hermit had not
come for her ; Moira, who stole a boat in half a gale
of wind and fortunately capsized her a few yards from
the shore; Moira, whose ever-active brain was for ever
evolving impossible hopes and ideas, and who now
was determined to leave Borrisdeane, and lead her
sisters to fortune. She waved a pink-covered weekly,
lent by the doctor's wife. "Having sufficient bread
and butter and eggs, and being covered by black
serge, is not being alive," she said vehemently. Here
she stepped off the path and crushed a precious
begonia, one of a dozen bought by Kathleen from
the proceeds of her bantams. Kathleen's wail of
dismay rent the air.
“ We can all ride." Moira moved hastily. “Oh,
Kathleen, what is a begonia when it's a question of
one's life?"
Kathleen, remarking that the begonia had no
further interest in that subject, tenderly lifted the
trodden, pulpy stem with its bundle of striped leaf
and flaring blossom, and gave heated information as
to its high cost of sixpence.


How the Trip was Talked Of 5
Moira, keeping carefully in the middle of the path,
denounced her sister as small-minded, and went on
with her subject.
“The money—the spare money-is ours to do what
we like with,” she said. “Let us do as I have sug-
gested. Take it, buy some young horses, and hunt
them in some other place; go to balls and parties and
wear evening dresses, and live as other girls do. Oh!
think of it; it's our only chance of"-Moira had
the grace to blush--"of marrying." Eva suddenly
drooped her pretty, fair head.
“What is to happen to us here?" demanded Moira.
“ Just to drift from year to year until we take to
bonnets and beaded mantles and to feeling the
chickens' breasts to see if they are fat enough to
kill, as old Miss O'Brien does."
This tragic flight of fancy carried weight. There
was silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of the
lake, in the little garden. Eva, the eldest girl, frowned
indecisively, looked at one of Biddy's chickens roosting
outside, and sighed.
She and Kathleen were fair-skinned and fair-haired,
one tall, and the other slight and very short, with
gentle, reserved voices and quiet blue eyes. Moira
was auburn-haired, grey-eyed, of restless energy, with
a red mouth which curled into hidden smiles or
drooped to deepest dejection in almost childish
transparency. She wearied of Borrisdeane. Her
mind, fed by weekly periodicals, aspired to going
forth clad in some of the wondrous garments she
read of in Society Scannings and other journals treating
of the great world. Also, she wanted even more than
this to hunt. With a sweeping belief that everything


6
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
must be as she wanted it, Moira Considine felt certain
that the rest of the world would be a spirited com-
bination of lawn meets and church parades, chiffon
frocks and young men.
“It's not-it's not as if it would cost money," Moira
spoke breathlessly. “But we can really live for
nothing. I was at the forge yesterday, and Martin
Hallinan told me one could make fortunes of selling
young horses. His aunt's second cousin sold one for
thirty pounds to a dealer, and saw him two years
after in the ring at the Dublin Horse Show, and they
were asking "-Moira's voice dropped to awed tones-
“eighty pounds."
Here Kathleen, who regretted her flowers, was
unkind enough to inquire whether the dealer or
the horse had been on sale in Dublin, and quailed
before her sister's withering glance.
“Some people," said Moira icily, “seem to be
devoid of understanding; and there is Martin
Hallinan. Ask him if it's true."
Martin Hallinan, a burly red-bearded giant, paused
to wish them a shy "good evening." As Moira's breath-
less interrogations were hurled upon him he removed
his hat and scratched his head with deliberation.
"Sorra a lie in it," he said stoutly, “an' it's a
matter well known that there's money in the horses.
I saw the horse meself many times drawing turf from
the deep bog. A big camel of a baste he was, but
Mullady bought him and gave up to thirty pound.
And when me aunt's second cousin, that went groom
to Captain Casey, was up in Dublin, didn't he see the
grey, fat and shinin', and he ambling round the ring
as if he nivir saw turf?


How the Trip was Talked Of _7
"Hi! grey horse,' says me aunt's cousin, says he
('that's,' says he, 'the way to speak to thim). Did you
get a prize?' says he, the sight nearly to leave his
eyes looking at the grey and the way he was changed.
"'I did not,' says the man that was riding. 'I did
not. Don't ye know,' says he, sour-like, 'that the besht
horses gets no prizes, but thim with dandy legs and
heads, steppin' like common roadsthers, or thim,' says
he, dark like, 'that has frinds in court.' Mike, that's
me aunt's cousin, said nothin', havin' got two prizes
himself. 'An' what,' says he, 'would you be asking
for that grey horse?' and he ran his eye down the
hindmosht leg, where he knew he'd see the bump that
the grey got kicking the cart to bits one day he was
too lightsome.
666
'That's no curb, but a knock he got av win in
Kildare,' says the man on the grey, sharp-like, 'an'
I'm asking a hundred,' says he, 'just to make a quick
sale.'
"God Almighty sind you it,' says Mike, says
he; an' shure if that's not making money, miss,
what is?"
"You see," cried Moira eagerly to her listening
sisters.
"Asking," said a gentle voice, "is not always
receiving."
Unheard oars had come sweeping across the lake
and a boat been moored to the rough stones which
did duty for a pier.
"Oh! you," cried Moira; "you always scoff."
"But it's true," said the newcomer simply.
Martin Hallinan scratched the other side of his head
and induced a new vein of thought.


8
Three Girls and a Hermit
fiery eye.
Begob,” he said, “an' it is. Didn't I ask twinty
pound for eight months for a cob I had ? Divil a
ha'porth wrong with him but a stiffness in his fore-
most legs ; that was more play actin' than anythin'
else, for a belt of a stick'd make him sound. An' didn't
I take three pound fifteen for him in the tail of the
string ?” he concluded dolefully.“ But there's money
in the horses all the time,” he added, catching Moira's
“Many a one here under a cyar that ye’d
sell aisy." Here he said good evening, and walked on.
The girls, thought upon their faces, watched him go
down the narrow fuchsia-bordered road.
“And you, Hermit, have some tea," said Eva
hospitably.
Old Biddy was bringing out a table, laying a worn
white cloth.
The newcomer was a man with a quiet face, tired
blue eyes, and a sad mouth. To the rest of the
world he was Oliver Tremayne ; to the Considine
girls he was the Hermit. He had taken Borrisdeane
House, a great rambling place just across the lake,
and lived there alone, never going away, shooting in
winter, fishing in summer, riding at all times. At
first he had declined all society; but Moira, when a
romping, long-legged child, had made her way beyond
his gates and into his life. He had taught her how
to fish, taken her for rapturous days out upon the
lake, when with thumping heart one watched the fly
drop on the water, and with a shout of ecstasy felt
the rod's point bend, heard the reel's harsh whirr of
triumph, and played a big lake trout; for other days,
upon the heaving sea, with long lines coming dripping
aboard. He had walked with her through his tangled


How the Trip was Talked Of 9
overgrown woods, teaching her the lore of bird and
beast.
Now that Moira had grown up they quarrelled ; his
gentle voice cut across her extravagant dreams; his
quiet contradictions were generally right, and Moira,
the woman, scoffed and wrangled with her childhood's
friend.
He came with an easy slouch, which was something
apart from the hasty stride of the Borrisdeane youths,
pushing his way through a gap in the hedge, where
blackberries, purple and green, hung about the crimson
fuchsias. A sparkle of humour, which no sadness
could subdue, lay behind eyes and mouth. He
stopped still, as Moira, fresh eyed and sunny haired,
turned to greet him. With some asperity she asked
him what he looked at.
“The sunshine, Moira,” he said quietly.
“ It's behind you," said Moira sharply, pointing to
the glowing west.
“Sometimes I hope that there is still some in
front of me," he said, and sat down, still looking
at her.
Biddy, helped by the elder girls, had laid their tea-
smoking griddle-bread, pats of golden butter, a square
of honey, and a nest of fresh-laid eggs; for the Miss
Considines, being economical, would take nothing
more except milk and biscuits before bedtime.
They knew him too well to cease their discussion ;
it rattled on over steaming strong tea and hot but-
tered cakes, and the Hermit, his face very thoughtful,
listened to their wondrous plans.
“But have you no people ?” he said ; "friends of
your father's, whom you could visit ?"


Іо
Three Girls and a Hermit
" Aunt Jane has written to us." Eva took a letter
from her pocket.
" Aunt Jane, who never even sent us a Christmas
card, is troubled for our immortal souls. The un-
married Considines are over-worried by religion.”
Moira tweaked the letter from Eva's fingers, and
spread the thin, black-edged sheets upon her knee.
“ Aunt Jane says that unless we exist upon potatoes
and bread we cannot possibly live upon our income
here; but that she, being our late father's sister,
will interest herself to provide us with some suitable
employments. Our lack of education and accomplish-
ments is, of course, a great drawback. But one
might qualify as a lady nurse to little children-it is
a nice womanly employment; and then for another-
if we know anything she thinks Mrs. Halford, the
rector's wife, would receive the eldest as nursery
governess to their little girls. No salary, but laundry
and a liberal table. Three young women could not
live alone in the wilds of Kerry, especially in such dire
poverty. So much for our relations, who would have
me call the butlers' Mister,'” laughed Moira. “ Shall
we ask Aunt Jane to stay, and show her how chickens
and ducks and boiled eggs are permissible upon our
income if we stayed here? But we must try our
fortune. We'll not stay." She sharply asked Eva
what she was thinking of.
“ It was only if we did not sell the horses you are
going to buy; if we came back failures," said thought-
ful Eva.
“Yes, if they were not sold," said the Hermit. He
had removed Aunt Jane's letter from the table and torn
ịt wrathfully to little pieces, his blue eyes growing hard,


How the Trip was Talked Of II
Moira declared volubly that it was as easy as easy to
sell. You bought horses in the rough, you trained and
rode and showed them off, and then sold for fabulous
profits. Why, people lived by it. She splashed hot
water into the teapot with a vigour which induced
the Hermit to remove his legs from danger, and old
Biddy to cry,“ Have a care, Miss Moira, astore,” from
the kitchen window. "I have a fresh kittle on the
boil if ye want more," she added, thrusting her
wrinkled old face into the sunshine. "An' Miss Eva's
. “
March-hatched Howdang is afther laying an egg."
Moira took the teapot in, and the others were
silent, thinking Aunt Maria, quietly generous in
death as in life, had left them all she had. An income
of two hundred pounds a year to be shared equally,
and savings, gathered before the hungry baby mouths
came to be filled, amounting to eight hundred pounds.
Now what they thought of doing was leaving the
cottage, using this loose capital, and going to some
hunting country for the winter, some spot where they
could ride hard, live in a pictured whirl of gaiety,
and pay for all this fun by selling their horses at the
end of the season for enormous sums. Had not Martin
Hallinan given an instance of one animal bought
but ten miles away, which had found its way to the
great Dublin Horse Show? There were other colts
drawing turf from the deep bog; there were long-
tailed youngsters. But it was a momentous question,
for eight hundred pounds, once spent, was not to be
recalled. Eva, the eldest, hesitated.
Moira returned with fresh tea, with fresher argu-
ments and ideas. She wove a tinselled, flimsy web of
hope and folly, until Eva and Kathleen went away-


12
Three Girls and a Hermit
one to work in the tiny gardens which supplied them
with fruit and vegetables, the other to help Biddy in
the kitchen, from which, as the old woman came near
the window, heated words could be heard.
"Childer's talk and nonsense, Miss Eva, an' me
chickens all to be left behind, an' the garding idle.
Oh! I tell ye" the next was lost in a clatter of
pots and pans.
So far Oliver Tremayne had said nothing. He
was, in fact, amazed and shocked at this new idea,
suddenly sprung upon him.
"Well?" Moira was more uneasy at his silence
than she would have cared to own to. "And you.
What do you think of it?"
"It sounds pretty," he said, laying down his
cup, and looking straight into her starry, hopeful
eyes.
"We should be away for months; see people; be
in the world. It would give us a chance."
"Of what?" he asked quietly, looking at her level
brows and wilful mouth.
"Of marrying," said Moira boldly. She was not
shy with him. "Suppose we remain and exist here.
Who can we meet? We do not want to grow into
old maids of Lee. And there are no men here."
"No, of course not," he said, a twinkle growing in
his eyes.
"But I suppose you never thought of that?" said
Moira sharply.
"Of your marrying? Strange to say, I have," he
answered; the twinkle had died now, his eyes were
very tired again. "Yet men do come here. They
come to fish. There was Carstairs last year."


How the Trip was Talked Of 13
"Who has never written to Eva since then. And
she has felt it bitterly."
"Carstairs will come back," he answered.
"Also
there are men in your great world who might not
write either. In his case there is, I feel sure, an
excuse."
"And then his idea was to take Catermere and live
here, in these wilds, for the summer," burst out Moira,
in swift contempt.
"Surely one might do worse," he said wistfully.
He looked, waving his hand, at the swell of the purple
hills, golden lights astray upon their sides; at the
stretch of bog, yellow-grassed and deep-pooled ; at
the ripple of waters seen through the scarlet-dappled
hedge. The sea's kiss came on the wooing wind; the
hum of the Atlantic, beating on a pebbly beach, could
be plainly heard: Ireland-a mysterious, capricious
woman, showing all her lonely loveliness. "One
might do worse," he said again, his blue eyes cloud-
ing-"much worse. You've loved it yourself, Moira,
in the summers when you fished with me. Moira, if
you knew. Eyes and ears, aye, and hearts, ache in
the blaze and glare beyond those hills.
Here a man
may learn peace."
Moira sniffed in youthful contempt. Peace was for
old men and hermits; life for young bodies and
throbbing, hopeful hearts. She wanted to take it up
in both hands, to bathe herself in the excitement she
had never known, to dance and flirt and make merry.
Yet, looking at the Hermit's face, misgiving touched
her, so much so that she grew angry.
"And what do you think of it?" she questioned, as
Eva and Kathleen came back. "Don't you think it's


14
Three Girls and a Hermit
all a splendid idea ?" And her eyes flashed menace
of warning and softness of entreaty. She wanted
support. Eva placed some foolish reliance on the
Hermit's opinion.
“ Yes. What do you think of it now Moira has
told you of her idea ?” asked Eva slowly.
“To leave this place; to take out your capital ; for
you three, living alone, to attempt to buy and sell
horses with some idea of making them pay?" Oliver
Tremayne looked Moira straight in the face and
showed himself no coward. “ I think I never heard
of such a piece of childish folly in my life," he said
emphatically.
“God's blessing on ye for that same word,” said
Biddy, as she removed the tray.
The Hermit faced Moira's kindling cheeks and eyes,
and, with an eloquence rare for him, talked on.
Horses, even those bought by experts, went wrong.
Supposing this happened, they would only return at
the end of a few wasted months, poorer and dissatisfied
with everything. To come back at war with the world
when they might remain, and in remaining, never
know what fortune would knock at their doors.
He saw Eva's eyes light, and knew that she under-
stood his meaning.
Also, you spoke of riding ”—here he was brutally
candid—“ but galloping about on the postman's pony
and the smith's play-actin' cob is not quite the same
thing as the hunting of impetuous young horses over
a strange country. The world-
“Has changed since your day," stormed Moira, now
actively furious.
" It changes little,” he said, with a sadness which


How the Trip was Talked Of 15
made Moira ashamed. Certainly not enough to
allow three pretty girls to live alone in it."
Moira declared hotly that three girls could live
alone anywhere. She saw her sisters' faces, and
realised that her house of cards quivered. With
rapid tongue and sharpened voice she declared that
she had read so in The Ladies' Illustrated, and could
not see what the Hermit could know of society and
hunting
The Hermit, very gravely, said that perhaps he had
read a man's Illustrated. Also, that he supposed they
had really made up their minds.
Moira hoped they had, and that they would show
him how wrong he was. But her voice trembled as
she spoke.
“I hope," said the Hermit, “ that you may." He
got up slowly, with a troubled look on his face, for all
this was new to him. Moira generally saw him to
his boat. To-day he was allowed to go alone. He
pulled away with a long, easy stroke, looking young
and supple as he bent to his oars ; the lulling cluck
of the rowlocks, the gentle splash of the blades died
away; the boat, black against the evening glow,
slipped to the wooded shore opposite.
Moira had been too angry even to say good-bye,
for her sisters were plainly impressed ; but later, over
milk and oatmeal biscuits, she had her way, and her
sisters agreed to do as she wished.
C


CHAPTER II
TREATING CHIEFLY OF YOUNG HORSES
"I
PRESUME," said the Hermit quietly, “that
nothing will induce you to change your
minds."
“Nothing," said Moira stoutly.
She had pulled the boat across the lake. Despite
their quarrels, it seemed natural to come first to him
with their plans : how Eva and Kathleen had con-
sented, how the money had been lodged in the bank,
and how Martin Hallinan and Jamesey Casey and
Father Magee had pledged themselves to scour all
Kerry, to send word across bog and up mountain.
Horses worth being taken away should arrive to be
bought. Hallinan had promised to "pass a note by
posht to sundry cousins," for, oh surely there were
great horses about !
Moira and the Hermit stood at a gate opening into
Borrisdeane woods. Sunshine made the mossy
ground a trellis-work of silver and green; the
branches, arched and twisted, a canopy above their
heads. Great beeches, straight firs, slender larch,
coarse sturdy elm, lacing and twining, too free
from axe and saw, and through every gap shone a
glimmer of grey waters. Rabbits darted to and fro
to their homes in the sandy bank. The air was full
of the songs of little birds. At the far end of the
16


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 17
wood the trees were stunted, bent by the force of the
gales in winter when they rushed over the rise beyond
the lake. Then the Atlantic spoke in tones of thunder,
lashing at the cliffs, rolling the pebbles up and down
as it foamed, tempest driven, to the road's edge. To-
day its voice was a distant, soft-voiced chant, lulling
tired nerves to rest.
“Will you miss it sometimes, I wonder ? " said the
Hermit. He looked first at the wood, then at the
girl by his side. “The sea calls one, Moira, when one
has lived near it. Will you miss anything here?"
Moira made an extremely vulgar remark, which
alluded to missing her grandmamma.
She was just longing to get away. To go to balls-
she had never worn an evening gown. She slid a
bare arm from her loose sleeve and considered dis-
passionately that it would do. "Go, get into the
world, the wonderful, unknown world."
They were very pretty and young, these girls : it
was not strange that they should want to go away.
Yet Tremayne's eyes, now fixed again on the silver
tumble of light and shade, were very thoughtful.
The world could proffer a golden cup full of sparkling
wine ; here one must be content with cold still water.
“Money," he said, "does not go so very far in gay
places. Dances, theatres, good grooms, and dear
forage eat it up. Where have you decided on?"
Moira became voluble again. She perched upon
the gate, swinging her slender, stoutly shod feet. She
had read in many papers.
She had thought and
wondered, of course Eva and Kathleen also, but
Moira's tone seemed to imply that their thoughts
were of little account. “ And she—that is, they-had
»
»
2


18
Three Girls and a Hermit
decided, had even written to a house agent and
awaited his reply. There was hunting, there were
soldiers, she had read in Dublin Society of balls and
parties, so they were going to--a place called -Bally-
dare." Moira, her golden visions rising and dazzling
her, drew a choked breath : she hardly knew what
wonders she expected; the Hermit, turning aside,
also choked with an appalling suddenness, spluttering
sounds issued from beyond his shaking neck, and
when Moira, rushing round, beheld his face, his eyes
were full of water. “A fly, I think,” he said weakly.
“Do-don't look, Moira," and wheeling he choked
anew.
Moira, making severe remarks as to the folly of
using open mouths as fly traps, waited for his recovery.
It came slowly.
“To-Ballydare to see the world," he said at last.
“So you settled on that, Moira. Oh there'll be
dances there, of course, and hunting ; but, faith, I
thought you meant Melton at least, or, choosing
Ireland, somewhere near Kildare."
Moira reft some newspaper cuttings from her
pocket, and having requested the Hermit to choke
no more, she read extracts in awed tones. Lady
Evelyn Balcoyle wore black satin and diamonds”.
it was an account of a ball—" Lady Buller green
chiffon, the Misses Reidy all in white, with different
coloured sashes."
The Hermit heard it patiently, and choked no
more, but checked with an effort some comments
he seemed anxious to make.
“Go, see your world,” he said at last. “There were
one or two things I meant to say to you, Moira, but
)
1


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 19
(
they must wait now until you judge between Ballydare
and Borrisdeane."
“As if any one could compare them,” said Moira
with scorn.
The Hermit thought politely that they could not,
and suggested tea. As Moira swung from the gate
she looked again at the wood, and the misgivings of
yesterday tore at her heart, checking her fancy's gallop
with a sudden curb of pain; something, she could not
tell what, which ruffled her to anger. Who could
regret the woods, with all the world in front ?
Borrisdeane House, long and rambling, stood clear
cut in the sunshine. Ireland's artists were not given
to beauty of outline, but they had spared Borrisdeane
the square heaviness of its contemporaries, and built
out straggling wings to either side. The house faced
the lake, the lawn sloping to the water. Crimson
gladioli flamed in the flower beds, mixed with a tangle
of mignonette, for the Hermit loved its scent.
wide border was ablaze with August flowers ; the
place was neither trim nor neglected.
The Hermit lived in one wing, using a bay-windowed
wide room for his own. Here, among precious pieces
of Sheraton, and out of quaintly flowered cups, they
took tea. Moira often wondered why no other room
had such colourings, such blending of Persian rugs
and deep gleam of beeswaxed boards, such soft
background for many coloured prints; thought and
despised a little, thinking loftily that men's should be
like young Desmond's of the Rectory-a mixture of
muddy boots, rods, guns, and discomfort.
A table was laid for tea. Old Lowestoft cups on a
fine white cloth, glistening silver, a copper kettle and
A


20
Three Girls and a Hermit
plain brown teapot. There were photographs about
among the books, sun-pictures which Moira had often
studied, of girls in habits and ball dresses, and a few
men's faces simpering in the set misery of being
taken. "There is no doubt about it," said the Hermit,
as he rang the bell and lighted the spirit lamp beneath
the shining kettle, "that your aunt, with her tiny
income, was a marvellous woman to have saved
anything."
"But look how we lived," said Moira con-
temptuously.
A sudden steeliness hardened Oliver Tremayne's
blue eyes; he spooned tea out of an inlaid caddy,
and then turned, looking hard at Moira. "Can you
ever remember being hungry?" he asked very quietly,
For cold, or badly dressed? Youth, after all, is very
like a quicksand, sucking down all it touches."
"
The first twinge of the doubt which was eventually
to be Aunt Maria's reward assailed Moira's mind.
She had never thought of the necessity of being
grateful. It had been natural to be fed and clothed
and looked after, and they had never paused to
consider that their aunt had kept them all. She was
silent while the Hermit's man carried in bread and
butter and hot cakes. James, a native of the village,
was a sacrifice to civilisation, wearing sober black
clothes, and padding on his toes, that he might go
softly-an accomplishment which had been attained
with great difficulty.
"We ought to be very grateful to Aunt Maria,"
shot out Moira, angry with herself. "For now, through
her, we can get away from this hole "-she waved her
hand towards the tangle of boughs and sheen of


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 21
"
9
rippling waters—"where there is no one to know, and
where nothing ever happens."
James's manner as he laid down the cakes was
fraught with importance. He too pointed outwards.
" There's a strange mothor afther going up the road,
and Mikey Maher's ass is in the ditch," he said
pleasantly.
“Now, who shall say," said the Hermit, "that
nothing happens at Borrisdeane?"
"I was below, an' begob she to make off like a
sthreak of fire," went on James. “I think, sir,
Maher's mother's like to be dead. We can hear the
schreeches of her up here. For she rowled over, an'
the ass, bein' young and confused like, bit her ... in
the leg. I'll get the crame, sir.” He went out
noiselessly, as a well-trained servant should.
Long wails, rendered thin by distance, wafted from
the road below the wood.
James, very much excited, reappeared with a jug of
“ There's the divil's own danger in mnothors,"
he told his master. “But lasht Thursday six weeks
one druv over a duck by Guinane's public. I declare
to God ye'd be afther one ov thim birds with a horse-
trap for a year an' ye couldn't manage that same.
Bit the head off as clane as a fox would--so it did.
If you don't want me, sir, I'll go down to help Katey
Maher up”; he went rapidly, skimming across the
flower beds in his decorous black clothes.
“If I were to pay a thousand a year in the world,
I could not find a James," said the Hermit, laughing
unrestrainedly. "He walks like a cat and looks like
a butler, but he is James Magee behind it all. He's
bringing the woman back."
cream.


22
Three Girls and a Hermit
!
>
Mrs. Maher, limping and calling down curses on all
motors, was being assisted to the kitchen. The
donkey, very dusty and dejected, was led behind.
The Hermit went out to ask for particulars, and to
reproach the donkey.
Mike Maher refuted the reproach with indignation,
" the poor innicent animal that didn't know what he
was doin'. Into the ditch her ran with the dinth of
terror, and me mamma, makin' half a kind of lep,
rowled out undther his head. Sure, may be he thought
'twas the mothor cyar that he herd whin he got her
undther his lip, an' where—he had to catch her-I
tell
yer
honour-she'll not rest-"
The Hermit retreated hastily. From what he
gathered, it would be some days before Mike Maher's
mother would sit with ease.
Moira had left her tea and risen to wander round
the room.
An old desk stood open on the table ;
a shabby walnut thing such as schoolboys use, and on
the frayed velvet lay a girl's photograph. Moira
stopped to stare. The draped skirts and frizzy fringe
were the fashions of twenty years before: the girl
herself was splendidly handsome, cold featured, with
rounded naked arms. She seemed to stare out
haughtily, almost repellent, in the full knowledge of
her beauty, looking where the photographer had
asked her to, as if disdaining his efforts to do her
justice. On the right-hand corner was a blackly
written V. “What a lovely face !” Moira picked the
photograph up; the Hermit, turning, caught his breath
sharply. “Who is it?"
“An old love. A dead friend, Moira-long lost.”
He came across and took it from her hands, and stood


Treating chiefly of Young Horses
23
holding it. "You have no past, Moira, to rise up and
mock you. But if ever you have "-he smiled suddenly
may it be in your power to wipe it out as I do."
He went to the fire, dropping the picture on to the
glowing turf. "I got it out to burn it," he said.
Moira stared. This was a new side of the Hermit's
character. She watched the photograph as it crinkled
and burnt up slowly, scorched to death by the dull
red fire.
"A dead friend?" she asked.
"Dead, Moira": he smiled at her a little sadly.
"Dead, and I live, and hope to live-more.
If you
had not been going away so soon we might have
talked more of it." Mrs. Maher's wails arose from
the kitchen. "Listen," he said, "what people they
are! I came among them fifteen years ago, sick of
everything on earth, and they have healed me. I
can laugh now. I can even wonder why I could not
laugh then." He stamped upon the turf fire, and
flung some wood upon it.
"If you were to go away, then," said Moira, "you
would miss it all."
"Some of it. For something else now means the
world to me," he answered quietly.
He rowed Moira over the lake in the hush of a
golden twilight, and said he would come soon to see
the prospective hunters.
The "word" concerning horses seemed to have
travelled far and wide. Borrisdeane became an
active volcano, flinging up horses hotly.
"There's a man outside with a horse waiting on ye."
How many scurries across the little garden and
eager gatherings about the steeds; for Eva and


24
Three Girls and a Hermit
1
1
))
)
Kathleen, having put common sense behind them,
were determined to take Moira's views now; to hunt
and make money of their hunters seemed childishly
easy. . . . Patsy, a youth engaged to tidy up the
stables, and mind the purchases to come, was buoyant
with hope. “When you'd larn a horse to cross the
country there was no knowing the price he'd go to,"
he told them. “Up in Cahirvally and in Cork, faix,
they'd throw you out a hundred pound as aisy as
a man'd drink whisky.” Patsy whistled gay tunes
as he thought of his own future life; he endeavoured,
with praiseworthy patience, to absorb all the directions
which were pointed out for his guidance—to crush
the oats, and chop the hay, and feed four times
daily. “Faith, 'tis ladies' maids them hunters'd want,”
said Patsy to himself. “Them is things easier said
to be done than done," he observed later, and pro-
ceeded to forget all he had heard.
Moira pored over Fitzwygram and other books
until her brain whirled, and she was inclined to think
that the Röntgen rays were her one chance of
judging bone and unsoundness. But, even filled with
,
that little knowledge which is worse than none, she
realised that the first wave of the equine flood was
not one of hunters. She dispatched them sternly,
assuring disappointed owners that they did not want
horses to draw "cyars" or ploughs, but those of shape
and quality to fly over the fences at Ballydare.
In vain did Miles Hennessy, the postman, assure
them that his cob was the very one to match them.
"For, faix, there wasn't a field you'd put him in,
the schamer, but he'd level the gap to get out ;
weren't they tired from raising sthones afther him?


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 25
An' that cliver he was, even a green bank wouldn't
sthop him, for what he couldn't knock, faix, he'd
crawl over on his stchomack, savin' your presence,
Miss Eva. Didn't they find him but lasht week with
his hind legs at home an' his foremosht parts in Dan
Daly's afther grass, an' he grazing quite continted ?"
Moira, with certain bitter memories of rides upon
this prodigy, and its firm refusal to jump any fence,
even upon its "stchomack," was obdurate. Even
strong hints of gratitude due for these mounts had to
be ignored, and the pony, a ragged brown scarecrow,
)
sent away
Then Clancy, a cousin of the smith's, swept upon
them with a broken-kneed, vicious mare-a dejected
example of how little food a horse can preserve life
on. Having heard they wanted a hunting horse,
Begob, there was a chance for them. Lep-she'd
lep the say if you set it before her. But a fortnight
pasht, on meetin' a mothor, didn't she clear the fince
off the road, cyar an' all, with ould Mrs. Maguire
weighin' down one fall ov it? And what couldn't she
jump with nothin' on her but a saddle an' one of the
young ladies!”
”
The girls shook their heads. The collar-marked,
light-middled wreck could never be hunted. She
was, if they had known it, without a good point in
her unhappy body ; had curbs as big as eggs, bog
spavin, and was a speedy cutter. Even Moira, who,
confused by a chapter on young horses' points, would
hold forth hopes that some of the woolly, hairy-
heeled colts might improve into wonders, knew the
mare was hopeless. So the flood of horses ebbed, and
no flotsam full of treasure remained upon their shore.


26
Three Girls and a Hermit
The Hermit came often, and smiled politely. He
proved useful, for he could wrench open unwilling
jaws, and tell a horse's age, thereby preventing the
purchase of a rather good-looking black which the
owner declared to be five off, and which the Hermit
pronounced to be three.
“ And, being that age, will probably make a useful
brougham horse,” he said in his quiet way.
Eva grew dispirited, and Moira's eyes lost their
serene hopefulness, but there were interludes of
exciting letters from Ballydare. Such houses as they
had hoped for were quite beyond their means. One
could not pay a hundred pounds a year out of their
small capital. They wrote and wrote again until better
news came. There was a little house, The Beeches,
on the Castleknock road, furnished, with stabling for
three horses, and a garden. It was generally let
to married officers, but one, leaving hurriedly, would
sublet at a sacrifice; namely, for fifty pounds a year.
They must wire should they wish to secure it.
There was a garden, a yard, a croquet lawn,
sufficient rooms. The three girls pored over the
letter, and Patsy was hastily dispatched upon a
borrowed jennet, with a reply-paid wire ; they could
not rest until this treasure in houses was secured
to them for a year. The agent in distant Ballydare
read the wire and smiled faintly. The real reason
for Major Trevenna's abrupt cessation of tenancy had
not been stated in his description of The Beeches.
He replied with a pleased haste, stating that agree-
ment followed.
Old Biddy, through all this excitement, stalked
through life unappeased. She termed the change


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 27
»
“thapesin,” the horse dealing "childer's nonsense.”
“Whin min themselves could be taken in, what could
young ladies expect? Didn't her own brother bring
home a horse that'd neither lead nor dhrive, but bruk
the schafts of the cyar twice, and was nigh to killin'
Mike with a belt of his hoof? Fifteen pounds he paid,
a five he got, and he a man of sense.”
Biddy's conservative heart was also wrung by the
recipes culled from The Ladies' Illustrated and brought
to her to prepare, that the little dinners they meant
to give might do them credit at Ballydare. She shied
at French names and garnishes, and denounced the
high-priced tins which came from distant shops.
Time was flying, and no horses had arrived. Eva
grew dispirited, and even Moira was troubled, when
Patsy came tearing in to announce that "Jimmy Mack
from beyont the hills had heard they wanted hunthers,
and was bringin' over the grandest, breediest mare
you ever clapped an eye on. She was outside on the
road no less. Like one ye'd see racin', that gintale
and thin in the legs."
Moira, who had set her mind upon preparing a new
dish for lunch, upset a pile of chopped parsley, handed
the recipe to Biddy, and fled hurriedly, her heart
beating. This should be hers. The others followed
her. Jimmy Mack, a lanky man with a guileless face
and benevolent mouth, was holding a lengthy, ragged
grey mare.
She had fine sloping shoulders, a head
well set on, and long pasterns, which made her
movements attractive. That she missed a rib, had
a waist as slim as a girl's, was tied in below the
knee, and had curby hocks, were things absolutely
unnoticed by the three rapturous admirers.


28
Three Girls and a Hermit
"She'll do for me," Moira whispered hoarsely; her
great wisdom restraining her from an audible cry of
delight.
"Yes, this might do." This remark was made
audibly as Moira, with a knowing air, ran slender
fingers down the mare's thin legs, while Jimmy Mack
prayed to his gods that the dust on the off-knee,
so carefully plastered on, might remain to cover a
palpable mark.
Moira stood back, none the wiser for her searching
examination. Age? Four years. Height? Sixteen
hands. Breeding?
This was easy work to answer. Quick words
tripped glibly from Mack's kindly mouth. The filly
was "by Walmsgate, above in Limerick, the dam an
ould Victhor mare, the grand-dam by Solon. Blood
it is, ye may say," cried Mr. Mack enthusiastically,
"and it goes to me heart to part with the crathur I've
reared."
It would not have served Mr. Mack's purpose to
confess that he paid ten pounds fifteen for the mare
at Castle Island fair, two years before, and knew
nothing further of her. . . . To Moira and the others
it was precious truth. Moira circled once again,
this time with grave respect, feeling it was honour
to stand upon the road with Mack and this equine
princess.
"Ye see 'tis nearly clean bred she is." Mack per-
ceived the impression he had made. ""Tis Punches-
town she should be at. An' for thrainin', I'll tell ye
no lies." Jimmy Mack, honest man, swallowed noisily.
"I have her handled but little she was out in the
fields, but sure she can lep like a deer. Miss Bennet


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 29
»
behind is mad for to get her ; but I, bein' a fusht cousin
of the smith's, brought her over to give the young
ladies first chanst.” He walked the mare up and
down and awaited results.
The grey pranced airily, head up and tail out.
Patsy whispered heated praises from behind his hand.
"Fit to race, with that long tail on her and thim
darlin' bits of shins, that, begob, ye could put yer
hand round. An' the bind in her ankle joints ! Faix,
'tis chasing ye they'll be, Miss Moira, on her."
With a voice which trembled Moira asked the price,
and Jimmy Mack, who had fixed thirty as a sum
beyond his dearest hopes, said "Fifty to you, miss," in
the tone of one who confers a deep favour.
Fifty pounds for this magnificent animal for this
creature of breeding and beauty! They looked at
Mack with gentle pity, while he waited with his eyes
down and his face serene. Why did poor men toil in
offices when gold-mines, masked by grey hairs, lay
undiscovered in the Kerry hills? Two hundred, two
?
fifty- this one animal alone would pay for their year's
outing.
" It is for nothing, surely," Eva whispered ; but her
pocket was saved by Patsy, who, thrusting himself
forward with a grunt of contempt, suggested in heavy
undertone that none but children would give a price
asked.
“An', maybe, ye'd be glad to see thirty-five,
Jimmy Mack," said Patsy, feeling in his turn the mare's
legs. As they strayed near some suspicious enlarge-
ment above the coronet, and Mr. Mack was unaware
of the depth of Patsy's ignorance, he offered to split
the difference with suspicious alacrity. So that


30
Three Girls and a Hermit
1
Patsy, fast assuming the airs of a man who buys
largely, wrangled, and Mack argued, and the mare
changed hands for forty-three pounds ten shillings,
with the half-sovereign back for luck, and was led
away to the stables, while Mack contemplated a slip
of coloured paper, firmly signed Eva Considine, and
searched his pockets for silver and coppers to make
up the ten shillings.
An' God be with the day the old lady was tuk,"
said James Mack piously, as he strode towards his
home, paying no visit to his cousin.
The girls ran to the yard to see Patsy carry out the
order to immediately clean and tidy up the new
purchase. But ere they reached it they were greeted
by a wailing shriek, and by Patsy flying for safety,
crying that the schamer had him hunted, a trample
of hoofs, followed by an open-mouthed head at the
stable door, confirming this statement. Mr. Mack was
at this moment wondering whom the mare would
bite first.
“ Didn't she meet her teeth on me throuser?”
declaimed Patsy, indignant at slurs cast upon his
management of horses. “I declare to God, before
the brush was on her the white of her eye was as big
as her head, and she had her teeth sharpened, lookin'
for a shpot. Jennits and horses I've minded,” said
Patsy, mending his garments with a rusty pin," but
the like of her I never was afther."
At this juncture the Hermit, a fishing-rod over his
shoulder, came into the yard. At his voice-or, as
Patsy described it, “the roar he let”-the mare
retired, leaning against the side of the box, with the
tail of her eye searching for Patsy.


Treating chiefly of Young Horses
31
a
"
“So this is the beginning.” The Hermit looked at
the trembling mare, checking her inclination to rush
at him with successive shouts.
Moira, remarking that the poor darling was nervous,
dispatched her sisters for carrots and apples, and
Patsy for oats, and fell into a dream of names-
Arthur, Solon, Victor. What a harvest to reap from !
With quick ardour she settled on The Star, and
commenced to paint it on the door with some
whitewash.
“Well bred ?" guessed the Hermit, still studying.
Moira ran through the string of names with
pride.
“Oh, then, this is one of Mack's Jimmy Mack's,"
said the Hermit easily ; "that's his usual pedigree. I
heard he'd got a grey they couldn't stable.”
Moira sniffed angrily and looked blank.
"And sound ?” he asked, as the others came back.
“ Sound! Oh, well-" Moira's face fell sud-
denly. In her wild longing for this mare she had
forgotten the item of soundness.
Patsy, being accused of cowardice, made gloomy
way into the stable. Aided by the Hermit, and the
butt end of the landing net, they got a head collar on
to The Star.
I declare to the hivins ye'd see the heels of her
shakin' to be at ye,” remarked Patsy, as, strengthened
by further roars from the Hermit, he tied The Star up
and proceeded to clean her.
Tremayne ran his long fingers down the mare's
legs. He eyed her light middle, her curby hocks,
her weak pasterns, and having murmured “Lord
Almighty !” more than once, he stood back musing.
60


32 Three Girls and a Hermit
9)
Moira watched him contemptuously. What could
Oliver Tremayne, the Hermit, know of horses?
"Forty-three pounds." He dodged a lashing heel
and slipped out, while Patsy cleaned in a mute agony
of terror.
“Isn't she worth it? For nothing ?” Moira, pink
cheeked, her hands full of carrots, which she feared to
go in and offer, questioned him angrily.
"I have seldom," said the Hermit pleasantly,
“seen more items included at the price. Absolutely
nothing extra for curby hocks, a broken knee, and
sidebones.”
Here, seeing dismay in Eva's eyes, and a glitter
of tears in Moira's, he hastened to add that neither
ailment might cause lameness. But Moira, realising
that her wisdom had failed her at the very first trial,
felt she hated the Hermit. She started away moodily,
while Kathleen, full of her new cookery, bade the
Hermit to luncheon. “We've a lovely make up of
chicken. Moira and I left it to Biddy to do, when
the horse came," she said, and called to the old
woman, asking for luncheon and the new dish. A
kind old face, framed by a quilled white cap, was
thrust through the window; a pink-covered weekly
paper fell upon the garden path.
“Ready is it!” Biddy assumed her nearest ap-
proach to severity. “When I read it over, 'two
I
breasts of chickens,' no less, an' all manner of quare
things. An', in any case, Miss Kathleen, couldn't do
it if I put in legs an' all, for don't ye know the
mincer's broke since ye thrun it at Brady's ass for
comin' on to the flower garden? But the chicken's
there, an' a bit of bacon, ready an' all. Bether than


Treating chiefly of Young Horses 33
any kennels ever was made.” She withdrew her
head sharply.
The Hermit picked up the paper and gravely read
the recipe for quenelles.
"I think," he said softly, as he followed the
three Considines to the little dining-room, "that
one sensible person will go to the great world at
Ballydare."
3


CHAPTER III
BEYOND THE PURPLE HILLS
With
ITH The Star, a little shaken, shining in her
box, while Patsy, filled with fear, brushed
her grey coat to smoothness, something had been
done towards completing the stud for Ballydare.
Moira, reading her books, decided the Hermit was
completely wrong, and Patsy, upholding her, declared
there was hardly a horse ploughing but had “thim
bits of bumps above the foremost feet.”
Gentle treatment having slightly melted the grey's
heart, Patsy returned to his former rapture of ad-
miration, and the countryside was called in to
admire.
Training must begin immediately. Eva's face grew
longer as she signed cheque after cheque, payment
for horse clothing, bridles, saddles—their own three-
horned things were quite impossible--all from the
best makers, and consequently at the best prices.
Moira ordered and they followed her impetuous lead.
They pored over advertisements and lists. When
specious cheapness would have led them aside as they
ordered their saddles, the Hermit stepped in. He
explained the horrors of sore backs, and insisted
on three Champion & Wiltons being immediately
34


Beyond the Purple Hills
35
ordered-and saw Eva groan at the cheque with a
placid clousness.
Patsy shone forth in new clothes and tan gaiters;
The Star's blue rugs were, he declared, fit for a king's
quilt; the smell of new leather permeated the house,
and the hire of the smith's pony and cart (no longer
lent for nothing), sent to fetch the packing cases, was
no small item in Eva's account book.
Then when the days closed in, and they sat about
a glowing peat fire, there were other things to talk
of; then Eva and Kathleen joined in, and patterns of
stuffs and silks and cloths were felt and peered at.
Three new habits, many new frocks, were necessities.
They must go fully fledged into this great world, and
many sheets of paper were used up as they wrote
from shop to shop, buying extensively. If Moira
leaned towards expensive leather, she determined to
save in clothes. The Ladies' Illustrated gave the
names of cheap places, and the Miss Considines
robed themselves with a gorgeous unsuitability in
shop garments of many descriptions. Biddy, looking
wryly at some of the first assortments, failed in
sympathy.
"Miss Eva," she said, "had a hump on her like a
camel in that new thrapsin gown, and Miss Moira'd
niver ate a bit of dinner if she fastened the waisht of
hers." Faint hints to Biddy as to wearing different
caps at Ballydare were immediately seen and scorned.
"If they couldn't put up with her as she was,
better get a new one to go away." A protest which
brought a wave of loving girls about her-girls with
wet eyes, who forgot everything else as they de-
claimed their love for old Bid-and were ashamed of


36
Three Girls and a Hermit
✓
1
1
their request. She had nursed them, scolded them,
spoilt them, for nearly seventeen years, representing
to them the only love they had known at Borris-
deane. Biddy wept also, growing lonely as the
change grew nearer-old plants uproot badly. She
wandered with wistful eyes among her chickens and
ducks, and sat gloomily as she milked the good red
cow, now going to another home. Poor Strawberry,
whose sturdy calves were a yearly income, and with
one now, red and white, which was growing up to
replace her.
With the new cavesson duly adjusted, with new
knee-caps on her knees, and with lumpy bandages
wound about her thin shanks, The Star went forth to
be trained.
The fields all round were fenced with trappy rotten
banks, and there was always full permission to take
horses over them. The mare was keenness itself;
her late owner had not overrated her flying powers.
She flew everything she was put at, and the result
was not happy. She was taken-at a walk-up the
narrow overgrown banks, which a horse must top or
fall over ; and The Star, with determination worthy
of a better cause, fell. There was not a ditch but
opened its jaws to receive her. She would struggle
up unabashed, looking round rather as if she expected
to be praised for getting up so quickly, and then
unchecked by "wo-as" and "steadies"-fall into the
next. Stone walls were different; when put at one
fencing a gap she would tuck up her long legs and
skim over easily, but banks were not of her world.
Moira, rushing beside her, declared stoutly that it
must be only a matter of practice, as, for the tenth
1


Beyond the Purple Hills 37
"
time on the second day's schooling, she beheld Patsy
travelling up the steep of a bank on his stomach,
impelled by the suddenly tightened rope as the mare
vanished into a deep ditch, and he, as he declared
wearily, keeping a tight strain on to make her put
her feet on the brambles.
“ An' that's the fourth time she to meet that fince.
An obstinate thing she is, that won't be said by her
betthers," he concluded, dragging the mare out.
The Hermit, whip in hand, came to help with the
schooling.
“For God's sake, keep her for the Deshford side,
where there are only stone walls,” he entreated un-
happily. “I'm afraid she'll never learn to jump."
Moira, stroking her round chin, found many causes :
youth, high breeding, over-eagerness, Patsy's lack
of firmness. If he held the mare harder she must
learn to change upon the banks.
Patsy, declaring that "if 'twas all that lay between
him an' drowndin',” he couldn't hold the rope tighter,
approached the next fence, The Star prancing
airily.
Moira, as she stood and directed, asked the Hermit
with quick curiosity what he knew of Ballydare.
“Oh, something," he said evasively. “There now!
Look!” and his eyes rested unhappily upon the
alleged descendant of Solon as she pushed an un-
dismayed and sour-eyed head, festooned with trails
of bramble, from her eleventh ditch. Also, with the
groan of one who finds old bruises, Patsy fell again,
having strained upon the rope with all his strength.
“Come up, Asteroid," said the Hermit unkindly,
whipping the grey out,


38
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
“ 'Tis pride,” said Patsy, removing the brambles.
*Too grand she is, I suppose, and too breedy to put
her foot on anything. Didn't I say to Miss Moira,
'tis between the flags she should be ?"
The Hermit, unkindly muttering something con-
cerning between the shafts of a hack car, seized the
rope himself and took the mare at the next fence. He
tried complete freedom, which The Star acknowledged
by flying the whole fence cleverly, and landing with
a foot to spare.
“She'll never make a hunter, and she'll turn upside-
down when she's tired," said the Hermit unhappily,
looking at Moira.
On one of the days when this unhappy training
was not proceeding, Patsy announced that there was
a woeful great camel of a horse outside, belonging to
one Cassidy, that might suit.
Eva flew out to see a great lumpy bay with a
heavy head and great round jointed legs. Eva's
eyes were taken by strength; the bay had points
about him which were capable of convincing an
inexperienced judge that he was a weight-carrying
hunter.
“Up to a ton of weight," the owner said proudly,
omitting to remark that it would have been more
suitable at the horse's heels than at his head.
“We were doing common work with him," said
Cassidy, “and John Brady's fusht cousin bein' dead,
we druv this one to the funeral, and says John
Brady himself, says he, 'There's shapes about that
one, so take him down to the Miss Considines, that's
looking for hunthers,' so with that we untackled him,
and young Father Dennehy, that was there, got up
3


Beyond the Purple Hills 39
")
on him, an' the horse jumped a gap clivir as a
Christian. An' thin he med at a bank-a God's
thruth it is—but he was up an' down the same as
a spidther, nivir lavin' hould of the fince.”
Eva listened impressed. She had her saddle put
on and sat upon the great fat back, feeling as though
a tower of strength moved beneath her.
The price was low, a nervous vet. passed the horse
practically sound, but was unkind enough to hope,
very nervously, that the bay wouldn't be too slow for
the brougham, and finally, the great beast, speedily
christened Gog, was eased through the door of the
stable next to The Star, where she screamed at him
peevishly.
The Hermit seemed bereft of words when he saw
the new purchase. He only shook his head, and
remarked that some things were too big to comment
on.
There was no temper about Gog. Patsy said he
was a dacent horse entirely. He suffered cleaning
with surprised benevolence; he ate apples and carrots
and anything he could find, including a straw bed a
night when he had finished his hay. His hairy under-
lip absolutely quivered for food. Also, he was so
deliberate, and so very gentle, that when he joined The
Star in her ditch-prospecting hours, Eva was able to
lead him herself.
True, the Hermit's whip was not unneeded as the
big horse paused before a bank; but once he recognised
the inevitable, Gog would rise with a grunting groan,
land accurately on the narrow top, search among
thorns and brambles for secure footing, and with a
mighty lurch pound safely into the far field.
a


40
Three Girls and a Hermit
The Hermit, who was given to obscure speeches,
said that he really believed the big horse would not
put Eva down, and that he would make a good hunter
when hounds ran backwards, and Eva, who thought
this might be a term of sport, said happily that she
hoped he would. Kathleen, who came to watch, said
she thought that she would rather not try to make
money on young horses. She said her experience
might be one which would not jump at all, and that
she was nervous, so pleaded for a small sum of money
with which to buy a trained and valueless screw, but
one which would carry her safely.
The Hermit's brows were knitted as he saw the last
day's schooling, his heart was ill at ease; the Ballydare
banks were formidable fences, and he feared for Moira
and her equine Star.
"She might do over fly fences," he said unhappily.
I tell you what, Moira, I'll give you sixty
pounds for her, and you can buy another with the
money."
Sixty pounds! How Moira scoffed at him, with
golden visions of duplicated hundreds lying before
her! The Star had been a bargain. Where for such
a sum could she buy another, with long swishing tail
and slim legs ? Already Moira pictured the sensation
she would create at the first meet at Ballydare: heads
turning, voices questioning. Who was she, that pretty
girl on the beautiful thoroughbred mare? She was
not quite sure whether if offered two hundred by the
Master on that very first day that she would not be
generous to her sisters and accept it. Moira held a
vague idea that all Masters wished to buy any very
fine new horses. Then some heavy man would


Beyond the Purple Hills
41
take Gog, and they could buy again, and write to
tell the stupid Hermit, who never said anything
encouraging
The day dreams glowed as the girls pored over
silks and chiffons, and wrung Mary Dillon's, the
village modiste's heart, by insisting on her copying
pictures of new and elaborate blouses illustrated in
various papers. Conquests, save in penny novelettes,
are not made in shabby frocks, and Moira meant life
at Ballydare to be a series of conquests.
Eva was less enthusiastic. Romance had touched
her life a summer before, and gone out of it un-
expectedly. But Eva, building her dreams, was full
of gentle hope that some day it might come again,
so Ballydare did not mean so much to her. Yet she
said nothing, and Moira, unsuspecting, believed she
drove the chariots of all three to fame, fun, and
fortune.
Time Aitted, the present tenant of The Beeches
left, and the agent announced that all was prepared
for their arrival. Already fallen leaves made ochre-
coloured heaps, while autumn touched others with
his gorgeous brush. Scarlet and gold and orange
and brown flared in the woods at Borrisdeane, show-
ing across the water, now growing grey and cold,
the rushes were yellowing to sour, chilled melan-
choly. It was high time for horses to get in wind.
Even still there were many things to buy; and
as the three floundered in the sea of their many
wants the Hermit would
to
their rescue,
showing a strange knowledge of the world's ways
and prices, listening as they chattered of hunting
and dances and parties, of the whirl of gaieties which
come


42
Three Girls and a Hermit
awaited them, and listening with a curious smile
behind his eyes which puzzled Eva and made Moira
furious.
All the world lay in front, yet farewells are always
sad. Something made the three very quiet as they sat
for the last time round the turf fire, their little room
sulking under a sense of unrest. Boxes and bundles
littered floor and sofas, forgotten directions brought
them to their feet every moment, and the shuffle,
shuffle of Biddy's feet, the jangle of keys and constant
opening and shutting of cupboard doors seemed
a sound which could not cease.
The shrill insistence of her directions as she cried
to a helper in the kitchen echoed at each door.
“Katie, there's them pots of currant jam, pack them
up—with the flour-bag. Look now, one's mouldy; ;
let ye take it to Mrs. Naylor for her cough, and,
Katie, I have the old apern found that's lost
these two years. Take it and put it in with the
chickens."
Biddy was no light thing to move. Nothing must
be wasted, nothing left behind. With moist eyes she
scanned her favourite hens, and chose two from the
flock; she packed a brood of fluffy chickens in a
basket; she gathered scraps of food and stores until
the luggage swelled to mountainous proportions, and
the carts which came to fetch it seemed all inadequate.
It was grey dawn when they started loading, and there
was a distinct possibility of missing the train by the
time the wobbling, roped packages creaked away down
the narrow road. Even then Mr. Clancy's donkey
had to be borrowed for the overflow.
Breakfast was hasty and uncomfortable, and there


Beyond the Purple Hills
43
was an absolute feeling of deserting a patient friend
when they drove away from the tiny house, leaving
Nancy Hourigan shutting shutters, as she promised
fervently to mind it all as her eye's apple.
An-she-she that won't light a turf sod till we're
in the thrain back," said Biddy bitterly; and here the
old woman, clasping her basket of chickens, broke
to open weeping. Eva sniffed, and even Moira's
eyes were damp as she looked back at the lake.
The smith's cob went forward at a merry amble
on up to the rise, from which one could see the sea-
a tumble of hoary crests and glittering water under a
sighing westerly wind. Then they turned towards
the tiny station, from which the railway line wound its
snaky trails across to the base of the hills.
A horse-box stood at the siding. Regrets were
forgotten as the two hunters, swaddled in blue rugs,
hooded, knee-capped, bandaged, came prancing round
to be put in. That is, The Star pranced and Gog
plodded with heavy dignity. The hum of admiration
and awed excitement which arose from the crowd
there is always a crowd in Ireland at train time-was
a foretaste of triumph to come. Moira listened
proudly.
“Look, begob. Aren't they grand ! scarce a thing
can ye see but tails an' heads of thim. Hunters, no
less; wasn't Patsy the lucky bhoy, sittin' up proud an'
aisy on the great horse? Her that kicked, that was
Mack's grey, that wint near to brain his ould father.
Maybe afther all she'd kill Patsy, and he might as
well be at home. An' the big wan was Cassidy's from
over beyant; aisy to ride a hunt on him, begob, for
'twould be a sthrait fince he wouldn't knock if he


44
Three Girls and a Hermit
walked on it. Weren't they wondtherful, Miss Moira
and Miss Eva, to be thryin' to cross counthry on thim
two quare lots ? "
Moira ceased listening at this point, directing Patsy
to box the horses. They were early, and it was well,
for though Gog, always glad to rest, walked up the
steep slope of the box with incurious calmness, The
Star would have none of it. She wheeled with a
scream of rage, and it was fully twenty minutes
before, pushed and whipped by every one who could
get near enough, she was dragged into place. The
flap fell with a clang, and from the cheerful pounding
of her heels as Patsy fled out through the window
they knew that all was well with her.
“She'd go out of her way to sphite ye," declaimed
Patsy breathlessly. "I tell ye, if she saw the ingin
coming an' knew we had no time, she'd not go in at
all. I declare to God, the swheat is runnin' off her
in rivers now."
Patsy's heart was wrung by the nervous, fretful
brute, who refused her food, bit and kicked and broke
out, and apparently spent her existence in trying
to worry him.
The long line was still empty. The girls, breathless
from the contest, left the horse-box and came on to
the platform. All Borrisdeane seemed to have come
to bid them God-speed.
The old doctor was there, brick-complexioned and
white-haired, a kindly old man, who sped about the
cottages, combating with superstition and want of air.
He forbore to grumble at furniture all put upside
down, curtains pinned up, and a poor departed lying
ill at ease on a hard mattress lest the evil spirits
1
1


Beyond the Purple Hills 45
should find a place to sit on ere the funeral. That,
he said, did not matter, for once dead a man was out
of his charge ; but to wrestle with consumption in
close cupboard-bedrooms with windows mortared in,
and the patients talking cheerily of their own funerals,
to find children in croup out wheezing to death among
the chickens or the doorsteps, and women with children
two days old milking cows, had wrinkled his brow
sadly. He carried half a chicken now wrapped in
newspaper, and some eggs in a paper bag. There
was Miss Butler-whose beaded mantle Moira had
condemned—with a pot of jam and home-made
buttered scones for their tea when they got in, she
said.
There was the Rector's wife, showering
exhortations and advice.
"Oh, it was an undertaking. She hoped it would
not prove a bad one. They must be very quiet now,
very dignified, as they were to live alone."
“Brave children!” This from the doctor. “Going
off to follow the dogs. Oh, you'll never come back
from there; the soldiers will take you." This was a
witticism, but he blew his red nose.
Biddy, still weeping, sat upon a truck, forlornly
carrying her basket of fluffy chickens, and guarding
the large wooden box holding the two hens and the
old grey cat, a board dividing them. A mighty
pile of boxes, bundles, baskets, and trunks grew
heavenwards upon the platform.
“ They'll charge you extra, Moira. You should
have had a van.”
Homely, kindly, old Borrisdeane friends, remon-
strating and applauding, they gathered round Eva
and Kathleen; and Moira, having returned to take


46
Three Girls and a Hermit
a look at The Star, found herself alone with the
Hermit. It was his "roar" which had finally driven
the grey mare to her box, his hand which had held
her as she tried to dash out again, but through it all
he had never spoken. ·
Moira looked at him. As she looked it dawned
upon her for the first time that he was good to look
at, and that his heathery Harris tweed clothes had
never been made in Kerry.
“Well," she said breathlessly. Moira looked very
pretty with fushed face and shining eyes, a powder
of grey hairs on her dark grey coat.
“I hope it may not be ill, Moira," said the Hermit
slowly, his eyes fixed on her.
Moira shrugged her shoulders. Why should this
Oliver Tremayne stand aloof-would not dub them
heroines and wondrously brave? Why should the
laugh behind his eyes make her uncomfortable? “I
believe you'd be glad if it was ill,” she flashed out,
and then felt ashamed.
“That speech,” he said, “I must forgive. And tell
me, Moira"-he came nearer to her, so close that his
hand touched her sleeve—"do you still think Borris-
deane the worst place in the world ? "
"A place to live out of,” she said imperiously.
“That is all." Yet involuntarily she followed his
glance as he looked across the lake to the woods
about his house, past it over brown bog land, up
over scarred craggy crests to the purple hills she
was to pass beyond to-day ; lonely in its beauty,
fresh and sweet with its clean, salt-laden breeze. He
sighed as he looked, knowing the healing it had
brought him.


Beyond the Purple Hills 47
"
“There are worse places,” he said, half to himself.
“Hot streets, glaring rooms, glitter, and flash, and
hurry, and nothing true among it all. But perhaps
you will think so still, Moira, when your eyes have
looked on the wonderful world you are going to; and
you must go unbiassed.” Then he smiled and spoke
aloud : “Honestly, I hope it may be a great success :
I
that you may be social lights, and have the time you
dream of. But if, in this social whirlpool, people
should take up your scheme all wrong; if they should
not be civil at Ballydare ; if it's not quite what you
expect-will you write and let the old Hermit know,
Moira ?” he said pleadingly.
Moira stared at him, a growing misgiving, a lone-
liness she had never dreamt of feeling, catching at her
throat. Oliver Tremayne, the Hermit! A man who
went nowhere, knew no one, offering to help in social
troubles ! Foolishly, for what troubles could there
be? They were the Miss Considines—well connected,
pretty. Of course they would know every one worth
knowing at Ballydare.
It was Moira who looked away now across silver
water to mist-capped hills. Something stung in her
-
eyes—the desolation of the upheaval wrought upon
her, the doctor's red, white-whiskered face grew sud-
denly dear. Moira felt suddenly that beads were
pretty things to trim a satin mantle with ; how they
glittered now in the sun as old Miss Butler fluttered
and clucked, not unlike her beloved Orpington
hens. Biddy's sister, a tottering crone, cast curses
on journeyings to "furrin parts” with loud-voiced
vigour.
Supposing it wasn't all roses," said the quiet voice


48
Three Girls and a Hermit
beside Moira, “this piece of-well, this trip. Would
you tell me, Moira? Let me help ?”
The instinct to hurt because you are hurt swayed
Moira. She gulped away something in her throat,
winked back stinging tears, and because she must not
cry she whipped herself to foolish anger.
Oh, you! You've crabbed my idea from the
first,” she said stormily. “Why shouldn't people be
nice? Why shouldn't we have a good time away
from this wretched place ? We-no, if we do fail-
we want none of your help,” and then could have
bitten her tongue off as the Hermit, nodding his
tweed-capped head, looked at her and stepped
back.
Something screamed on the line. The station-
master took up what he termed "the sthick," and
at a leisurely amble the train panted in; there was
more time. Willing hands wrestled with the
assortment of luggage, while the guard, who was a
kindly man, merely suggested that he'd probably be
killed when a few things fell on him at the next stop,
also that God might see to the storing of any further
passengers' luggage, but he would not. This last was
when Andy Hannan dropped the flat-irons and a
frying-pan on the railway servant's toes. The engine,
with a grunt, backed to take up the horse-box. The
girls were packed into a carriage and overwhelmed
with farewells; but through it all the Hermit, a quiet,
silent figure in well-worn tweeds, stood aloof.
The engine having backed for the horse-box-
from which Patsy shrieked later of The Star's
doings-hooked up the rest of the train.
time to go.
no
It was


Beyond the Purple Hills
49
Eva thrust her head out.
"The Hermit," she cried.
Yet
"The Hermit. He has never said good-bye!"
"He is tiresome and idiotic," stormed Moira.
she ran to the window, put Eva aside, and waved her
hands as they went out. But the Hermit, looking up
at the hills, never seemed to see.
4


CHAPTER IV
BALLYDARE
T'
HE mid-day train, travelling leisurely, bore the
three Miss Considines on to seek their fortunes.
It jolted by the edge of the flat bog-land, where they
knew every dark-hued pool and mossy tussock; it
toiled up a steep incline, until the trees of Borris-
deane were lost to sight, and they crawled between
the mountain and the sea. At one side grim, scarred
hillside, heather clinging to crevices, grey stone
gleaming as it cropped up to slab or point, towered
and frowned down at the line. On the other the cliffs
fell, sheer and steep, to the sea. They seemed to
totter above the far down-wash of the waves, as the
train edged round the steep curves.
What cold, grave things these purple hills were as
they steamed beneath them, with no blur of outline
or veil of silver mist, but menacing, sternly angry
with the mortals who trailed their way along their
sides.
The seats were hard and uncomfortable, the heap
of parcels slid continuously, declining to remain where
they were placed. Now it was the eggs, their fall
followed by a thin ooze of yellow from the paper
box; now the jam; then a medley of cooking things
50


Ballydare
51
"
tied 'up at the last moment, and bulging spouts
and handles shamelessly. A fellow-traveller eyed
.
them with suspicion, and was heard to murmur
“caravaners” to the meek parson by her side. She
was resentful, too, when the frying-pan, having
deliberately worked itself free, fell upon her rose-
trimmed hat.
But the stations swelled from mere sheds to long
buildings, where pictures of mustard and soap and
pills made the world hideous; where there were
porters and signal-boxes and other trains sliding by.
And they knew it was the world at last, as they
waited at Maryborough, and, bidden to “sthand
back," saw the Dublin-bound mail tear by-a screech-
ing, dusty blur, with a glimpse of saloon carriages and
a long mail-van.
They had travelled far; they were dusty, tired, and
hungry, but as they wiped the grit from their eyes
Moira's voice whipped them to enthusiasm. “This
was life : that was how people in the world travelled,
roaring by stations straight to some great town. If
we had lived for ever at Borrisdeane," she said, "we
should not have seen that train.”
Eva, worn out by a heated argument relating to the
quantity and weight of their luggage, agreed languidly.
She was not sure that she ever wanted to see any
train again.
Biddy, clinging gloomily to her chickens and the
wooden box, was, on the contrary, roused to sour
remonstrance.
"A crying shame," she said. "Rushing pasht us
here, with nivir a wait in it to pick up thim that
wants to travel on.”
a


52
Three Girls and a Hermit
On Moira's sharply replying that they did not want
to go to Dublin, Biddy retorted that “the dhriver
might have waited to see. I'd like to see Mikey
Donellan racing through a station like that,” she
said indignantly.
They comforted themselves with tea, and changed
on to the line for Ballydare. The difficulty of Biddy's
live-stock being adjusted with some silver, they filled
up a carriage to overflowing, and in the dim evening,
with the skies weeping thinly, they arrived at their
destination.
It was a small town, straddling across the wide
River Dare; a poor little place, if they had known,
only rendered important by its salmon and its
hounds.
They rushed to the window as they steamed in,
but there was nothing to see but lights twinkling
through a blur of rain, and the cold gloom of a
big station. They must wait for day to see the
promised land.
Moira's awed voice whispered of the station's vast-
ness: of what a splendid town it must be. Yet they
were far more forlorn than triumphant as they waited
on the ill-lighted platform and saw fresh faces eddy
about them, no one to give them greeting. With
boats burnt to the water's edge they had landed on
unknown shores.
The agent had arranged for a cart, but not, as the
man in charge said, for a van load, so there was a
further period of weariness while their porter, who
was a person of resource, vanished into the wet dark-
ness and returned with a supplement of donkey carts,
which proved sufficient. He gave thanks for a liberal


Ballydare
53
gave it.
tip, and wished them all success as he helped to
unearth The Star-now a mere wreck upheld by horse
collars and wooden partitions—from her travelling
carriage.
“Sure a sight of people came for the huntin'," he
assured them as they confided some of their plans.
Horses, according to his account, seemed to descend
upon Ballydare wedged in boxes and cattle-trucks,
and to come ramping out upon the platform, and
to depend for safety entirely upon his skill and care
in unloading. After this Eva felt that it could not
be less than half-a-crown, but she sighed as she
The entries in her little account book were
growing appallingly long.
The car which took them out upon the strange,
wide road went swiftly along, carrying them to the
arms of fate. The Beeches had been sketched
mentally and verbally many times. A small house,
but neat and compact, no straggling waste of hall
and curious unneeded corners as at Lake Cottage.
A yard square and formal, with its range of boxes,
its lofts, and its saddle-room. The stables in Kerry
were small, with apologies to the memories of long-
past cows, and Biddy and Patsy had fought with
an unceasing vigour for a warm corner near the
kitchen fire.
Their hearts beat quickly, they turned and peered
and chattered as the car with a rasp of catching steps
turned in a narrow gate, and pulled up a second later
at an open
door. No ground had been wasted on an
A dapper young man, who did not trouble
to remove his hat, was silhouetted against flickering
candle light.
He either wanted his supper or
avenue.


54
Three Girls and a Hermit
possessed an appointment, judging by his worried
manner. Having thrust some keys into their hands
and informed them that Mr. Guinane had ordered in
oil, coal, milk, and everything else they had asked
for, he vanished into the dripping night. The three
stood together, gathering fortitude, as their dream
vision of their new house faded. This, blinking at
them through the falling mist, was a little slated
lump of discomfort, standing close to, in fact almost
upon, the wide road.
They bumped into the passage representing a hall,
peered into fireless, comfortless cupboards which re-
presented sitting-rooms, and sat down simultaneously
suddenly and helplessly upon anything they could
find, peering at each other furtively to see if any
one thought it better than it was. That Eva chose
the chicken basket and Moira the wooden home
of cat and hens made their rest short, while the
carman's voice with mild sarcasm wished to know
if they wanted him to wait to drive away next
morning. Having grossly overcharged them, he
dodged the loaded carts now arriving, and departed
satisfied.
Biddy was overwrought and weary, and having
removed and let out the pets, a crescendo of unhappy
comment drifted from the kitchen.
"Sorra a pot or a pan fit to cook in, and the kettle
as full of fur as a rabbit's coat. The taste of a range
that was there might be out of a doll's house, it might,
an' you couldn't warm your hands at it, let alone
cook." This wave of discovery and objection was
broken by a shriek of anger, as Grey Jenny and
the dorkings, their sense of honour blunted by
a


Ballydare
55
hunger, severally drank the milk and got into the
flour bag.
At this point the trample of hoofs made diversion,
and they went to the stables. But these were no
better than the house. A three-cornered patch reft
from the side of the road represented the yard;
some sheds built against the high wall, the lauded
loose boxes.
Patsy, a lantern in his hand, was declaiming he'd
not wrong his "mother's ould ass by askin' her to sthay
there." As it was, several bars had to be taken down
to make room for Gog, while further on The Star's
long weak legs, almost too tired to kick, strayed into
a cobbled, uneven passage. And Patsy, who was not
optimistic, opined that she'd probably "casht herself
an' die."
"Oh, how I wish," said Eva petulantly, "that we
had stayed at Borrisdeane."
It was too much. Moira suddenly leant against a
door-post and wept aloud-bitterly-moving Patsy in
a passion of contrition to affirm that the contrariness
of The Star would surely keep her alive, and, in any
case, he'd "be up and down all night ready to bate her
whin she sthuck." Moira's grief also induced one of
the owners of the donkey carts to call curses from
heaven on "Misther Guinane, who'd got another poor
craythur to take the house."
This man, a kindly, grey-bearded old person with
benevolence and love of porter striving for mastery
in his old face, further recounted many things: how
no one could keep a horse in the stables," because the
clather on the road'd drive 'em mad." How the
Trevennas and many others had left and sought


56
Three Girls and a Hermit
>
better lodgment; and how the house belonged to
Mr. Guinane himself, and, save for the lack of
officers' wives, “who musht live some place, 'd niver
be let at all." But James Dunne was a blessing,
not in disguise. With the quick kindliness of his
race he took the girls under his wing ; wrangled
with the owners of the other carts, and arranged
payment with words of contempt; sped forth into
the night and returned with milk ; drove the other
men to carry in all the bundles to their allotted
places, and finally, gathering coal and wood, lighted
a fire in the little sitting-room, diffusing a pleasant
odour of turf smoke and porter as he invoked
deeper curses on the agent for omitting to "put a
match to the grates."
When firelight Aickered on the little room, and the
curtains were drawn, and Biddy produced hot bread,
eggs, and bacon, and tea, the world grew less desolate.
They sat down to eat hungrily, while Biddy, who
declared she was glad to find "one dacent soul in
foreign parts,” bade James Dunne to share her supper.
The frizzle of bacon and hiss of frying eggs told that
Mr. Dunne's virtue had not gone unrewarded,
cementing a friendship which did not prove fleeting,
and proved profitable to both sides.
Strong tea, warm fire, and bright light rubbed out
discomfort. Moira forgot her tears, and let her
tongue run riot. After all, the size of the rooms did
not matter. The stables could be arranged. In
flights of golden fancy she pictured the future they
would make; the cheques which must come for The
Star and Gog; the inevitable success which must be
theirs, and the strangers they would meet and then


Ballydare
57
her voice ceased, for she seemed to see a quiet
figure with its face turned away to distant mist-
capped hills.
Rest, elusive and scarcely satisfactory, was sought
upon hard mattresses and springless beds, broken
also by the faithfulness of Patsy, as thrice during the
night he tramped forth waving his lantern and abjuring
The Star for the love of God above not to lie down on
him and be killed. “'Tisn't for yerself I'd care," he
«
was heard to declaim the third time, unaware that
Moira's anxious eyes peered from her window upon
his scanty costume. “But for poor Miss Moira within,
that's fool enough to like ye, ye divil”—the last
staccato words being induced by bitter memory of
many injuries and a sudden leap to avoid a weary
kick directed at him by the grey mare.
Then Moira went to sleep, to dream, not of glitter
and money-making, but of a flying train which took
her backwards, ever backwards, to a land of crested
seas, of purple hills, and a streak of silver water, into
which she fell while a tweed-clad man with a landing
net put it over her head, and cried “folly” as he
dragged her out.
Joy cometh in the morning. It was absent at The
Beeches, Ballydare, on October 8th.
There was
scant comfort in the early shrilling of Patsy, heard
through a mist of sleepiness, that “the grey had
scrhaps med of her sthall kickin' it, and 'twas Gog
that was down and couldn't get up,” scanter still as
the naked hideousness of the little house stood forth
with almost indecent emphasis in the morning light.
Mr. Guinane was evidently a thrifty man: where
money could be spared he spared it. The furniture


58
Three Girls and a Hermit
of the bedrooms (two on the ground floor and one
up a boarded ladder, called a staircase) clearly
emanated from different auctions, and had been
the odd lots there even then. Cracked, fly-blown
looking-glasses ; deal tables plastered over with
white paint ; scraps of sodden carpet on dusty
floors; rusty beds and broken chairs. They had
never recognised that Aunt Martha's home was
pretty, that their eyes from childhood had opened on
to the mellowness of satin-wood and deep-coloured
mahogany, all of which had passed unnoticed and
unappreciated.
The little angular drawing-room had been a nest
of deep couches and old cosy chairs, all rosy soft-hued
chintz and downy cushions. Here the barrenness
was faintly hidden by the cheapest cretonne, black
and staring pink; four high-backed chairs were of
kitchen origin, and proved to be stuffed with hay,
and the others, of yellow wicker, resented occupation
with hideous creaks, while the dirty walls were
scarred and streaked where the soldier tenants'
pictures and china had hung.
The dining-room was modest in dingy browns, and
the chimney smoked. Judging by the atmosphere
and the smuts, it had commenced with a vigour
worthy of a week's rest; now it was languid and even
sly, waiting quietly until a Miss Considine came to
warm herself, and then puffing a cloud of evil-smelling
foulness into her face.
Biddy, who looked years older, and was sneezing
vigorously, observed that she was on her knees for
an hour before it, and also delivered a message from
Patsy, saying "the mare was safe, but was coughing


Ballydare
59
like an ingin and wouldn't ate a taste of oats; further,
that they needn't come out, for he had Gog bate up
on his legs."
It needed many golden dreams to keep the Miss
Considines merry as they got through breakfast.
Strawberry or her cream belonged to Borrisdeane;
they must drink milk, watery and blue, in their tea.
The bacon was from across the seas, the butter was
bad. China, as the furniture, had been accepted
and unnoticed at Lake Cottage. The breakfast set
they had left behind was Lowestoft, all strewn with
little rosesma joy to see. They held the thick
blue-and-white cups of Mr. Guinane's choosing
fastidiously, and the constant rumble of coal carts
outside brought sad memories of the liquid lapping
of the lake.
Yet the very deepness of discomfort induced
reaction. They banded their hopes for the future
.
together, and tried to make the best of it all.
Money, a little money-here Eva sighed--would make
the house habitable. Moira made her way to the
stables and Eva to the kitchen.
The Star had saved a carpenter some work. Her
small stall was in ruins, and she shivered dejectedly:
looking pensively at her feed of oats.
Patsy,
writing laboriously, was busy upon a list of his wants.
By taking down and building up, room could be
made-the slates, which showed the sky, must be
lined ; there were no mangers. Moira, never dreaming
of applying to the agent, who was really owner, wrote
it all down. The timely arrival of James Dunne
relieved her of much anxiety.
Mr. Dunne, who, when he was sober, was apparently
-


60
Three Girls and a Hermit
master of all trades, arrived to see how they were.
He could carpenter, he could slate; he peered at the
gaps, and politely wished Mikey Guinane a night's
rest below them in the rain. With small respect for
The Star's heels, he measured and calculated, and
promised that the grey should rest that night without
fear of injury, also hoping that she might not die,
for he “minded wonst, whin workin' out with Sir
Ralph, the old masther of hounds, to hear a horse
cough like that, and, faix, the dogs ate her. 'Twas
newmonnicey, the docthor said; but if one didn't
know that complaint you'd say she was wrong of
her lungs.”
He recommended mustard on The Star's throat,
having first invited himself to dinner, and departed
for wood, and nails, and putty, and holdfasts, and
many other things which seemed exceedingly ex-
pensive, for all goods bought by James Dunne must
pay their toll of porter.
It was a weary morning. Patsy got mustard into
his eye and very little on The Star's throat. The
lanky, weak brute was removed to the cold comfort
of the passage, and shivered miserably, refusing
all food. There was no one except James Dunne
to direct or advise.
Fitzwygram was not yet
unpacked.
Eva, in the kitchen, was in no better plight. With
gloomy decision Biddy reeled forth her list of wants :
saucepans, kettles, frying-pans, baking-sheets. The
kitchen seemed to have been provided with the same
carefulness as the rest of the house, and anything
which hadn't got a hole in it was far too rusty ever
to be used.


Ballydare
61
“ Scorched, I am," said Biddy, whose eyelids were
red, “iviry time I walk between the table and the
fire. An whin I wint to move the table back, sure 'tis
nelt firm an’sthiff to the flure. An' upstairs, Miss Eva,
I'm sleeping with the sparrows undther the eves, with a
wind that'd dhrive ships across me face. I'd sind
Patsy there, but he says he has to be near the horses.
An' sorra the bit of cabbage in the garding, or even a
sthalk of parsley, and oh, Miss Eva, Miss Eva, why
did we come here at all ? "
Eva, comforting Biddy, echoed the words. The
sparrows' nest must be settled, the pots and pans
purchased, the stables re-made. Moira's dream of
success was not all as it should be. This constant,
sordid paying had no part in it. Eva, crying a little
also, yet afraid to show defeat so early, said it would
all be well.
“ There will be things to go to, Biddy-balls and
parties. Miss Moira and Miss Kathleen would never
have gone out at Borrisdeane,” she said, sniffing.
“ Young men they're lookin' for," said Biddy,
grimly truthful, scrubbing her one frying-pan. "Hadn't
ye thim same where ye came from, and no money to
pay to see thim?"
The extreme truth of this last remark sent Eva
away and out into the front. The presents from
Borrisdeane had provided them with provisions for
to-day, but she must go to the town and order for the
morrow. She went out the narrow door and looked
about her. A strip of unkempt grass, pock-marked
by empty flower-beds, represented the fine lawn; a
further strip the field. The garden was a patch of
the size of the yard, and the constant rumble of the


62
Three Girls and a Hermit
1
carts outside came with a monotonous jar of unrest.
Further off, bugles shrilled calls, and some
practised discordantly, evidently endeavouring to learn
some tune. Moira joined her, and Kathleen, who
had allowed her elders to bear the burden of thought
while she unpacked, came out also.
There were no mountains at Ballydare. The
country stretched in humping greenness, sometimes
rising to a slight hill; but there was no frown of
purple nests, mist-hooded or cut clear and dark; no
lap of waters as they shivered through the reeds;
no distant boom of mighty waves. This was inland,
flat and tame. They could see the barracks to the
right; a walk to the gate showed the town, nestling
in the hollow about the river. This new world had
nothing grand about it after all. Some ideas of fine
buildings, tall spires, and bustle of life and prosperity
vanished as the dream of The Beeches had
gone, but
looking, they said nothing about it.
“We must go into the town." Moira, brushing
straws from her tangled head, pointed to the grey
houses. “Write a cheque, Eva, for Patsy wants
loads of things."
“And so does Biddy," said Eva, sighing.
Kathleen, from the background, said she thought
Mr. Guinane could not be a nice man. Her senti-
ment was echoed by the returning James Dunne, now
a little mellow from porter, who observed that "thim
that had dalins' with Mike Guinane'd be glad to
have their next ones with the divil himself for chice.
Didn't he casht me out of a house," burst out
James, revealing the true reason for his bias, “and
I payin' what I could for it iviry year? Nivir an
)


Ballydare
63
hour's good I done since, for the loss ov it wint
to me heart." Here, having wiped his eyes, Dunne
directed them to the town, gloomily wished that
Mike Guinane's back was one of the boards he was
about to drive the nails through, and passed on to
his work.
“We shall put on," said Moira, "our best dresses.
We shall get down about twelve. There will,” went
on Moira, with the air of one talking of Bond Street,
"be lots of people about then."
The simultaneous diving of three heads into three
trunks was soon followed by the appearance of three
young women robed severally in purple, grey, and
mauve, each garment being very much be-ribboned
and be-trimmed to a suggestion of smartness not
altogether suitable to the country. Crowned by three
steepling hats of the latest and most curious fashion,
and embellished by three great fluffy boas, the three
Miss Considines, inwardly quaking lest they should
not be smart enough, looked as if they were leaving
for some festive gathering. Their radiance elicited a
“Glory be" from Patsy and a "God save yer pretty
faces” from Mr. Dunne, who was now working hard.
This was all as it should be, and, with rustle of silk
and trot of high heels, they set forth to meet their
fate.
The road to the town was, unfortunately, muddy;
it was worse when, directed by some friendly carters,
they turned aside by the walls of the barracks, and
went down a filthy, footpathless lane, where the
utmost care could not save their skirts. It seemed to
be the home of soldiers' wives, for many children and
scraps of uniforms overflowed from the narrow door-


64
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
ways, and, as they passed, curious women coming out
to look wafted from lip to lip audible comments as
to the three being the Gillespies.
Moira took occasion to point out that they were
mistaken for some of the salt of Ballydare's earth.
“ The nice people must dress just as we do,” she said
proudly, straightening her plumed hat. "Oh, we shall
have a great time here!”
They wriggled through a disobliging turnstile, and
walked by the side of the Dare as it slipped between
low banks to the distant sea.
But the town, the glitter of shop windows, the buzz
of motors, the bustle of life came not.
"I am afraid,” said Eva slowly, “that, after all, it is
not a large place."
Moira said sharply that it must be ; it was a
hunting centre; it was written of in Dublin Society ;
yet as they crossed an old stone bridge and turned
into a narrow street, Ballydare fell upon them with
a wet gloom deeper than that of The Beeches. A
little dirty, straggling place of one street, no finer,
not even so fine, as Tramee, where they had bought
their mourning. The same smattering of grocers'
dusty windows, the same dreary little drapers', with
the year-old blouses displayed on tottering stands,
the same medley of country people drifting along the
centre of the road.
The pavement was not wide enough to hold them
abreast, as, in their finery, they rustled along, staring
eagerly about them. But heads were turned as they
passed. A woman in a pony-trap spoke to the shop-
man where they had made some purchases, evidently
asking their names -- a handsome woman, heavily
-


Ballydare
65
veiled, with a red-faced boy of about twenty beside
her.
What she said was “Impossible," with a shrug of
her shoulders; but Moira, winking at her first spotted
veil, took it for unbounded admiration.
Ballydare, as it shopped, quietly shook its respect-
able head : coats and skirts and plain caps looked
askance at the rustle of unsuitable finery. Moira,
staring about her, saw signs of opulence; a big motor
warred with the donkey carts, and the pony-trap
which they had first noticed was one of exceeding
smartness.
Moira observed their occupants as future callers ;
she said airily that people in motors would suit best,
as they had no spare stable. The feeling of causing
remark, the novelty of silken linings, brought a wave
of extravagance in its train. They went into the
better-looking shops, and ordered what they wanted,
with a calm disregard of the cost.
Eva's gentle voice, as she gave her name, made the
owner of the motor, purchasing at the same time, look
at them with inquiry in her eyes.
"A charming accent," said Mrs. Knox to her fat
husband. “I must go to see them if any one else
calls."
Patsy required hay and straw and oats; blissful
minutes were spent talking to the affable purveyor of
horse food. He appeared to have nothing to do, and
talked of hunting with a ready tongue ; told them
they would see sport over a fine grass country, and
pointed out two or three leading lights who happened
to pass by.
The lady in the pony-trap was Mrs. Vereker, of
)
5


66
Three Girls and a Hermit
Knock Castle. Oh, very rich entirely, and hunting
every day hounds met. The young gentleman with
her was her only son. The stout lady in the motor
was Mrs. Knox; she rode, too.
"And-aren't there some people called Gillespie
here?" asked Moira.
Mr. Foley couldn't call his mind to them. And,
then, there was Mister Moroney, the Master, passing
now.
A rush of be-plumed heads came nearer the door to
gaze at this wondrous being. A little thin man, with
a keen, melancholy face, shuffling along as if a great
deal of him was broken, as he trundled a bicycle
down the muddy road.
Mr. Foley gave a description of the M.F.H.'s
prowess which might have made his ears burn.
"He does be at the finces as if they was good to
eat," said the seller of forage, "and into thim or over
thim 'tis all one to him. Such courage was nivir
seen. An' he's as pleasant spoken an' quiet, but if
you were to lep on one of his dogs, as innocent as
you'd be, you'd be better underground than listinin'
to the remarks he'd pass on you. I did it mesilf
once," said Foley, sighing, "An' he came a week
later to buy hay, and whin he chose it I asked him if
the dog was dead. 'If 'twas,' says he, snappin' his
mouth-'if 'twas, 'tis matches I'd have here to-day
instead of a cheque,' says he. 'That was Cornet,' says
he, 'you jumped on, an' if my breath hadn't given out,
I'd have said a few things to you. . . . An' I to go
away after five minutes, afraid they'd be notin' the
words he used against him at the judgment," finished
Foley sadly.


Ballydare
67
Donough Moroney had paused to speak to a
friend, so they still watched him.
He represented
to Moira the future owner of The Star; so, connecting
the two, she gave a description of her precious mare
which caused Mr. Foley to blink deferentially, and
to inform her that she would never keep such a
paragon.
“ Misther Moroney'll buy her, miss,” he said em-
phatically ; "that stamp is rare now."
As Moira had carefully described a combination of
a Derby winner, a chaser, and a sixteen-stone hunter,
it undoubtedly was.
“The queer things people buys,” said Foley con-
temptuously, as he noted the order. “I was at
Malleady's forge a day or two ago, an' I saw a grey
there you'd be ashamed of in a weddin' coach, that
they said was a lady's hunter."
Moira stared at him dubiously-a twinge of
horrid doubt assailing her—then
assailing her—then felt it could
not be.
There passed then two girls who seemed to echo
their own method of dressing-be-plumed and be-
frilled, with long-tailed gowns.
“And who are those people ?" Eva asked eagerly.
"Oh, them's-them's Geoghans," observed Mr. Foley
curtly.
The three were very happy, as, having smelt at
and chosen hay, they left the sweet-smelling barns
for the dirty streets.
Biddy had requested provisions, and the purchase
of two pounds of chops, which Eva insisted on car-
rying, seemed a descent unworthy of the day. The
butcher had looked contemptuous.
TIE PRO


68
Three Girls and a Hermit
" Wait
But nothing could check Moira's tongue.
until they sold The Star for two hundred. Why not
for three? I might get anything from that little
Master man. Of course I must buy another," she
declaimed ; "two others for fifty or sixty each.
Real beauties like The Star, and then when I sell
those their price will keep me for years.
In the glory of her fervid imaginings Moira spun
dervish-wise upon the narrow pavement, striking the
parcel of chops from Eva's hand: the string gave, and
the neat little pieces of pink-and-white mutton were
scattered into the mud, under the oncoming front
wheel of Donough Moroney's bicycle.
He splashed off on to the dirty road, staring
gloomily first at the chops and then at the crimson-
cheeked trio.
“Pick 'em up?" he said sadly. I'm afraid he
stirred a chop with a thoughtful toe. “ Rather
muddy, eh?"
He looked again from girls to chops, from plumed
hats, white boas, and silken frills, to the five pieces of
mutton and the brown paper, until unconquerable
laughter bubbled and surged below the melancholy
of his thin face.
Two pouncing curs seized the chops hungrily.
“ That settles it. Dinner gone," said Moroney,
lifting his hat and speeding on; but they could see
him laugh. As Eva wrestled for one chop, still upon
the paper, with another dog, she observed that Mr.
Vereker, driving past slowly, had also seen the
incident, and was highly amused.
“ They'll . . . laugh at ... Oh, Eva, how could
you carry them ?" wailed Moira.


Ballydare
69
"
6
Eva, angrily abandoning her last piece of mutton,
said it was all Moira's fault, with her horses and her
hundreds. She also declared that they must dine
upon eggs and bacon, for their money was simply
flying at this rate.
They walked on dejectedly, and the little town as
they passed on by the river bank seemed to shrink
and grow meaner and less like the world.
Youth is fortunately elastic. As they reached the
turnstile they were again discussing the new people
they had seen.
“I wonder," said Moira, “who the Gillespies can
be; the family name, perhaps, of the Ballydares," she
said, with the pleased air of one who has solved a
problem.
They squeezed through the turnstile as she spoke.
The wall opposite was disfigured with posters and
advertisements, and among them, flaring in gaudy
yellow and blue and salmon, the figures of three
girls in scanty costume, riding several horses at
once into a pea-green chasm of space.
flanked by the announcement that the sisters Gil-
lespie, the celebrated equestrians, would, with others,
perform in Machay's circus on the morrow at the
market-place.
The name seemed to step out and smack Moira
hard upon the cheek, as her horrified and hasty
method of turning away brought it to the attention
of her sisters.
They said nothing, and observing a muddy and
dilapidated path over the field, with one accord
ploughed through rather than again face the com-
menting eyes of the soldiers' wives ; but the
It was


70
Three Girls and a Hermit
long-tailed gowns were put away with a finality
which boded ill for their future outings in the
town.
"We seem fated to do stupid things about sheep,"
said Eva, as they ate fried eggs with a hunger which
yearned for chops.


CHAPTER V
SOME SHEEP AND OTHER THINGS
TH
'HREE days were spent in a dusty, hammering
chaos, with constant rushes to the town by
Patsy for things forgotten, and with seemingly end-
less arrivals of parcels, and a scurry of wild haste lest
the rush of callers should arrive before they were
ready. At the end of this time new chintzes, photo-
graphs, and cushions had transformed their bare
rooms, and the three girls drew breath and looked
happier. The cost, entered in Eva's book, was a
thing to be lightly dwelt on. The black and pink
cretonne was eclipsed; there were fresh chairs and
new tea-sets, and as Kathleen arranged flowers and
tinted leaves the little square drawing-room was
almost pretty.
Outside, under the skilful hands of Mr. Dunne,
who now dined daily, The Star and Gog were safely
housed, the slates had been mended, and even
Biddy was protected from draughts by her new
friend's arrangement of what he termed a "scre-an,"
nailed over with sacks and the old carpets, which
had been replaced by rugs. The overtime work-
ing of James Dunne, to save the old woman
71


72
Three Girls and a Hermit
from chill, had necessitated both tea and supper
each day.
The Star recovered rapidly ; her cough proved to
be what Patsy called "a thing of nothing"; and
Moira suggested a ride. The newly arrived saddles
were adjusted, declared to fit well, while the owners
stood to admire. The Star looked lovely, perfect.
Moira clasped her hands in something approaching
ecstasy as she scanned the long, weak mare. Gog-
on whom the new saddle was a mere hint of leather,
and whose smartness was marred by the yellow
straps, too short to meet, being secured by string-
Eva thought that Gog must really be worth a great
deal of money; horses up to his height were not
easy to find out hunting. The mighty beast squeezed
his placid way out, and stood blinking as Eva was
flung up by Patsy. The Star, swishing her long
tail, followed Moira cuddled her knees about the
new pommels with a sigh of pride, chattering
triumphantly.
“How they would hate to sell, and yet they must
at the very first big offer; they could not afford to
be sentimental even with these beauties. How lovely
these small saddles looked."
The horses had been to the forge the day before,
and the vigour of her speech almost drowned milder
murmurs from Patsy, who said the smith “was unaisy
about the mare's foremosht hind tendon, and that he
had declared to God he'd rather shoe a soup-plate
than Gog's foot."
“ An hour he was," said Patsy, as he circled about
them, polishing and adjusting with true pride in his
horses, "hating iron till he stretch a huntin' shoe


Some Sheep and Other Things
73
to fit; and, faith, he wouldn't believe me at first
but that 'twas funnin' I was whin I said the big
horse was to cross country. 'Isn't he up to great
weight?' says I. 'He is, behind him,' says he,
short-like; an' thin I up and tould him what a
lepper he was, and how, whin The Sthar'd be fallin',
Gog'd sthand above clivir and sinsible, and nivir
put the feet astray. They make the fences strong
in your country,' said he, jealous-like for we to
have so fine a horse. An' I have the new crub bit
on The Sthar, Miss Moira, for she had a like to
kill me yesterday."
Moira took up the double reins dubiously; her
experience had not lain with curbs. She was far
from happy in the flat, neat Champion & Wilton,
with its lack of the old-fashioned rise at the far
side.
The mare pranced out uneasily, wincing at the bit.
A month's oats had wrought havoc in her wicked
nature. She sidled as they passed a cart, humped up
her long back, laid back her ears, and decided on
mischief. So far, her only outing had been straight-
the broad road, and on to the forge in the town.
Moira saw a narrow lane to the left, just beyond the
barracks, and suggested turning up it. The Star
thought of the forge; she flicked up her Roman nose
and wheeled back towards the town. Moira turned
her sharply; the grey wheeled again, this time
with short, irritated plunge. Gog, standing still, con-
sidered the mare dispassionately from under his long
lashes.
"She seems cross. Oh! go on," cried Moira,
tightening the reins. "Patsy has been spoiling her."


74
Three Girls and a Hermit
"Hit her," suggested Eva.
Moira took up her whip. A trap was bowling
swiftly from the barracks, and this scene of sulkiness
was not to be before strangers. She wrenched sharply
at the bridle and hit hard, a stinging blow falling on
the mare's shoulder. What followed was confusion.
A sudden, terrifying sensation of sitting on nothing,
of clinging wildly to a grey mane while angry hoofs
pawed the air, and The Star as she swayed seemed
about to topple backwards. Eva wailed. Gog
cocked one ear. One of the men jumped from the
dogcart, and as he caught the bridle, The Star
came to earth with a sliding jar, pulled down by a
heavy hand.
"She-oh! isn't that rearing?" said Moira, still
clinging to the mare.
A man in grey tweeds said it was something
very like it.
"Not only that, but she almost
came back," he added sharply. "Has she done it
before ?"
"She merely
Moira said "No" indignantly.
wanted to go again to the forge. You see, she's
only been on one road, and doesn't know her
way here.
It can't be vice, because she's the
gentlest"
"Brute!" ejaculated the rescuer hastily; for The
Star, rendered peevish by restraint, suddenly caught
him by the arm, and tried to shake him. "I'll get
her at the side," he remarked, "and hold on while you
get fixed."
The rear and plunge had distinctly disarranged
Moira. A tail of sunny hair was straggling from
under her sailor hat; her veil, always a difficulty, was


Some Sheep and Other Things 75
under one ear. She dropped the reins and put up
her arms, staring as she did so at the stranger, her
eyes full of excited surmise.
A tall fair fellow, excessively neat as to grey
tweeds and white collar ; a fatuous expression of
content with himself straying from his mouth to
rather heavy cheeks, his eyes expressing little save
that he considered the world a fairly decent place to
contain his important self; one of the men who did
all things superlatively just before he essayed them,
and who could always coin excuses, completely
satisfying himself, when he fell short of fulfilling his
boasts. After dinner and fruity port, no man could
keep nearer hounds, shoot more birds, or do more to
hint down other men's reputations with depreciative
shoulders and mouth. In broad daylight, with
hounds running mute on a breast-high scent, or
driven birds coming down wind, Captain Lancelot
Milton always bestrode a bad horse, or held a bad
gun to his shoulder. Yet great is the power of
a ready tongue. Many people accepted him at his
own valuation. Mr. Stanley, a meek, thin youth,
who sat quietly in the dogcart, commenced to talk
to Eva.
“This is not a lady's horse.” Milton kept a
wary eye on The Star's teeth.
you've taken The Beeches. We heard of you.
I'm in the Midshires." Here he introduced himself
with difficulty, as The Star objected to doffed
hats.
"She's a young one,” said Moira loftily. “We
can't-we like them untrained, and of course she's
a little wild.” The veil wriggled off completely,
“ You I suppose
»


76
Three Girls and a Hermit
giving Milton a glimpse of a merry, mutinous face
and shining eyes, filled with a somewhat awed
admiration. It was Moira's first introduction to what
Biddy called “one o' thim sodjer min like ye're
dada.” Visions of scarlet uniforms, of clashing
swords, of endless gaiety, and flavour of unknown
wickedness circled in Moira's brain. She was realising
her dreams. She was looking into the eyes, not of
Captain Lancelot Milton, but of the embodied young
men she had conjured up. When could Ballydare
have produced this?
“One must ride a rearer with care," objured
Milton. “ I had one once; cured it completely, I
assure you.
I'll ride that one for you, if you'll let
me, some day. The other carried me top hole for
years after I bested him.” He spoke with kindly
condescension.
Eva gently remarked that when Moira had
done dressing herself she thought they might
)
move on.
Moira took up the reins and bent forward
eagerly. She hoped Captain Milton would come
to see them--soon-they would be at home in
the afternoon, if he and his friend would come
to tea.
Captain Milton's cheeks became even more fatuous,
his manner still more condescending.
He was full of engagements-bridge, in fact.
Moira blushed a little, and murmured, “Some other
time.” But he would come, he and Stanley, to-morrow
afternoon.
Come, oh do,” said Moira eagerly. “ We've been
so lonely-seen no one yet.”


Some Sheep and Other Things 77
Milton remarked as he got into the dogcart that
the girl was simply ripping pretty, and likely to be
some fun. Further, that he s'posed they'd money or
they couldn't come to hunt like that ; and he drove
on to his luncheon party with an expression marking
thought for him.
The Star now proceeded affably, tossing her lean
Roman nose, and taking roads as she was bidden, but
Eva was inclined to reproach Moira for having pressed
two young men to come to see them, and Moira,
whose high spirits had risen to their utmost, was more
than disposed to resent this check, so that for some
time the ride was marred by strained relations.
Finally Eva's gentle nature melted to resignation
and an acceptance of her sister's views, and then
Moira's fancy winged its way as might the great
Nulli Secundus. A patch of gorse set dark green
in low-lying fields brought them to a stand; it was
their first view of a fox covert.
They left the road by a low stone gap, which Gog
scattered in ruins, and pulled up peering into the
prickly depths. They would stand here later; watch
the pack pour in, not through ; hear the first whimper,
which sends its shock through the field, and which
makes every man cram down his hat, tighten his
reins, and sit waiting; the whimper taken up and
echoed, swelling to a crashing chorus; the lifting of
the whip's cap; the long shrill of the “Go-o-ne away”;
the bustle, rush, and Aurry ere hounds settle down,
and those who mean to ride come out right and left,
keen-eyed and alert, while the others melt from fence
to fence, and tail away, enjoying themselves in their
own way.
>


78
Three Girls and a Hermit
seem
What a bank that was to the left, high and
green, with a ditch at the taking-off side. Moira
peered into it unhappily ; another bank beyond-
a built gap to the left or a wide rushy water jump.
Ballydare was no funker's paradise. There were
hedges on many of the fences; thorns growing
blackly, leaving few spaces to get through, so that
hounds once away were quickly lost: and to see a
hunt one must make no delay. Hunting did not
as easy a thing as it had at Borrisdeane.
What if The Star fell as she had done schooling ;
if, after all, Moira did not show the M.F.H. the way
in the first run.
“'Tis full up of thim," said a voice close by.
They started to see a man had come across the
field behind them.
“Two lithers, no less within, and divil a hin or a
turkey safe for miles round since the pups was born
Didn't he didn't he whip a gandther from Mrs
Malone but yesterday, and she feeding thim in the
morning? Faith, she's away to-day to lay complaints
to the Hunt. Be dam to the vilyins."
Moira trusted that he alluded to the foxes, but felt
doubtful.
“But great sport it is,” he continued, “sure ye'd
see that bank there foreninst ye with tin down
at it ; there's a cleared ditch outside it. I cot
three horses misilf the last meet here, and one
the Master's. "Mat Malone,' says he, as he mountin',
' I'll pay ye for iviry chicken ye lie about, and
away wid him like a mothor cyar. I tell ye that
was a hunt an' a half. Out here he broke across
the bank—signs bye we dug one of them horses


Some Sheep and Other Things 79
a
out-up across Cassidy's and pasht on to the trees,”-
his finger pointed to a fir wood some five miles away-
"and down again this way, and killed him just by
Clancy's farm across the river. The finest hunt for
the year, I tell ye." With wide eyes they followed
the line up the swelling slopes to the dark wood, out
again to the silver streak of water and the slated house
beyond it. It would take a good horse to gallop
those eight or nine miles, across heavy going, closely
fenced. Moira touched The Star's thin mane. If the
blood of Solon and Victor counted, surely her mare
could do it.
With bated breath she told Mat Malone how they
had come so far to hunt: how they had never seen
fox or hounds, or ridden across a country, and had
bought these horses to do it on.
"Be dam, but ye're great,” he remarked earnestly.
He eyed their horses with an intelligent air. “An
they not to know how to lep either," he concluded
sadly, "half an hour some one'll be raisin' the wall
they levelled."
As The Star had soared over some two feet above
the stones, Moira burst into indignant protests, and
explained how their mounts had been schooled for
many days, and how the stone knocking was merely
Gog's cleverness.
“There's some ye couldn't larn," said Malone easily,
clearly unimpressed.
Eva, turning Gog to what she thought might be a
becoming angle, asked Malone if he was not a mighty
weight carrier, assuring him at the same time of
Gog's wondrous jumping powers, his deliberation, his
perfect safety.


80
Three Girls and a Hermit
Mr. Malone allowed his eye to travel again
from the ponderous frame down to the ponderous
limbs. Scratching his head thoughtfully, he re-
marked that he feared the fields would be the
difficulty.
Eva, imagining some strange trap into which a
heavy. horse might fall, looked at the grass with
distrust.
" Crossing them,” explained Malone. "Oh, that
soort will do it at their own time, but, sure, tisn't
hounds' time. Size isn't all, miss," he added kindly,
"as maybe the man that sould ye him left a dhray
idle. But, sure, there's many a day he might do ye
well. Many days whin the smhell is slhack.” He
looked at The Star again, took in her sidebones and
other embellishments, and muttered “God above
us" several times, as if it relieved him, otherwise
he made no comment, save that he saw a mare
like that to hunt at Ballydare once—one day-not
again.”
“And she was sold," cried Moira at once. She
glanced at Eva.
She was not, but killed," said Malone thoughtfully.
“ Three finces from here."
"Now, I've a bit of a cob inside," he went on,
nodding towards a thatched house close by. "An'
I'd like ye to see him. Begonnes, if ye'd wait, I'll let
ye see him leppin'." He ran off.
They waited in silence. Weight carriers, it became
apparent, must be something more than large, and the
simile referring to the mare who was like The Star had
not been encouraging.
“ He's just jealous," said Moira suddenly, as Mat
»


Some Sheep and Other Things
81
Malone reappeared, riding, with consummate skill, an
ugly bay brown cob, a shade over fifteen hands, with
a big knee, fired hocks, half a dozen bad knocks,
and the most perfect forehand ever seen on a horse.
Behind the saddle he was light, but powerful. Reins
on neck, the cob came flying across the low bank,
and for the next few minutes the Considines saw
a series of ugly fences taken in perfect style, by a
perfectly trained hunter. Prop and steady at the big
bank; on it with an easy bound, out far into the next
field with hind legs well under him; lightning change
on a high grassy fence; easy fly, with just a rap of
ready heels over the stone wall; long lurch across
the water, and all with cocked ears, as if he loved it.
This was fencing as it should be, without constant
sounding of ditches or long ruminations on each
broad bank.
said Malone, as
"There's one ye
"Sure's he med to do it,"
he pulled the little horse up.
ought to have, an' none of yer ploughboys or
sphiders."
Neither girl would for worlds have owned to the
other the sudden deep longing to abandon hopes of
making money, and to possess this blemished little
beast the big green fields would dwarf then, and the
thought of flying to that distant wood be a joy and
not a menace.
"I buys an' I sells," remarked Malone, "young
horses, not the class of this. I have two beauties
within. But this one, sure I got him a swhap from
Mrs. Magee, whose son ounded him; a swhap for
an ould inside cyar I had whin he was juist afther
kickin' her own to splinters on the way to mass.
6


82
Three Girls and a Hermit
A new cloak he tore on her, and she was all for
getting out of him. An' faix, I knew there wasn't
such a lepper from this to Cork, so with a bit more
here an' there, a few turnips, an' a broken saddle,
I got him."
Eva dragged her eyes from the cob, and, kicking
Gog, asked Malone if they would not find it very easy
to sell their two horses down here.
“An' why not?” he said pleasantly; "why not ? ”
“
thereby comforting Eva greatly. The private thoughts
of Mat Malone, which dwelt upon a farmer and a hack
car-driver, were his own affairs. They approached the
small bank and put the horses over it, Gog acquitting
himself with leisurely perfection, and The Star putting
her head up and flying the whole thing with an
awkward, plunging bound.
“ Begonnes, but ye are great," said Malone thought-
fully ; and having again scratched his head, and said
“God above us,” he informed them that, “afther all,
if they waited the gaps'd be levelled and the banks
thrampled they would get on." Ere they had time
to resent this, a motor came panting along the road,
and The Star, with a squeal of anguish, first reared
and then flew three times round the field, only
restrained with great difficulty from jumping the
big bank or rushing over the high stone wall. The
motor was pulled up, and, as The Star subsided,
Eva was riding forward to thank the occupants, when
she observed that they were not looking at her, but
at a stream of white-woolled sheep which were, one
by one, trailing out on to the road over the ruins
of the stone gap. The lady sitting by the driver was
gesticulating furiously.


Some Sheep and Other Things
83
"
“That's Mrs. Vereker, of Knock Castle, and thim's
her prize sheeps what ye're let out,” said Mat Malone
softly; "they do kape thim here till the huntin' com-
mences.” With an uncanny swiftness he had melted
to the far side of the small bank, and was smiling
pleasantly.
Eva, gasping, suggested his helping to turn the
flock.
Faix, we didn't sphake these five year pasht,”
said Malone genially; "since Mrs. Vereker turned
me out of the covert keepin' and the land.
So let her catch her own sheeps, an' divil mend
her." Here bidding them "good morning," he
rode off.
The Considines' horrified eyes beheld the unavailing
efforts of a solitary young man to surround and drive
back the "sheeps," and their ears heard all too plainly
the rasping directions and comments of the lady, who
remained in the car.
Moira, having calmed The Star, timidly proffered
help—an offer marred by the fact that no power on
earth would induce the grey mare to pass the throbbing
car.
From the muffling depths of a motor-veil, a
cruelly chill voice delivered some opinions
knocking down fences leading to a road-heard
indistinctly, as The Star darted, plunging from the
vicinity of the car and was brought back, and
all lost by Eva, who urged her mighty steed on
to help.
As Moira, for the third time, brought The Star within
speaking distance, Mrs. Vereker half turned, raking
the girl with goggled eyes. "I presume you are one
)
on


84
Three Girls and a Hermit
of the Miss Considines," she said, and having delivered
herself of this remark made no further comment or
reply to Moira's explanations.
Twenty sheep, when pursued by a girl on a horse
and an over-hasty young man, take time to collect.
The woolly brutes huddled with maddening meekness
against gates; then, when collected, suddenly dis-
cover a gap and vanish in white and obstinate line
through it into some forbidden field; they would
gather, foolish-faced, upon the road, and, when
driven, scatter past the right turn and rush up a
lane-way there, as if they had at last discovered the
way they were wanted to go. It was half an hour
before Dennis Vereker, a loose-jointed young fellow
with a pleasant red face, returned in triumph, Gog
tramping magnificently by his side and the sheep
wobbling in front.
By this time he and Eva were quite old friends,
shrieking breathless directions to each other and bitter
wishes at the sheep. As they came down to the car,
Dennis explained confidentially that he would never
have caught them alone, and also that he feared his
mater was simply furious. He shyly indicated a
notice-board warning trespassers. “They left these
*
prize sheep up here and drove up to look at them
almost every day."
“A board which I think you might have seen,” said
Mrs. Vereker suddenly, seeing her son point to the
square of lettered timber. She addressed Moira, and
without warning backed the motor to allow the sheep
to go in.
At this fresh terror The Star, who had subsided to a
grass-munching quiet, felt she had endured enough.
>


Some Sheep and Other Things
85
C
She turned round and kicked the car accurately, the
crash of iron-shod hoofs splintering something being
too apparent to be overlooked.
Apologies were received in stony silence, and to
remain where they were was to court further disaster,
so the two rode dejectedly away, leaving Dennis
Vereker toiling at rebuilding the wall, while his
mother boomed in fury.
“ We seem fated to do foolish things in con-
nection with mutton," said Eva sadly.
“ It was
only foolishness, and Mrs. Vereker might have been
civil.”
Moira said nothing. She was ruminating on
that sudden acknowledgment of whom they were,
made in a tone which implied that the dis-
covery of their names implied explanation of any
offence.
They rode home through a narrow lane, past a
wood running up steeply to the right-another fox-
covert, had they known; past a hillside of bracken,
glowing brown and golden and faded green, and then
turning downwards, found their way to the broad road
leading back to their new home. Ballydare, as they
looked towards it, lay plunged in a tender haze of
mist, its house-tops rising dimly, the spires of the old
abbey and the chapel clear cut in the higher air-a
dull and dirty little town, crouched by the wide
salmon stream. The barracks, a gloomy lump of
brown buildings, stood out to the east; the song
of the practising bugler came in faint discordance.
At either side the country stretched tamely, fine in
its slopes and valleys from a sportsman's point of
view, with nothing to stop the hounds or horses, but


86
Three Girls and a Hermit
otherwise with no beauty: no swell of mighty hills, no
break of crag and butting rock, no thunder of distant
surf on a rock-bound shore. Instinctively they pulled
the horses up, looking down at the land they had
come to.
“I wonder "-Eva let the reins fall on Gog's great
neck—“I wonder, Moira, if one ever gets anything by
trying too hard for it.” Moira understood so well
that her "What on earth do you mean?" was
exceedingly gruff.
“We have come so far to find fun and pleasure.
We have engaged, as it were, to do so much. Will
it all be here : dances, parties, charming young
men?” Eva's face contracted. “ Will they be all we
hope for, Moira? We have not begun well; I am not
sure that I have not bought a plough horse and you
a brute. No one has come to call upon us. For the
young men-
Moira broke in with indignant protest. They
had met no fewer than three to-day. Where in
Borrisdeane would they come across so charming
a personality as that of Captain Milton, so distinctly a
man of the world?
"I wouldn't compare him with the Hermit,” said
Eva slowly.
“ With the Hermit!" Yet Moira's shrill of con-
tempt trailed and died. “The Hermit, the shabby-
the quiet, blue-eyed face seemed to look up at her
and reproach her. The worn tweeds, after all, had
never been shabby. Moira shrugged her shoulders
as her voice failed her, and something caught at her
throat.
“ The Hermit was reliable ; he would have known
»


Some Sheep and Other Things
87
>)
what to do for The Star's cough, would have helped
us in so many ways,” went on Eva.
Moira took up the “crub” bit-a proceeding The
Star resented exceedingly-and they rode on. The
unexpected touch of regret whipped her sharp tongue
to action. Always the leader, she led now, directing
and advising. They must not appear countrified or
ill at ease here; they must be, above all things,
up to date, and remember that the stiff courtesy
of Borrisdeane was not of this newer world. So,
chattering, they came in, to find Patsy, devoured
with anxiety, waiting at the gate. He received the
account of The Star's behaviour with a shake of
his head.
“Up she'd whip ye before ye'd know where ye
were," he said. “There's the divil's badness neshtin'
in her heart, Miss Moira; and she'll hurt ye yet if she
can. A wisp of hay was all they dared to give her
before we had to buy her. Get back, ye schamer," he
added, as Gog, perceiving the hens' food, edged
towards it gently.
A voice raised high drifted from the kitchen
window. Moira looked in ; Biddy dictated a letter
home and James Dunne wrote it for her. The
old man sprawled across the sheet of paper, writing
laboriously. Biddy talked as she got luncheon
ready.
“An' tell her to light the fires—the ould dusht-or
'twill be worse for her"—the letter was to Nancy, now
caretaker of Lake Cottage. “Sure, here we are cool
and miserable, say, in a bit of a house that's neither
convanient or raisonable, with not a pot or pan ready
to cook in, Signs by, teļl her to scour thim we left.


88
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
a
A poor little town with a few shops with great
winders outside and great prices within. An' the roof
leakin' in the house ; mind now say agin to keep fires,
for if God sint the young ladies a few colds we might
be home soon. An' not a soul did we see yet, nor not
one have I seen like Misther Tremayne, God bless
him, thrampin in an' out as frindly as a beggarman.
Tell the ould thief to milk the cow out, an' to tell me
if Pat Maguire is dead yet, an who got his bit of
money, an' if Mary Cassidy settled up with Mike
O'Sullivan. There was but two geese between com-
pletin' the match an I lavin', and he's a fine sthrong
bhoy to lose for that same. Let alone that Mary is
lookin' a long time now."
Moira suddenly remembered that she listened to
a private matter, and walked away. Poor Biddy,
how she longed to be at home, among all her lifelong
friends. The house and cow; the little happenings
of Borrisdeane made the old woman's world. « If God
sends us a few colds," grinned Moira, as she went in to
change.
Kathleen, her eyes afire, was drinking in a de-
scription of Mat Malone's cob. She was the
light-weight of the three; a little blue-eyed girl,
with an obstinate disposition cushioned over by a
yielding manner.
“He has got several young horses, and one might
suit you,” said Moira.
“ You have got nothing
yet.”
“I shall borrow Gog and go over there to-morrow,
just to look,” said Kathleen quietly ; but her eyes
were alight.
When luncheon was over, and the elaborate toilettes


Some Sheep and Other Things 89
to receive callers completed, they went to the yard and
the company of James Dunne, who was now working to
arrange a third stable. From him, as they stood in a
chaos of fragrant shavings, odds and ends of wood,
hammers, chisels, saws, and nails, they learnt many
things : how Mrs. Vereker, whom they had just met,
was leader and ruler of Ballydare society. "Not that
she was so grand herself”—James drove a nail con-
temptuously—“but she was handsome entirely years
ago, and the ould man had a sight of money. So
faix, she thinks more of herself than even the Countess
below at the Castle."
Her husband had been dead for many years now,
and Dennis Vereker, the loose-limbed, red-faced youth
they had seen, was prospective owner of much money
and a fine old place.
“ Ye'd be afraid to throw a pebble in the garding,
for fear ye'd break a glass house," proceeded James,
"and the front way up is all statees and queer things
in white stone, and savin' yer presence, miss, most of
thim without a rag to their backs, and just one or two
with a soort of a towel to kape thim warm. God
kape the poor haythens long ago if they sthud out in
the rain like that. 'Twould give you the creeps now
to see thim all in the moonshine of a frosty night,
like musheroons in July. An' once I was inside to do
a job, and there was more of thim, one poor craythur
with niver an arrum on her that the ould butler said
was a Vanus. May be they whipped the arrums from
her for her bouldness. 'Twas a pity for ye now if ye
angered Mrs. Vereker, for the spharks'd fly from her
eyes whin she's crossed, and she'd leave neither sthick
nor sthone unturned to do ye a mischief.”
"


90
Three Girls and a Hermit
»
Further, as Dunne's saw whined, or his plane
sang, they heard that Mat Malone was a decent
man, who dealt in young horses and rode hard
to hounds, and that in consequence of a foolish
quarrel with Mrs. Vereker in the hunting field, she
had found some pretext for turning him off her
land, and causing him much trouble and incon-
venience.
"An' being an aisy man he would not let the
League take it up,” said James, "though he's thrun-
in his big fine house now, with near a mile to
go round to a road; there was a thrack straight
out by the fox covert.” He told them then how
years before, when he himself had been a young
carpenter earning good wages, how Mrs. Vereker,
then Miss Violet Ellis, had been engaged to some
young man, younger than she was, who was over
for the hunting. James could not recall the name
'twas like Grattan. " She'd take the sight from
ye thin, Miss Eva, with the flash of her eyes and
the black of her 'air, and cheeks as red as huntin'
coats. The weddin' was fixed, an' the day named,
an' the thrying on dhresses every day within at
Clancy's, whin back from Australia came ould
Vereker, with a white beard on him, but money
enough to buy the town. An' he went mad for
her, plain for all to see. An' faix she thrun the
other away and was Mrs. Vereker in a month.
Sure, the young man took it hard an' sphoke quare
words to her out huntin' before thim all. Harding,
the English whip, tould me, but little she cared, just
turned round at him—'twas up by Tulla covert-
an' laffed at him. · Don't be a fool,' says she.
6


Some Sheep and Other Things 91
-
Isn't money besht ov all, an' I'm not going to
die,' says she. “I'll be there yit. I'm not the ould
one,' says she, meanin' like. But he cursed her, so he
did, and laid a name on her I wouldn't be soilin' ye're
ears with, an' Hardin' says though she was white
enough, she laffed still.'
'For he'll come back,' she says to herself whin
'twas over.
Hardin' heard, bein' sthuck agin the
hedge to see the fox go, an' whin he cried gone
away, faix no one could catch Miss Ellis that day,
but Misther-Misther-Grattan went harder still, an'
near kilt himself before they finished. She has
but the one child. Poor Masther Dennis, that can
hardly call his soul his own in his inside, for she
niver lets him away from her. Oh, she's the hard
woman,” said James, looking for his hammer. “She's
a hard, quare woman, and mortial proud of her
looks still."
There were no callers; the evening hushed to a
frosty stillness, with a nip of frost in the faint wind;
it grew too dark for James to work, and they went in.
There was no peace of lapping water and boom of
waves at The Beeches, but the constant rumble of the
carts and hoarse cries of the drivers as they passed
homeward to the distant colliery. The white mist
rose to the door, for the house lay low, coming up in
clinging, dreary chilliness. They had no fragrant
peat to burn here, but slow-burning coal, bought for
economy, which glowed dully and without much
heat.
They were lonely, sitting down to their tea; eating
the cakes prepared for callers, drinking out of the
new china and talking with an enthusiasm which


92
Three Girls and a Hermit
grew strained of all they meant to do when the
hunting commenced.
Biddy, coming in, swung the serge curtains to with
an energetic swish.
"I'm thinkin'," she said, picking up the new tray,
which she objected to strongly, "that ye saw more
company at Borrisdeane."


"WIL
CHAPTER VI
LIFE PROVES DISAPPOINTING
VILL ye sthep in, please?" said Biddy,
opening the door. No persuasion could
induce her to adopt what she termed "them flibbi-
tigibbits" on her head, and her old-fashioned cap
framed her wrinkled face, as it had for years. She
had crossed her shawl over, and pinned on a white
apron bought by Eva.
Lancelot Milton, captain in his Majesty's Army,
had a pretty wit. "The very original Mrs. Noah,"
he remarked audibly to his subaltern, who was
disputing possession of his hat and stick with
Biddy.
"Houldin' on to thim same as if he'd come for the
rint," said the old woman indignantly, as she made
her way back to the kitchen, after having pushed the
drawing-room door open with the curt announcement
of "Two gintlemin."
The two Miss Considines-Kathleen was missing-
had, urged by Moira, arrayed themselves in all their
glory. They were bright-coloured representations of
the newest fashion-plates-trailing skirts, silken be-
frilled blouses, adorned with strange daubs of button
and ribbon-as the Borrisdeane artiste had translated
93


94
Three Girls and a Hermit
foreign ideas according to her powers. Eva's gentle
beauty was almost smothered in crude pink, Moira's
triumphed over a concoction of flaring yellow, and
nothing but the persistent waggling of her new hair-
pads marred her happiness. Buckled high-heeled
shoes peeped from a maze of silken frills; their soft
arms were bared to the elbow. They had, in fact,
made themselves as good copies of the stage young
woman as they could, with a fixed idea that any one
seeing them would receive an impression of the latest
from Paris.
The callers must come; they had been seen in
the town, also out riding, although in both cases
there had been slight accidents; the rush of Ballydare
to welcome them must now commence. The two
soldiers had put off their visit until to-day, and Eva
hoped there would be enough chairs. A lavish supply
of cakes stood in the pantry. Biddy was making hot
bread, and had promised to “set” milk for cream.
Everything was ready, and the beginning was the
entrance of Captain Milton, now in dark blue serge
and with violets in his buttonhole.
He looked about him as he sat down, and assured
them they had already worked wonders. “ Awful
little hole ; were simply charmed when you took
it. Very sporting of you three comin' along like
this and chaperonin' each other; must let me help
you, if you want advice." He caught Moira's
admiring eye, and the fatuous line of his cheeks
deepened to a crease. With a winning ease he took
them beneath his care, and from the subsequent
conversation it was evident that, so far as sport
went, he had skimmed the cream of the world's
3


Life proves Disappointing 95
knowledge. Their stable management, carefully
imparted by the Hermit, was of course all wrong.
A stroll to the stables left Patsy with a worried
expression and a calm determination to accept all
advice and alter nothing. Reproofs for untidiness
and extravagance had not sweetened his temper.
The order to take out all straw each morning to dry
was received with unqualified contempt.
“Fine dryin' 'twould get undther the rain," remarked
Patsy; "and fine feet the mare'd have pawin' the
cobble-stones all day.” So far as the edgings of
plaited straw, which Captain Milton decided to be
a necessity, Patsy's aside " that he was no bashket-
maker was unfortunately audible. Viciousness,
Milton then informed them he was clearly annoyed
by Patsy's manner-was merely the result of bad
stable management. A horse which kicked in the
stable meant a rough and stupid groom.
He him-
self would go up to any horse : here he opened
the door of The Star's new box, approaching with
a “Whoa, my pretty," as fatuous as his cheeks. His
exit, as he dodged to escape a broken shin, was a
Aurried one.
Patsy was left muttering, and the clear autumn
day grew chill. There was no lake to wander by
here, no restless hum of sea calling for a walk by
its shores, so they went into the tiny square sitting-
room, which, with door and window shut, became
exceedingly like an oven, and which with either open
was a cavern of the winds. Biddy was not a fashionable
handmaiden, to be hurried with tea; as the girls knew
from long experience, she would be ready at five, but
not a moment before ; to hustle her into bringing it
a


96
Three Girls and a Hermit
cream.
early would mean no hot cakes, and probably no
The two sat listening, Moira filled with that
worship of the new which is youth's joy and trial.
Captain Milton, as a soldier, was a being she had
never met before, and the mist of her lack of under-
standing enveloped him, to her, in a rosy halo. She
hung upon his words, listened to his great tales of
fox-hunting, when at most times it seemed that
Captain Milton and the fox were alone with the
hounds. There were airy allusions to London, where
he lived, to theatres and music-halls, and tales of rout
and frolic. The man or woman who had never seen
London had not yet commenced to live, and Moira's
cheeks glowed with the false shame which is so hard
to bear; she who had never walked in that enchanted
city, never strolled in the Park on golden summer
afternoons, never seen Edmund Payne, Huntley
Wright, or Barrington-Milton's taste apparently
ran to musical comedy-never supped at the Carlton
or the Savoy. She was a mere little barbarian, who
ought to feel the greatest pleasure at the condescension
of this man of the world. That was the idea which
Milton wished to present and impress, and which
Moira assimilated as a sponge takes up water. Yet
to hold her own a little, and to endeavour not to
show her awe, she assumed a manner so far removed
from shyness as to be almost aggressive, bandied wit
with a hoyden's pertness, and laughed at compliments
which merited slapping. Their new friend then learnt
with a gasp of horror that they could not play bridge.
He would teach them now, immediately. Eva pro-
duced her patience cards, a table was cleared, and
they commenced.


Life proves Disappointing
97
"Jolly good fun," the two men voted it, for the
game as it was played necessitated corrections of
many varieties.
Their voices rose to a merry
pitch, the window, despite the draught, was flung
open to let out a cloud of smoke, and the game
flourished.
Moira, denounced as a juggins, resented it freely.
They laughed, and romped, and enjoyed it all,
believing it to be the ways of the heart of the
world.
"Trumped your partner's king, you little duffer,"
Milton roared with laughter. Moira, declaring that
she had borne enough, seized the pack and flung
it at his head. Now, quite unheeded, a motor
had come to the narrow gate; and at this moment
the Hon. Mrs. Harman Vereker, exceedingly morose
and unwilling, was making her way up the path by
the window. The cards, flung with a skilful zest,
skimmed out into the evening, falling in a cloud
about the astonished lady's head, while the shouts of
merriment and crash of the falling table as Milton
sprang up came as a more solid blow. She stood
transfixed, a tall, well-built figure, glaring at the
scene.
"My
Holy Saint Christopher! Mrs. Vereker!"
said Mr. Stanley weakly, sheltering himself behind
the curtain.
"Lord!” said Milton, picking up the table-" Mrs.
Vereker of all people."
"I-we are so sorry. Won't you come in ?" Eva,
quite unaware that some flowers flung at Moira by
Captain Milton had caught in her hair and were
nodding there airily, came forward with hot cheeks.
7


98
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ I've-that is, my son-asked me to call.” Mrs.
Vereker looked back at the car.
“We thought you might not have understood
yesterday about those sheep"-Dennis Vereker's red
face peered over his mother's shoulder, and his eyes
were uneasy—“so we came to call on you."
Purely to explain,” said his mother, with glacial
distinctness. “ Thank you, Miss-er-Considine, I
do not think I shall come in."
"Oh, please," said Eva appealingly, and, with
Dennis using pressure at the back, Mrs. Vereker
stepped in. She was a tall, handsome woman, with
a hard face and cold eyes. The power to rule
gleamed from their grey depths; there was arrogance
in her glance and haughty, well-cut mouth, and her
manner as she looked for a chair indicated the
lady of the manor who stoops that she may win a
vote. Guest and hostess faced each other, the youth-
ful prettiness of one crowned by two nodding roses,
the stern handsomeness of the other by the knave of
hearts which had slipped between veil and toque, and
nodded his red face almost rakishly at the company.
Mr. Stanley, peering round the curtain, choked
audibly, and again invoked Saint Christopher—the
only remark, in fact, which he made for the rest of
the afternoon. Captain Milton stiffened his neck and
talked bravely, and Mrs. Vereker sat not unlike a
female thundercloud, booming out insufficient replies
to gentle overtures.
“We have had so much trouble with the cottage,
said Eva.
“ Indeed !"
“Miss Moira," observed Biddy from the door, "will
"


Life proves Disappointing
99
ye lind me a hand in with the tapot? 'Twon't fit on
the thray."
Moira fled hastily, and Mrs. Vereker trusted they
were not getting tea for her, for she would not
take any.
"We have never been away before, and it was so
hard to arrange everything alone," went on Eva, and
the tail of her eye flashed contempt upon Milton,
who, instead of helping her, had drawn Dennis aside
and was talking hunting to him.
Mrs. Vereker's hard eyes travelled slowly round the
little room, dwelling on the new chintzes, the photo-
graphs, the various attempts to beautify the unlovely
squareness, and dwelling on them with a chill lack of
appreciation. There were no 'statees," towelled or
otherwise, or pictures to impress her.
"C
She smothered a manufactured yawn impres-
sively.
"You have done it alone; but I presume that your
mother will soon come to look after you?" said Mrs.
Vereker heavily.
"Well-no. You see, she's dead," explained Eva.
"We lived with our aunt," she added hastily.
"Indeed!"
Mrs. Vereker, having herself made
an awkward speech, was exceedingly angry with
Eva.
"Indeed-your aunt," she said stiffly. "I suppose,
then, she is coming to live with you?
""
"She!—she can't," murmured Eva, wondering how
people turned conversations.
"I consider it most negligent and wrong of her to
leave you alone," observed the visitor.
"She-she's dead too!" said Eva weakly. And
436276S


100
Three Girls and a Hermit
a sudden splutter of laughter from near the serge
curtains was too plainly audible.
The stiffening of Mrs. Vereker's neck made the
knave of hearts bow jauntily. She turned to
Captain Milton, who now came up, entering into a
pleasant conversation with him about various social
events and happenings, completely ignoring her girl
hostess-so that Eva had the sensation of being
a new Alexander Mactavish, mentally whipped and
put upon the cold doorstep to cool in her own
house.
She was quite alive to her visitor's importance,
and over-anxious to please her. It would mean
so much to them to be taken up by the right
people in this strange place. She commenced to
talk to Dennis, and tell him of their plans and
hopes, receiving from him a grave assurance that
Gog was certainly up to any weight, and a gentle,
well-mannered horse.
"Of course, he might be a little-slow," said Dennis
diffidently, wondering what plough the great beast
had come from.
Biddy, tray in hand, banged upon the door,
arranging it with great dissatisfaction on its bed of
three carved legs. Moira, carrying the pot and a
dish of hot cakes, followed.
"Temptin' providence an' the new chaney!"
grumbled Biddy, bending her snowily capped old
head as the brass tray rocked and the cups clattered.
Miss Eva, will ye get the gintleman to put his
hand to the legs, while I lays it down? Now, isn't
a nice clane cloth led down on a firum table far
better than thim childther's nonsense? 'Twould


Life proves Disappointing
IOI
take but a kick of yer feet to sind all that over.
The ould ways is the besht, don't ye think so now,
ma'am ?”
With the freedom brought by many friendships at
Borrisdeane, she appealed to Mrs. Vereker as she
would have to Mrs. Butler or Madam O'Neill.
Mrs. Vereker gasped and stared, ignoring the
question.
“Wouldn't ye say so, ma'am?” repeated Biddy,
lighting the spirit lamp, then, again receiving no
answer, looked at Mrs. Vereker with a pitying
scrutiny. "Sphake up to her, Miss Moira, dear, the
poor lady's as deaf as Mikey Guinane's ould mother,"
observed Biddy as she left.
Eva, growing rapidly hysterical from strain, dis-
pensed tea, Mrs. Vereker taking some mechanically,
her handsome grey eyes glaring at the door which
had shut out Biddy. To have the chillness of dignity
taken for deafness is not pleasing.
Dennis, helping assiduously, could not take his eyes
from Eva's pretty face. He had escaped from Milton,
and was endeavouring to counteract his mother's
manner. It had taken him two hours' hard coaxing,
and a heavily painted picture of her unkindness
to two timid girls, to get her to come to call.
They had been in Ballydare in the morning, she
declared, in actresses' hats and absurd gowns. They
were three young adventuresses come down to hunt
many things. Dennis, lying cheerily, was certain
they had an aunt or a mother. He represented
the enormous benefit which his mother's call could
confer, and with so little trouble to herself. With a
tongue oiled by the memory of the sheep hunt, and


102
Three Girls and a Hermit
Eva Considine's sweetness as she lashed her mighty
steed across corners and up lanes to cut the flock off
and help him, Dennis had triumphed. Now, with the
horror of the knave of hearts, who grew positively
skittish in his mother's hat, and the memory of the
noise which had greeted them, he dreaded his drive
home.
Listening to Eva's gentle voice, it was impossible
to doubt her breeding, even with a rose nodding over
her ear, and the room littered with fallen odds and
ends. Moira chattered more merrily, trying to cover
her discomfiture; she flitted, waiting on every one,
especially on Milton, who made a heavy tea and
allowed Dennis and Mr. Stanley, in the moments
when he appeared from behind the curtain, to hand
things about.
Mrs. Vereker, warmed by excellent tea, and com-
forted by Biddy's hot cakes, thawed slightly. She
impressed upon Eva the desirability of a chaperon :
failing those who were dead, they could easily find
some one alive, some needy gentlewoman requiring a
home. Eva, anxious to propitiate, promised to think
of it, and glared reproachfully at her sister when that
young lady suggested the coal cellar as the only
spare bedroom.
“ Also "-Mrs. Vereker took a second cup of tea
and more cake, remarking that really those curious
old Irish servants did understand how to make hot
bread_"also, Miss Considine, I observed you yester-
day speaking to Matthew Malone. No doubt he will
try to sell you a horse. He is”- Mrs. Vereker's voice
deepened—"a person of the lowest stamp, a cheat, a
rogue. I was obliged to take my land from him,
)


Life proves Disappointing
103
and I believe he would poison the covert if he
did not live by horse dealing. Do not look at his
horses."
Hoofs clattered outside. "Moira! Eva!" cried
Kathleen's voice, shrill with excitement. "I've bought
it-bought the cob. I jumped it everywhere, and had
tea with Malone, and there never was such a darling,
and I've called it Jim Crow, and he's ridden back with
me, and you must write the cheque and give him some
whisky now, and Patsy will put him in the stable
and feed him."
Kathleen, her face all aglow, came into the circle of
light. By her side, smiling happily, stood Mr. James
Malone.
"The divil a fear he'll ivir fall with her," he said.
"Anyhow"-then his eye lighted on his arch enemy,
Mrs. Vereker, who had put down her cup, and, with
disgust written on her face, had begun to fasten her
sables.
Kathleen cried to Biddy for whisky speedily.
"For Malone says a dry bargain is no bargain, and
that's why The Star had sidebones and fell into the
ditches. Gog's man did have porter, and-here you
are, Malone."
Perched upon the sill, brushing Mrs. Vereker's
skirts as that lady endeavoured to leave, Kathleen
filled a brimming glass, and without a cough Malone
swallowed it. "Here's good luck and success," he
said, "to all good people, and the divil's luck to him
that deserves it." His smile was angelic in its
innocence, but his eyes were not far from Mrs.
Vereker as she made her haughty adieux, with a
distinct show of temper in her flushed cheeks.


104
Three Girls and a Hermit
C
"
>
“I am glad to have had the opportunity of
apologising for any hastiness concerning my sheep,”
she said coldly.
Eva, visibly unhappy, said she was so glad they
were in. Mrs. Vereker, in tones of doom, said that
they had known that at the gate. Her arrangement
of her veil failed to disturb the knave of hearts, who
kept his place with determination. Eva's flowers had
slipped off, and Moira, as she said good-bye, trembled
for their one pack of cards.
"I am so sorry ; it was my fault for throwing them.
But may I'?”—she lifted the little knave from his
throne—"we haven't got another pack, you see;" she
apologised.
“ Have I,” demanded Mrs. Vereker,“ been carrying
that thing in my hat all the afternoon ?"
Her son, whom she questioned, said it was so.
The splutters of laughter and smiling glances were
explained. With a depth of bitter resentment which
rent her, Mrs. Vereker made her exit, pushing past
Mat Malone, who still stood at the widow; marching
to her car in deadly silence. The Considines had
made an enemy who had much in her power.
As the powerful car throbbed into life, she spoke
fervently, furiously, pouring out the vials of her wrath
upon the three Miss Considines, who, divided between
chagrin and merriment, had dispatched their other
callers, and with none left but Mat Malone, who
was helping Patsy, sat laughing hysterically in their
little room.
"We are fated, fated," groaned Eva. “Our first
visitor, all mixed up with bridge, romping, and
cigarettes, and a shower of cards."
9)


Life proves Disappointing
105
"And the knave of hearts," muttered Moira
helplessly.
"And Mat Malone, and the whisky. Eva, do
you think she will ever forgive us? And Kathleen "-
Moira suddenly awoke to deeper things" this cob
is only a screw, a thing we shall never make any
money of. It's not fair of Kathleen."
Eva made excuses on the ground of youth, as
Mat Malone returned for his cheque, and to say the
cob was "nate and comfortable; but did they know the
grey mare was the least sign of windsucker, an' that
was what kep' her so poor ?"
Moira groaned.
"An' that bhoy of yer's has the horses fair smothered
in straw," added Malone, as he took his cheque. It
was for thirty pounds, and represented nearly twice
the value of the cob. "Faix, 'tis aisy known he
doesn't pay for the same."
This was direct fruit of new teaching.
Moira, crouched over the fire, was thinking of James
Dunne's story. What a beautiful creature this woman,
so handsome still, must have been as a young girl,
when the hair shone with the lights which dye now
hid, when those cheeks had been flushed and soft,
and the perfectly cut mouth red. Who, she wondered,
had broken his heart for her, and where had she seen
some one like Mrs. Vereker before? She could not
remember, but she knew that the face struck some
note in her memory. Young brains run riot. In
fancy she pictured the scene out hunting; the furious,
bitter words spoken by a boy whose whole being
quivered with suffering and furious anger. To be
flung aside for an old white-bearded man; to see the


106
Three Girls and a Hermit
girl he had loved sell herself as coolly as a Circassian
slave. To be pointed at, mocked, pitied, the hardest
thing youth can endure. What words, she wondered,
had he Aung in the beautiful face which turned away
and mocked him with a careless laugh, caring nothing
now that she could be rich? Had it satisfied her ?
Were pictures, diamonds; cunning chiselled marble
full recompense for the loss of the love a young man
can offer ? Did they repay for perjured faith and
broken promises ? Moira could not tear the picture
from her mind ; it haunted her, and more so because
the impression of having seen Mrs. Vereker before
jarred on an unresponsive memory. Now, Dennis
Vereker-his name made her thoughts pass on-was
very rich. He had seen Eva, called next day-
surely a good first chapter for the romance she
desired to write on life's pages. If through this
scheme of hers Eva should make a great match, be
rich and happy, what would they say to her then ?
She would have proved herself right, be repaid for all
the arguments used to induce her sisters to consent.
The Hermit-even the Hermit could not look at her
again with faintly mocking eyes, as he had done
before they parted. He had spoken of knowing
Ballydare; she must ask about him, see if people
remembered Oliver Tremayne. Moira's romance
went swiftly. She saw Eva all in white, aflash with
diamonds, going to her wedding; she decided on the
bridesmaids' dresses and presents; travelling farther,
she saw herself staying at Knock Castle, with Mrs.
Vereker somewhere out of the way, and Eva, clad
in wondrous attire, proud mistress of the lovely rooms.
She was going in to a dinner party of twenty, with


Life proves Disappointing
107
unheard-of luxuries before them, when Biddy put her
head in, and observed that if Miss Moira didn't "hurry
to dhress, the rabbit'd be rags and the bacon boiled
away."
It was a faint change from her dreams, but, being
hungry, she went quickly.


CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST MEET
THE
'HE first meet of the season. What memories
it calls up; what hopes rise as we read
the fixture on the card ! Summer is over, grim
winter has come; the greatest sport in life lies for five
months before us. Will luck, a fickle jade, be ours
this year, or, with a mocking grin, will she see us take
the wrong side as they break; find the gate in a
hopeless fence locked; or having sent us flying to that
easy place which once crossed will take us to hounds,
see the cold trail of barbed wire winding tightly across
it? This year the funkers think they will funk no more,
but sit down and ride that first big place which up to
now has sent them round, primed with excuses.
They will do at last what all their lives they've meant
to-take their own line and sail away on terms with
the flying pack: no following like flocks of sheep,
hard on each other's tracks, in one broken-down spot;
no waiting until the once stiff wall is a grey and
rattling ruin. Good men and true, who know no fear,
smile softly as hounds come trotting in and gather on
the lawn. There is a chatter of foxes and horses, and
scent and fences, and not a sad face among the crowd.
How the underbred horses hump their backs and buck
108


The First Meet
109
and squeal as they do their first canter; the well-bred
ones munch at their bits and go demurely, keeping
themselves ready for the gallop they long for. For
horses like it as much as their masters; it is as keen
joy to them to stretch their powerful limbs, to jump
truly and strain their generous hearts to keep near
the pack they love. There goes an old bay, stiff
in the shoulder, fired for curbs, bandaged all round;
but how he cocks his ears and steps out, how the
rheumatism vanishes as he grows warm! and no five-
year-old will go as keenly as the old veteran of eight
seasons who was bought for twenty pounds. What
a feeling that bad things are left behind and all good
things lie in front as the first whimper, the first long
yowl for fox, which is no puppies' babble, rises from
the gorse. Reins are tightened and hats jammed
down, and the good horse beneath us shivers with
expectation. Which way will he break? Back over
the rough country, or to the east, over the valley with
its line of perfect bạnks ? A shout. He has gone
over the banks, and the thunder of squelching hoofs
sounds down the long hillside. Swing now right or
left and get your start away from the crowd. With
its sorrows and its triumphs, its poor days and
perfect, hunting is with us again, and the joy of
being alive to enjoy it is ours.
At The Beeches the three girls were astir early ;
there was rushing from room to room, hasty snatching
of mouthfuls of breakfast, consultations as to the
adjustment of the new habits, grievous failures con-
cerning ties, and a strong disposition to puff out their
hair beneath their new silk hats. Eva liked a veil,
Moira did not ; then, too abundant locks wobbled


IIO
Three Girls and a Hermit
perilously. And all the flurry of preparation was
punctuated by shrill and unceasing remarks from
Patsy as he bustled to and fro with saddles and
bridles.
“ Divil a pick of corn is The Sthar afther atin' for
me. Sonce a taste. She just damped it with her
breath, becos there was a brush laid on to clane
her before she began to ate."
A pause, and then a wailing grumble that he
had the new girths “squez” to the last hole, and
even then he was afraid the saddle would come
round.
He appeared and disappeared at the stable door,
scarlet-faced from anxiety; à further shriek from
Gog's stable proclaimed that “the schamer had got
his muzzle off and finished his bed till he was puffed
out like a crass turkey cock." Jim Crow alone came
in for no comments, having licked his manger clean
of oats, and nothing further, save his modest
allowance of hay.
There was a lull, while the three pranced for the
last time before their respective looking-glasses, and
Biddy was ordered to see that Eva's sandwich-case
was on the saddle. The altercation drifted clearly
through the open windows at the back.
“ Patsy!" and Patsy appeared. “Have ye Miss
”
Eva's sandwich-case above on the horse?” cried
Biddy. “Have ye, Patsy?"
“I have not,” said Patsy, disappearing; then, stung
to retort by the storm of contempt which swept at
him across the yard, he appeared again.
“But I have it on the saddle," he observed gloomily
taking over the silver lining to be filled.
)


The First Meet
III
He had scarcely applied himself to polishing The
Star's hoofs when Biddy's shrill old voice roused
him once more.
"Patsy! Patsy! Come out till I see you. Pat-
see !"
"
>
Patsy, wishing politely that "the divil had Biddy's
tongue for his brekhusht,” darted into view, brush
in hand, and rubbing his leg with some feeling.
“Miss Kathleen wants to know if ye have her little
cane that she left out yestherday? an' she'll be fit to
be tied if ye haven't,” said Biddy.
Patsy, with a worried look, said "the brains in
his head were med soup of from thinkin', an
indade if he'd known all the sandwichers an'
sthicks an' nonsenses that wint with hunting, he'd
have sthopped carin' the Murphy's jennit, aisy an'
respectable.
“When I heard ye bawling, I did but take one
eye off The Sthar," he said bitterly, “an' she druv
me knee to the hayrack with the kick she med
on me."
Here he fetched the sandwiches, ate one absently,
and limped back to his charges.
When at last the three emerged in the glory of
shining hats and boots and tight-waisted coats, Patsy
murmured “glory” fervently.
“There'll be none like ye in the field,” he said, with
a groom's true pride in his own property. “Indade, ,
Miss Moira, ye're for all the world like the gran'
picthures of the circus in the town." The compliment
was received with reserve and a request for the
horses.
Patsy had not spared himself. The horses' coats


II2
Three Girls and a Hermit
rode away
»
shone, the bits were silver bright, the saddles polished
to glassiness. Moira, as she mounted, first looked
back along The Star's lean length, and wondered if the
world held so beautiful an animal. Gog took the
opportunity to stretch out and bury his head in
the rain-water barrel, as a protest against his abridged
morning drink, and was removed with his great nose
dripping
"Sorra the far he'll go for ye, Miss Eva, betune
wather an' sthraw," said Patsy contritely, as they
He had announced his intention of
following upon a "borryed " bicycle to
” see the
meet.
They clattered down the road, beaming with joy,
wondering what it would be like, The time so long
anticipated had come at last. The magical hour when
they were to witch Ballydare, and lay the foundation
of selling their horses.
Moira was not over sure of bringing The Star
home. "It's unlucky to ride them once they're
sold," she said impressively. “ And I'm sure when
the Master sees her, he'll want to buy her at once.
We must remember to get quickly away behind
the hounds. It's no use riding to sell in the back-
ground.”
Eva thought of Gog's morning meal and sighed.
Led horses and traps and men hacking on were
already pouring along the road. Curious eyes were
turned upon them, and sometimes turned away to
smile. And at every horse and trap The Star kicked
viciously, lashing out with her long legs as one who
meant to do business. The grave sin of owning a
kicker did not impress itself upon Moira. She bore


The First Meet
113
»
gently on the curb, and called her mare a playful
pet.
At the fifth kick, The Star having narrowly escaped
braining an elderly gentleman, who came close by,
he pulled up with a hurt expression.
“ You should wear a red ribbon, young lady, wear a
red ribbon," he grunted noisily. “You very nearly
caught me.”
Moira, blushing at the liberty of the remark, and
wondering where on earth the red ribbon should be
adjusted, replied frigidly that it was only her mare's
play. “She has never been out hunting," she ex-
plained; "never saw hounds."
“ I'm afraid some hounds will wish they'd never
seen her," he smiled now and grew genial. “Nothing
so dangerous as a kicker. Keep out of the crowd or
you'll get abused." He jogged on stolidly.
A few minutes later they arrived at the meet.
The hounds were coming up as they came, a cluster
of pied bodies, and keen, wistful faces, moving with
the easy hound jog which covers the ground so fast.
They were drawn up on the lawn by Killeen House.
A faint sun brightened the morning, touching light
grey clouds to whiteness against a pale blue sky. A
west wind sang through the still leafy trees, rustling
their mantle of russet and gold and crimson to the
cold earth, hurling the leaves as they fell to a rustling
dance of death. Pink coats shone in the sunshine,
dotting the stretch of grass ; men and women were
getting from traps and motors; grooms gave the last
unneeded polish as they brought their horses up. It
was all bustle and brightness ; clatter of tongues and
exchange of cheery greetings, and the Considines
8


114
Three Girls and a Hermit
gazed on it with awe-struck eyes. So this was a
meet. This was the commencement of the fox-
hunting, which they had read and dreamt about for
so long
The Star humped her long back and plunged
heavily. Gog cocked his ears, and having said
“Hu-hu!” heartily, thought better of further move-
ment, and ate grass. Little Jim Crow, his lean,
well-bred head carried high, only watched the
hounds. A week's grooming had made his coat
shine, a liberal supply of oats had filled him out.
Highly blemished little beast as he was, he looked
a hunter.
They were isolated strangers among the friendly
groups, but that, Moira said, would not last long
Even then the constant glances showered on them
meant recognition, and the triumph would soon
begin.
Mrs. Vereker's motor drew up near them, and they
saw their only visitor getting on to a magnificent
weight-carrying bay, almost thoroughbred, and with a
mouth of silk. They were recognised with the
chilliest of nods, and an audible request to Dennis
to keep near his mother, as she feared her horse was
fresh.
"Eva, the Master !” The lean little man they had
seen in the town, now seeming one with a dark brown
thoroughbred mare. He swayed to each movement
with that perfect sympathy which marks a true
horseman. On the ground he was insignificant,
shuffling and limping from bad injuries, his hard
bitten face like tanned leather. Riding, one had to
turn and look as he swung past.


The First Meet
115
" He'd simply look perfect on The Star.” Moira
eyed Gog with a look of pity. “You see he goes in
for thoroughbreds. But there are sure to be a lot of
fat men, Eva,” she added kindly. "I think I'll just
let him see her."
Moira cantered The Star along up towards the
hounds. She was just in time to see them welcome
Donough Moroney as he came among them-a
chorus of frantic joy which sent the nervous Star
halfway round the field. By judicious use of the
“crub” Moira got her back again, and rode over
close to the waiting pack.
“Doesn't kick hounds, I hope ? ” Morency raised
his head and grinned faintly. He remembered the
mutton chops.
Oh, no!” said Moira; and The Star, with a
squeal of wrath, swung round and let drive at a
straggler.
“Take her away and beat her," said Moroney kindly,
controlling his peppery temper as he looked at Moira's
distressed face. “But, please, take her away, and
put on a ribbon."
“ Did you ever see such a disconnected brute in
your life?” he remarked to Dennis Vereker, who rode
up. “Some one stuck that child fairly. They're
those new girls, aren't they, come down for the
winter ?"
Mrs. Vereker struck in with some chilling comments.
"Most impossible young persons. No one belonging
to them apparently but a dead aunt, with no real
reason to give for coming here except, of course, the
hunting," she added hastily.
The Master said, thoughtfully, that it was kind
)


116
Three Girls and a Hermit
of her to put that.
He gave the signal to
move on.
"
Clatter and jog and bump, as they poured through
the narrow gate and turned into the road to Crin
Gorse, always the first draw. Fresh horses squealed
and plunged, and David Knox, who collected, did so
in danger of his life. How The Star escaped breaking
several horses' legs must always remain a mystery.
There was a constant chorus of “ Mind that brute !"
until Moira was left alone upon the footpath with a
space cleared behind her.
“The divil such a kicker ever I saw," announced
Mat Malone, riding up wide on the left ; "and ye
out without a bit of red on her.”
With the resource of his race, he took a horseshoe
pin from his tie and directed Moira to stick it in the
back of her coat-a process inducing some pain, as
she twice got the point home before it was safely
adjusted.
''Twould be well for ye if ye were out of her," said
Malone thoughtfully, "for she'll do a mischief yet,
let alone that good oats
wa
he likes of her.
Kape to the wesht whin they break,” he counselled,
“ for the other passage is very confined, and two old
bridges across it."
They turned into a narrow lane, splashed squelching
down it, and saw the covert lying low amid swampy
land. It was cut across by a great drain, which one
must cross to get out, and choose the half-rotten
bridge described by Malone, or a scramble in and
out of a muddy cattle-track, where horses slid and
slipped as they breasted the ascent.
Even once
fairly away, the first few fields were almost a bog,
66
ed on


The First Meet
117
»
fenced by treacherous, crumbling ditches, full of
sullen brown-hued water, and with but one passage
over them.
“Let me sthay with ye, Miss Kathleen,” said
Malone, “an' I'll guide ye.” He was riding a fretful
"
half-broken grey; his bridle a rusty snaffle, the single
reins darned together with bootlaces, his saddle was
propped off the withers with a cotton pocket-hand-
kerchief, and the rowelless spurs tied to his heels
had never been fellows. But his hands played the
youngster's mouth as he reached and yawed; his
knees, in their patched breeches, were firm in their
easy grip. A horse bought from Mat Malone was
certain to possess manners and to face his fences.
He could hustle a coward or a rogue into deeds of
prowess, could steady a nervous rusher until the last
moment, and make him hop out over a narrow bank
with an easy change when the youngster had expected
to fly.
As he stood by the girl's side, he kept a running
sotto voce commentary on the hunting-field. “That
sthout ould felly, that's David Knox, that knows
better than a fox where he'd be going to. If ye
want to go aisy and see a run's end, folly him.
Him down there with the glasses, that's Andtherson,
an' 'twould be well to see his heels an' hounds runnin'.
Didn't he jump the government drain outside lasht
year on that very bay mare? That's Misther Vereker;
but shure ye know him, an' he rides well too. An'
his mother there, the same; but she's that jealous
she'd lay her tongue to ye if ye gets in front.
'Twas all through a big wall down by Dayly's, an'
I too hurried to hould the gate, that she thrun me


118
Three Girls and a Hermit
out of me land. Come back, Malone,' says she;
'come back.' An', faix, I wouldn't. Thim two young
Miss McCarthys; they're the gurrls to go. Begad! an'
there was Lady Mary Knon, on the chestnut, and
Sir Thomas Finch, the fat filly, with her-thryin' to
marry her, they say, he havin' buried Lady Finch
lasht sphring. Be jabers! they has it," he whispered
suddenly.
A long-drawn whimper sounded close by: they
could hear hounds as they crashed to it; another,
and then another, until it swelled to a chorus and the
undergrowth rang to the sound.
They were drawn up in the middle of the
straggling gorse, on the wide space crossed by the
drain. Brackens, gold and brown, edged the gorse
bushes, growing high and rank in the wet ground;
the fern leaves stirred, silence fell suddenly, and a
little red creature stepped out just before them.
"A! Oh, it's a fox!" It was Moira, crying out
in wild excitement. "Mat Malone-a fox! I saw
a fox!"
"Havin' eyes, 'twould be hard for ye not to,"
rebuked Malone, with mild surprise. "Be aisy,
Miss Moira. Sthop shriekin'."
"Stand still, please; keep quiet."
Out poured the hounds, spreading for a second;
down went old Paragon's nose, up went his yelp of
triumph; now Melody echoed it. They dashed across,
swarming in and out of the ditch, and were lost in
the thick gorse beyond.
"Stand still, please. Tom has viewed him
back."
The rush for the passage was stayed. Horses


The First Meet
119
fretted and plunged against restraining bits. The
Star celebrated the occasion by rearing twice, and
then kicking hard into the gorse, which pricked
her into surprised submission. Gog raised one
ear, and took a fresh frond of bracken into his
mouth.
What was it going to be like? The Considines
knew nothing of what was before them. All the
books of the world teach nothing when a novice is
confronted by the unknown joys and terrors of a
first hunt. It had sounded so easy far away. Now
they shivered with a new nervousness; there were
so many horses to be got through, wedged as they
were in the crowd-so little room to get out down
the narrow track. There was none of the simple
sailing through flat fields which Moira had believed
to compass fox-hunting, and which opinion, as was
her way, she had deeply impressed upon her plastic
sisters. “We can sit over jumps; we want no more:
just to keep near the hounds, and not be afraid of
any fence.”
But when one was not allowed to follow hounds,
but was obliged to stand huddled in a corner while
the Master, a lean monarch on a brown mare, inclined
his head to one side and listened to a diminishing
chorus of yelps-
“He's back over the drain again. It's a cub, I
think. Stay here, please. I'll give you a shout, if he's
off the far side.” Moroney slipped into the muddy
depths, scrambled up the side, and disappeared down
an opening
“We shall be left behind-left behind," wailed
Moira ; and people turned to look at her, while Mat


I 20
Three Girls and a Hermit
Malone counselled her in low tones to restrain her-
self. There was a minute's tense waiting as the
echoing chorus rose and fell, then a long, clear shout,
and a subsequent quick toot-toot rung clearly on the
horn. Now the subsequent experiences of the three
who had never seen hounds must come separately,
and the behaviour of The Star merits first place.
As
the crowd surged forward, she rose with a sailing
bound, tore at her bits, and bolted ; in and out of
the great muddy drain, churning the water up as she
slipped and struggled up the far side, clearing a
wild way for herself, until she knocked three horses
into a composite condition at the gate, while the
reins, as they tore through Moira's striving fingers,
seemed a mere unkind reminder of the inefficiency
of bits.
Hounds, with a clear start, were streaming across
the low, marshy land. The land was intersected by
tiny drains, in which a horse might almost break his
leg if not taken carefully ; it was full of marshy,
water-filled hollows; but The Star, nose in air, swept
over it as a grey tornado, and, to do her justice, she
could gallop. Moira had hideous visions of those
little dark-mouthed drains; she bathed in clouds of
silver spray as her mare dashed unheeding into the
pools; and she saw the great drain gaping before
her-wide, with crumbling edges, with a gleam of
sullen, weed-grown waters, and of uncertain depth.
The impetus of The Star's pace made her rocket across
it like a pheasant, clearing it with a foot to spare ;
also, as she struggled in heavy ground beyond, she
ceased to run away, and if Moira had not been blown
she might have stopped her. Moira's spirits rose to


The First Meet
I21
"
fever point, for, looking back, she could see the crowd
of horses being ridden hard for a passage across
the drain. She seemed to hear the rip of the great,
much-dreamt-of cheque as it was torn from the block;
look at the signature of Donough Moroney written at
the end. For she could see the velvet cap turned in
her direction, and knew he was watching her. He
undoubtedly was. A herd of lean calves, subsisting
on the poor land, had crossed and foiled the line ;
hounds were dwelling, and in another moment Moira
would be in the middle of them.
“That wonderful grey mare!” Moira, galloping
on, glad of the spongy turf, which made The Star
labour and pant, put the words into his mouth.
“That great long-backed camel has bolted with the
“
girl," was what the Master said to old Knox, whose
powerful horse could keep pace in the dirt with the
little brown mare. “She's riding slap through the
bog as if it was over a croquet lawn. And if she
was drowned it would stop a nice hunt,” he added
gloomily. “There! I knew it."
Hounds threw up their heads, as the now frightened
calves lumped off to higher land. They spread far
out, with noses to earth, knowing that they must help
themselves unless assistance was absolutely necessary.
The Star, who had been straining every nerve to
reach them, galloped into their midst with a gasp of
triumph, and then kicked at every one she could see,
with good aim and all the vigour she could gather.
Paragon fled with a sore side; Pansy roared in
anguish at a kick on the nose ; Ladybird sat down
and wept over a bruised shoulder. The clamour was
deafening, and Moira was not quite clear whether it


I 22
Three Girls and a Hermit
mattered or whether her prowess in being so near
them made up for a few playful kicks.
The distant thunder, wafted on the breeze, en-
lightened her. She could not complain of lack of
attention, for Moroney was standing up in his stirrups,
and it was perhaps fortunate that distance rendered
his flow of remonstrations indistinct. But the frantic
waving of his arms explained his meaning, just as
Moira had reached a spot where progress was bounded
on the east and west by two gaping bog-holes, and
on the north and south by the yelping pack. It is
possible she might have tried to jump the bog-holes,
and fulfilled Moroney's fears of stopping the hunt;
but at that moment Paragon, who, having been kicked
first, was now out of pain, hit it off. They swung
left, away from the treacherous bog, with its deep cuts
and piles of turf, away to higher land, running as hard
as the Ballydare ladies' pack can run. Now Melody had
it, now Pansy, then old Paragon led again, her lemon-
and-white body clear of the rest as they drove ahead,
bustling for blood. Now tongues were thrown, now
they ran mute, on a red-hot up-wind scent. Moira's
heart throbbed to it; the glory of fox-hunting,
ignorant as she was, rioted in her blood. To her it
was no appreciation of hounds, but the joy of the
pace-The Star was not spared across the bog-the
rush of the west wind on her heated face, the ripple
of the mare's shoulders as they cut the air in front of
her. What wonder that men swear by hunting, and,
forsaking all other, cleave only unto that! And she
-her foolish heart sang a pæan-was alone with the
hounds. Moira had time to think this as she galloped,
to roll the foretaste of congratulations on her tongue.


The First Meet
123
As they swung in a half-wide, their point a low,
gorse-grown hill, they came to the field, who, having
avoided the bog, were waiting for hounds to get by.
From Crin Gorse to Knock Hill was an almost inevit-
able line. There was another passage to be raced
for before one got into fair going; another of those
bottomless drains to be avoided. Moira saw the race
with contempt, and galloped for the drain. But The
Star running away, and The Star exceedingly blown,
were two. The mare had no intention of risking her
just-won reputation ; she swerved on the verge; there
was a moment's sickening struggle and plop of turfy
edges into cool depths, and the grey raced hard to
join the other horses. The passage was a narrow
one, with a stone gap fencing it, and they reached it
just as the Master, followed by Knox and Anderson,
were upon it. The Star resented their presence.
With a rush she squeezed in and jumped, hurling the
light-weight on to General Knox, and General Knox's
heavy brown on to the Master, and sent that unsus-
pecting gentleman's mare on to her knees in a sea
of dirt. As the three extricated themselves, and the
Master (who had jumped off) dived for his stirrups,
they turned their wrathful faces, and words seemed
beyond them. Moroney, who seemed to have got
past wrath, and to be praying a little, wrenched his
bridle and slipped out right-handed. Mr. Anderson,
who had come on his left side, did not pray, but
seemed to want to be quite quiet and alone at the left
to say what he wanted, and left fat old Knox, as he
wiped half a pound of mud from his forehead and
nose, to wrestle with the matter.
“Shę—she would come,” said Moira unhappily,


124
Three Girls and a Hermit
The expression of the Master's back made her cheque
seem farther off.
What General Knox said, indistinctly—for the mud
had drifted to his mouth-was that if he owned a brute
like that he'd shoot it. Then, being a kindly old man,
he proffered some muddy and breathless advice con-
cerning ill-broken beasts, the etiquette of hunting, and
the absolute necessity of being able to stop a horse
when one wanted to. “It's a shame to put a lady on
such an animal," he gasped, as they stretched across
the firmer land.
Moira, in shrill treble, explained The Star's inex-
perience and the purity of blood which made her
foolish and impetuous. She would probably have
proceeded to enumerate the whole pedigree in a
shriek, for the wind tore her words away, but a low
green bank loomed in front. General Knox's brown
slipped over with an easy change, The Star treated it
as a raised drain, and fell into the fortunately shallow
trench at the far side. Moira, losing patience, hit her,
for another bank was close in front. The blow and
complete loss of wind soured the equine constellation.
She flung out her fore legs sullenly, and declined to
jump at all.
Horse after horse thundered up and hopped over,
until the last tail of the spread-out field had passed, and
still The Star, who had kicked impartially at anything
she thought she could reach, remained where she was,
snatching mouthfuls of grass in the intervals of plung-
ing away from the stick. There is no task more
hopeless or tiring than the tussle with an obstinate
refuser. Moira rested from sheer exhaustion, and, as
if to add to her misery, the hunt in full view swept


The First Meet
125
across the slope of the hill towards a long wood,
having got their fox through the gorse with little delay.
The hounds were specks now, running fast across the
green fields, slipping over the distance-dwarfed fences.
The man in pink on the long-tailed horse going beside
them was the Master. How easily he took his
fences; no flying or falling there. She thought she
could distinguish General Knox-reflection brought
a memory of a gleam of pleasure as he had turned his
head to see The Star refusing. There was a woman
close up, some one on a little horse. Could it be
Kathleen on her worthless cob? Then a medley of
?
horses and a glimpse of occasional falls ; of distant
riders turning away and looking for soft spots ; of the
inevitable sheep-like tail, jumping one by one behind
the other. Then far behind these a lady coming fast
and furiously, and yet two fields another lady alone,
on a high brown horse. Moira stared. The lumpy
stilted gallop; the majestic deliberation on the fences.
This whipper-in of the hunt must be Eva on Gog.
There were tears in Moira's eyes as she realised the
sharp line drawn between the triumphs she had
dreamt and the bitter reality of what had occurred.
She, on The Star, had reached hounds, knocked
down two members of the hunt, been left behind
before them all. Eva was last of all.
The tale of Eva's experience was shorter and less
varied. When she had wrenched Gog's head up from
the bracken and started him, she had then borne away
in the crowd to the wooden bridges and tried to cross,
but Gog was a careful horse. He put his mighty feet
upon the boards and snorted and stood still ; he would
not go; he could not back, for a furious crowd surged


126
Three Girls and a Hermit
at his docked tail. In vain a rain of whips fell upon
his fat quarters : he, who had pulled six drunken men
home from fairs and markets, thought little of whips.
The crowd, recognising defeat, flew back the other
way, but fate elected that Mrs. Vereker, who had
been standing outside, and suffered from the flurry
of a bad start, should gallop down for the bridge and
find Eva in possession.
To pass was impossible. A hail of words more
biting than blows were useless. “ Back the brute,
back him !” screamed Mrs. Vereker furiously, but
Gog, hearing so much noise, would not back. He
sniffed at the boards occasionally, absolutely declining
to move.
Mrs. Vereker's temper was rent to fragments. She
pounded Gog with a light and inefficient whip,
shrieked until her voice went; she even tweaked and
wrung his tail, and matters remained until even gentle
Eva was forced to remonstrate.
“It's as bad for me as for you,” she said tear-
fully.
Mrs. Vereker grew desperate. She essayed to pass
with a rush, and there was just room for one. Gog
sidled and turned, and both ladies were wedged
fast in living nearness, while the bridge creaked
ominously.
“Can't you even turn the great brute? Have you
no idea of riding ?" foamed the furious lady, who could
have gone back, but would not.
"Shure, the bridge'll fall and let ye both out.”
Eva thought she had never heard a sweeter sound
than Patsy's voice as he emerged from the bushes,
his face flushed with enthusiasm. " I declare to


The First Meet
127
"
God ye can see the timbers bending." He took
Gog by the bridle. “ He has the mind of a
Christian,” he observed angrily, "an' the obstinacy
of a Turk.
“Shure they're stampeding wesht outside away to
the hills, going fasht, Miss Moira first away. Didn't
The Star swheep the bog drain, an' out into the bog,
and gallop into the middle of the hounds, no less ? I
think by their aisin' a few is like to be dead, but who'd
miss a dog or two from that lot? Array, Borrisdeane
for iver ! He won't stir, Miss Eva." The gentle
suggestion from Mrs. Vereker that he was a complete
idiot, sharpened Patsy's wits. He loosed his hold,
stepped back and, removing his cap, held it out
invitingly with both hands. Gog thought of food,
and abandoned his fears. He crossed the bridge, and
Mrs. Vereker, with a last snort of rage, dashed away
,
at a furious pace.
“Truly we seem ordained to offend her," murmured
Eva as she laboured in pursuit.
Mrs. Vereker, blaming Eva for everything, was fated
to do wrong. She essayed a short cut to the right,
and found a closed gate just as the hounds swung left.
Eva, who saw no other guide, followed her, and the
pound, pound of the big horse's hoofs came just as
the gate was open. Gog was slow, painfully slow,
but he toiled diligently and never fell. Fast as
Mrs. Vereker went, there was always something to
prevent her shaking off the girl at her heels. First,
having to come back from a wired fence, then,
which proved wrong, taking a short cut advised
by a countryman, and so on, until Moira saw them
pursuing along the slope of the hill, with Eva now


128
Three Girls and a Hermit
two fields behind, and hounds in full swing a mile
in front.
At this point The Star suddenly jumped and did
not fall. A couple of gaps led to a lane winding
along towards the wood ; and, directed by friendly
men, who all described the hunt with fervour, Moira
reached the woods as hounds were coming out, having
put the fox to ground in a rabbit burrow. Morency
cast a sad eye upon the grey mare. It is possible
that, had he known she was to sell, he would have
bought her on the spot for the pleasure of never
seeing her again. As it was, he merely muttered to
himself, and shot out some icy directions to keep that
kicker away while hounds got by.
Mrs. Vereker's glance as she passed was not lacking
in expression. The episodes of sheep, cards, and
wooden bridge had made her look upon the Con-
sidines as personal enemies; was inducing her now to
let her sharp tongue run riot, and to endeavour to
prevent any of the more kindly women from taking
any notice of the strangers. Three pretty girls
coming to a land full of marriageable daughters and
sons were never likely to be welcome. Mrs. Vereker
made up her mind the more swiftly as she saw
Dennis riding with Eva, whom she had at last shaken
off, that there would be something which was not
quite the want of welcome; but a cold breath which
should chill these little adventuresses to their hearts.
And even with her son's too evident admiration, it
was not Eva whom she objected to, but defiant Moira,
with her grey eyes and her light-hued hair. Some
fancy, strong enough to savour of some strange
instinct, made her feeling towards Moira one of


The First Meet
129
>
absolutely active dislike, made her determine to leave
no stone unturned which should injure the girl. The
tale of Mrs. Vereker's call, with skilful handling, was
made to assume gigantic proportions; riot and
romping with strange young men ; a familiar old
farm-servant; farmers received in the drawing-room.
The cold voice uttered the story until heads were
nodded towards the Considines and shoulders
shrugged.
“Oh, so good of you to tell me. Of course I shan't
call on them. We don't want that class of thing done
here, dear Mrs. Vereker.”
So, as Moira, with the bitterness of failure chill
upon her, jogged along the road, the evidence was
summed up, and the verdict given. Ballydare did
not mean to receive them. Then the red-headed
girl, Miss Geoghan, they had seen in the town, was
effusively anxious to talk, and, with her brother,
sidled close at each opportunity ; but Moira's moody
face was not encouraging.
Dennis, on going up to Eva, inquired for his
mother, whom he had missed.
“ Have you seen
her ?” he said.
Eva remarked drily that for a full half-hour she
had seen no one else ; and as Dennis was disposed
to beam at this indication of friendship, she proceeded
to explain.
“ And it was not my fault, though your mother
said it was," observed Eva sadly. “I don't think
she'll ever forgive me or my horse."
Dennis, watching her pretty, despondent face, sighed
deeply. He was a weak and indecisive young fellow,
and completely ruled by his mother ; but his plastic,
))
9


130
Three Girls and a Hermit
moon.
boyish fancy had received a deeper impression than
he had ever yet known of.
“ Was she very angry ?” he said dolefully.
The closing up of Mr. Cornelius Geoghan on Eva's
other side cut short the conversation. Cornelius,
staring open-mouthed at pretty Eva, was palpably
determined to talk, and to admire and praise
effusively, even down to Gog's feet.
Moira was at this point joined by Captain Milton,
strangely clean for a man who had ridden a hard
hunt. He was reserved at first; but on hearing of
her bad fortune, his pity loomed clear as a harvest
He gave her kind advice, too, as to the riding
of the mare.
“A little handling, a little experience, would have
brought her through the hunt,” he said pleasantly.
“ Now, some day I'll ride her for you, and just show
her what to do.”
He then proceeeded to describe how he had been
in first all through, and how splendidly he had seen
it all. “Over a big country, too,” said Captain Milton,
“one that really wanted doing. Oh! I've seldom
been nearer to them. Fact is "-he
grew
confidential
-"I caught it once for pressing them just over the
stream, where they checked."
Moira listened with unbounded admiration. “There
was one enormous jump," said Milton, warming to his
subject—"a bank, stone-faced, with bushes on the top.
Nearly every one funked. It was just at the end,
but I-"
Kathleen, pink with excitement, dashed Jim Crow
between them.
“Oh, hasn't it been glorious ? There is nothing
>
»


The First Meet
131
“
)
on earth like hunting. I followed Malone, and
Jim Crow went so perfectly. Nothing seemed too
big for him, and he galloped so fast. I'm the
luckiest girl in the world," said Kathleen blithely.
She looked at Milton with dawning pity. "I sup-
pose you never picked them up after you stopped
at the bank before the first road," she said. “ Malone
told me it was a dirty place entirely. Were you
afraid your poor horse would not be able to get
across ?"
The violent empurpling of Lancelot Milton's face
showed his appreciation of this sympathy.
“ My horse refused," he said jerkily. "I came on
at once."
“Oh, yes; I saw you turning up the road.”
Kathleen's brutal candour was quite devoid of intent
to offend. “Malone said it was a hard, safe place.
Lots of people galloped along it, but we never left
the hounds. And poor Mrs. Vereker too "_the
high-pitched, youthful voice carried back to a wrath-
ful lady just behind—“I saw her miles and miles
behind. suppose there are lots of horses one could
not ride over high fences ?”
Captain Milton grunted sharply, and the hardest-
riding lady of the Ballydare Hunt felt that her cup
of injury was overflowing. She smote her good bay
upon the shoulder, and the look in her eyes was not
good to see.
The day wound to an unsuccessful close. A fat
cub was killed and eaten in the Glynne woods.
Another, a ringing brute, close pressed, got to ground
at Banogue, and then dimness was chasing daylight
from the sky, and it was time to go home.


132
Three Girls and a Hermit
The Considines were very tired and stiff. Knees
ached from unaccustomed gripping of saddles, backs
ached; they knew with sorrow that the waist
measurements sent for the new habits had been
prompted by vanity.
They rode homewards together-groups of people
all round riding together, but they were alone.
Milton, offended by Kathleen, had left Moira ; they
were friendless in a strange land.
They could hear the hunting talk, which never
palls, all round them, as they rode silently, oppressed
and weary.
The sky had cleared ; there was a touch of frost in
the calm air. Flushed with triumph, the sun sank,
and, as lovers part, so the sky glowed with memory
to his good-bye. High in the west a cloud poised,
purple-bodied, crimson-fringed; through a tangle of
leafy boughs they could see the river run red, as
though with the world's blood. Thin mist rose;
white wraiths about the lowlands, pointing chill, slug-
gish fingers towards the corner where their new home
stood.
As they turned to reach the narrow bridge, which
was their shortest way, Lancelot Milton's self-esteem
became mended, and he stopped.
“Mrs. Hamilton," he introduced graciously. “She'll
come to call on you if you won't shy cards at her
head.”
Moira dimpled pretty thanks. They were too glad
of any caller.
“And I'll send the regiment by degrees.” Milton
spoke with assertive condescension. “ Mustn't let
you be lonely. Eh? Good-night.'
>


The First Meet
133
"Have you gathered "-Eva urged Gog to jog as
they crossed the steep bridge—" that he—that man-
was condescending to be kind to us ?"
She dashed Gog on to Patsy and supper, and
Biddy, as she plied them with tea, said that follyin'
dogs was no work for young ladies. "Hadn't they
faces on them like Mary Daly, that was took with a
decline lasht May year?"
The two elder Miss Considines declined to be
cheered.


CHAPTER VIII
RETURNING A CALL
“I
WONDER,” said Eva thoughtfully, as she came
in to breakfast, “ if any one ever means to call
upon us here at all ?”
She said it cheerfully, for a night's rest had brought
reaction, and their sinking spirits had revived. After
all, as Moira remarked, one could not expect, especi-
ally with four year olds, to succeed at first. Gog,
though he was a little slow, had jumped perfectly.
The Star had cleared a mighty drain. Kathleen's little
cob had carried her close to hounds.
They discussed it all as the smoky fire lurked
in wait for them, sending down its rolling volumes
of pungent greyness when it thought they were not
watching.
“Call, of course people will call," said Moira
testily. "I am just going to write to the Hermit, to
tell him what a success it all is, how I pounded the
field and Eva"
“ Stuck on a bridge,” said Eva thoughtfully. She
could smile at the scene now. Absolutely sweet-
natured herself, she could not understand another
woman bearing malice for what was so palpably an
accident.
134


Returning a Call
135
“Tell the Hermit how I stopped the hard-riding
lady,” laughed Eva, "and how you knocked down
three men and kicked the hounds, and how awfully
nice all the Ballydare people have been to us."
“I can tell him about fat old General Knox and
Dennis Vereker," said Moira, groaning as she
stretched out an arm. “I can just show him how
silly and stupid he was, and how he misjudged our
horses.”
“ I wonder," said Eva slowly. “I wonder-I know-
-
I wish he was here now," she added sharply.
Moira said nothing, but she wondered why she
suddenly felt so cross and lonely.
A visit to the stables revealed The Star, a com-
plete wreck, languidly partaking of flax-seed tea,
and the mighty Gog moving stiffly on swollen
limbs.
Patsy, polishing a bridle, appeared from the cup-
board which he called the saddle-room.
“ An' Gog," he said, “has the two foremosht legs
swelled up like bolsthers, while The Star's that dead
she wouldn't even pick her bed."
Inexperience could suggest no remedy for Gog's
swollen limbs. Patsy thought 'twas what "they called
a weed, but he took his oats,” said the groom,“ bether
than that poor wisp of a grey that's so casht down she
wouldn't even kick at ye.'
Moira tried apples and carrots vainly. The
descendant of Solon drooped her lean head and
tottered upon her thin legs as if death were nigh
her.
“Old Dunne says that class is apt to die in the
night after a hard day,” said Patsy cheerfully.


136
Three Girls and a Hermit
")
"
But his face was alight when, having reviewed all
the equine ills, and told them Jim Crow didn't leave
an oat, he fell to speaking of hunting.
“Niver in me life did I hope to see the like," he
said. With the red coats, an' all the shinin' fine
horses, an' the great complement of dogs yelping an'
schreechin' together. I was struck down in the furry
bushes," he declaimed, "whin the fox pasht me out,
an' I declare to God he thrun an eye on me sour as a
Christian, may be thinkin' I'd bawl out. I could
nearly run the smhell of him meself without ev'
a dog. An' with that whin the young huntsman
saw him, the tearin' an' the shovin', an' the mud
risin' like rain from the ground, an' thin scramblin'
at the gap an' out across the field, with the dogs
mad on the trail, an' every felly beltin' his horse
to kape up."
This was clearly a flight of fancy on Patsy's part.
“ A'then didn't I see Miss Moira flighten out like a
duck across the wather, and Miss Kathleen going
quiet an' aisy but well out in front? Sure, I ran till
the breath left me own body, an' thin whin I wint
back for the bicycle didn't I find poor Miss Eva
in hoults with the ould wan on the bridge? 'Twas
the gran' day we left Borrisdeane to see its like,
an' if ye plaze, Miss Eva, I'm wantin' a load of
sthraw."
Eva, peering at the golden depths about the horses,
timidly suggested waste.
On Patsy's retorting that he was but doin' what
the soldier officer told him, she sighed and said no
The keeping of horses was not a cheap
amusement,
more.


Returning a Call
137
seen
>
“An' himself that's the triminjus huntsman,”
remarked Patsy contemptuously. “I him.
Wo-a-wo-a,' says he, at the first fince out of the
bog. "
Wo-a,' says he. 'I can't howld the brute,' and
he bearing on the reins as trustful as if they were
stheel ropes. An' faix he wo-a-ed till the gap was
level, and thin he wint out. I'm thinking he's a
greater man in a sthable yard than he is outside."
Patsy, who had spent several weary hours endeavouring
to plait straw, was still resentful. Certain rolls which
he called "soogawns now decorated the edge of the
horses' beds.
Moira took the dejected Star to eat grass, while
Patsy led Gog round the little gravel sweep, observing
with much anger as he went that "you could girth a
saddle around thim legs," and Eva went to receive
Biddy's directions as to housekeeping. The weekly
cheques were swelling here, where everything had to
be paid for, and there was no Strawberry to give milk,
or little flocks of fat chickens and ducks in the back
yard. Eva's face grew thoughtful over her bills, and
Biddy, when it came to buying, was no economist.
Mr. Dunne, now mending a back door, where he said
there was a
blasht of air that'd turn a spit,” was, as
usual, remaining to dinner.
His ever sympathetic ears had already heard the
tales of the chase. The drain which Moira jumped
he averred to be a bottomless trap, and he received
the story of Eva's blocking the bridge with a
thoughtful air.
“Bitther an' black ; bitther an' black," he said.
'Twould be bether for ye nivir to see a hunt than
to cross her. I tell ye, Miss Eva and Miss Moira, I


138
Three Girls and a Hermit
think the bitterness of what she did to young Grattan
long ago has sthuck within her heart. Oh, she's well
known to be the wicked woman whin she's crossed.
I used to work up at Knock reg'lar, doin' odd jobs
there, and I gave her but one answer, tellin' her she
med a mistake whin she told me to alther some boards
I was puttin' up in an outhouse. 'Oh, you think that
same, do ye?' says she. The nose on her shook at
the sides an' went white, an' the eye she thrun on
me'd have pierced iron. Not another word she said;
but I got me due that night, an' was told to come no
more a great loss to me, for I was a dacent, hard-
workin' by-e then, before me wife died an' I tuk to the
dhrink." There was candour about old Dunne very
hard to resist. His white-whiskered face was so kindly
beneath its network of deep lines, the gleam in his
watery blue eyes so full of humour; and now that
Biddy fed him he drank but little.
-
As they rested aching limbs during an idle morning,
the Considines decided that it was time to return their
one call.
"Then if any one does come to see us we shall be
out," said Moira viciously.
Old Dunne, on being consulted, knew a "frind"
who had a fine "cyar" for hire, and was dispatched
to fetch it.
The plumed hats and long dresses were again
produced, Kathleen electing to stay at home in
lazy comfort, and to send away the callers if they
came.
The car of Dunne's friend was drawn by a raking
roan horse, with a rope kicking-strap and a decided
temper. After a few undecided plunges he started


Returning a Call
139
affably, taking them along the Castle Crin road in a
series of shying bucks.
Castle Knock was some six miles away, a gloomy
grey pile facing a stretch of straight avenues. Con-
servatories, built by old Vereker to please his bride,
lengthened the already over-long house. Belts of
trees hemmed it in, and a mass of evergreen oaks,
dully green, shaded each wing-so close, they dripped
upon the grey walls. There was no brightness about
it. Clipped yews, grim and dark, sheltered the lawn
before the door. If no wind could blow upon it
roughly, the sun could never shine fully, save on the
upper storeys. The gate, guarded by great white
monsters, was a gap in the belt of yews; then, as
one came to the door, there were other gaps cut here
and there to give a glimpse of the sloping lawn.
Now Mrs. Vereker had a party : a select circle of
friends to play bridge and drink tea. There was no
gaiety at Castle Knock—the gleam of white marble
watchers, the depth of the heavy carpet, the enervating
heat of the hot-water pipes warming the house seemed
to subdue the stranger who walked down the big
corridor. One could not talk or laugh between that
gleaming line, who poised their marble limbs in
curves of chilly beauty. The butler's stately grey
hairs would have risen at a too merry laugh, the
great footman have turned and doubtless welcomed
it. Stillness hung about the place, stillness and a
constant gloom. Voices seemed to echo in the long
drawing-room; unconsciously tones fell, and faces
stiffened, as they passed between the white-and-gold
doors. The splendid hangings were neutral and
.
colourless, the Wilton-pile carpet spread drably dull


140
Three Girls and a Hermit
against a white paper. The chairs seemed to find
cause for offence in being sat on, so chilly was the
expression of their satin coverings. Long mirrors
gleamed against the wall ; Dutch pictures, exquisite
but lifeless, were hung upon them; and the gleam of
white marble shone wherever a statue could stand.
The haughty, handsome owner of the place made
them her hobby, loving the delicacy of their limbs,
living, with some strange note of sympathy or envy,
the semblance of life which could feel no pain
nor joy.
Except Dennis's den, an untidy mass of guns, and
rods, and books, there was no room in the huge house
where one could feel at home. The vastness of the
dining-room closed upon one as a pall. Silence again
here-footsteps drowned in Turkey carpet, noiseless
flitting of servants, food coming unheard from behind
a screen. A tinkling glass, the undue clatter of knife
and fork seemed an indiscretion. There were statues
here also, but fewer; and dark Rembrandts, and steel-
clad cavaliers, and grey landscapes hung against a
dull red wall. The very sunshine peered in timidly,
through screen of silken blind and heavy curtains ;
peered and slipped away again, glad to leave the
serving of warmth to servile coal. There were large
dinners at Knock, sent up by a chef of note, the
hostess ablaze with jewels, facing her son, talking
pleasantly, flinging the ball of conversation deftly
from guest to guest. Yet even dry champagne, and
vintage port, and quails, and plovers' eggs have never
made a dinner there a merry one. Voices sank,
obscured by the brooding stillness; after dinner the
men left good stories untold, and discussed crops and


Returning a Call
141
"
politics, while the ladies sat about in the big drawing-
room and were chilled, despite the heated atmosphere,
and depressed, despite the glow of white-shaded electric
lights. There was no pleasant, irresponsive gossip
among them of dress or light flirtation, or the ever-
fruitful topic of a servant.
If there was a reputation to be discussed and torn
to shreds, that would wake Mrs. Vereker into swift
attention ; but the Ballydare women, living as they
did in the open air, were more inclined to find excuses
than to whisper those pungent" I hears ” which have
done so much evil in the world. So, as they sat they
talked laboriously, and murmured fervent thanksgiving
when the evening was over. To stay was even more
depressing; one came seriously to breakfast along
the long corridors, slipping past those rows of silent
watchers to the dull stateliness of the dining-room,
and took to cold food because it seemed almost daring
to eat eggs and bacon in the sunless quiet.
Mrs. Vereker, who did nothing by halves, had given
a description of the Considine girls, followed by strict
orders as to their non-admittance when they returned
her call. Two bridge tables were set, for the six
guests had arrived ; she awaited two others, and fate
ordained that as one of these, Miss Martin, a snub-
nosed, haughty little maiden, alighted, the roan horse,
snorting proudly, dashed the Considines to the door.
The driver, remarking proudly that "the sthring he
had the trace tied with was dam good,” flew to the
animal's head, and Eva and Moira, be-plumed and all
a-rustle, ran up the steps. Miss Martin was being
admitted. Their social training was not an extensive
one, and ere the footman could say anything they


142 Three Girls and a Hermit
went in, telling him to announce the Miss Considines.
They had heard Miss Martin make the ordinary
stereotyped inquiry, and knew Mrs. Vereker was at
home. The butler to whom they were handed on was
a polite man, and accepted his future certain reproof
with a sigh. The hush of the corridor fell on the two
as they followed him ; they stared at the line of white
figures, looked down at the thick carpet. There were
no rich people at Borrisdeane; this waft of heated air,
the silent servants, was a new experience. As Moira
said afterwards, money seemed to walk with you and
tweak your nose as you went, which was expressive
if not elegant.
“How late you all are !” Mrs. Vereker, handsome
in deep mauve velvet, diamonds glittering in her
laces, turned her head from the table, then put her
cards down and froze in sudden horror.
“ We thought we should be too early if we came
any sooner ; but of course the roan horse galloped
a great deal," said Moira. “How d'ye do?”
Mrs. Vereker rose slowly. She held her hand
out, and the silence of the room was something
tangible.
The Considines were conscious of distant scrutiny
from curious and unfriendly eyes, so much so that
Eva, immediately feeling if her hat was straight,
pulled it rakishly over one ear. Mrs. Vereker, sitting
down again, made no further remark; she did not
introduce the girls to any one. Now, if they had
been of the world they aspired to know, these two
would have apologised for interrupting a bridge
party, and have left again in five minutes, for a further
arrival completed the eight and a new table was made


Returning a Call
143
up. Unfortunately they did not know, so Moira,
saying, “ Please don't think of us, we'd love to
watch," plumped down upon the wide arm of a
brocaded chair, and sat staring at the hand of a
fat and nervous woman, who came out meekly,
prepared to lose.
A hand was dealt and played. Mrs. Vereker's
rings flashed rays into the shadows as she drummed
upon the table, watching her partner struggle with
a delicate no trumper. In the shaded light, with her
black hair puffed about her face, the lace about
her throat softening the hard lines, she looked young
and very handsome. Moira forgot the cards as she
watched her, and sought still for the puzzling lost note
of memory. Why should she think she had seen
Mrs. Vereker before? James Dunne's story rose
before her. Had the other man who had lost this
brilliant woman broken his sore heart for her ? Had
the diamonds, the cold magnificence of the house,
repaid the girl for her treachery to her young lover?
Was there some soft spot in the hard nature which
throbbed still for what she had given up : strong
arms, warm love, hot adoration replaced by an old
man's slavish worship, an old man's petulant whims?
It interested Moira strangely, and seemed in some
inexplicable way to touch her own life, and be woven
in the web of her fate.
She woke suddenly to watch the play, the light fall
of the cards, the intent, anxious faces, the hover
of fingers over dummy ere they took a discard from it.
The plump lady, a Mrs. Haviland, wife to a major in
the regiment, had played with her husband and had
absolutely won a game.


144
Three Girls and a Hermit
"You've brought me luck," she beamed at Moira.
"I've never held such cards."
"I must bring you more-a hundred aces." Moira
glanced at her hostess's face, now alight with active
annoyance. She was telling her partner how com-
pletely the loss of the game had been due to his not
returning a diamond, and on his replying mildly that
he had not got one, seemed to regard this want as
entirely his fault. Moira's eyes twinkled. She bent
to see Mrs. Haviland's hand, as that lady was going
over and over and over it with bewildered and almost
pained expression. Having failed to see one of her
cards vanish, she declared no trumps with a sudden
burst of triumph, and holding the prophesied hundred
aces made the little slam.
"I am improving, aren't I?" she babbled. "Oh,
Jack, I never win as a rule."
Her hostess, sourly adding the score, made some
sotto voce remarks which appeared to relate to shelling
peas.
And Mrs. Haviland, merely catching the last word,
said it was marvellous having any this time of year.
Mrs. Vereker gulped, caught Moira's twinkling
eyes and lost her temper. Abandoning metaphor,
she became openly sarcastic, and only wondered
that Mrs. Haviland had failed to make grand slam
of it.
"We'll change chairs, I think," she said, as she cut
an ace and took the deal.
"Then, please, come on mine, Miss Considine.
You're my mascot. What's that, Mrs. Vereker?
You hate people watching? I like it."
The fat lady's luck was not to be ousted by any


Returning a Call
145
change of chair. She won, and chuckled, and won
again : while Mrs. Vereker, who always hated losing,
grew positively thunderous.
Tea, laid upon a large table, was brought in by an
array of footmen. There was no cosiness about the
meal at Castle Knock. The glow of the silver-gilt
service, the display of iced cakes, the chilliness of the
fragile, pure white cups seemed to tone with the cold,
wide room. A marble falconer, graceful and alert,
poised just by the table, as though he waited for a
meal. Footmen carried cups and handed the elabo-
rate cakes and golden dishes full of fresh sweets.
But the tea loosed no chatter of bright tongues ; the
bridge players talked in the low tones all voices
fell to in this room ; lights glowed on the baize
tables; but the vast corners were full of shadows,
shadows filled with the cold gleam of white marble.
Here a hand thrust out, caught by a ray of light;
here a stony, sightless face, sadly beautiful. Again
a whole form, pale and ghostly, against the grey
dimness. It would not have surprised Moira to see
one come softly out and stand amongst the living.
She shook the feeling off, forcing herself to talk.
Eva was faintly included in the conversation at the
other table.
“Oh, it is wonderful, your bridge,” said Moira.
“How you count cards, seem by some mysterious
rules to see the leads. I have only played
once. The afternoon,” she added contritely, nodding
at Mrs. Vereker,
came to see us, and I
threw the cards over you.”
"You were playing exceedingly noisily,” said that
lady, in tones of ice.
.
“ when yo
IO


146
Three Girls and a Hermit
"Oh, so would you if Captain Milton called you a
juggins. You'd have thrown the pack at him your-
self."
Major Haviland's complexion appeared to suggest
sudden apoplexy, and he fled for more tea. Mrs.
Vereker's partner, General Knox, said, "Dearie,
dearie me," very thoughtfully, and Moira, not catching
her hostess's eye, rattled on :
"They went all over you, those cards. I was so
sorry. It was nearly as bad as letting out your sheep.
You know we seem fated to annoy Mrs. Vereker,"
she said, smiling.
“You . . . do, .
.. do,..." said Mrs. Vereker quickly.
"In that, Miss Considine, I agree with you."
A sprawling V in diamonds flashed among the
laces at her throat; it caught Moira's eye, striking
that lost note of memory. Mrs. Vereker, with the
light at her back, looked splendidly handsome.
"I cannot think "-Moira stared hard at her-
"where I have seen you-what you remind me of."
"I have never seen you," said her hostess coldly.
Yet her eyes stared back at Moira, wondering why
the girl's bright face should rouse her to senseless,
overwhelming dislike.
"Yet you remind me of something. You have
from the first. You see, one would not forget you,"
said Moira, with simple admiration-" no one could."
"You think so?" A sudden gleam of feeling
crossed the cold face. Mrs. Vereker bent over the
cards. Was she thinking, Moira wondered, of the
boy she had sent away? Perhaps she would send
for him now, and ask him to share the riches she had
broken his life up for.


Returning a Call
147
"Oh, and I meant to ask you. Do any of you
remember the Hermit-Oliver Tremayne, his name
is?" Mrs. Vereker looked up sharply at the name
-and again the V flashed. "He hunted here
years and years ago, and wants to know about
every one."
General Knox shook his head. "I remember
Noll" he said, and then stopped suddenly, look-
ing at his hostess, who had faded into unconcern.
"He's-oh-quite old," said Moira. "Tall and
fair, and very quiet. He said he knew Ballydare.”
"I knew no Oliver Tremayne," said old Knox, but
he spoke slowly and with thought-" though I re-
member a fellow of that description."
"Shall we play again?" The cold mask was down
again, and Mrs. Vereker's momentary emotion was
gone.
The butler, advancing noiselessly, crossed the dim
room to his mistress's side.
"The Miss Considines' car man has desired me to
say that the roan horse won't wait another minute
without smashing the car, madam," he said solemnly;
"and one trace, he says, is only tied with string."
Moira bounded to her feet. "Come, Eva. Good-
bye, Mrs. Vereker; I have enjoyed myself watching
the bridge, and we were so glad to have found
you in."
Mrs. Vereker's face, as she held out limp fingers,
testified her appreciation of this kindly remark.
Eva shook hands silently, and the two went down
the length of the handsome room, past gleaming
statues into grey shadows, and out into the silent
corridor.


148
Three Girls and a Hermit
"The most impossible, impertinent, overdressed
young persons." Mrs. Vereker drew a long breath
of wrath.
"I" Mrs. Knox came over. "I think they look
nice. Perhaps they are only young and foolish.
Why judge so harshly, Violet ?"
Mrs. Vereker did not know. She could scarcely
explain it to herself. Something had shaken her
from her cold composure, and she was burning with
a dull heat of temper.
A trampling of hoofs and crunching of gravel
revealed the flighty presence of the roan at the door,
a roar from his driver and a further trampling, and
then a crash-that he had bolted.
"Oh, driver, driver, don't leave us here." The shrill
wail of Eva's voice drove in through an open window.
"Wore out he is from the cold," said James Dunne's
friend as he returned," and the fall of the cyar med
jelly of agin one of thim sthone images. Be damned
to thim carved out things. 'Tis knocked anyway,
and I snapped the hand of it with the sthep before
it went over."
Mrs. Vereker stood up in helpless anger. The
"image" which Dunne's friend objected to was one
of four, wrought by a master hand, which she had
paid a large sum for.
The bridge was broken up. Mrs. Knox moved to
her husband's side, and stood at one of the windows
with them.
"That Oliver she mentioned. He couldn't be,
could he?" She jerked her head backwards.
"I wonder," said old Knox. "Just what I wondered.
I remember no other Oliver."


Returning a Call
149
"
A subsequent silence was broken by the lashing of
a whip, and many groans from the roan's owner, and
further sounds of breaking. Some four minutes later
the butler returned.
“The Miss Considines' horse, madam, is standing
quite still at the door, and the driver suggests it is
quite possible that he may remain there all night.
Thomas and Henry are beating him hard, but without
avail."
There was a sudden scurry, a “ Lor, a mussy” sent
from a frightened English throat, and the roan
departed, over the flower beds, into the gate, but
still upon his homeward road, at a full gallop.
The night was soft and cool, yet friendly after the
chill of the Verekers' house. The shadows of the
hedges were not agleam with white statues ; live
things, donkeys, and goats, fled from their furious
progress. Dim purple cloudlets shot across the sky;
fingers against a carpet of pallid blue; the sob of
coming rain moaned in the gentle wind.
“Eva, wasn't it magnificent ?
magnificent ?" Moira's busy brain
was full of her match.
“I think I should freeze to death if I lived there."
said Eva quietly. “Freeze, or go mad among those
marble people."
“ One could alter all that, if one lived there," said
Moira, keeping her schemes to herself.
There had been some callers to-day. Biddy had
what she called a deck of visitors' cards to show, two
women and their husbands; several of the Midshires ;
a clergyman's card : they guiltily remembered they
had not been to church. Kathleen, enjoying herself
in seclusion, had seen no one. She had worn old
> )
6


150
Three Girls and a Hermit
clothes, made cakes with Biddy. "It was just like,"
said Kathleen, "being at home again, with no fine
clothes, and nothing but the lake and the Hermit. Oh,
Moira, he's written to you; here's a letter.”
A bulky letter, written in a clear firm hand. Moira
opened it slowly. What had the Hermit to say to
her, and why did his letter seem to jar the chord of
memory which connected her with Mrs. Vereker? She
shook her head. The Hermit had a great deal to say.
He had apparently forgotten their last quarrel at the
station. How were they? Why didn't they write and
tell him their news? It was lonely now at Borrisdeane,
and Lake Cottage looked well, but sad. Moira must
write to tell him how they got on, who had called,
if they were having their wonderful time, and if they
ever regretted the lake and the hills, and a foolish old
Hermit. If it failed, would she not let him know and
let him help? Who said there were no great events at
Borrisdeane? Mrs. Daly had gone to court to get
paid for her injuries, standing up all the time because
she said "sitting was still an impossibility. Worn out
the way from lyin' whiniver she'd want to sit, her health
break from it, to say nuthin' of Tom's health, for
if, savin' yer presence, my lord, I turn off me side
an' on to where I shouldn't, in my slape, I lets a
schreech that lays terror on him. Sure he has a
thrimblin' in his legs from narvousness, the craythur,
as the docthor can certify." Further, that though
Tom's "thrimblin's" were due to much whisky, and
though the court was convulsed, and the Judge sent
for feather pillows, Mrs. Daly got twenty pounds;
and was seen half an hour afterwards driving home
triumphantly, sitting firmly in the position which


Returning a Call
151
.
nature intends. His old setter was dead, went on
the Hermit: he missed her horribly. He wondered
if Ballydare had changed much—he knew it of old
-or if the people he had known were still there :
General Knox, Donough Moroney, Mr. Willie
O'Brien, Mrs. Vereker. There was a blot on the
page.. Then he was, as ever, Oliver Tremayne.
If she could have written a long tale of realised
success, Moira's answering letter might have been
different; as it was, realising her need of pity, she
resented its being offered. Her ready pen scratched
across the paper, telling a tale of glory. Ballydare
was lovely. They knew lots of people, were learning
bridge, hoped there would soon be a dance. The
hunting was too gloriously lovely. The Star had
jumped a huge drain the first day, and Gog had
gone faultlessly. They had never been so happy,
and indeed—indeed, they did not regret dull old
Borrisdeane. Mrs. Vereker; Moira's sense of humour
triumphed over her desire for reserve. The episodes
of their meetings with this county magnate were
set forth in full ; "And don't forget to-day," said
Eva, as Moira read her letter out. “How we stayed
too long, and you suggested Captain Milton calling
her a juggins, and how the poor fat Major nearly
had a fit." Moira suddenly perceiving her misdeeds,
grinned and wrote this down. She wrote of the cold
dim house, of the marble statues, and the cold hand-
some woman who seemed marble herself amongst
them-wrote without dreaming of the interest with
which her letter would be read, of the saddened face
which would bend over it.
“I think she just hates us, and means to be horrid,”


152
Three Girls and a Hermit
finished up Moira; "but if Eva marries her silly son
it will be all right, and he's quite in love with her
now."
Eva had taken off her plumed hat and was shaking
the feathers thoughtfully. Somehow, she said, she
did not think these hats were quite what one wanted
here. "I felt to-day as I'd got a ball dress on to
come to tea in," said Eva disconsolately. "There's
no doubt about it, Moira, we are too fine."


CHAPTER IX
A TRIP TO THE SEA
THE
HE horses languished, unfit to hunt, in their
stables, but life—if life spelt laughter and
romping and the constant calling of the Midshire
regiment-descended upon The Beeches.
If the motors and carriages of the county did not
wait at the gate, the little drawing-room was always
full.
There was bridge, acquired quickly enough to play
for money and lose; there was diabolo to romp with
outside; there were teas to be provided daily, so much
so that old Biddy, groaning, had to ask for help.
One servant could not cope with the answering of
doors and making of cakes. A maiden named Mary
Kate, whose puffed hair and fly-away caps made
Biddy sniff with horror, now ushered in guests in
correctest fashion, and witched Patsy's heart until
he almost neglected his horses.
And money, as money will, melted. Eva's gentle
eyes pored over her account-book until she shut it
with a snap of despair, and wrote cheques with a
dogged recklessness. Tea alone did not suffice
for bridge--one must have whisky-and-soda, and
cigarettes for men to smoke, until the square little
153


Tire Gir's and a Hermit
Yn Eva marries her silly son
Ir al cu be's quite in love with her
150 epizmed hat and was shaking
the texts Somehow, she said, she
-3-1.5K Divere quite what one wanted
*** T 3 13 got a ball dress on to
I E I.' So En Escorsolately. “There's
MARIĆ W:n, we are too fine.”
-


CHAPTER IX
A TRIP TO THE SEA
THE
HE horses languished, unfit to hunt, in their
stables, but life—if life set laughter and
romping and the constant caz, of the Midshire
regiment-descended upon The Bretes,
If the motors and carriages the cut 106
wait at the gate, the little crzx=314 was a vj:
full.
There was bridge, acquisce che sia;
for
money and lose; there rais, 2015 w:'1
outside; there were tras tirées, a 15, 11110k
so that old Biddy, Eziz, ist, sic sr 182,
One servant could not srev.16 cosusret sa
doors and making of cakes. I narsa set of
Kate, whose puffed hair , 5 10
Biddy sniff with horror, 1837
DIE 11 ** 11
correctest fashion, and years K.!
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And money, as Tipy v
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cigarettes in L. FL. E Eat


154
Three Girls and a Hermit
was
room was a blue haze—and then tea was not enough
when the officers' wives, who were friendly, asked the
girls to dine or supper : they felt they must ask in
return. The bridge craze grew upon them, or at
least upon Moira and Eva-Kathleen too
wrapped up in Jim Crow to think of anything else-
so that they sat up until one in the morning poring
over declarations and play, spoiling their freshness
by late hours, and learning to smoke themselves,
though they failed to like it. Captain Milton was
a man who found a home at each station that he
went to : the Considines supplied the want at Bally-
dare. He could do as he chose there—the familiarity
accepted as smartness—and drink whisky-and-soda
instead of tea without reproof. Mr. Cromartin, a boy
with a bald forehead and a noisy manner, and one or
two others, found The Beeches equally comfortable.
One could stay on to dine without the bother of
changing, and be sure of something simple cooked
by Biddy's cunning old hands. Beech Cottage echoed
to noisy, foolish laughter, echoes which slipped away
beyond the boundary wall and did the newcomers
little good. One or two people, too, who came to call,
broke in upon a room hazy with smoke, littered
with cards, with long tumblers standing where tea-
cups ought to have been, and the overdressed foolish
girls believing it was all smartness, and as it
should be.
They were taken out in the Havilands' motor
sometimes, learning the joys of flying fast along the
quiet roads, as the car ate the miles before it.
Oh, it was life; and yet, when the noisy days were
over,
and aching heads ceased thinking of money lost


A Trip to the Sea
155
by stupid mistakes, there was an inner voice which
said to Moira there was something wanting : some-
thing, part of quiet Borrisdeane, which was better
than all the feverish gaiety they lived through here.
The people who did not come, the simpler people,
who were not smart, were the friends they had
been accustomed to. To be good form, perhaps,
was not everything. Dennis Vereker, who came to
see them more than once, was strangely quiet during
the shouts of chaff and laughter. He used to talk
to Eva when bridge ceased with an abstracted look
upon his red face, as if he wanted to say something
and was afraid to, as if he knew that free-and-easy
manners and the noise which to some natures
passes for happiness was not meet for gentle Eva
Considine.
Before hunting was possible, a spell of the sunshine
which late October gives us sometimes brightened
the world—white misty nights and glorious sun-lit
days. With blue sheen overhead, turning all the
leaves aglow, as though they were loth to leave, and
the silver glint of spider-threads from every stem and
flower. So warm, one could sit out as if it were
Late roses opened buds the cold kiss had
chilled, polyanthuses poked up shy, stunted blooms;
the old tobaccos and wallflowers in the tangled flower
beds bloomed freely.
Moira, as she went about the neglected garden or
walked upon the muddy roads, regretted the sea at
Borrisdeane. How clean and cold and blue it would
be now, creaming in upon the shingle! What scrambles
there had been in late October across the rocks and
on the dry cliff path, with the Hermit's long legs


156
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
setting the pace; then back to tea with him at
Borrisdeane House, chattering and squabbling, or
slipping on to the rare moments when, talking
quietly, Moira seemed to catch a glimpse of an
unknown world.
She yearned for the lost coast, and Captain Milton
suddenly put forward a bright idea.
There was sea-a little place called Kildore-
within forty miles of Ballydare.
“We'll get the Havilands to come along in their
motor, and Cromartin to fetch along his, and we'll
run down to spend Sunday there," said Milton.
“ It'll be rippin' fun. There's a hotel, homely, but
quite comfortable, and we'll take our guns; the place
is alive with duck and snipe. We'll have a stroll by
the shore, too, you and I," added Milton, with fatuous
tenderness and a glance of undisguised admiration
for Moira, as she stood bare-headed in the clear
autumn light
Fat Mrs. Haviland was swept away upon a flood-
tide of persuasion; her dubious views concerning the
comfort of the seaside hotel were quite reassured by
Captain Milton's statement that he knew a chap who
knew another chap who had stayed there regularly
for shooting, and who affirmed it to be a nest of
homely comfort.
So, having made up the party, they started on a
glowing morning to run through a lonely, hilly
country down eastwards towards the coast, and then
by the Dare, where it broadened to a mighty stream
carrying great ships upon its back, with muddy
banks glistening to pearl and silver in the sun-
shine, until they crossed it by a great bridge at


A Trip to the Sea
157
Glendalough, a dirty, busy town, and took the road
to Kildore.
Their drive was not fated to be without incident.
The untimely slaying of a hen, and the subsequent argu-
ment as to its value, caused the first delay ; a puncture
to Major Haviland's car the next; the third and
longest due to Mr. Cromartin's, an apparent breakage
of machinery which occasioned muddy investigation
to unseen parts, the emerging of grunting and dis-
satisfied men, and the final discovery that Cromartin,
who was inexperienced, had merely forgotten to turn
on the oil tap. They had intended to reach Kildore
for lunch and spend the afternoon by the sea, but
it was late afternoon, and they were exceedingly
hungry, as they passed through the busy shipping
town.
For a time they could see the Dare, broadening
to a great sheet of water; brown sea-weed fringing
its mud-banks now, jutting rocks poking up dark
noses, rough sides playing at looking like cliffs ;
then it was hidden from them, not to be seen
again until it was a river no longer, but salt as
the waters it met, heaving, between great cliffs at
Kildore.
Their road rose steeply, testing the motors' hill
climbing, then dipped more steeply still, down a
stony road to the sea. High banks covered with
golden-hued, dying osmundi, bordered the way; ;
fuchsias still flaunted a few gaudy heads, poking
scarlet tassels out among a tangle of brambles
The sky was barred with long masses of amber-
tinted clouds; the horizon was a lake of smooth grey,
dotted with little islands of a deeper shade. Hills,


158
Three Girls and a Hermit
"
ragged-topped, their sides fluffy with gorse, rimmed the
harbour about. As they drove down slowly, the
waters changed colour ; flushed to amber, dulled to
green; then suddenly lay grey and still beneath a
cold sky as the glow faded from the west.
It was a peaceful little spot, houses clinging to the
base of the hills just where they fell away in sharp
cliffs to the calm sea. A few fishing boats and a
couple of small yachts rocked softly to the gentle
swell. It seemed rest impersonified, a spot almost
offended by the motors, as, with their trail of petrol
smell, they hooted children and hens from their
path.
"I hope," said Mrs. Haviland, "that everything is
ready. I trust, Captain Milton, that you ordered
everything in your letter.” Milton assumed the
worried look which denotes guilt, and his reply was
confused; it seemed inhuman then to confess that he
had quite forgotten to write.
“They'll sure to have everything," he said dubiously.
“ Here we are."
The hotel was of imposing frontage-two-storied,
amid the cluster of cottages, and with garden
seats on either side of the door. Two girls of
attractive appearance were flirting at the door of
the bar, and a slatternly elderly woman banging
some dough in her hands strayed out as they
pulled up.
Their demands seemed to distress her greatly : she
put the dough on a garden seat, and then in her
distress sat upon it.
“Tea she could give, and rooms; yes, there were
rooms, but so large a party!"


A Trip to the Sea
159
The cars,
Mrs. Haviland turned sternly upon Milton, “The
truth of the matter is, you never wrote at all," she
said angrily.
Captain Milton's explanation of his servant having
forgotten to post the letter was received with cold
disbelief.
The attractive young women were with difficulty
induced to come to their mother's aid.
one now badly in need of repair, were housed in a
shed, and they went in. A dive into the gloomy
passage revealed the fact that, as a rotten boat fresh
painted, all that was best was outside.
The sitting-room they were ushered into was
furnished with fossilised chairs and a musty smell.
One opened the door to let that out and a reek of
porter and bad whisky drove in with the solidity of
a blow, wrestled with the odour of damp, and, finding
it too strong to beat, took its hand and plunged
united down unwilling nostrils. A fire, which smoked,
dispelled some of the mouldiness, and hot tea brought
comfort; but Captain Milton, who had described the
“ Kildore Arms" as a nest of humble comfort, looked
uneasy. The motors had come slowly, and it was too
late and cold now to take the walk by the sea which
they had agreed upon, and which had sounded so
tempting as they discussed it in the morning sunlight.
Mrs. Haviland, having adjusted her plump person in
the least abominable chair, said it was curiously
uncomfortable.
Cromartin, who had been to examine his bedroom,
made gloomy remarks concerning Keating's powder;
while his terrier, which had accompanied him, scratched
itself furiously in corroboration.


160 Three Girls and a Hermit
>
"
“ It's not even like the sea.” Moira peered at the
quiet waters, lapping softly against the steep of
the rocks; the tide was in. You should see
our coast at Borrisdeane, with the breakers roaring
up over the shingle, and the great waves upon
the cliffs."
She sat upon
a
hard chair and
scraped the butter from her toast with a soured
expression.
Milton, who had counted upon a party of gaiety
and Airtation, stroked his moustache sulkily. "We'll
“
have a jolly day to-morrow,” he declared, whipping
himself to enthusiasm. “A sail if any one likes it ;
bags of game."
Cromartin, lifting up his dog, remarked unkindly
that even the night would not be devoid of killing.
“The dog's black with them," he said indignantly,
and whirled forth into the evening to look for a
chemist.
Mrs. Haviland squeaked, and nothing but the
indisposition of one of the motors prevented her
starting homewards. She had, she said pathetically,
a tender skin. A suggestion of bridge met with
immediate favour, until Milton, after a feverish
search through his things, found he had forgotten
the cards. The party looked at each other through
the smoke and felt they would like to say what
they wanted to.
The maid-of-all-work, Mary Maria, a high-cheeked,
raw-boned young woman with engrimed hands
and several holes in her bodice, put her wits to
work.
There was surely a pack in the bar, though it
might be a bit tossed, and she'd send up to Father


A Trip to the Sea
161
Clancy's, for it so happened that she knew he played
spoil five. They might get one from him.
Mary Maria returned proudly, bearing the cards
from below, bethumbed, porter tainted ; almost inde-
cipherable horrors, which left a trail upon the fingers
that-as Cromartin, who had returned gloomily with-
out any Keating, said-you could run a drag on.
The priest's, coming later, had a merely cleanly
whiff of whisky and tobacco, and were gladly played
with.
But to be happy at the Kildore Hotel required
iron resolution. Dinner, which was partaken of at a
long and dirty table, consisted of an over-kept and
straggling chicken, and a roast leg of athletic mutton.
It was flung at you by Mary Maria, with under-boiled
potatoes on a plate and tinned peas in a sauce boat.
The plates were not innocent of their last visit to the
same table ; there were hideous suspicions that some
one had eaten eggs for breakfast, or rice-pudding for
lunch.
One other guest, a red-faced commercial traveller,
shared the meal-a man with a blunt nose and one
of those moustaches which lead you to believe
that a man has got hold of a hayfork above his
mouth.
Altogether it was a dreary evening, enlivened
as it could be by whisky-tainted cards
and the happy prophecies of Milton as to all the
snipe he would shoot upon the morrow. From
his account it seemed well that he did not shoot
often, or the birds would suffer extermination at
his hands. Haviland, who eyed him mildly, said
little, only once remarking sadly that he wished he
as far
II


162
Three Girls and a Hermit
could manage to bring down three with a right and
left, and still have another to kill a stray bird that
flew over.
" It was fine shooting,” said Major Haviland
thoughtfully. “You were a bit off that time, Milton,
when we shot Cromfort last year."
Milton said he had a beastly gun that day, and
also a sprained wrist, and Haviland nodded as if
satisfied
“He never goes to a shoot,” he said—" to give all us
duffers a chance, I suppose. That was the only day
you went last year, Milton."
Cromartin remarked that Milton shot best when he
shot alone, and Milton looked from one to the other
with open suspicion, quelled by their guileless faces;
and Moira, who could aim straight herself, clasped
her hands with enthusiasm. Even the Hermit, whose
brilliant shooting was the admiration of Borrisdeane,
missed occasionally.
With bated breath she asked if Captain Milton
had ever done so. Milton, with the tail of his
eye upon Major Haviland's face, said “of course
he had. Once when he had fired from a dog.
cart, going fast, he had only winged his bird, and
again-
But here Major Haviland upset the coal bucket,
saying, “For God's sake let's go to bed," and the tale
of the second miss remained untold.
It was a lively night, with no lack of tiny guests in
the uncleanly beds. Mary Maria, taxed with the
fact in the morning, said it must be the Brothers'
school that was there last week, for up to that she
never saw but three. It would appear she had counted
(


A Trip to the Sea
163
))
them carefully. Eva and Moira woke unrefreshed, to
clamour for baths, and be informed that there were
but two in the house-one already adopted by the
Havilands, with reversion to Mr. Cromartin; the
other, now in the room of Captain Milton, just across
the passage. The soft sea-air poured through the
open windows, the lap of the waters awoke memories
of Borrisdeane, the two yearned to be up and out in
the now brilliant sunlight. Mary Maria, summoned
,
again and again, bore inquiry patiently, but was
apparently too shy to hurry Milton over his dressing.
James, the boots, is away to Mass,” she said, “an'
sure I couldn't be inthrudin' on the gentleman. But
in a minnit, miss, in a minnit." The morning called
invitingly, and Mary Maria came not ; further peals
on the bell were unanswered, so that Moira, her
pretty hair all tumbled, went to the door to call.
“For I'm sure I heard her coming up," she said
to Eva. "Poor thing; I think I'll have to tell
him to hurry myself as she's too shy, perhaps, to
knock."
Moira had undoubtedly heard Mary Maria come
up-in fact, on opening the door she saw that timid
damsel upon her knees, her eye fast glued to the
keyhole of the opposite door. A huge pail of hot
water steamed by her side.
She turned unabashed and smiling, raising her
hand for silence, and affixed her eye afresh ere she
answered. “ I'll have the bath for ye in no time
now," she whispered joyously. "In a minnit-one
minnit, the captain is jusht stheppin' out of it ! ”
The sudden yell of Moira's laughter made her step
to her feet with a surprised expression.
C


164
Three Girls and a Hermit
1
“ Wasn't I watching for ye for tin minnits before
I could tell him to put it out to me?" said
Mary Maria proudly, as she entered with a flat and
rusty bath.
“ I hadn't the face, d'ye see, to hurry
him.”
Captain Milton, arriving at breakfast in Harris
tweeds of startling hues, was anxious to know what
amused them, and was surprised by a further burst of
apparently foolish merriment; for Moira had told
Mrs. Haviland, and she, being a good wife, had told
her husband.
Mary Maria, ignorant of having helped to amuse,
gave them a bad breakfast pleasantly.
It was a glorious morning; the sea shone in
the sunlight, dimpled and sparkled as a woman
a
before her lover, till its surface was a glitter of
light. Kildore is really a lovely little spot, worth
visiting if some better landlady took the hotel.
To the east a long low range of hills run out
until their low points nose into the water. There,
at the point, the great tradesman Time had used
his hatchet, cutting a slice from the land's end, so
that the waters passed through leaving a tiny rocky
island. The cliffs about the bay are wreathed
with trailing ivy, crowned by gorse, and, in summer,
grey with sea-pinks and the gold of the gorse
blossoms; the brown weed on the slabs of bared
rock hung limply, threshing the water as it rippled
up to them.
As they sat out on the low wall the people went
by. Mary Maria, a shawl about her frowzy hair,
drove off to Leap, a smile on her red face. One
forgot the discomfort of the hotel as the soft voices


A Trip to the Sea
165
of the country people whined in tune to the peace of
the day, and one looked across the quiet waters to the
far shore.
Moira strayed away along the cliffs, looking down
at the narrow reaches of pebble bared by the fallen
tide. There were no bays or golden sand here, no
long shore with its fringe of tumbling, crested waves;
the waters ran deep into shore, cold and still, with
just a heave in their green-hued depths.
“Charming, isn't it?” Milton had followed Moira.
There was no real love of the peaceful beauty in his
voice ; his manner, in fact, suggested that it was only
pretty because he had suggested coming there, and
he was therefore disposed to take credit for each hue
of land and water.
" It is lovely,” said Moira quietly. “A tame sea,
chained and gentle, but very pretty to look at. You
should see our shore, all froth and breakers and
tumble. See -" she stopped abruptly; to speak
of Borrisdeane reminded her of the Hermit. He
would have known how to admire this quiet little
place.
Milton pointed out the way they would drive to
the snipe marshes; and Moira, forgetting him and
blushing softly, dreamt of the sea beneath her.
Milton did not miss the blush; he appreciated it
thoroughly. So pretty a girl, ripping good fun;
a jolly house to spend one's time at; but Lancelot
Milton assessed his matrimonial value highly. When
he parted with liberty it must be in return for a large
yearly income. Pretty faces paid no household bills.
Then, observing that Moira was inattentive, he
remonstrated in hurt tones.


166
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ The sea makes one think.” She flung some
pebbles into the still depths. “ It makes me wonder
if I shall ever see Borrisdeane again, or if, when I do
see it, I shall ever leave it."
“You mean to go back, then ?” Milton asked.
“Oh yes. We always meant to; but then we
hoped the horses would have been a greater success.
Of course, they may be still. I'm afraid I want to
see the world.”
" But you are sure to,” said Milton. “ You'll
marry."
Eva will. Then Kathleen and I will be alone-
and very poor."
Moira was wrapped in a cloud of reflection, but
Milton's tone, as he suggested returning to the village,
was remote and nervous. He did not like the trend
of the conversation.
Dispassionately, and with a curious face, she stared
at Milton, his smart tweeds, with his thin, sleek hair,
his fat and self-satisfied face. Was this attention
which he paid her what was called love ? If he asked
her, could she do anything but say yes? A fine
shot, a good rider : the Hermit could not laugh at
her then.
" Come along,” she said, blushing hotly now.
There was business on foot when they got back.
Marshes and treacherous bogs spread about a lake
beyond the hills. Martin Cronin, the landlady's son,
was to guide them to the home of snipe and duck.
He was ready now, and observed, as he scanned
Milton's suit, that "'twould be better to darken that
gintleman with a taste of mud before they loosed
him out."
»


A Trip to the Sea
167
Moira followed on a car, to see the country and
the bog. Now, there are a great many snipe and
some duck about the brown-hued Loch Granagh,
and there were distinctly fewer when two of the men
had splashed and squelched and wriggled through
breast-high yellowing reed in and out of bog and
drains, their eyes ready for the birds which flashed
from covert.
The third man, as Moira came up, was standing
alone behind a rock, fidgeting with the lock of
his gun.
“The hanged thing is out of order," he burst out
“ The barrel's bent, and the trigger action is all
hampered. I tried a couple of shots once and missed,
so I came out to see if I could do anything. It's
beastly cold.”
Moira crouched behind the rock, and took
the gun from him. She slid and examined.
She could see nothing wrong ; the swish, swish
of the reeds told the others were working
close. Milton's cartridge case was by his side,
and he was lighting a pipe. She slipped two
cartridges in and peered round the rock, smiling
she did SO.
A little brown body winged
swiftly past, Moira fired, and the snipe's life was
over.
May the devil roast me if he hasn't one hit,"
cried the voice of Martin Cronin, from an ambush of
reeds. Martin's brown dog, whose great-grandfather
might have been a retriever, came slipping out,
fetching the snipe tenderly.
Milton's face grew pink with wrath; he snatched
the gun back with ill-humour.
as
»


168
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ You might have hurt yourself horribly," he
said.
Moira looked at him, she looked at Martin
Cassidy, at the two drenched, muddy men who
had finished their shoot, and she said nothing.
Her faith in this paragon was somehow waning
dim.
“He to miss two on to his barrel, and hit
that one,
said the voice of Martin, cruelly
clear now.
Major Haviland, laden with little dead feathered
things, said he thought they would go home. His
expression, as he looked at his captain, was not
thoughtful, because he had known beforehand. It
was, in fact, crystally transparent.
“That was a nice shot of yours, Miss Considine,"
he said quietly—he had seen her fire—"especially
with a broken gun."
“I mended it,” said Milton haughtily, "as I waited
here."
Major Haviland said something to himself about
its being a good thing to be a locksmith if one
wasn't a shot, and wound up his car.
There was
nothing more to be said. They did not stay a
second night at Kildore, but left it in the grey
dusk. The harbour lay very still, a single light
starring the gloom of the bay. Velvet in the dusk,
the hills stole to the water's edge, peace reigned
upon the little place, and as they raced away be-
tween the steep banks, they knew they would like
to return.
It was Mr. Cromartin who suggested in his gentle
way that they should all return, and Milton, as


A Trip to the Sea
169
the keenest sportsman, sleep there for another
night.
"And why?" said that gentleman, plainly
aggrieved.
"Because you'd be sure of a bag," said Cromartin,
pulling a lever sharply.


CHAPTER X
C L E N N E L F O R D
WHE
CHEN Gog's legs returned to their normal
appearance of badly turned bedposts, and
The Star was induced to pick delicately at some
oats, there were hopes of another hunt. The meet
was at Clennelford, some eight miles away, in a
hilly, stone-wall country. It was a long way to
ride out, so the temptations of James Dunne, who
again suggested their hiring the roan horse, were
irresistible.
Patsy, "hopin' to God Almighty he wouldn't be
kilt,” went forth on Gog, with The Star kicking
wildly at one side and Jim Crow, jogging like an
angel, at the other.
The roan horse stopped for five minutes at the
door, and then fled at so merry a pace before the
whip that they speedily overtook Patsy, pulled up
and looking as if the world was too much for
him, while Captain Milton, standing on the road
beside his horse, groaned as he nursed an injured
knee.
She struck me fair as I rode past, the brute,"
he explained.
“Faix, turned round an' got the back of her
170


Clennelford
171
eye on him, that she might sthrike him fair,"
said Patsy sourly.
“ An' I bawlin' to him to
wait till I'd cross the road an' push her agin
the bank. The divil is in that one's heart, Miss
Moira.”
Captain Milton remarked with asperity he thought
the gentleman mentioned was in her heels; and
as a fellow-soldier, who offered to lead his horse,
came past, he accepted a proffered seat on the
car.
The roan horse started without protest, but pro-
ceeded in an uneasy, bumping manner, holding him-
self in readiness to upset them when he could. He
might have forgotten his intention had not a passing
motor, as they neared the meet, supplied the oppor-
tunity. The roan then bolted with a snort, tearing
past traps and led horses, while the girls, unsoothed
by the remark of Dunne's friend "that the horse 'ud
sthop whin he was tired,” shrieked aloud.
It was
in truth a passage perilous, as they whirled down
Clennelford village at a fiery gallop, with the cart
pitching like a small steamer. They sped with a
clang of catching metal past a motor-car, grazed
a dogcart, and all but upset a donkey trap. Moira's
feet were swung high in terror ; she scrambled for
the well, shrieking, while Captain Milton, whose
manhood required that he should not show his
fear, held her tightly round the waist and shouted
encouragement.
It was not a dignified arrival, and, as the roan
horse stopped suddenly, the onlookers' faces might
have told the Considines it had not furthered them
in the eyes of the county. Moira's hat was off; she


172
Three Girls and a Hermit
)
still clung to Captain Milton, who, on his part, still
embraced her warmly.
“The schamer !” said Dunne's friend.
“ But it
might be worse. Except the bit he tore from the
mothor beyant ”—he looked back pleasantly—“he
has no harm done.”
It was of course the Verekers' car.
Before they
looked they knew they would see Mrs. Vereker's
stony eyes gaze at the long seam in her car's
body.
" It's fate,” said Eva weakly, as she got down.
The Master's sad little face grew gloomier as he
observed Moira being hoisted on to The Star.
"That grey mare has a leg as long as a Jew
creditor's memory," he said uneasily.
The other Ballydare people looked at the noisy
group and shook their heads; they did not want
this kind of thing. These three girls were far toc
good to look at to come swooping into a county
where maidens were many and men were few. Dennis
Vereker had been seen already to pay Eva attention,
and had dragged his unwilling mother to call. She
had tumbled into some disgraceful scene-tumblers
thrown about and whisky splashed all over her, or
something like that.
Mrs. Vereker's icy bow was in itself isolating.
There is nothing realised more quickly by sensitive
people than unpopularity.
With cheeks which grew pink, with heads held
high, the Considines realised that the aloofness of
the first day had been no accident; that Ballydare
meant to have none of them. Old Knox said “ Good-
morning" kindly, but showed no intention of intro-


Clennelford
173
- ducing them to his wife ; other men came up and
talked ; the women, many of them doubtfully as
they looked at the pretty young faces, kept away.
There were no lack of people to talk to though,
for the Midshire Regiment gathered about them
in force, and because they were unhappy the
girls talked over-loudly, chaffed over-brightly, were
in every way the good fun they were intended
to be.
“Dull old things!” Moira's ready tongue flashed
remark upon the county women, picking out differ-
ences in their looks, with a sharpness she felt to be
hateful. There was nothing to do but to ride past
with a crowd of men, to laugh as if she had never
been so merry, while all the time her eyes were
smarting and her heart aching, and she wanted some
one to help and advise her; wanted—the thought
amazed her suddenly-the Hermit. His sad, blue
—
eyes would have seen her through the difficulty,
his quiet voice have directed her what to do; for
Moira was forced to allow to herself that this was
not at all what she had intended it to be. The faint
welcome they had been accorded was not the triumphal
progress which she had pictured. She knew there
was to be a dance at Ballyclough in a week's time, to
which they were not asked, a big afternoon at Knock
Castle, and a hockey match at Kilavon.
There were tears in Moira's eyes as she flashed
back over-smart answers to Milton's clumsy badinage,
and felt that she welcomed his attentions. He pointed
out the country to her, telling her of last year's runs
from this particular gorse, and how gallantly he,
Lancelot Milton, had ridden them.


174
Three Girls and a Hermit
Once, early in the year, a fox had crossed the valley
to Dirk Hills, ten miles away ; they had found late,
and run until it was too dark to see the fences on the
heathery slopes of the hill. People had been left that
evening, but he-he pointed to a cottage on the slope
-had jumped a huge coped wall there and got slap
off with them.
"It was a fizzer, I tell you. A hunt to dream
of," said Milton, seeing Moira's eyes widen in
admiration.
Another memorable day they had run left-handed
off the hill, got away from the stone-wall country
and crossed the brown bog they could see in
the lowlands. It appeared that there were huge
drains there, and one in particular about eighteen
feet wide, which his good horse had cleared without
a scramble. Moira's eyes grew brighter; it was
an honour to talk to this flyer of the hunt. She
thought she would try to follow him if they got
away.
Dennis Vereker's pleasant red face drifted towards
them; he was clearly looking for Eva. “Remember
the big hunt to Dirk from here, Milton ?" he said.
“Not many of us got through that.”
Milton said people could not see in the dark, but
he did not seem to want to talk any more about the
hunt.
Moroney, my mother, Knox, and Hamilton were
alone with them when they were whipped off," went
on Dennis, oblivious of other topics.
“Oh, then you didn't get to the hill,” said Moira,
looking at Milton, who had given her to understand
otherwise.


Clennelford
175
“ Milton ! He never got off the hill here," said
Dennis, with brutal candour. “He got about the
same start as I did.”
“Oh!" said Moira, while Captain Milton murmured
something concerning bad memories in a peevish
voice.
The Star was not kicking so often to-day, though,
if Moira had known, she was far more dangerous, for
the mare abandoned mere lashes into the brown, and
took to diving at an unwary follower with a deadly
precision.
Hounds were thrown into a patch of gorse on bare
hillside ; rolling hills all round, fenced with loose
stone walls. It was the country which the Hermit
had spoken of, and Moira's spirits rose. The Star
could jump stone walls. The close gorse crackled
as the hounds waded through ; sterns, some tipped
with blood, waved in barer places, at times a lean
head rose as a hound leaped. A whimper sounded.
He was there, lying close in some thick corner.
There was no covert to dwell in, and a moment later
he broke, a small, light-coloured fox, slipping away
down the hill, and ere he was a field away Moroney
had his hounds out. There was no waiting at
Ballydare : to kill a fox you must press him. But
“smell,” the mysterious, failed them to-day. There
was no driving on a red-hot scent, as there had been
through the bog. Short time as their fox had been
gone, they could only hunt in snatches, racing for a
moment, pulling up as hounds diverted, and always
with wild yells from some neighbouring slope as the
countrymen viewed him. For he was a ringing and
soon a tired little fox, twisting up and down until


176
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
he sought shelter in every hedge, without spirit to
dash away for some distant covert.
There was
nothing to jump but the loose stone walls and an
occasional single bank. It was The Star's day. With
her head up, she flew the highest spots, tucking up
her long legs like a deer. Nothing mattered to Moira
as they cleared one stiffer than the rest, while more
careful people wrestled with a gate. The cheque
began to appear once more, the hope of selling the
grey to become a certainty. The girl's cheeks flushed,
her eyes sparkled, she was a very pretty thing in her
startling habit as she sat down to the rocketing
springs, and felt that, after all, her mare was a
treasure. It suited Eva also, for there were many
gaps to walk through, and constant checks to give
the big horse time. Dennis Vereker, one wary eye
upon his mother, also managed to be far behind, and
to take Eva by short ways which she would never
have thought of.
And through it, as they circled and galloped
and checked, Moira was surprised not to see
Captain Milton thrusting ahead. Instead she saw
him more than once taking his turn at gaps with
a strange and unambitious meekness.
The ex-
planation was forced upon her at one of the many
checks.
“ Rotten hunt! He was saving his horse for the
evening."
They galloped on slowly, up one hill, down another,
with the yells in front growing in volume.
Come
ye! Come on! He was dead beat
here, an' the tail thrailing on him. Come on, Misther
Moroney, an' kill him. Huroo! Woo!”—the wild,
on,
let
)


Clennelford
177
eerie Irish yells rising shrilly in their longing for a
kill.
Sportsmen to the heart's core, if no paid patriots
were there to turn their childish minds to thoughts
of resentment against the huntsmen who pound across
their land.
“ Begor, ye have him nearly cot.” A man came flying
to open a gate. "He's but two minutes up the hedge
.
here, and he's lookin' for a rat-hole. Make on, let ye,
with yer dogs!”
And the said dogs were at fault. Moroney mildly
pointed out the difficulty of hurrying.
The man remarked with contempt that "they were
no use for smhellin', and wasn't there some one
schreechin' now beyant? Begor, ye'll nivir kill him if
ye delay,” he added sourly, as they hit it off and
galloped on.
The hill they now crossed was fenced with high
bramble-grown banks, and The Star found life more
trying, but the ditches were fortunately narrow, so
that she did not come to grief. She was, however,
tiring rapidly.
" It's lovely. Oh, too lovely.” Kathleen's eager
cry to her sister came to the Master's ears, and he
absolutely smiled. He had heard Mrs. Vereker's
stories; his hounds had been kicked by The Star ;
but his heart warmed to a lover of hunting. If he
had a wife he would have sent her to call. As it
was, he said something sadly pleasant, as he rode
past, about the Star's wall jumping, and sent Moira's
spirits to fever point. At the very next fence,
Mrs. Knox came down and Moira caught her horse.
They were away from the rest of the field. The thin
12


178
Three Girls and a Hermit
>
lady smiled at the deed, and decided to be civil.
Clearly this was a day of good fortune.
She would come to call. She rode on, listening to
Moira's prattle with an indulgent smile. Meantime,
the rings grew smaller, and they were very near a
beaten fox; dead tired, he crawled before them,
listening to the yap, yap, but two fields behind, and
then he saved himself. A marsh lay at the hill's base;
cobalt and golden brown, brilliant blue waters a-
ripple against a mesh of coarse grasses and reeds.
In its midst rose a little island, and there he found
shelter. Countrymen dancing on the brink had
seen him cross, shrill voices urged the pack to follow.
"Go on, let ye. Cess, cess, he's beyant. Arrah, ,
swhim it over, ye divils.”
It was a pretty sight in the sunlight, as hounds
splashed and swam on the verge, while the Master
swore softly. The faint scent had vanished here on
the cold bog. There was absolutely nothing to be done,
for a wide stretch of deep waters guarded the tiny
island, and after some seasonable suggestions advising
collapsible boats instead of terriers, they had to
leave him
“ An' he scharce able to swim," observed the
local postman, who had been throwing stones across,
with some vague idea that the hounds might go
out and fetch them. “Ould Duck at home'd be
better for thim," he added contemptuously. “ If
I threw a rock for her, she wouldn't be long, I
tell ye."
A dark cloud was creeping upwards as they jogged
to the next draw; rain coming swiftly over the river.
They had just found when it fell ; no ordinary


Clennelford
179
.
shower, but straight and heavy, and tropical in its
violence, and with sting of melted hail in its chill
touch. The hillside, the square covert, were blotted
out; horses were huddled against the green hedges,
with some delusive idea of gaining shelter. As they
stood in the cold dimness, drenched and wretched,
the Dirk hills were shadow-flecked, still golden in
patches beneath the sun, and the tableland between
lay fair and green, a perfect hunting country. What
scent there had been was washed away; even
hounds faltered, unable to face the storm of pitiless
waters.
Minds detached themselves from fox-hunting,
turned swiftly to the glow of firesides ; the comfort
of hot water, of steaming tea and buttered toast.
Horse after horse was slipped away off the hill.
Moira and Eva, standing talking to Dennis Vereker,
yearned for the car and for a shelter,
“The road was close by," he told them. His eyes
grew sad, for he knew that his house was just beyond
it, and that he dared not ask them in.
“ You live down there, don't you ?" asked Moira.
“You will soon be dry."
The much-crushed will of Denis Vereker wriggled
and almost stood up. He murmured something
incoherent about their being too wet to ask in, and
his eyes dwelt upon Eva, pretty still, though a stream
of water trickled down her face, and her fair hair was
drenched. There
moments when Dennis
regretted his habit of serfdomn, and this was one of
them. He was as much in love as he dared to be.
“1” He raised his head, his red face shining
in the rain. “I-
"
were


180
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ Dennis,” said a voice from the other side of the
hedge. “ Have you seen Dennis ? I want him to
come home at once. He had a slight cold this
morning Dennis !" The clear, hard voice rose
to a call.
"I think I suppose I had better go." Dennis
looked at the gap in the hedge—and Eva knew he
was counting his chances of reaching it before his
mother knew who he was talking to.
“ Yes, I certainly think so," she said drily, and
something in her eyes made that long crushed will
power wriggle again, this time with a wrench of
pain.
He rode away quickly, and Eva, looking down at
her dripping gloves, hummed a tune. It was an air
she had often heard two years ago upon the lake at
Borrisdeane. “Glory to the men of old," and to her
too came a quick tinge of pain.
“ How on
earth can you sing songs in the
deluge !” said Moira wrathfully. "You might be a
Lorry."
Eva presumed thoughtfully that she meant a
Lorelei, and they galloped to find the car. Patsy's
fears were not heeded now; the horses were so
dejected that he led them without difficulty, and even
the roan forebore to stop when asked to start. James
Dunne's friend, who smelt fierily of whisky, and who
said huskily " that if he closed his eyes he'd think the
Dare was rollin' over him," took advantage of this
strange gentleness to beat the roan to a canter and
keep him at it until they swung on one wheel through
the gates at The Beeches. Here he demanded still
more whisky, and was sent away in a somnolent state,
»


Clennelford
181
with James Dunne, who promised to return "whin he
had the crayther at home;" driving.
Biddy declared she would rather peel eggs than
undo their habits, and pitied them sorely. And old
Dunne, who returned, quickly made boiling hot tea
to comfort and warm them.


CHAPTER XI
THEATRE-GOING
IT
T was Moira who suggested going to the theatre.
With eyes which sparkled with excitement, she
read in the Ballydare Moderator that Mr. Seploy and
full company were about to play nightly in the Town
Hall. Now, Moira had read of footlights and powder
and patches. She had even had her dream (as almost
every girl has) of acting herself; coming, a vision of
beauty, in a setting of painted canvas, and holding
great London audiences spellbound. But she had
seen nothing
“We must go, Eva"—she waved the newspaper,
sweeping her sisters with her in her usual impetuous
way. “We must make up a party and go.
wear your pale blue (you've not had it on yet), and I
my cream, and Kathleen"
Kathleen said she was going out to a far meet,
on a horse of Malone's. She would be too tired
to hunt. Mr. Stanley and Mr. Leeds were driving
her there.
There was no kindly voice to warn the Considines
that people might raise eyebrows at this method of
accepting lifts.
“Well; we'll go, then. Milly will come”-they
You can
»
182


Theatre going
183
used the regimental nickname in private, and Moira
mentally determined to ask Dennis Vereker. She
met him in the town that morning, waiting in the
motor for his mother, and propounded the idea.
" Have you got any idea of what it's like?" he said
dubiously.
Moira feverishly declared that it was a magnificent
company, coming straight from London to act Irish
plays. Lots of people would go. They were long-
ing to, and it would be fun. Her match-making
mind thought of Eva in the flimsy blue chiffon,
with a large bow at the back, to hide where the
Borrisdeane dressmaker had pulled the bodice
crooked.
Dennis knew that on various widely distant occa-
sions Ballydare did go to the Town Hall, and he
thought this might be one of them. With a weak
protest he promised, and promptly lost himself in the
invention necessary to lull his mother's suspicions.
Dennis at bridge in barracks was fairly safe, and
had served before on other occasions ; so he was
ready before the coldly handsome presence, wrapped
in furs, descended upon him.
“Dining in barracks. With whom?" Mrs. Vereker
queried sharply. She could not penetrate behind
those gloomy, grey walls, and the fear of an after
adjournment to the Considines
was upon her.
Dennis shaved a donkey-cart with some skill. His
brain was not a ready one; he wanted time.
As the terrified driver of the ass adjusted herself,
and prayed to the Virgin to "blight thim mothors,"
Dennis's thoughts were ready.
“With Cromartin," he said ; and then groaned,
>)


184 Three Girls and a Hermit
1
seeing that tall youth in uniform, a bank book in his
hand, lounging down the narrow street. That he
should hail them, and inquire if he would meet them
to-night at the Havilands', seemed just what Dennis
had expected.
“When you'd asked me to dine with you?" said
Dennis unhappily, with contortions of his nose and
eyes which made Mrs. Mahony, glancing from her
shop, spread the tale that “Misther Dennis had
the St. Vitus got.” Cromartin, observing these
signs, remembered his hospitality with feverish
haste; but Dennis's invention had nearly played him
false.
He dined, instead, at The Beeches, and wondere
why soup, and roast ducks, and snipe, with Ma
Kate waiting spasmodically in the intervals of talking
to Patsy), was so much a nicer dinner than the long,
gloomy feasts in the great dining-room at Knock
Castle, with footmen to anticipate each want, and
wines for every course.
The silence ate into one's
appetite, there; the marble men and women seemed
to watch and grudge. His voice, as he answered his
mother, echoed into the corners, until he was glad
when there was no answer to make he could eat in
silence. Eva, in the blue chiffon, was pretty enough
to witch a stronger-natured man; there was no
Captain Milton to change the merriment to doubtful
chaff, and throw bread at bared arms and necks;
and Dennis, whose life knew little peace, felt it fall
upon him and wrap him about as a warm cloak
wraps chilled shoulders.
There was no necessity
to lie; no need to form and frame the constant
excuses which were always upon his lips. And


Theatre-going
185
yet, as he watched Eva, and felt the little spirit
left in him quicken to her glance, some instinct
seemed to whisper that his chains were stronger
than his desire; that the bride who would come
with him to Knock Castle would never be of his
choosing Thus his weak nature, abandoning
thought, was content to be happy, until Moira,
watching, felt that all was as it should be, and
she would soon write to the Hermit, telling him of
her great success; Eva, reigning at the big, quiet
house; Eva, with diamonds in her pretty hair, with
horses and motor-cars, and weak, pleasant Dennis
Vereker as a husband. Of Eva's own ideas on the
subject Moira did not think at all. They drove down
in the motor. Dennis, who had only been to charity
entertainments, saw nothing unusual in their evening
dresses; but Captain Milton, who was waiting sourly
on the doorsteps, glanced at them with dismay,
announcing that not a decent soul had gone in, and
he was afraid they would be stared at.
Better keep
on their
wraps.
But bared necks and rustling frills were not joys
to be lightly forgone. The girls took off their coats,
and sat down amid an audience which smelt lightly
of porter, and heavily of tobacco and many other
things.
The little stuffy hall, with a dingy curtain drawn
across a narrow stage, was not Moira's idea of a
theatre. She looked about in unveiled disappoint-
ment, while the muttered remarks of her neighbours
drifted to her ears.
"Queer ones, the quality.” This from a young
woman in a pink flannel blouse and a green hat.


186
Three Girls and a Hermit
66
»
were
“Wouldn't you be ashamed now, Misther Magee, to
come bare like that ?"
Mr. Magee, a stalwart and dirty youth, observed
that indeed and he would.
“ Just a whirl of chiffong for a sleeve," a whisper
from another maiden. “My dear, but I'd be cowld
in it meself, Danny."
Danny, who was apparently a theatre goer, said
he'd seen the quality stripped before. “'Twas the
only way they'd listen to a play,” he explained.
“ He'd seen thim here when the gentlefolk acted a
play, here, and away in Dublin, where they'd dazzle
ye round in the boxes."
All these remarks too clearly audible.
Captain Milton stared round haughtily, with the
furious expression of the man who does not know
how to carry out his fury, and Dennis Vereker,
perceiving they ought never to have come, grew
crimson and unhappy. They were a mark for
every glance among the soberly dressed crowd,
and he clearly caught the eye of their steward, who
was away for the night. The play was “The
Shaughraun," and the house was crowded ; crowded,
curiously enough, with a great many priests, and
men who bent to whisper to them, as though some
plot was on foot.
Now, it so happened that the same company, play-
ing at Ballydare a year before, had deeply offended
some of the more religious people there by their
reading of the piece. English people are over-apt to
burlesque the Irish; the Catholic Church was up in
arms at what they deemed mockery of their pro-
fession, and were there that night to protest, if certain
>


Theatre-going
187
things were acted in the same way again. The little
party from The Beeches had unwittingly lighted on
an unfortunate evening for their outing, and the
curtain rose at last, and the famous drama was
played on. Despite the drawbacks of her sur-
roundings; despite the hopeless task of English
people trying to master the Irish accent; despite
the vulgarity which they undoubtedly introduced;
Moira followed it all with shining eyes and bated
breath, and a complete lack of attention to her
companion, who whispered sneering comments in
her ear.
"Play!" He laughed aloud as the curtain came
down. "Call that a play! I really believe you
looked at it, Miss Moira."
Moira, unashamed, said she had.
"Play! If I could take you to London, to a show
at the Gaiety! Dresses an' songs an' dances an'
Connie Ediss an' Payne an' Grossmith. That's a
play, if you like. None of your hang-talkey talk,
but something to laugh at all along, and people you
know of to look at."
The criticism aptly represented Milton's view of
life, but Moira was lost in its dazzle. She had read
of great names, and quoted them now glibly. Tree,
Wyndham, Bouchier. If she could but see some
of those.
"Tree?" Milton shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, if
you come to a play with me it'll be to something
worth seeing. Tree's all right-not that I ever saw
him-but he acts Shakespeare, rotten old stuff, all
about nothing. No, thanks. Oh, here's the show on
again."


188
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
There had been a whispering among the black-
coated listeners ; a working up, as it were, to some
course of action. Looks of protest, pointings, hands
waved in indignation, and one man, a fat and bald-
headed tradesman, was called upon and shoved for-
ward, moving his lips as though rehearsing a speech.
The remarks were plainly audible, and Dennis
listened uneasily.
“That's McCann," watching a young priest whisper
in the ear of a red-headed man ; "and that old fellow
he's talking to is Conolly the draper. I wonder
what's up, or what's annoying them! They're fair
fire-brands, both of 'em."
“A gross travesty. I tell ye 'tis that same on our
race an' ways.” Conolly the draper had a rolling
voice. “Oh, I'll sphake, yer reverence. I will
indeed." He stopped as a cracked bell rang behind
the scenes, the curtain was dragged up in jerks,
and a grimy hand turned down the footlights one
by one.
The old play proceeded to the well-known scene of
the wake; with Con lying dead, and the actors about
him doubling their efforts to be merry and make
people laugh. It was undoubtedly a burlesque upon
the Irish customs, but it held the greater portion of
the house. Father Dolan, a thin man with a distinct
cockney accent, drew down laughter as he drank
whisky from a teapot, and winked out that he did
not know it, for "tay."
The lady in the pink blouse giggled hysterically.
Danny, close to them, said “Begor, 'twas grand.”
But the laughter ceased suddenly, for fat Conolly
shot to his feet, a priest at either elbow.
)


Theatre-going
189
»
"I protest," he roared loudly; “I protest on yer
actin'; 'tis a travesty ye're makin' on our race an' on
our ways. Sthop ye're play or act it dacent; that's
what I'm v'icin now for us here. What's that, ye're
reverence ? Maybe I am forgettin' what ye told
me. Anyway, I say I protest; the play must be
stopped.”
The actors stood amazed. Father Dolan, holding
the teapot, scurried to the wings. · Con's mother
said “Lor' a mussy" as she caught at a stage
Irishman, who hurriedly replied, “Crikey—strike me
blind."
The audience, for a space, were silent, then, be-
lieving it to be right, cheered the interrupters lustily,
those who had laughed loudest being the most
emphatic.
The actors looked at Con, who was their actor
manager, and the uproar swelled and grew.
Mr. Conolly very testily called for silence, so that
he might speak. “This is no light thing," he said.
“I protest.
Ye're all actin' drunk at a dacent wake,
an' that's disgracin' our country an' our clergy. Ye
do it like this over in England, and people believe 'tis
true. I tell ye ye're renderin' is an or-gie-no less."
Conolly wiped his face. · Not a sober man on the
stage,” he boomed.
The corpse of Con, listening to urgent appeals,
rolled off the bed and strolled down to the footlights.
He was a lean, leisurely man, with a red complexion,
badly obscured by powder. His first endeavours
to speak were drowned in a storm of boos, but he
gained silence after a time.
“ Bit 'ard, isn't it?" said the corpse thoughtfully ;
66


190
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ It was
“played it this way for years. No intention to offend.
I wasn't drunk, anyhow. Was I, eh?”
"You were the very worst, sir," thundered Conolly,
red hot for argument and further oratory.
“I was dead, man,” said the corpse plaintively.
“Dead drunk," a ready Irish voice spoke, and the
house roared to sudden laughter. Con's corpse, eyeing
them peevishly, chewed a toothpick and balanced a
corpse candle on his forefinger.
When given time again, he said he was sorry if
they'd offended; they had been taught to act it like
that.
what, Father ? ... A burlyesque, sir,”
thundered Conolly ; "a carric-a-turey, a turey, a
travestie. All of ye dhrunk, includin' yerself, the
corpse, that was no betther than the resht, but worse,
since he manages it all. Did ever one of ye-ye
boys," he whirled to his now sympathetic audience-
“ did iver one of ye see Father Connol or Father
Maddigan to drink whisky from a teapot an' ye lyin'
dead ?”
No one seemed to have done so. The appeal
wrought instant effect. The men in the audience,
with true Irish readiness, sprang to their feet. With
roars and boos and hisses and howls they swarmed
for the stage, thundering curses upon Con and his
fellow mummers, reserving special threats for Father
Dolan, who was pointing the teapot nozzle at his
enemies, vowing as they rushed on that they'd
stretch Con's corpse into a real one before they'd
done.
Fat Conolly, caught by the wave, was unfortunately
the first to suffer. He went down beneath the stamp-


Theatre-going
191
ing feet, crawling beneath the chairs for safety, and
praying for assistance.
Con's mother, a young actress, flung her arms about
her dead son, shrilling police and murder as she did
so at the audience. The curtains were dragged to,
and the orchestra, who was a solitary pianist, swarmed
for safety over the footlights, howling for mercy as
Father Dolan's teapot, which he had discharged
at the audience ere he fled, struck him full in the
face.
The Considines and their escort were swept away
by the crowd, engulfed in the mass of angry men,
bent this way and that as the uproar increased, and
finding the difficulty of staying together greater at
each moment. Finally Moira found herself clinging
convulsively to the man she had heard called Danny,
who, being peaceful, was struggling towards the door.
Dan held her tight and called her "darlin'," apparently
convinced that he was rescuing his own young woman,
and also upbraided her when he found breath for not
courting quietly over the fire at home. Some way
off Moira could see Dennis Vereker's red young face
as he defended Eva, and Milton struggling wildly by
himself.
They got at last into the quiet street, torn, panting,
bruised, to fly to the protection of two policemen, who
had no idea of the turmoil within. Moira abandoned
her protector, and fled to seize the coated arm of the
law, while Danny searched helplessly for Katie, still
believing he had brought her out. A large portion of
the crowd had surged out to wait at the stage door,
and her horror-stricken eyes now beheld Dennis
Vereker being taken for one of the actors.


192
Three Girls and a Hermit
>
His red face had brushed against a wall and was
streaked with white, and his dark coat covered his
evening clothes.
“'Tis the corpse, the divil,” bellowed a youth ;
and Dennis, putting Eva behind him, looked into
a sea of furious faces and found explanation
vain.
“ The corpse an' his mamma, no less," said some
one else.
“We'll tache ye,” and followed the
speech with a blow, which caught Dennis on the
nose.
The pain sent caution flying. Dennis knew how
to fight, and had already injured two assailants, and
knocked down Danny, who was doing nothing, when
his steward, working to his side, yelled his true name
to the attackers.
The crowd drew back instantly. “God save us;
'tis Misther Vereker, an' he having put two of me
teeth down me throat."
Dan, the non-combatant, spitting blood, threatened
the law for assault, and evil fate ordained that the
reporter of the local paper should be swept close to
them to hear and note it all.
A motor hooted, driving slowly through the crowd.
It was Cromartin coming home from dinner, and he
pulled up. He looked from panting, torn Moira to
panting, frightened Eva; he considered Dennis's
swollen nose; he stared at the surging crowd and
the two policemen, who were rapidly producing order;
and he remarked, with feeling, that he did not think
he would care for the play at Ballydare.
“What in the name of Heaven's happened ?” he
asked, as he wrapped Moira in a coat.


Theatre-going
193
>
“ It was the wake,"– Moira dashed into the car-
" and the whisky and the corpse, and he got
drunk, or they said he did, and he spoke, and that
was it."
Cromartin, with a worried air, said he saw it all
plainly. From his manner it was quite evident that
he believed Dennis to have been slightly drunk. He
looked about. “ Vereker was with your sister, but
where the Dickens is Milton?"
So far as I could see,” said Dennis, “he just lit for
safety the moment the fun began.”
He got to his car, winding it up hurriedly, and they
drove away just as Captain Milton, who had sheltered
in the cloak-room, appeared at the door, and fell to
cursing softly
His subsequent explanation of having been abso-
lutely swept away, of fighting hard for his own life
and that of three shop-girls, was received with
some reserve on the part of his hearers. But Moira,
as she looked at the remains of her cream dress,
felt her desire for theatre-going at Ballydare die
in her.
To Dennis Vereker's horror he saw next day before
he got up that concealment was impossible ; for the
local reporter, seeking to please the local magnate,
described the matter fully. “ The presence of the
Miss Considines, accompanied by Captain Milton
and Mr. Vereker, of Castle Knock," was one of the
headlines; “Young Ladies Swept Away by the Crowd
-Gallant Behaviour of a Local Gentleman." Dennis,
with blinking eyes, felt shame tingle through him as
he read how he had fought, saving Eva as he went;
how he had been set upon outside, mistaken by
13


194
Three Girls and a Hermit
foolish people for Con's corpse; how he had stricken
and been struck.
The thunderous presence of his mother was not
long delayed. She had read the paper before he had.
Black-haired, splendidly handsome, she towered over
her supine son, while her quick tongue sought and
found words to show her anger.
“These shameless girls—mere adventuresses. To
have gone where no lady would have entered ; to
have led Dennis there ! She knew now that he
had lied to her. They would see after-these
young women--that no decent soul would speak
to them.”
And Dennis Vereker, over-used to tyranny, cowered
and said nothing. It is hard to break a lifelong
leading string, yet Eva's pretty face reproached him
as he lay silent. She was between his fancy, and
his mother's rule might be a greater one than she
dreamt of.
Patsy, who had been to the pit-or what passed for
one-with Mary Kate, said "'twas grand."
“ Sure,
between the play an' the fightin', ye couldn't wish for
more,” he said next day; "and the corpse chewin' a
feather pen in his mouth an' all. If we had but a few
things to be throwin', we might have done a bit more.
Faix, they left to-day," said Patsy disconsolately, “or
I'd have gone agin to-night. I was too far back," he
added, as he polished up Gog's thick hide, “but I got
in one clout to a lad that sthepped on me toe-one
he'll remember, too; an' I thrampled another's hat,
an' that was all I had out of it."
So far as the real reason of the row went, Patsy was
quite devoid of interest.
a
»


Theatre-going
195
These were somewhat troublous days for Patsy,
for he was in love. Mary Kate, with the puffed
hair, had witched his heart from him. In vain
did old Biddy, whose great-nephew he was, warn
him ; in vain did James Dunne, now busy at
making oat-bins, drop hints concerning Mary Kate's
other attachments and the futility of Patsy contem-
plating matrimony on the sum of fourteen pounds
per annum. Patsy's wants during his life had been
few; he had some money in the post-office bank,
and he lavished it now to buy smiles from the fair
Mary Kate.
Eva's housewifely soul found that such love-making
did not help her handmaiden to work. She found
there were but faint streaks in layers of dust where
polished surface should have appeared, though Mary
Kate declared lightly she'd given it a whip with a
duster the very day before, before she ran out for
a message—the message being Patsy. There were
stacks of cups left unwashed in the pantry, and Patsy
was found washing them when he ought to have been
with his horses. The Star's delicate appetite missed
its pampering, and she grew leaner daily ; Gog ate
his bed, unchecked by muzzling; even Jim Crow
was not so well. The Considines' tender hearts were
averse to separating the lovers, but they felt that
something must be done.
James Dunne, consulted delicately, scratched his
white locks with thoughtful fingers. It appeared that
.
he knew for a fact that Mary Kate was merely trifling,
and he advised patience.
“Sorra a patience I'd have with their likes," stormed
Biddy. “I'll be away for a packct of hairpins, Biddy,'


196
Three Girls and a Hermit
says she ; and all the shops shut, an' Patsy waitin' on
the road."
It was in such straits that the Hermit's help
was so badly wanted. He would have known
what to say to Patsy, and what to do to the gay
Mary Kate. In her distress at The Star's loss
of flesh, Moira sat down and wrote to him; and
the tone of her letter, underlying the constant
assertions of success, lacked spirit. Eva was grow-
ing frightened at the over-quick spending of their
money; no one wanted, so far, to buy the horses-
the undercurrent of all this ran through Moira's
letter to Borrisdeane. But, on the other side, she
could hint at Eva's great conquest; she could
recount the tale of their many
many gaieties—their
motor drives, their bridge parties-and this she did
at length.
The Hermit's reply came as she expected it to-by
return of post. “He was not at all sure,” he said,
“that he, too, would not leave Borrisdeane for a time.
After all these years he thought he would like a
change. So Mrs. Vereker did not like them”.
there was a blot on the page, as though he had
raised his pen to think. "It was strange, that.
.
And she is handsome still ?" The Hermit seemed
to think a great deal about Mrs. Vereker, thought
Moira, as she read. "But there are better things
than great beauty, Moira,” he wrote, “and a man
learns this after a time. Its glamour sweeps one
away; rouses the love which is not real love, but a
thing red-clad, with wrath and envy, and other evil
things drawn in its carriage. Then later, perhaps,
the same man may learn what real love is : love
»


Theatre-going
197
for a girl whose heart is gold below her childish
follies-
Moira put the letter down, her little face growing
strangely thoughtful. Why should the Hermit write
to her like this? Was he, after all these quiet years,
in love himself? Going away to be married? To
whom? Moira seemed to hear the dull boom of the
waves, hear the whisper of the lake through the reeds;
see Oliver Tremayne's quiet face as he pulled his boat
to the landing-place of piled-up stones. He, too,
was leaving. If they went back, he would not be
there to come across; there would be no one to
wrangle with, no one to mock at her flights of fancy,
to cut in with a pungent word which laid some wilful
folly bare. The stupid old Hermit; she had hated
him lately; chafed bitterly because she felt in her
inmost heart that he might have been right about
this expedition which she had forced upon the others.
Something hurt Moira's throat, she felt her eyes grow
wet without knowing why. At Borrisdeane there had
been no bitter experience of being ignored by the
people one wished to know; no constant adding up
and paying out of losses at this difficult game of
bridge; no fears that the horses one counted so
much on might go wrong.
She took the letter up again. The Hermit
reproached her for a lack of real news. Who had
called upon them? Did they know people? Were
the horses really going well? If she wanted help
would she not write ? Who was this Milton she
mentioned ?
Moira frowned now. Why should he think so per-
sistently that things had gone wrong? What help


198
Three Girls and a Hermit
could Oliver Tremayne, a mere recluse and hermit,
give to her in this new home? And because she
knew that things were not all as they should be, and
that she wanted the help he proffered, she flashed
back a saucy letter full of their joys, and very full of
the friendship of Captain Milton, who rode and fished
and shot, and was always out with them; told how
Kathleen had mounts from a horse-dealer, and was
driven out by kindly young men; how they had
people to dine, and sat up until one in the morning
playing bridge, and various other things, which made
Tremayne sigh very deeply, and confirmed him in his
intention of leaving Borrisdeane.
Moira put her letter away, and went to the yard.
A visit to The Star lacked power of consolation.
The mare was listless, and plainly ill ; her coat stared,
she would merely pick at her oats. Gog's legs had
again swelled to the thickness of “ bolsthers." If they
wanted to hunt, it was evident that they must hire
from Malone, who let horses out. Kathleen paid
nothing, but they were different.
There was a good meet on Friday, and they must
get out. Eva, looking helpless, said it would be four
guineas, and they could not afford it, yet allowed
James Dunne and his donkey-cart to be dispatched
to summon Malone. The horse-dealer arrived at
once to say he could match them with a grey and
a black; one a trifle hasty at his lips, and the other a
bit fearsome of his foremost legs when he'd land
but both great horses that he hired regularly to
the officers. Also, as they were young ladies, and
light-weights, he'd want but three guineas for the
two."


Theatre-going
199
"Her
He examined The Star with dubious eyes.
likes, Miss Moira, niver does no good," he said
emphatically. "Ye see, she has no middle on her,
and one day's huntin' 'd be as bad to her as three
to a sthronger med horse. When ye ride the black
to-morrow, maybe ye might care to have a swhop.
I wouldn't be hard on the bit of boot. With ye're
weight on him he'd lasht a lifetime. I could get rid
of this one."
Moira gasped. To "swhop" The Star, the peer-
less mare which was to bring her in hundreds of
pounds; to give her and extra money for some
broken-down old black who favoured his foremost
legs. And Malone was serious; he even looked as
though he meant it to be a kindness. Tears smarted
again behind Moira's eyelids; she recovered herself
with difficulty as she haughtily pointed out to
Malone that she considered The Star extremely
valuable.
Malone observed drily there was "nothin' like one's
own opinions."
"She is fast, well bred, beautifully bred," clamoured
Moira angrily.
"Oh, she's that," said the horse-dealer; "she's
that. Hasn't she ivery bad point she could take from
the racin' side of her? I'd misdoubt me, but this half
thoroughbred, sure, if ye handled her shins rough, ye
could break them. Faix, keep her, miss; 'twas only
kindness, and knowin' a felly that wanted a horse for
posthin' with me."
Moira left him examining Gog, and advising much.
medicine and less hay. It was Eva's turn now.
They were out to lunch next day with fat Mrs.


200
Three Girls and a Hermit
Haviland, who was unshaken in her kindness, and
came back early, bringing Major Haviland and Captain
Milton with them to play bridge. As they walked
up the little path sounds of wailing from the kitchen
told them something was wrong. Biddy's voice,
raised to a high pitch, could be heard in heated
argument, the lower tones of James Dunne, and the
sharp zip, zip, of something being torn.
The drawing-room was cold, devoid of fire, and
thick with dust. The bridge tables were not out; the
breakfast things in the dining-room were still upon
the table. Mary Kate had been given to clearing
them away when fancy touched her ; but she had
never been so late as this.
“Something has happened.” Eva pealed at the
bell, and glanced disconsolately at her guests. To
make matters worse, she saw a carriage on the road,
and recognised Mrs. Knox coming to call. Biddy,
tears in her eyes, hurried to answer the bell.
“Oh, I said it all along, Miss Eva ; I said it.
There's me poor dead sisther's daughter's bhoy fair
dementhed outside, and Mary Kate off to Dublin by
the one thrain, leaving a note to say she's away to
be married an' to sind on her things.
An' Patsy,
the craythur, to buy her a little traither of a watch
that wasn't as big as me thumb top, an' to spind
fifty shillin', no less, on a muff for her neck."
Here Milton shook audibly, to Biddy's indignation.
“He did that same," she said sharply, “a yally
fur muff she put about her throat. An' that”-she
raised her finger that they might listen—" that
ye hear now is Patsy, clane crazy, tearin' up her
aperns !"


Theatre
going
201
What consolation Patsy derived from this will ever
remain a mystery; but as Mrs. Knox clamoured for
entrance, they all fled to the kitchen to find Patsy
rending viciously, surrounded by a pile of torn white
calico, falling in ragged strips and jagged ends as he
dragged the stuff asunder.
James Dunne, looking on, said he thought it must
"aise" him.
Patsy looked at the rush of onlookers, rent one
more apron in twain, scattered the scraps of the
others in the air so that they fell upon every one,
and, with a sudden gulp of anguish, fled to the
stables, where he locked himself in for the evening,
and answered all questions by asserting, amid his
sobs, that he had done with "the wimmin."
Maybe he thought 'twas herself,” said James,
removing a piece of calico from his head. “Two
shillin', no less, she must have paid for some of
thim.”
They returned to find Mrs. Knox, who despaired
of an answer, laying her cards upon the table. She
,
could scarcely have gathered a good impression on.
this, her first visit, for the fire would not light. There
were no hot cakes for tea, and Biddy, as she appeared,
was covered with ravelled threads of torn calico.
But a recital of Patsy's wrongs atoned for many
things. Notwithstanding the tales afloat about the
Considines, she was glad she had come.
Since the theatre episode, and the exposing of the
perjured Dennis in the Ballydare Moderator, Mrs.
Vereker's bitter tongue had spared no lash of innuendo
which could hurt the newcomers. To have her son
involved in a disgraceful brawl, struck upon the nose,


202
Three Girls and a Hermit
rescued by his own steward, described as a gallant
knight, who had put his lady behind him and fought
his way forth, was gall to his proud mother. That
he had lied to her was a smaller thing, for tyrants
expect untruths.
Dennis's life, while his hurt nose faded to coats of
many colours, was not an easy one. He was closely
watched, jealously guarded, almost refused leave to
go out without his mother accompanying him. Mrs.
Vereker was afraid of Eva's pretty face; but she was
a power in the county, and used that power now with
purpose and with weight.
Mrs. Knox had heard the stories and braved them.
Bright little Moira had found one friend who meant
to be kind to her—a friend who recognised that lack
of worldly wisdom, and no deeper folly, had led the
three Considines into coming to Ballydare and getting
themselves talked about. Moira, always anxious to
prattle, gave a sketch of their idea of their over-quiet
life at Borrisdeane, their longing to hunt and see the
world.
“And you like it very much your world here ?"
Mrs. Knox looked at Moira with quietly inquiring
eyes.
“ It is-great fun.” Moira wished the look had not
reminded her of the Hermit.
"Perhaps too much fun.” Mrs. Knox asked for
her carriage. She asked them out to luncheon on
Sunday, and meant then to be mother to the mother-
less, telling them how they erred in trying to see
too much fun, and how three very young girls must
imperatively provide themselves with some older lady
to live with them.


Theatre-going
203
Biddy, as she announced the carriage, feared the
horse must be perished, for Patsy had absolutely
declined to open the stable door.
“He's sitting in The Sthar's box," said Biddy dis-
consolately, “hopin' she'll kick him to death. But
he has her tied up, and is a long way from her heels
all the time."
“There is hope for Patsy," said Mrs. Knox,
going out.


CHAPTER XII
THE HIRELINGS AND THE GEOGHANS
DONO
ONOUGH MORONEY, standing gloomily
among his hounds, looked up as the Considines
jogged up to the meet.
“Thank God," he said, "the grey's at home. That
little one's pretty,” he added to himself. He swung
himself into his saddle with a happy expression, and
jogged on to the first draw. It was a great woodland,
carpeted with dying ochre-tinted bracken, the under-
growth all a tangle with bramble vines, their leaves
glowing dully. Wet rides, where horses' feet sank
squelching into an ooze of nud, led through the wood.
It was a pretty draw, as hounds came working
through, but one at which the field gathered into
groups laughing, talking, without much hope of sport.
Foxes were almost too plentiful there.
There was
Tally Ho back and Tally Ho for'ard; endless chorus
of hounds; endless gallops from end to end, but very
little chance of a hunt. Ambitious spirits galloped
with the hounds, shoving through lacing twigs,
bending low under heavier branches ; quieter people
gathered about the main earth and stood there, letting
the chase circle round them. Moira and Eva, of
course, drove the hirelings to every holloa ; Kathleen
204


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 205
а
was restrained by her friend Malone, who bade her
stand with him by the burrow, and then when the
hounds “had one cot," they would go on to a good
covert.
As they galloped, and checked, and waited in the
crowd, the chill signs of unfriendliness were no longer
to be doubted. The Ballydare people were clearly
turning polite backs upon them. . When Moira,
wedged in a gateway, spoke to Mrs. O'Brien, who
was wedged by her, that usually kindly lady answered,
but answered in the abstracted tones of one who does
not mean to continue a conversation. Mrs. Vereker's
bow would have made ice look torrid, and the Knoxes
were not out hunting, for they had been summoned
away to a sick daughter; so the Considines' one friend
was gone. Unwitting of offence, there seemed to be
nothing to do but take things philosophically ; to
laugh and talk with the men who came to speak to
them, and try to ignore the coldness about them.
Perhaps it was the custom of a strange hunt to treat
newcomers like this. Woman's spiteful nature found
some slight comfort in flaunting up and down rides
with Captain Milton-his humour was a thrusting one
upon the flat-and whisper to him under the baleful
glances of Miss Nellie O'Brien, who had considered
him her property a month before. It was something
when hounds were at fault to have an admiring circle
about you, even if every one talked a little loudly and
forgot they had come to hunt. Malone's hirelings
were docile and well-mannered, well fed, and keen to
go; they were charming rides after the eccentricities of
Gog and The Star. Yet, had they known it, there were
many of the Ballydare people who found it difficult


206
Three Girls and a Hermit
not to be kind. Eva's gentle face was a winning
one; there was no look of the barmaid ancestry
hinted at by Mrs. Vereker in her quiet bearing,
and if Moira talked too much she too looked like
a lady, and was charmingly pretty. But the cruel
poisoned tongue had done its work. There was no
hope of hunting in Cloneen wood. So Violet
Vereker rode from group to group, commencing to
talk about some trivial thing, and ending up with
the Considines.
“ These little adventuresses come husband-hunting
--this to Mrs. O'Brien, who had three daughters and
wanted no rivals—"sparing no pains to find one,
with the soldiers there all day and half the night
bridge-playing, larking ; some men are caught by that
kind of thing. The sooner, dear Mrs. O'Brien, we
show them they will be wise to leave Ballydare the
better. They'll soon go when they find no one asks
them out."
“There is that Miss Considine making such a row,
but one cannot marvel. I hear, poor things, their
mother was a barmaid.” This to Lady Keene, who,
having been an actress herself in her younger days,
was desperately particular as to the blueness of her
friends' blood. “In a regular brawl the other night
at the theatre, down at that Town Hall among the
roughs in ball dresses! Can you imagine it! Covered
with sham jewels, no doubt. They forced my poor
Dennis to go with them, and he got injured de-
fending them. You won't ask them out, will you,
dear ?"
Then going from girl to girl, rallying them
pleasantly. They must look to their laurels now.


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 207
Those pretty Miss Considines were absorbing all
the men.
No one seemed able to resist them; the
Ballydare young ladies would be nowhere at any
dances this year. Until every girl, tingling wrath-
fully, determined that her mother should ignore these
interlopers.
Mrs. Vereker was a power in the county; she
would drive these girls from it. Sitting up straight
in her saddle, her handsome face thickly veiled,
Mrs. Vereker's cold eyes were often upon Moira.
To the depth of a resentful nature she hated the girl,
and she could not tell why. Some blind instinct,
some fury of jealousy without base or foundation,
seemed to whip her on. Eva she disliked for Dennis's
sake, feared lest a weak boy should escape her and be
tempted into a foolish entanglement; but Moira's
bright face stirred every evil instinct in her soul.
And Moira, catching the grey eyes fixed upon her,
often wondered on her part. The lost note in her
memory
had not been found. Where had she seen
the perfect features, the cold beauty, before? Why,
when she looked, did she think of the Hermit, his face
set in sadness ? She, too, could not tell what made
Mrs. Vereker so interesting to her.
This cold-shouldering of the county had another
evil effect. Lesser lights, who should not have dared
to approach, were now clamouring for friendship.
Mrs. Hartigan, the contractor's wife, had called the
day before, flaunted her new country residence before
them, and bidden them to tea and a hidden-treasure
contest. Miss Geoghar, whose seat on a horse went
.
east and west, while her tie went north and south, had
long hoped to know what she called “the military."


208 Three Girls and a Hermit
An acquaintance with the Considines would lead her
to her ambition. So she sidled up, smiling, tipping
her poor galled horse with a cane, and promising that
“me mamma” would call upon the morrow; while
Cornelius, her brother, was now quite devoted to
Eva. “There's lots of things we might do," gushed
Miss Geoghan sweetly. “We play bridge at home
now, though, indeed, mamma is apt to revoke, and
we have diabolo, an' we'd be delighted to see you."
Moira accepted the kindness with reserve. Inex-
perienced as she was, she recognised the fact that
Miss Clara Geoghan was not of her world.
The bustle of the woodland hunt was over at last,
the squelching along wet roads and brushing through
tangle of lacing boughs came to an end. One little
cub who had never left his great leafy home was
hunted down and killed. They jogged away, heads
bobbing at the hound trot, which, slow as it seems,
eats up the miles so quickly.
“ Malone says this is Tulla gorse, and we are sure of
a hunt.” Kathleen came cantering up, little Jim Crow
all alert and wiry, arching his neck to her light hand,
using himself as if curbs and splints and knocks and
old strains were merely spurs to his ambition.
says there are woeful great banks”—Kathleen pointed
to the high green fences—" but you can put these two
at anything, and be sure of getting over." Moira rode
the black which favoured its foremost legs. Eva was
on the hasty grey.
The gorse was on a hillside, dark patches on a
swelling green slope ; light sunshine touched it as they
came up, turning the gorse to silvery green, making
the gorse bushes more brilliant in their dark-hued


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 209
Tulla gorse. It was here old James had come to and
heard the jilted man ride up and speak hot words to
Mrs. Vereker. Had she quite forgotten it? Moira looked
ahead at the straight, slender back, heard the hard,
cold voice speaking to Dennis, who rode beside his
mother. Was there no memory of that old day, and
the young fiery heart she had murdered? Was it
Moira's fancy, or did she see the strong hands tighten
suddenly on the reins? Did a spasm of pain contract
the handsome face as it was raised to look at the
covert ? Moira was riding close.
No fancy: twenty-two years had not dimmed the
bitterness of the words Mrs. Vereker had heard
then.
“We shall find here, I think,” she said to her son.
“ Sure to." Dennis turned his tinted nose round.
"Who was it was talking to-day of the great run
they had from here years ago, right across by Knock,
up the Dirk hills, and killed in the open running into
Durris ? Four finished, and some fellow was nearly
killed. Twenty years ago now.”
“Twenty-two. The year I married. Yes, I remember
the run. I finished it one of the four.” Mrs. Vereker's
complexion seemed borrowed now from her favourite
marble figures.
“ And the chap who was hurt? He was riding
mad, old Knox told me, at wire or some awful
place."
“ The Castle Crin bounds fence. He was a stranger
here.” They left the road, and horses cantered up the
field.
Moira, listening, had caught the ring of pain in
Mrs. Vereker's voice. She did remember, then.
14


210
Three Girls and a Hermit
Crash. Hounds dashed in to covert, gluttons for
blood, no scampers of their work; they could find as
well as drive.
They're at him.” A low note ran its thrill of
electricity through the waiting field. Another and
another : there was scent in the long patch of
gorse.
“Oh ! look at him, look.” Oblivious of the Master's
importance, Kathleen had crept close to Donough
Moroney; her fingers in her excitement suddenly
gripped his elbow. He turned, looking into the eager,
pretty face, his own very thoughtful.
“Quiet-quiet,” he said, and smiled quietly. The
fox had leapt up upon the bank and turned back
again.
Quiet-quiet, every one, stand still. Don't say a
word.” A daring fox who meant to go his own way,
stepping out right among the horses' legs, threading
his quick way among the crowd until he reached the
bank edging the field they stood in, and whisked over
it. Hounds drove out on his brush, making the echoes
ring. He must travel now to save his life.
“ One moment. Give them time." Donough
Moroney held the field back. Then, “ Come along,
.
little lady,” he said, turning to Kathleen. And, un-
aware of the fact that he never spoke to a woman out
hunting, she urged Jim Crow in his tracks.
The black hireling might favour his foremost legs ;
the grey be a trifle hasty ; but they were hunters,
both of them; it was Moira's and Eva's first experi-
ence of riding good horses. Moira's heart rose as
the black, without flounder or check, charged lightly
on the first narrow bank, and was away; no half


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 211
refusals, no mad fly landing him in the ditch outside.
Narrow fences, or big walls, or ditches, he was good
at them all. Hounds were driving ahead, racing each
other for the lead, never at fault, running mute now
across the dry, sound pastures. Their point was a little
wood some four miles away, a wood where foxes had
beaten them before, for there were rabbit holes, which
no man could stop, and hounds seemed to know of.
They would have blood, if they could, before they got
there. It was not a long hunt, but one to live for, across
sound land, with perfect, sound fences to be jumped.
The wind rushed against heated faces, the good horses
strode ahead, unfaltering, seeming to know by instinct
where to put their feet, even where the still leafy
bramble vines laced across the ditches. Moira's light
weight was nothing to the hireling. He carried her
well to the front, close to the straining pack, until her
eyes were alight with the joy of it all. A little to the
left was the Master riding his mare hard, and close to
him, pumped, but gallant still, little Jim Crow carrying
Kathleen.
All but the well-bred ones might say good-bye to
this hunt; the veriest glutton for pace must have been
satisfied.
There was a minute's welcome check as cattle foiled
the line, only a minute, but it sufficed to allow some
clever people who knew a friendly road, and had ridden
upon it, to come up-one of them Captain Milton,
who, it appeared, had been the victim of shocking
luck. He had stopped in the first field to catch a
loose horse, and been obliged then to race hard for
his place. His horse was, he said, a marvel to have
caught them.
a


212
Three Girls and a Hermit
Old Melody had it; they had not lost much time.
"And the Dunmore bank has to be taken," said
Moroney, with the aspect of a nurse who tempts her
charges to eat pills. "It'll settle a few of us now,
with our horses dead-beat."
The bank towered before them high and narrow,
thickly grown with bush-grass, and with, apparently-
as Dennis Vereker, taking it first, disappeared from
sight-a chasm outside. Moroney's long-tailed mare
raced at it, springing up easily; flying off and beside
him with a mighty bound came the redoubtable Jim
Crow. "He's a fizzer!" said the Master quickly, look-
ing back. "An' if I was down I was dead," he added
gloomily. Dennis Vereker and his mother were over.
Moira dashed down at it, Milton by her side.
"Go
first," she said, with the selfishness of the novice;
"it looks rotten there."
Milton looked at her eager face, and looked longer
at the towering fence.
"I've dropped my cigarette-case," he said, just as
the black hireling sprang upwards gallantly, gathered
his feet on the narrow, slippery top, and jumped out
across the huge ditch. Moira, looking round with a
gasp, saw no more of Captain Milton.
Mrs. Vereker's big bay was showing signs of
distress, falling in his stride, lathering; and it seemed
fate once more that as the hounds broke from scent
to view with a sudden mad chorus of triumph,
Malone's black hireling should stride past the high-
priced weight-carrier, beating him for pace.
The sun shone out, touching the world to gold.
It was glory for all save the poor tired fox, straining
his failing limbs to reach the haven so near him.


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 213
Yet the end, as his heart seemed bursting and his
body lead, was swift and merciful. A wave of pied
death closed upon him-one last brave snarl, an
impotent snap, as Melody and Merriment closed
upon him, then a little tattered brown thing, which
had raced for life and lost it. Men flung themselves
from panting horses; the tail, the ever-happy tail,
which is content to gallop in each other's tracks and
never see a hound, came straggling up. They had
avoided the well-known bank, getting round by a
longer way.
Milton, swearing at his cigarette-case, appeared
with them. Yet in quiet tones, away from the others,
he described to Moira how his horse had jumped the
mighty fence as though it were a mere stone-gap.
"She's a wonder," he said, patting the mare's wet
neck.
Malone, whose youngster had put him down three
times, appeared at this moment. His hat was broken,
he was plastered with mud, and absolutely happy.
“The four-year-old,” he declared, "was worthy of
any man."
Milton, getting off, was unwise enough to scoff at
the muddy coat and again to praise his own brown
mare. It so happened that he wanted to sell her.
Malone, now stroking the grey four-year-old, said,
“ Surely the brown was a grand mare entirely. And,
God's providence, she has thim fine, hard feet on
her," he added thoughtfully, looking pensively at
the road, along which several late arrivals were still
coming
Milton assumed the hue of a red rose, and turned
muttering away.


214
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
“But—he couldn't help being late ; he stopped to
catch a horse," said Moira, expostulating.
“ 'Twas handy for him," said Malone dryly.
"Mighty handy."
Miss Clara Geoghan, appearing coyly, furthered
her hopes of friendship by saying, “'Twas a grand
hunt altogether. And I could see Moira dashin'
like the wind ahead of them all."
Miss Geoghan's smiling face represented the heart
of a beet in colour; her tie was now adjusted at the
back of her neck, and her black curls fell limply across
a streaming brow. But her smile was never-ending ;
it curved her lips with a determination more wearing
than tears. With a further promise as to “me
mamma's” visit, and some allusion to a taste of a
sore back the little horse had from the roller in his
stable, she rode off homewards.
“An' her father servin' in his own shop five years
back," said Malone easily. “There's changes in the
times, Miss Moira, since me
mamma was
young."
Eva, whose hasty grey had not proved quite fast
enough, was talking to Dennis. She was sheltered
by a thorn hedge, and Mrs. Vereker had gone out
upon the road to seek luncheon, so that for the
moment he was safe.
Eva, whose mind was fully innocent of anything
except kindness, asked him to come and see them.
Dennis peered round the thorn hedge, and promised
dubiously for Saturday. The pretty face drew him when
he was with it; his fear of his mother's anger cooled
his love when he was at home. Weak, vacillating, he
scarcely knew which way he wanted to choose to go.
"
<
own


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 215
"
His boy's fancy had been touched, but his mother's
will, iron and dominant, governed him more completely
than any light love he could feel.
“I'll come soon,” he said uncertainly. “When I
can get away."
Eva, smiling a little at his anxious glances, realised
the situation. It was only to Moira that the red-
faced boy was haloed about with the world's riches
and the splendour of his country home.
“I am afraid your nose caused you some trouble,"
she said with a smile.
Dennis stroked the tinted feature regretfully,
thought of his mother's furious entrance to his room
with the Ballydare paper in her hand, and said it
undoubtedly had.
“We ought not to have gone,” he burst out petu-
lantly." It was ridiculous of us. Just a place for the
town crowd. Nice joke it was for me next day,
especially as I told my mother I was dining at
barracks."
"I scarcely see the necessity for that,” said Eva,
quietly contemptuous, riding out to join the now
moving crowd. As many of such brilliant beginnings,
the day wound to a disappointing close. It clouded
over, a thin cold rain fell steadily, drifting down coat
collars, soaking into knees and elbows, until riders
and horses were chilled and depressed-at Crew-
church, the next draw, a ringing fox led them in
ceaseless circles, until the fences were scarred from
pounding hoofs, and broken and crumbled into slimy
gaps—the kind of evening when one takes a really
bad fall over a fence you have jumped safely five
times, and then feel a fool for having done it,


216
Three Girls and a Hermit
It was a long ride back to Ballydare when all was
over; they left their fox in the darkness, having
beaten them by his cowardly tactics. They were
tired from the morning's good gallop; the black hire-
ling moved stiffly, and the grey was a little lame.
Perfect as the horses had been, the three guineas to
be paid for them now gathered to a mountainous sum.
Aunt Martha's legacy was melting over fast, and the
great return they had expected was growing dim and
nebulous. The sky was grey and dreary, lines of
dark hedges looming faintly against the evening
gloom.
Two girls who got stiffly from their horses in the
yard at The Beeches were depressed and unhappy, and
it was only little Kathleen who sang as she went in,
trilling in a tuneful little treble one verse of a hunting
song.
"There's the Master in boots," lilted Kathleen, until
Moira, who felt the "Dead March" in Saul would be
far more to her mood, grumpily inquired if they
thought he would go out in slippers, and also that it
was the doctor, and so stopped the song.
James Dunne, who had found something else to do,
was plucking plover for their dinner, raining the
feathers down into a sheeny heap of grey and green,
and wondering as he did so that any one should care
to eat them wild birds, when they could get a good
bit of bacon for the money.
"There's substhance in a bit of mate," he said
reproachfully, "an' ye'd know the pig is afther livin'
on good male an' pyates; but thim birds, what flesh
is on thim is just worrums and wather, divil a
ha'porth more."


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 217
The remark made to Moira failed to improve her
appetite. They gathered about the fire after dinner,
as they had done on the night of their arrival, but
without the high hopes which had fired them then.
"What"-Eva poked recklessly at the blazing
coals-"what if, after all, it's a failure, and we go
back to Borrisdeane, all our money gone?" Moira
said sharply that, even if the money was gone, many
things might happen before the winter was over, her
mind's eye travelling as she spoke to Castle Knock.
"When The Star fattens again, I shall get all I hoped
to for her," she asserted stoutly, " and so will you for
Gog, Eva."
"When his legs go down," said Eva dolefully.
"It's very well to feel hopeful, Moira; but I really
believe the Hermit was right after all, and we should
have stayed quietly at Borrisdeane."
"Oh, bother the Hermit," stormed Moira, and went
to bed.
The day's hunt unfortunately bore fruit in the
arrival next day of Mrs. and the Misses Geoghan,
driving an old brown horse in what they called the
"phayeeton."
The two young women, the second a buxom maiden
of some twenty-two years, who was called Baby Julia
and wore her hair down her back in a fat and be-
ribboned pigtail, were even fuzzier as to fringes and
ties than they were out hunting.
They introduced "me mamma" effusively, but with
a visible desire to repress that lady from all speech.
They admired everything they saw, and kept restless
eyes upon the window for the arrival of the officers
they desired to meet.


218
Three Girls and a Hermit
Now, the Considines lacked the experience to snub
these unwelcome visitors. With no absolute certainty
of the Geoghans' social standing, they did not like to
be unkind to any one in a new county. Perhaps
people here were different; so they accepted the gush
and praise as a welcome change from the iciness of
Mrs. Vereker, and were even led into a promise of
visiting Bracken Hall on the following Friday for a
little party of tea and games.
Baby Julia announced proudly that they played
bridge. She had won threepence last Wednesday
week. Also diabolo - Here she stopped sud-
denly.
Then the visitors suddenly grew cheerier, and
settled down for the afternoon. Captain Milton
and Mr. Cromartin were announced. Now at last
they could meet and invite the military.
And diabolo," went on Miss Baby Julia, after
they had inclined their touzled heads to the intro-
duction. "Did y' ever play it now, Captain? The
queer kind of game it is. The spool was like to
whip the nose from me lasht Sunday. Miss Clara
said 'twas the price of me for missin' Mass."
Moira and Eva found themselves talking to "me
mamma," who was exceedingly timid and only dis-
cursive, for some hidden reason, on the subject of
turkeys and the respective merits of single and
double breasts ; while Clara and Baby Julia plunged
in the joys of ardent flirtation, as expressed by ex-
pressive eyes, giggles, tosses of touzled heads, and
many "Now, Captain, d'ye say so? Ah, go on with
your nonsense now, turning Baby's head," and so
forth.


The Hirelings and the Geoghans 219
It is to be feared that the drawing out of the
Miss Geoghans was entirely to Milton's taste. A
nicer man would have let them alone ; he proposed
to make the mess roar that night as he described
them. They ate their tea coyly, with crooked little
fingers and a lavish use of pocket-handkerchiefs on
their laps.
“The greased destroy you,” Baby Julia remarked
as she engaged on a hot cake.
An invitation for Friday was accepted by Milton
and declined by Cromartin, who had come to talk
over the hunt and not flirt with the Geoghans. His
mental resolve was not to come again if he met these
people.
The Geoghan girls waxed discursive and far too
lively. Miss Clara was embalmed in alluring giggles,
and tried to wrest Baby Julia's conquest from her,
which, that young lady resenting, there was very
nearly a distinct quarrel when it came to "the
captain” helping them on with their cloaks ; Miss
Clara finally succeeding, by right of age, in receiving
his aid. Baby Julia, huffily getting into hers alone,
retaliated by sweetly saying, “She'd have to hunt
alone next meet, for Clara" (she pronounced it
“ Claara") “had the withers worn out of the grey
mare. The poor animal'd bow to the ground with
the pain if you lay a hand on her," said Baby Julia
plaintively, and avoiding her sister's baleful eye.
“Isn't Claara misfortunate, Captain, the way she sits
skew ways on a horse ?"
Eva looked thoughtful when the visitors had all
left.
"Surely we ought not to know those people,” shę
9)
»


220
Three Girls and a Hermit
said.
"They are very impossible, even if other
people will have none of us."
"They talk of a big place; they've got horses, and
hunt. I suppose they are all right," said Moira
dubiously; "one cannot be uncivil to people in a
strange place."
"And there is that red-headed brother who haunts
me," said Eva; "if we go there it will be worse. Oh,
I wish the Hermit was here; he would know."
"It's always the Hermit," said Moira crossly, and
going away.


CHAPTER XIII
A GAY AFTERNOON
THE
HE Dare, running smoothly and decorously
through the little town of Ballydare, breaks
to a riot of beauty just below it, swirls past wooded
banks, over mossy rocks, round little islands. The
Considines, having done a morning's shopping, walked
on by the well-worn path and sat down at last, lost
in watching the river. November as it was, leaves
still clothed many of the trees ; leaves afire with
autumn's glory. The river seemed to run on end-
lessly to the grey skies; smooth flow of deep green in
the shadows, with just a dimple of movement on its
surface, until suddenly the jutting rocks churned it
into foam ; then a roar of troubled waters, a froth of
white and translucent brown, all among the slabs of
stone, until again it broadened to a wide lake of silver-
grey and green and brown, stately now, gliding
proudly, with an island, leaf-jewelled, set in its midst.
There were no floods as yet ; the rocks were to be
seen, russet brown, deepening to dull red if a gleam
of sun touched them, spotted with green where the
stones had stayed dry through the summer. And
always the murmur, the endless whisper of the waters,
a
221


222
Three Girls and a Hermit
as they passed, as human lives slipping to the sea of
eternity. Sunshine, and the river woke to it, Aung
out its limbs to the golden finger, rippled joyously,
its foam white as wool; then the sky would darken,
the wind come chilly with a moan of rain in its
breath, and the river, ever changeful, melted to cold
tints, till the white foam leapt, bitter white, against
the grey-black of the water.
Eva—the early winter day was warm as summer
in the shelter of the trees-sat with her face on her
hand, her thoughts far away. Moira's were nearer
.
home.
Nothing was as it should be. No part of this trip
had turned out as she had hoped. The Star had
come out again, but sickness had not broken her
spirits ; she had flown her banks and fallen into
ditches with as much resolution as
ever. Then,
growing a little blown, had refused resolutely, and all
but brained a friendly countryman who came to beat
her over.
“If I was a foot nearer I'd be
a dead
corpse
walking home this night,” he said with some
asperity. “Ye'd see the white ov her eye comin'
round to measure the distance, an' then she let out
for me head. Wait a while now till I gets to me
cyart."
He retreated to the road for his whip, and The
Star tasted the bitter fruits of retaliation, practised
by an enemy who could keep out of striking distance.
With a scream of rage she jumped at last, but this
kind of thing did not keep one in a run. Moira,
getting out on to a road, saw the hunt sweep over
a hill two miles away. The Star was scarred by


A Gay Afternoon
223
the lash, and in a furious temper. She reared at
the next cross-roads, declining to follow a track
which would have led her near the hounds. With
a certainty, cold as ice and clear as crystal, Moira
realised that her purchase would never make a
hunter. As for Gog, one could always see him at
least two fields behind every one else, pounding
away steadily.
This failure resulted in another day's hiring, and
consequently a further payment of three guineas to
the smiling Malone. The Star again suffered from
neurasthenia, and utterly declined food.
Patsy, now a pronounced misanthrope, said she was
as bad as a woman to manage, and spent his days
proffering her cunning mixtures of bran and flaxseed
tea and crushed oats, which she generally upset all
over him.
Horses were not all; there was the social point of
view. The Geoghans were very easy to get to know
and very difficult to get rid of. The Considines'
house at tea-time meant that they would meet the
military, so, Baby Julia and Miss Clara-never called
Miss Geoghan, because there was an elder sister,
now in a convent-ran in at all hours. Now they
came with books, now with messages from mamma;
and neither Eva nor Moira was strong-minded enough
to send them away.
Mrs. Haviland's kindness was not proof against
constant meeting of Geoghans. She ceased coming
so often ; the nicer men, too, stayed away, and
only the younger ones who liked to lark with
Clara and Baby Julia filled the little drawing-
room.


224
Three Girls and a Hermit
"Moira "-Eva raised her head and pulled out a
cheque and account-book-" how much money do
you think we've spent?"
I suppose over two
"The Star, and Gog, and Jim Crow "-Moira cal-
culated rapidly-" and the rent.
hundred pounds, Eva."
"Nearer five," said Eva quietly; "over four,
certainly. I can't keep it down. The horses seem
to swallow hay and straw and oats wholesale; for
Patsy says what The Star doesn't eat she spills; and
there was the rent and saddles and clothes and
practically new stables. Aunt Maria's legacy
will barely see us through the winter, Moira, and
then. . . . And then if the horses are not sold,
well-a return to Borrisdeane, plus our new saddles,
habits, and many new dresses, and minus
income of thirty pounds, which would have done
much to keep us. It is really appalling." Eva
put away her books.
"Money just flies here. I
paid ten pounds to Callaghan, the grocer, to-
day. I paid fifteen for forage. Oh, Moira, why
didn't we listen to the Hermit, and why isn't he
here?"
"He'd just croak all day," said Moira gruffly.
Then her ever-hopeful fancy leapt to the sunshine of
the future. Was Eva blind not to see that all would
have been well spent if she and Dennis Vereker were
married? They could stay with her every winter;
hunt from there. Eva would be so rich, she could
help them.
"You never look at the bright side," said Moira
buoyantly. "Wait until I get The Star fat; wait
until-
She nodded a wise head. "We must


A Gay Afternoon
225
(6
succeed. I'm not going back to Borrisdeane to have
the Hermit triumphing at me.”
“He won't be there," said Eva. Biddy heard last
night. The Hermit is going away.”
Oh-h,” said Moira slowly.
He had said so himself, but Moira had scarcely
believed it. The river seemed to grow colder, to
menace her with grim, black waters. No Hermit to
quarrel with The old white house shut up; the
woods perhaps preserved by some strangers. The
boom of the heavy sea sounded in her ears, she could
smell the salt wind, and the peat, and heather ; see
the dim looming hills which they had passed by to
gain the world. And they called to her—these
things. The waters of the lake had never menaced
her there. There were no fears about money in
those old peaceful days. Aunt Maria provided, and
they were clothed and fed.
There were always
chickens, and eggs, and milk, and they seemed to
want but little more.
Moira sighed deeply; even her buoyant tem-
perament was not proof against these thoughts.
Then, feeling thus, she grew angry and burst
into one of her old day-dreams-of all it was to
see life, and what they would make of the horses,
and countless other things which she knew not to
be true.
“I wonder”—Eva got up, for it was time to go
home_“I wonder, Moira, if the Geoghans, and
Captain Milton, and all the row we make are quite
life. I often wonder.”
Moira stumped off with her pretty nose in the air.
“ Don't forget there are people coming for bridge,"
15


226
Three Girls and a Hermit
was
))
she said. “Have you ordered sardines for sand-
wiches, and soda water, and whisky, and every-
thing?"
Eva observed somewhat peevishly that she had
done so.
Also that they owed Captain Milton
fifteen shillings, and she must cash a small cheque
and not forget to pay him.
On their way back through the town they met
Dennis Vereker. He was alone, and immediately
suggested walking back with them. Moira's spirits
flew to fever point. She raced to the butcher's for
chops, and fled home first, moving Biddy to extreme
anger by her demand for cutlets and sweets at a
moment's notice.
“ There
a bit of cold turkey," she said.
“ That should have been enough for ye all. I
declare, I might as well be cook for a regiment."
Here she directed James Dunne, who, needless to
say, had turned up for his dinner, to beat eggs
and boil milk, and wished, with all the fervour of
her lonely old soul, that they were back again at
Borrisdeane.
“I'd rather have the old missus scoldin' me," she
said, as she bustled, “than all the fine things I have
to do here."
The party at the Geoghans' had fallen through,
been adjourned to that afternoon. Baby Julia wished
to make a finer affair of it than they had intended
to at first, and they dressed with the faintly bitter
knowledge that it was, so far, the only entertain-
ment they had put on their plumes and silken
skirts for
The roan horse had to be hired, for one could


A Gay Afternoon
227
not walk through the mud, and he elected to-
day to stop but once, choosing the chance to
upset an unsuspecting fat woman going home from
market, who vanished backwards over a low bank,
screaming to the Virgin with all the strength of
her lungs.
Bracken Hall did not lack pretension. It was a
big, square house, painted a lively red, with a great
stucco porch disfiguring it, a species of white spot of
eczema on an over-coloured face. Greenhouses had
been put on off the drawing-room, safely excluding
all fresh air, and admitting a soothing reek of wet
mould and steam. There never seemed to be any
flowers. Baby Julia told them the gardener was
always after the horses, which perhaps was the
reason.
Milton and Cromartin had promised to meet
them. They were asked into a wide hall, chiefly
adorned with moth-eaten pieces of foxes, and
hung with oleographs, and, having had their
names blared forth by the maid, who, in her
haste, had forgotten to remove some of her leaden
hair-curlers, they came upon a motley gathering
of finely dressed young women, and straggling
youths with bright ties, who hailed from various
offices.
Tea was magnificent. Baby Julia and Clara had
studied papers for the week. They had read that
sandwiches were smart ; and there were piles of them,
thick and solid, beef and chicken and ham, with
smears of mustard and chutney. Milton took one,
and said, “My God” to himself several times. There
was tea and champagne-Papa Geoghan did not


228
Three Girls and a Hermit
lack money and gaudily iced cakes, very fine without
and dry within.
Baby was a vision in pale green silk, and open-
work stockings which did not match. Clara was in
blue. Their moment of triumph dawned when they
saw the two soldiers come in.
There was a game after tea-hidden treasure-
when one took ends of long threads and un-
entangled them hurriedly to gain a prize for the
first completed-very fine prizes: a silver box
and a cigarette case. Much ingenuity had marked
the winding of those threads. They were tied
round banisters, and under rugs, about chairs; and
one scrambled, and unwove, and collided with
fellow-strugglers, sometimes on one's knees and
sometimes standing. Milton was paired with Clara;
Cornelius, wonderfully clad in green flannels, with
a gentle line of red in the pattern, of course
took Eva, and was not pleased when, declining
all dual searchings, she merely directed while he
worked, his admiring remarks being curbed by
the necessity of grovelling on his knees for his
thread. Moira received a limp youth, who was
quite devoid of enterprise, and said, "D'ye think
so now? My, my, isn't it troublesome?" as they
came to each tangle. He was hot and tired when
Moira had finished with him.
It was a game
which elicited many squeaks, and "Give over nows,"
and "Have dones," from the finely dressed young
women.
Miss Clara seemed unable to find out anything
unless she poked her tangled head very close to
Milton's. Her squeaks of "Captain, here now. Come


A Gay Afternoon
229
on, Captain, we have it," could be heard above all the
other ones.
Their string, a long one, seemed singularly easy
to unravel; so much so, that they were miles ahead
of every one, when Baby Julia, appearing radiantly
with Cromartin behind her, proudly held out the
little knot which announced they had reached the
end.
We have it won,” she said, smiling.
Miss Clara, on her knees by the curtain, arose in
sudden wrath-she was just winding in her knot of
red thread.
“I declare to heavens you broke it, Baby Julia,"
she declared furiously as she rose ; and Baby Julia
said nothing. But the light of triumph in her eyes
was not a holy one. Their announcement that all
the others must try on, as they themselves would
not take the ladies' prize, kept the room busy.
Tempers grew thin in the scramble, and the fine
young women grew less fine as they toiled for
victory.
“ That's me string, Miss Casey, if you please. 'Tis
unfair, I tell you. I had me hand on the chair as
you pulled it from me. Ah! Oh, hurry, Mr. Quin,
what use are you at all ? "
Moira had so terrified her limp youth that his
eyes seemed possessed of second sight; they were
an easy third, and she received the silver box as
her reward.
More champagne and sandwiches were necessary
after this, flanked this time by the appearance of
papa himself with a steaming bowl of punch, which
he pressed upon his guests.


230
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ The only thing for the stomach," he said genially,
“after champagne."
Papa would take no refusal ; he selected the two
soldiers as special recipients of his hospitality,
until Milton's nose warmed to a fiery hue, and his
tales of prowess with hound and gun grew with
each sip.
arm
“Do, my
Baby Julia, the light of triumph still gleaming in
her eyes, appeared at Moira's side. She affected
a girlish friendship, and squeezed Moira's
playfully.
“ Have a drop of punch, now,” she said.
dear Miss Considine. Wasn't it fun?” she added.
“Wasn't Clara fit to be tied ? You see, she had it
all settled for herself and the captain to win ; for the
red string wasn't tied anywhere, only wound about a
while. But I was up to her, and I sent Mr. Cromartin
away for a candle, pretending I couldn't see one
place, and I whipped out me scissors and cut the
whole thing, and told him then I'd got the end found.
Clara won't come over me so easy," said the Baby,
tossing her tangled head, and sipping punch.
“ Aren't they lovely men, the military?" she added
in a whisper, her eyes fixed upon Milton, who, rapidly
melting to a backboneless benevolence, and taking
more punch to reduce it, was now informing Miss
Clara, papa, and a circle of young ladies, how, when
hunting in Leicestershire, he had crossed a river in
flood, his horse changing on a coal barge in the
centre, and left the whole field behind. Even the
hounds, it would appear, had crossed by a bridge.
Cromartin, with anxious eyes, was endeavouring to
remove his senior officer.


A Gay Afternoon
231
>
a
It was time for all to say good-bye. Surrounded
by loving Geoghans, who invited themselves to
tea, and made many arrangements for unbroken
friendship, the Considines were at last allowed to
depart.
At their last sight of Captain Milton, they observed
that he had got papa by both hands, and was pressing
him to dine at mess next day-every day-hospitality
was not confined to Irishmen.
“Yes, he must come—immediately, and he'd tell
him about a hunt.”
"Oh, for God's sake, come away,” said Cromartin,
wheeling his captain round and piloting him to the
fresh air, where he sat upon the steps of a carriage,
and groaned because the sandwiches had disagreed
with him.
“The punch disagreed with you," said Cromartin,
with bitterness, as papa, speeding the parting guest,
withdrew his bald pate, and remarked that the English
hadn't the heads of feathers. “A few glasses of
champagne, and a few spoons of good punch," said
papa indignantly. "I declare I'd only be getting
thirsty on that same, and the captain is outside with
the place wheeling round him.”
Moira and Eva fled hurriedly, their first ideas of
offering sympathy being cut short by Cromartin's
last terse remark.
" It-it must have been the sandwiches," said
Moira, as they got on to the car ; and the roan horse
ran backwards with praiseworthy energy. Having
taken several chips out of the stucco porch, he
elected to start at a gallop, striking the carriage
which Milton still sat on with a jar which brought


232
Three Girls and a Hermit
own.
that gentleman to his sulky feet, still denouncing
the sandwiches.
“ Bad,” he said unevenly, “raw ham. Ptomaine
poisoning. See doctor."
"Punch poisoning,” said Cromartin, with emphasis.
“There was a bottle of Chartreuse in it, and another
of brandy. I saw him put them in.”
No
one felt very well after the Geoghans'
party.
The constant need for the roan horse inspired
James Dunne with the idea that it would not be
a bad thing for his young ladies to have one of their
He could, he thought, easily convert a tumble-
down shed into another stable, and a friend of his had
a black five-year old which would be the very thing.
The details of trap and harness did not trouble him.
He made his suggestion the morning after the
Geoghans' party, and it was backed up ten minutes
later by the arrival of a black horse, driven in a
yellow dogcart which had forgotten what paint
looked like.
Eva's protests as to not wanting a trapper were
drowned for a time.
" The grandest sthepper he is, as gentle as a lamb."
Dundon, the owner, drove the black about the little
lawn with loose reins and a trusting air.
be lookin' Ireland for his like in harness. I did but
plough and car him, but whin James here tould me,
I was away next morning to me uncle's first cousin,
that I knew had a fine thrap. An' then, Denny
O'Hagan bein' dead, it just suited, for we wint off to
the funeral, an’ while the corpse was waitin' in the
chapel, meself an' a couple of fellows dhruv up an'
“ Ye might


A Gay Afternoon
233
a
"
down the road to see if the horse would be fit for
a lady."
Even this burst of eloquence was in vain. Eva
could not see her way to more purchases of horse-
flesh. Moreover, even her unsuspicious eyes saw
marks upon its knees, and doubted the soundness
of a hind leg ; she was more sceptical than when
she purchased the mighty Gog.
James Dunne, on observing her disfavour, veered
with the swiftness of a weathercock, rested a suddenly
keen vision on several defects, and whispered advice
concerning the advisability of sticking to the roan
hireling.
“Sure, afther all, if he did hurt ye, he's not
yer own,” said James wisely. “Ye wouldn't have
to sell him aftherwards, an' that's a great matther."
He engaged in a whispered conversation with
Dundon, in which it is to be feared that his wish to
please made him cast many aspersions on the lack
of judgment possessed by young ladies. A "glass"
was offered, and swallowed with unwinking and
unwatered joy by the black's owner, and Eva went
back to the fire.
Biddy, laden with coal, was making it up, and
grumbling at the cost. “Ye'd want a well o gould
down here, Miss Eva," said the old woman unhappily.
“ 'Tisn't at all like Borrisdeane; an' there's not one of
ye enjoying yerselves but little Miss Kathleen. I saw
her yesterday evenin' walking up the street with the
dogs' masther, as happy as ye plaze—an' a quare little
atom of a man he is, too.” Biddy, with grimy black
fingers, reft a letter from the bosom of her shawl.
“ Misther Tremayne's gone," she said. “I had a
9
")


234
Three Girls and a Hermit
letter this mornin'; James read it to me." This
suggested that James was again a visitor for dinner,
and had possibly come to breakfast. "He's away
from Borrisdeane, Miss Eva; left there three days
ago--he and his man-and no one knows whin
he'll be back. Vo! Vo! 'tis bad times," said Biddy
sadly; "an' old Strawberry goin' to have her calf
in February, too! Oh! Miss Eva, if I could be
back to milk her. That was milk there; not the
stuff ye gets here. Oh! Miss Eva, if we could but
go home."
"I imagine," said Eva grimly, "that we shall go
there soon, Biddy, riding the horses because we can't
afford to pay for the tickets."
"Glory be to God," said Biddy. "Ye wouldn't get
me upon one, Miss Eva."
A visit from Captain Milton and Baby Geoghan
filled up the afternoon. Miss Clara was out at a
party.
"Fairly mad she is, my dear," babbled Baby Julia,
with innocent joy. "She had her mind made up,
Captain, for you to win the case, went down an' bought
it, and asked the price of initials, no less; and indeed,
I got behind you over it when she wouldn't let me
and you hunt together."
Here Baby Julia's smile was wide enough to have
swallowed a whole continent of hearts, and the rattle
of jewellery was as the clinking of curb-chains at a
meet.
"You were off too early," added the Baby. "We
had the rugs up, and set a tune on the musical-box
and danced till eleven. Oh! 'twas great fun alto-
gether. Signs by, 'twasn't all as we'd like, for


A Gay Afternoon
235
Maggie Dayly reddened Denny Quin's face with
the smack she gave him when he kissed her on the
stairs; and he came to papa, near to agony. When
you'd go as far as that, you might let clouting
alone,” said Julia philosophically, her beaming eyes
on Milton.
That gentleman, rather depressed by his over-
enjoyment of punch, had come to suggest taking
Moira down to a meet of the Cloneen staghounds
next day. They would go and come back by train,
and he would lend her a horse. Villiers and
Cromartin were going, possibly the Havilands. It
would be great fun, and a ride over a glorious
country
“ And lots of it on the road," said Baby Julia
irrelevantly, but the tail of her beaming eye dwelt
on Milton.
“I went once, and we pasted the roads
all day. I wore the hoof off papa's grey colt-
and, oh, papa "-her tongue was irrepressible-
"papa hopes he didn't knock the head off you
with the punch, Captain. It's a way he has of
making it strong, if you wouldn't be used to it.
Jimmy Mack said you were sitting on the carriage
steps."
With extreme stiffness and a high colour, Captain
Milton remarked that the sandwiches had disagreed
with him and made him giddy. He was still,
he said, quite afraid that something had been
wrong.
“Not a blessed thing," said the Baby, too young to
see how she had put her foot in it.
“ The meat was
from Donovan's, and he only kills papa's and Lord
Clargrainey's."
»
a


236
Three Girls and a Hermit
Milton thought that a man may desire to murder a
buxom young woman with touzled hair and inviting
eyes. He took tea with offended dignity, and devoted
himself to Moira, talking of the morrow. Bluebeard,
his horse, would carry her splendidly; they would
have a great day. Moira was carried away by the
idea, and oblivious of the effect which Baby Julia
had upon Mrs. Haviland when she came to call
once again.
The fat lady froze to a social iceberg, beaten
about on all sides by the steel-proof prow of
Baby Julia's desire for friendship, as that young
person, perceiving nothing wrong, invited the major's
wife to tea, declared she and mamma would call;
and, finally, nearly drove poor Mrs. Haviland
crazy by waiting upon her assiduously when tea
commenced.
The new parlourmaid, it appeared, was a friend
of Baby's, and was hailed by a pleasant "How
are you, Mary?" when the brass tray was
carried in.
"We had that one once," said Julia, as she
dispensed the Considines' hospitality for them;
"but she did papa's evening shoes with black
lead, and gave him sauce when he ate the
face off her, so she had to go. A nice sort
of a girl, too. She can cut the cards finely."
Baby plied Mrs. Haviland with hot cakes and
bread-and-butter, and said, "My, but for a stout
woman you eat nothing!" when her overtures were
declined.
"Isn't it funny, that eating?" she said. "I
could do with a goose, an' there's no flesh on


A Gay Afternoon
237
me; an' there's Claara, that only pecks, draggin'
her stays harder every week not to let on that she's
getting stouter. I declare you'd hear them groaning
often.”
Mrs. Haviland rose, visibly disgusted.
"Some day, when you are alone, my dear,” she
said to Eva, who pressed her to come soon. “ I
am busy at present. To-morrow the Verekers give
their afternoon, and Thursday the Lloyds; Friday's
a hunt, and the Butlers' dinner and dance. It's
quite gay."
Quite gay! and the girls who had come so far for
gaiety were not bidden to anything. Eva grew pink
as she listened; Moira bit her lip. These were the
things they had hoped for-the little back stream
of life which ran at Ballydare--and it was denied
to them. Pretty dresses, plumed hats, languished in
their cardboard prisons-so far, only put on once
or twice.
They don't ask us,” she said with a wry little
smile. “Mrs. Vereker doesn't like us; I don't know
2
why."
Mrs. Haviland looked eloquently at Baby Julia.
She was too mild and kind a woman to say what
was in her mind. She looked also at Eva's semi-
theatrical dress and elaborately tired hair, at the
haze of smoke, the decanters and glasses brought
in after tea, to save Milton the trouble of help-
ing himself in the dining-room, and her lips grew
tighter.
Perhaps Mrs. Vereker was right, and the girls were
fast and foolish by design-a mere bevy of little
adventuresses, come down to seek for a husband from
a


238
Three Girls and a Hermit
the Midshire Regiment. It must, after all, be her
last visit.
“I could come in on a Sunday, if you weren't
busy," said Eva.
Mrs. Haviland regretted—coldly now but she
would be out.
Eva's pink cheeks faded to white ones. She
knew Mrs. Haviland was never out on Sundays,
and she had often gone in there to escape
from the racket in the little drawing-room at
The Beeches. Moira was determined to accept
merriment as life, if she could have nothing else
Noise passed for smartness to an unsophisticated
mind.
As Mrs. Haviland left Dennis Vereker appeared,
and stayed for a short time. He was on his way
home from hunting. Dennis was clearly depressed ;
he stared at Eva in a puzzled way, and stroked
his red face with his hands as he did so. Some
glimmering of the right to decide for himself
which should have been his was evidently troubling
him.
Moira, very pretty in brilliant yellow, with a string
of Aunt Maria's seed pearls about her round throat,
grumbled in undertones to Milton.
"It's his mother," she said, nodding at Dennis.
"From the day we let out her prize sheep she has
disliked us. I don't know why people don't ask us
to all their parties.”
“Oh, because you're such good fun and good sorts,
and so jolly,” said Milton easily. “These old fossils
at Ballydare don't understand your being plucky
enough to come and live here alone."


A Gay Afternoon
239
His round pale blue eyes repressed the fact
that he, Lancelot Milton, approved of it, and
therefore that it was all right, and she need not
worry.
"Plucky of you, I call it," he said; "getting away
from that wretched hole in Kerry. Of course, the
old cats don't approve of you. You're all a hang sight
too pretty, for one thing."
She could not
Moira eyed him doubtfully.
imagine the Hermit telling her that she was a
"hang sight too pretty" in that tone. It was a
voice which implied good fellowship of so easy
a class that Moira wrinkled her brows and longed
for worldly wisdom.
"I don't see how any one could object to
our living here-three sisters," she said a little
stiffly. "Even Miss Butler said we could. I really
often wish," she went on petulantly, "that we
had taken the Hermit's advice and never left
Borrisdeane."
"Oh, but look at the fun you've had," said Milton,
rising and patting his tie before the narrow glass
above the fireplace.
"Yes, look at it," said Moira, without enthusiasm,
her eyes upon a muff which Baby Julia had left
behind her.
"And the people you've met," said Milton,
carefully adjusting a tiny curl which he per-
mitted himself just at one side of his parted
hair. His increasing baldness was a sad trial to
him, and he spent a large sum upon lotions for
the hair.
"And the people we've met," repeated Moira, with


240
Three Girls and a Hermit
ance
was
66
still less enthusiasm, as she held out her hand to
meet his.
"To-morrow, then," said Milton. " 10.25.
10.25. It will
be great fun. Don't cut my horse's back, like
a good girl.” He went off absolutely satisfied
that the wide world held no man whose acquaint-
a greater boon than that of Lancelot
Milton.
Only kind to be nice to 'em," he said to
Vereker, as he was given a lift back to barracks.
“Real jolly little things, with no silly nonsense
about 'em.”
A sudden access of irritability made Dennis
wish he could deposit his fellow traveller in the
mud.
Kathleen—who had to leave her horse at Malone's
and drive with the redoubtable roan-came back late.
She was full of the run, and carried a draggled piece
of fur in her hand.
"I got the brush," she announced. “Look! I'll
have it mounted. Wasn't Mr. Moroney good ? He
said it was no damn use to any one, and perhaps I
might like it."
"That seemed kind," said Eva drily.
ran
far," prattled Kathleen.
“Not very fast; and Malone's grey was splendid.
He never made a mistake.
There was a huge
piece of timber; and there were some banks—
oh! high as houses; and once
" - Kathleen
looked doubtful—"I was following Mr. Moroney,
and he fell, and I'm afraid—I'm afraid I gave
him a teeny, weeny push, and knocked him over.
It was all his stupid horse's fault, pausing on
« We
ever
SO


A Gay Afternoon
241
the bank. I-I cleared him in the ditch," said
Kathleen.
"And what did he say?" declaimed Moira, filled
with horror.
"He said as he got up-he said we were a won-
derful family," said Kathleen thoughtfully.
16


CHAPTER XIV
OF DEER-HUNTING AND THE HERMIT
IR
1
RELAND smiled on the day Moira Considine
went deer-hunting. It was one of the country's
moods of defiance, when, laughing softly, she declines
to accept winter as her master.
“ I'll be summer
when I choose,” she says, and turns the sky to blue,
the sun to warm gold; spreads a silver web of
gossamer from flower stalk to flower stalk; mocks at
the fallen leaves, all brown upon the earth, and stirs
them with a wooing breath of sweet west wind. Buds,
not dead from nipping frosts, bloom into untimely life,
the primroses thrust up pale noses of yellow without
fear of the cold, which must come upon them. Even
the ground, a maze with the spider threads, seems
warm. Winter, worsted for a day or two, lurks grimly
in the shadows, putting out chill fingers to touch the
mortals who strayed into them, raising sudden little
whirls of cold airs, as if in reply to the blaze of
defiant sunshine outside-a day on which spirits
rose, despite themselves, on which even misanthropes
must be glad to be alive, and on which young blood
turned to quicksilver, and made young feet dance
in their joy.
As Moira drove to the station, even the roan horse
242


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 243
seemed to feel it, for he stepped out freely, champing
at his bit, and got them to the train twenty minutes
too early, as he had failed to avail himself of the
quarter of an hour allowed for stoppages.
“Will I carry him to the 6.40, miss, to meet ye?”
demanded James Dunne's friend, whose name was
Tom Riordan.
“ You will, Tom," said Moira cheerily, removing
her bag from the car.
“ I'm takin' a friend to a funeral," said Tom thought-
fully," and if God sind he doesn't sthop too often on the
road I'll surely be here. I'll dhrive up for Miss Eva, for
she said she'd like to meet ye. 'Tis Martin Dennehys
that's dead," he explained further, "a dacent man that
has berried three wives, an' that often took a dhrive
with meself, so I can't be afther missin' it. An' I
declare corpses upsot this divil,” he added ruefully.
“I had five shillin' to take fat Micky Dundon to bury
his a'nt lasht week, an' didn't the scheemer of a horse
wheel into the hearse itself, an' kick the coffin out of
the min's hands as cliver as any Christian could ?
Good sphort to ye, miss. Ye'll have a crowd on the
thrain.”
It was evident that they would. Smiling damsels
with gaudy head-gear and many-hued dresses were
arriving in scores, a sprinkling of lumpy young men
in ready-made shoddy suits and dirty collars amongst
them. There were older women with baskets, older
men smoking solemnly, a goodly array of priests, all
evidently bent upon some trip. It was an excursion
to Dublin at some very low rate, and a huge crowd
swayed at the ticket office, good-humouredly striving
for tickets.
")


244
Three Girls and a Hermit
Milton, Stanley, and Cromartin turned up rather
late, the Havilands were evidently not coming, and
Moira, who knew nothing of training horses, found
she had to pay fifteen shillings, a sum which she had
to borrow.
As they walked towards the train, they had to
fight their way through the crowd. Carriages were
crammed, no distinction of class being observed;
and to Milton's lively horror, they found themselves
overwhelmed by a wedding party, who thrust the
bride and bridegroom into an already overcrowded
carriage. The Englishman's sharp expostulations
were received with a carelessness which maddened
him; the head porter bade him "be aisy" with friendly
patronage; the ticket collector, further appealed to,
inquired sarcastically if he'd "wish to lave dacent people
on the platform," and he was finally hushed to a
furious silence by his subaltern, who was enjoying it
immensely.
"Good-bye, Johanna. Good luck. Good-bye,
Peter." A score of dirty hands at the window, and
the bridegroom, to support himself, wound an
appealing arm about Milton's neck, knocking off that
worthy officer's hat.
"No offence, sir," he said pleasantly, bumping
back. "No offence."
Johanna, the bride, was a maiden of many summers,
decorously dressed in black, enlivened by pink roses
in her hat, and further adorned by black kid gloves,
with fingers about an inch too long.
"Sit down, Peter. Ye'll be upsot," she said, without
emotion.
Peter wiped his face with a large cotton bandana.


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 245
"
)
His collar was evidently a week-old friend, his hands
had not seen water for days, he was years younger
than the bride; a man with a pleasantly kind face.
Fears of open amorousness troubled Cromartin, as
he glanced at Moira.
"I wonder," said Peter. “I wonder, will he give
me the calf for four pound tin, Johanna ?
“I couldn't say," said the bride thoughtfully.
Peter leant forward ; he was happily and soberly
drunk.
"Jo' Dineen,” he said, “is a dacent by—though he
had liquor taken to-day. All yer people is dacent,
Johanna.”
The bride thanked him placidly.
“Ye see we were married this mornin'," said Peter,
turning a smiling face upon Moira and Cromartin,
who looked sympathetic. “An' we have to shift for
“
ourselvės now; 'tis the way of the world. I came
over yesterday," he explained, “and I'm taking her
home to Tullabram. 'Tis a long journey whin ye
wouldn't be used to ways of the line.”
Here he found he had no ticket, and was much
perturbed.
"I came over by cyar," he said ; "and a chaper way,
too. Isn't it one an'a pinny ache now to Tullabram?
But there's a calf and two pigs back in the cyart, so
Johanna was anxious to come this way. Weren't ye,
Johanna ?”
Johanna, the unemotional, said “ Yes.”
“We only met yestherday,” observed Peter, pulling
a bottle from his pocket, “but, faix, we're well satis-
fied.” He pinched one of the kid-gloved hands,
which Johanna withdrew coyly. She also refused


246
Three Girls and a Hermit
his offer of some whisky, though Peter assured her
there was “nothin' like a dhrop of dhrink to make the
journey jump."
The raw and fiery spirit increased his affability;
he beamed upon them all, and held his fellow-
travellers by his eloquence. All save Milton, who
sat as an offended god, his whole face expressing
acute disgust.
“Saw her but yestherday, and all as pleasant as
ye'd plaze," said Peter, wiping his mouth. “Faix, we
sat up till one, an' divil such a pleasant party ever ye
saw. Not so much as a lie passed for the evenin'.
Better luck I had than me cousin Mickey Hennessy.
They med up a match for him with a giril at Rath-
dreen, all as nice as ye'd wish, with a cow and three
geese and twinty pound in dhry money to come to
him; and Mickey's a warm by himself, with a tidy
bit of land. Well, he missed the thrain the night
before, an' was only there jusht in time to sthart for
chapel. Rose Cassidy she was, an' ould Cassidy, her
father, was just sittin' her above on a fine side-cyar
when Mickey turned up. An' a fine giril she was;
a bit thin, Mickey said, but nate an' gintale, with a
yally fur around her neck.
“I thought ye'd be here now,' says old Cassidy,
says he. Jesht in time, for Father Malone 'ill
be waitin'. I'll introduce ye to the others afther,'
says he, 'but let ye sit up with Rose now,' says he,
on the other fall of the cyar.' Well, with that
Mickey lights up, 'An' 'tis a fine day,' says he ; the
signs by he tould me afther 'twas rainin'. I reckon
'tis,' says she, with a twisht from Amerikee on her
tongue. Well, Mickey takes a look on that, an' he
C


Of Deer-Hunting and the Hermit 247
passed another remark, sayin' 'He was sorry he
was late.'
"I calkerlate it's all the same,' says she, very
pleasant; and with that Mickey never says another
word till they were foreninst the chapel gate; then
he gits down and walks round to where the ould man
was tyin' the reins to the gate.
"Misther Cassidy,' says Mickey, says he, 'ye nivir
towld me yere dather was a say rambler, and I won't
marry her,' says he. An' what's more he didn't,
though they nearly bate him there an' thin, and
he had to pay fifty pound whin the case was brought
up. 'But 'twas bether,' he said, ' than a foreigner for
a wife'; an' that's the way it was betune thim."
Moira and the others, excepting, of course, Captain
Milton, laughed merrily. Peter took another drink
with a pleased expression, and looked at his wife
contentedly.
The train was a slow one, stopping at every station
and gathering a fresh crowd of excursionists to its
already over-full bosom at each pause. Agitated
cries rose from the platforms.
"Get in, Mrs. Hennessy. Ma'am, nivir mind the
room. Patsy, Patsy; have ye the tickets? Glory
be to God above, Maria is left behind on us. Jump
in, let ye. Delia, run to the ass car for me puce
scharf; I left it afther me." And so on, until the
train lost patience with them, and puffed on its way.
Peter and his bride alighted at Shaneen, the station
for their home, bidding every one a somewhat
sheepish good-bye. Fresh people rushed in to take
their places, until Milton's presence between two
fat women was a mere suggestion crowned by a


248
Three Girls and a Hermit
pot-hat, while across him they talked volubly. Moira,
as the lady, had been left some small space.
"Ballytubbert, thank God!" ejaculated Captain
Milton, shaking the two old ladies as he plunged
to his feet, and rudely interrupting the narrative
of a cow which would not fatten.
Getting out was a difficulty, owing to the swarms
of people who wanted to get in, and it fell, of course,
to Milton's part to be pushed back and urged to keep
his place, at least twice, and further that he should
emerge at last with the beads belonging to one of his
fat neighbours wound about the buttons of his over-
coat. The frantic shrieks of the old lady were all but
drowned in the bustle, and the train was moving
before a heated porter rescued the rosary, reproving
Milton as he did so for so basely removing holy beads
which carried two precious relics on them.
"She was near to a fit," observed the porter, as the
train disappeared.
"Will I unbox the horses for ye, sir?" he said as
he returned.
If we
"Now, mind-we've got ten miles to ride, and
the last train leaves at six," said Cromartin. So,
if we lose each other, make for this place.
miss that train, there is no other until two in the
morning."
They rode out into a wild green country, fenced
almost entirely by big clean banks. Houses were
few on the rolling slopes of the hills; it was a grazing
country, with rich pastures, lonely on its wild fields.
Nothing here to stop hounds or horses; but a hunter
must be bold and free to face those yawning ditches:
a coward were better at home. The narrow road


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 249
wound along the slope of a hill, then dipped to a
flat tableland-miles of flat fields and perfect fences,
with hints of boggy drains among them.
"One could be lost here and never found again.
See, there is not a house for miles." Moira pointed
to the expanse of low ground. "How desolate it all
is, and yet how splendid!"
"They run for hours at times, I believe; leave
every one standing still," said Cromartin. "It takes
a racehorse to live with them. See, that is the meet."
They were coming to a little village on the brow of a
hill; twenty or thirty thatched cabins, squalid and
poor, clinging to the slope; one or two half-empty
shops, three public-houses. A crowd of men, whose
time did not appear to be valuable, were gathered
to watch the sport.
The deer-van was drawn up on the road near the
meet; the hounds were already there. No white-
and-lemon and black-spotted foxhounds, but black
and tan, with dewlaps like bloodhounds. There were
only a few people at the meet; most of them
mounted on blood-horses: nothing without breeding
could live with the Knockgreena Staghounds.
They were to enlarge into a big field just beyond
the village, a slope with a giant rock jutting high
in the middle. Woods clustered to the west; below
and to the south stretched the green of the pasture-
land, unbroken by a scar of tillage.
They gathered by the rock, watching the enlarge-
ment. The deer jumped out of his van, looked about
him, and then cantered off with his curious lopping
gait; the bank and ditch which he seemed to skip
over proved to be a formidable obstacle when they


250
Three Girls and a Hermit
came to it afterwards. Then he stood for a little,
nodded his head at the shouting country people, and
disappeared from view. And then the hounds came
pouring down the field, a sombre wave of eagerness,
filling the very heaven with their music. You-ow-ow,
the great full-throated notes swelled and echoed, till
the poorest heart must beat to the tune. Horses
snorted at the sound, sweating from pure excitement,
straining at their bits to follow. You-ow-ow. Let
any man who has not heard the pack go listen as they
Aling themselves on the line, for deer-hunting may
not be legitimate, but there is no sound like this
on earth. On, across the field, below the hill, over
the bank, a great mound of green turf with a wide
drain at either side, flying now at a pace which
meant galloping to live with them.
There is no
looking for places, except when wire stops the field;
each bank is clean and honest, with room for fifty
abreast, and even then, straining every nerve, good
horses fall behind when the staghounds run hard.
Moira could have shouted in her excitement as she
heard the burst of music, and drove her borrowed
mount to keep with the hounds. But deer are
self-willed. The morning hunt was not to be one
of those fiery gallops which make men for an hour
forget fox-hunting. This particular stag grew bored
with running away, and came trotting back to them
along the road, utterly declining to go anywhere.
When pressed, he cantered down the road, giving
horses the battering on the macadam-which, of
course, there is sometimes too much of—and then
galloped round in small circles, seemingly unafraid
of the full-throated chorus at his heels. It was half-


Of Deer-Hunting and the Hermit 251
past two when they took him, standing in a boggy
ditch.
"If they would only go on," said Moira discon-
solately; "the fences are too lovely, and this horse
jumps so well.”
Cromartin had had a fall; riding wide, he had
tumbled in a great ditch, horse and all, and found
himself absolutely alone and unable to get out.
“ And if the deer hadn't come round again that
way, I was afraid I'd be there till they put the cattle
out in May," he said ruefully, shaking his soaked
coat.
Milton was absolutely enthusiastic. He had re-
mained upon the road, allowing the chase to circle
round him; and he thought it was the finest sport
in the world.
"Fences to make an old man young," he declared ;
though one must sit down to ride at them.”
Cromartin made the mental decision that his senior
officer must have been standing up all day; but he
said nothing.
“ We'll come again," said Milton. “I suppose if
we ride slowly back now, we shall not be much too
early. They'll do nothing more.'
But the Master was of another opinion. Horses
were fresh, so they enlarged again on a strip of road
between two hills. There was no hesitation this
time when hounds were laid on. The full, baying
notes were fainter, for scent was hot, and there was
not so much time for music.
Moira was standing with Milton as the deer went
away. She hustled him through the gate and down
the field, when the pace and a gap or two tempted


252
Three Girls and a Hermit
him further. And then riding wide, left of hounds,
only Moira with him, he was not only ashamed, but
afraid to stop. They were lost in an unknown, hugely
fenced country, and when one or two wide banks
were thrown behind, he knew he would have to jump
them again if he stopped—towering things, which
one could have driven a cart along the top of, deep
ditches with gleams of cold water offending the timid
eye.
How they raced along, the deep notes of the pack
echoing through the still air! And race as they
would, hounds gained from all except a couple of
thoroughbreds.
Moira was enjoying it madly; her blood was on
fire as she felt the good horse's stride beneath her, felt
the glory of her pace, saw the green country unfold
itself beneath the bright sunshine.
They dwelt for a minute, a welcome breather, and
then on again, bending to the right, so that Milton
and Moira were still more isolated. His horse was
blown; his own soul sickened at the chasms he had
crossed ; and he thought he saw a road, so that
a
instead of following the line of the pack, Milton rode
still more to the left, and found a high narrow bank
barring his way. He fumbled at his horse's mouth,
looked round, heard Moira calling, and set his mount
at the fence in the half-hearted way which invites
a fall.
There was a deep drain outside, one which
the horse might have cleared if his head had been left
alone, but the sudden nervous grasp on the curb
made disaster certain. The two were engulfed
in muddy softness, and as Moira got over lower
down she saw Milton crawling landwards, while his


Of Deer-Hunting and the Hermit 253
poor beast was on its back wedged in the ditch.
No one near, no hope or help in the quiet field, the
yap, yap of the hounds grew fainter in the distance.
“ What on earth are we to do ?” said Milton
hopelessly.
Moira, riding up and down, thought she saw a stain
of smoke on the clear air. It was a case of
ropes
and
help, and she suggested riding until she found a
cottage. Milton, devoid of gratitude, nursed his
horse's head, to prevent it going under water, and
sourly supposed she'd better. Moira tracked the
smoke-trail until she got on to a lane, and found
a tiny cottage. But there was no man to give aid,
only a kindly woman, who wrung her hands with
excitement.
“ Turned over in the ditch ! Vo, vo.
D'ye say
so now, the crayther? An' ye must have ropes to
get him out. Have I a sign of a rope, miss?"
The woman paused ; then, with a skirl of triumph,
she ran towards a small hayrick standing near the
cottage, caught up a hay knife which was plunged in
it, and rushed at a cart which stood in the yard.
There were rope-traces attached to it, which she
sawed off, and these, with a pair of rope-reins, were
thrust into Moira's hands.
"God sind they'll howld to dhrag him out. God
sind it, miss. If ye had but help, and, Mother Mary
be praised ! here's Danny, me son, home from
market.”
Danny, a pallid and ill-fed youth, woke to the
occasion. He took the ropes from Moira, pointed
out a shorter way along a road, and set off at
a run.


254
Three Girls and a Hermit
Moira, trotting in front, thought he was merely
crawling
“Why can't you hurry?" she queried sharply.
“I have spasms,” said Danny sourly, checking
further comment. Fate at that moment sent them
another friend-one Mulligan, driving cattle on the
road. Danny swept him to his aid.
“Yer a man, let the cattle off. They'll go asthray
or ye? What matther is it, whin there's a horse
dhrownding?"
Mulligan immediately left the cattle, and Moira
and her helpers hurried to the unhappy Milton. It
was no easy task of rescue, but it was accomplished
at last. Milton, rubbing his chilled horse, began to
wonder how little reward he could give.
Danny was no grasper of payment. He accepted
half a crown without a thought of severed traces and
broken cart-reins, just as Mulligan, his friend, was
oblivious of several hours to be spent in search of
his scattered cattle.
Yet Milton's frame of mind was a happy one as
they went fast towards the station. Had he not,
even if completely against his will, distinguished
himself across those terrific fences ? That and his fall
would be magnified into mighty matters.
" It was really almost unjumpable,” he said, as they
trotted along the lonely road.
It was just your pulling at him on top, I think,"
said Moira, with the thoughtless candour which is so
hard to bear. “It wasn't big."
Milton grunted scornfully.
“But it was lovely. And those big fences are so
easy,” said Moira enthusiastically. “Oh, we hadn't
>
>


Of Deer-Hunting and the Hermit 255
far to come. Here is Ballytubbert; the others aren't
in, of course; but we'll have our tea now.”
The bright morning was waning to a bitter
night: a cold east wind drove across the wood, the
sky was pallid with cold, grass was crisping under
a sharp frost. The man took the horses, and they
turned towards a small hotel standing by the
station. Now, to give Ireland the honour due to
it, the place was kept by no true son of the land ;
the owner was half English, half American, a trainer
of race-horses, who cared nothing for his hotel.
The door was opened by a maiden steeped in dirt,
a red flannel jacket her only bodice; her skirt
a study in gaps.
In response to a demand for
tea, she ushered them into a room to the left;
on entering it, Moira started back in dismay. A
reek of porter and whisky and vile, stale tobacco
drove in her face as a blow. The floor was covered
with a filthy linoleum, the one long table with the
same; there was no fire, and a baby's perambulator,
filled with dirty outdoor garments, stood near the
fireplace.
Captain Milton said “Good God !” sharply, and
thundered on the bell.
"Was there no other room? They could not take
tea here.”
The flannel-jacketed maiden considered the ques-
tion, and led them down a grimy passage into a smaller
room, if possible dirtier than the first, but evidently
of a more private nature, and apparently, judging by
dirty collars and other garments lying on the table,
occasionally used as a dressing-room. The thought
of taking tea anywhere in the house made Moira
a


256
Three Girls and a Hermit
sick ; she proffered an urgent request to be allowed
to go without food, and to sit at the railway-station
until train time.
Captain Milton looked at his watch; they had an
hour and a half to wait. He interviewed the porter,
.
who told him they should have entrained at Ardgrath,
three miles farther back.
“ There's a nate little hotel there that all the
hunting genthrey goes to," he told them. “Tay, and
eggs, and jam and all ye'd fancy. Sorra a thing in
there ”—he nodded strong disapproval at the house
they had left—" but the dhregs of porther and whisky.
There's none sthops there but thim that can't help it,
or wants to drink.”
A car drove up to the station, and the porter was
struck by a brilliant idea. There's Andy O'Mally's
cyar,” he said, “come in with a parcel from Misther
O'Grady's. He's goin' back to Ardgrath. If ye were
.
arlier ye could dhrive back with him, an' have tay,
an' catch the thrain beyond."
Milton again consulted his watch. If it was only
three miles away they still had time, and the idea of
tea was alluring--for it was very cold. They took
their bags and drove away, leaving word to tell what
they had done.
Andy O'Mally declined to be hurried. There were
parcels to collect at the station, a box of books on
the well, a bag of flour to be strapped on to the
driving seat, from which it nodded like a headless
alderman. The three miles were Irish, and therefore
elastic, stretching interminably through a flat, bare
land, where the banks flung black shadows in the
moonlight. It was bitterly cold now, as the old


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 257
horse jogged monotonously, walking up every slope
to spare his breath, and down each hill to spare his
spavined hocks.
Andy O'Mally was taciturn and sparing of speech.
When asked to hurry he beat the horse softly, but as
one who had not the faintest idea of the blow
hastening the speed. As they dipped between high
hedges into a well of gloom and emerged into the
pale, clear light of the moon, a row of trembling
lights in front gladdened them. It was then that
Milton looked again at his watch, and exclaimed
feverishly. Tea was no longer a consideration, for
the hands pointed to 6.5. "Drive to the station,”
commanded Milton. "God, what a horse! We can
. “
only catch the train now.”
“If ye can do that same," said Andy, without
emotion. “ 'Tis all up hill."
For the station at Ardgrath is not in the town.
With horror they discovered that a mile of hilly road
lay between, and even as they looked a long shrill
whistle rent the still evening.
“Ye may as well have ye're tay, now," said Andy
placidly. "If I was a mothor cyar I wouldn't be
there."
“They-the others—will explain to Eva,” said
Moira, rather unhappily. “We can go on later."
"Faix, ye can, at two o'clock," observed Andy, as
he took payment and drove away.
Moira had not realised the awkwardness of her
plight. They had missed one train, they would go
later, that was all. She yawned as they were shown
nto a cosy sitting-room, where a bright fire warmed
frozen hands and feet. Tea, hot toast, eggs and
17


258
Three Girls and a Hermit
a
cream were rapidly produced, and eaten with
hunter's appetite.
Milton stified his conscience in the comfort of
the small room. He took it as good fun, and
seeing Moira did not mind, glazed it all over
lightly.
“We can go by the night train," he said easily.
Moira shivered and yawned. She had a change
with her. She would stay all night, and leave in
the morning. Eva would not expect her until then,
or meet her at half-past three at night. “That'll do,
won't it?" said Moira, without thought.
Milton looked at her, and with a dense man's lack
of perception, misread her carelessness.
"I must go
by the two," he said limply, not at all sure that he
would do so, for the warmth of the room was lapping
him to laziness.
They would want dinner. Jane, the little hand-
maiden, was confident that they could have some.
“ There were chickens up on the roost,” she said, “ that
could be cooked in time." On this being firmly.
declined, she called to an unseen Cornelius, and bade
him knock up Casey to see if he had a bit of mutton
“ fit for the atin." She said 'twouldn't agree with
them "atin'” so late as eight, and then withdrew,
clearing off the tea things.
The oil lamp, badly trimmed, Aickered and smelt.
The room grew over hot, and the one window was
hermetically sealed. As Milton, puffing at a huge cigar,
reeled forth tale after tale of his feats and prowess,
Moira grew suddenly wakeful and uneasy. Eva
would be alarmed, might be angry. The whole thing
had been stupid and unnecessary, for she could have


Of Deer-Hunting and the Hermit 259
now.
done without her tea. The stillness of sharp frost
held the world outside, broken by the occasional
rumble of carts, or the clump of heavy footsteps on
the crisp hardness of the roads. It was past seven
The train was in, and Eva knew of her absence.
She could not wire, for the little village held no
office.
“Will you be wantin' Andy, sir, for the night
thrain ?” said Jane, thrusting in her head after a
demure cough. “He says if you do he must sit
below and not return home.” Milton temporised for
an hour. The prospect of turning out at two was not
alluring. Moira, unheeding, was staring into the
bright fire, her thoughts far away. She was thinking,
with great conviction, that the Hermit would not
have missed the train.
“Could one drive back? It's only about twenty-
five miles by road ?" she asked, looking up.
Milton laughed at the idea. Andy's old grey would
most certainly never get there.
Moira stared into the fire again, abstracted, and
yet strangely restless. Dragging her thoughts back
with an effort, she looked across at Milton, listen-
ing vaguely to his tale of how he cut down a
Leicestershire field. He was good-looking, well set
up, and yet Moira knew there was no restfulness
in sitting listening to his discourse.
For com-
panionship there must be sympathy, and Lancelot
Milton was too self-centred to be sympathetic. The
idea of listening to Moira while she talked about
her old life or present experiences never entered
into his head.
He grew merry as Jane appeared with plates, or


260
Three Girls and a Hermit
)
the news that Cornelius had got the chops, twitting
Moira on her dulness.
“Rather fun, after all, isn't it ?” he said superbly,
lounging against the mantelpiece—“cosy and jolly
in here as we are." The tender note in this was
broken short by Jane, dish in hand, entreating him
"for the love of God not to lane agin the chimney
boord, for 'twas only held by one nail, that might give
any minit at all.” In her fear, she rushed at him,
pulling him away with a jerk which shot a chop into
the fireplace.
"See that now," said Jane, picking it out with the
tongs. “ There's not a ha'porth on it but a taste of
ashes,” she added, blowing lustily, and greatly sur-
prised when Moira ordered its removal.
“'Twasn't hurt no more than if 'twas cookin'," said
Jane, offended." The other chops is waitin' on ye,"
she said, banging down the dish. They were noble
chops, cut in thick slabs, straight across some un-
known portion of a sheep. They had been fried to a
dull brown, and came up supine and greasy, with
a little fat-spotted water poured about them.
The knife glided off them with a jar of surprise,
and when a piece, torn away, was tasted, they proved
to be tough as leather, and tasting strongly of turf
smoke and frying-pan. Moira took potatoes, and
was content, but Captain Milton grumbled savagely.
Jane bent humbly before his storm of abuse.
“ I'm thinkin', afther all, that Casey lied," she said
penitently. “Cornelius saw Matty Mahers' ould sheep
being dhruv up there to-day, and, maybe, 'tis a bit of
that same he cut off for him. Ye couldn't be up to
the ways of thim butchers. There wouldn't be one


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 261
1
here at all, only there's two great houses to be
supplied."
Milton drank fiery whisky. Moira had tea.
The little clock said half-past eight, and the hoot
of a motor suddenly tore at the stillness outside.
It was throbbing fast up the road ; they heard it stop
outside.
Glory be to the hevins, a mothor !” cried Jane,
flinging herself downstairs. They could hear her
shrieking to Cornelius to turn out the old ass if the
gentlemen wanted a house.
Milton lounged across to Moira, who was sipping
tea dejectedly. "I hope they won't come in here,
whoever they are," he said fatuously. He sat down
upon the arm of her chair, and his face, which spoke
of untamed whisky, was rather near hers.
Moira moved away quickly, a hot flush on her face.
If Captain Milton was moved to this mood, she felt
that Andy and the car out in the cold would be
a pleasant alternative. She had all a young girl's
fear of seeming too angry, or being stupidly offended,
and she glanced at the door miserably. Steps were
coming up the stairs.
Milton followed her across. The raw spirit worked
in his brain, and Moira's flushing face was alluring.
It was time for some slight return for weeks of
devotion.
“What a nuisance, isn't it?” he said, and took her
hand in his. “They must go soon, though ; then
we'll have a nice time, all alone.”
"Oh, please," said Moira helplessly.
“ I've come to take you home, Moira," said a quiet
voice at the door.


262
Three Girls and a Hermit
"Why-who the deuce?" said Milton.
"The Hermit! You!" Moira shot to her feet
with a cry; she dashed across the room, clinging
to his hands, feeling as some disconsolate little
pleasure boat, which, rudderless and beaten by waves,
is suddenly towed into harbour by a steam tug.
"Oh, how, and where, and when?" she cried.
The Hermit looked hard at Milton, question, as
well as anger, in his eyes. The longer he looked the
less satisfied he appeared to be. Milton, growing
visibly uneasy under the scrutiny, began to explain
hazily, in a manner calculated to convey that no
train could ever have been caught, at any hour.
Slip into your coat, Moira," said the Hermit.
"I came down to Ballydare this morning, and went
to the station to meet you. It appears the horse
you ordered hurt itself against a hearse. And, when
1 heard of this piece of stupidity"—his eye raked
Milton fiercely-"I came along to fetch you. We
can take you, too," he said politely to Milton.
Moira babbled explanations rapidly: how they
had wanted tea, at least, Milton had, and how Andy's
horse had been so slow, and there was no other
train.
"You were, of course, driving home?" said the
Hermit to Milton, who stood silent for once, with
a whipped feeling which he had believed lost in his
childhood.
"I was going by the midnight train," said Milton
stiffly.
The Hermit's face cleared a little, to fall again
as Jane put her nose in.
"Andy says he'll wait no longer, yer honour.


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 263
Will ye want him or not for the two thrain ? But
sure, ye're all off now.” Captain Milton's answer was
not audible.
The Hermit, still very quiet, paid the bill. They
went downstairs to get into a 20-h.p. Daracq, which
throbbed noisily at the door. Moira and the Hermit
sat in front; Milton got in at the back with the man.
They bade good-bye to Jane, and swooped at the
silver streak of road, the keen air cold upon their
faces. Moira's tongue burst into eager questioning.
“Why, how, when had the Hermit come down ?
Why had he not written? What did it mean?
“He had motored down," he said; "he was going
to buy a horse and hunt for a little." He looked
down at Moira with questioning eyes. " It was a great
piece of folly, wasn't it?" he said. "Unless"
and he looked back a little at Milton. What if I
had not come to fetch you, Moira ? "
"I was going back at eight to-morrow," said Moira
uneasily.
“The world has apparently not taught you wisdom.
There are some things you may not do," he said
sharply. “Eva was broken-hearted when the train
came in." Again he looked at her with a curious
question in his eyes, and he sighed a little im-
patiently.
The car devoured the empty road-fortunately
almost a straight one-and once they reached Cool-
granagh there were telegraph posts to guide them.
A halo dimmed the peevish moon, telling the silver
frost was a mere forerunner of rain ; but the icebreath
fell heavily now, crisping the world to silver.
It was joy when, having dropped Milton, they
"


264
Three Girls and a Hermit
swung through the narrow gates at The Beeches,
into the radiance of yellow light cast by the un-
shuttered windows. There was welcome for the
returned prodigal. Biddy had prepared an extrava-
gant supper, and they passed from the cold of the
frosty night into the warmth of the little square
room.
But Eva, when the Hermit, having partaken largely
of cold chicken and bacon, hot cakes and much butter,
left them, was absent and even vexed. For the first
time the elder sister asserted her seniority, daring to
question the conduct of the stronger-willed younger
girl.
" It was a pity, Moira; I don't like it. You see,
the Hermit appeared suddenly just from nowhere,
and we went off to the station, meaning to surprise
you. The Hermit stayed outside in the car: I went
to the train, and—” Eva's voice grew troubled—“Mrs.
Vereker was there, and she would scarcely speak to
me.”
"And Dennis ?" asked Moira eagerly.
“Dennis, good boy, was held by his mother's hand.”
There was faint contempt in Eva's voice. “ But then
Mr. Cromartin got out— Your sister's missed the train,'
he said. “She got to Ballytubbert in time, but she
went off with Captain Milton to take tea somewhere,
at Ardgrath, I believe, and never got to the station.'
Moira, I saw Mrs. Vereker turn and look. There's
a train back at two,' Mr. Cromartin said, 'and one
early to-morrow morning. Miss Considine took her
bag, so she can stay if she wants to.' He said
something under his breath about Captain Milton
then, and he looked so put out. Moira, Mrs. Vereker
>


Of Deer Hunting and the Hermit 265
•
won't forget it. It's—it's time we went back to
Borrisdeane ...."
Moira, with hot cheeks, said “Rubbish," miserably.
“ The Hermit is here now to hunt," she added ; "we
couldn't go.” Eva shook a despondent head ; she
had not, it would appear, represented things very
cheerfully to the Hermit.


"IT
CHAPTER XV
THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY
T'S all been a great success, then," said the
Hermit, addressing himself to Moira.
"Of course," said Moira stiffly, and the tail of a
warning eye dwelt fiercely upon Eva.
The Hermit had arrived to breakfast. He said he
knew Biddy would give him some. His arrival had
occasioned the immediate removal of Patsy from his
horses, to be dispatched to Mary Guinane's and
Tommy Sheeby's for an odd egg or so, also the hasty
slapping together of a griddle-cake, which was out-
wardly crisp and inwardly soft and altogether excellent.
"You've had a really good time in this new world
of yours?" he asked, dodging a well-aimed puff
from the fire.
"Yes," said Moira, this time angrily.
"The Star's a skeleton and Gog's legs are bolsters,"
observed Kathleen with unnecessary candour, and
apropos of nothing.
The Hermit's eye travelled slowly round the smoke-
grimed dining-room. "It's not a very well furnished
world," he said thoughtfully. "But there's lots going
on," he said cheerily. "The Boots at the hotel filled
me with information.
It was dull for you at Borris-
266


The Night of the Party
267
deane. Well, are you going to the Kavanaghs', or to
the dance-the Leigh Dares'-afternoon bridge of
course there ?"
-
"We we are engaged this evening," said Moira,
avoiding the keen blue eyes.
"And there's bridge here in the afternoon." Little
Kathleen was irrepressible. "And Captain Milton
is sure to come to see Moira."
"Oh!" said the Hermit, very quietly.
Kathleen, rejoicing in unbaked griddle cake, said a
day without Captain Milton would be an event. She
smiled knowingly at the Hermit, whose smile in
response lacked gaiety. "And Miss Eva and her
Vereker boy," said Kathleen.
"And you?" asked the Hermit.
"Oh! I've the horses," said Kathleen thoughtfully.
"I hunt nearly every day. Mr. Moroney says I'm a
terror," she added with sudden cheer. "I jumped on
one of his hounds last day. I'll show you Jim
Crow," she said invitingly.
They went out to the little yard. James Dunne
was pleasantly engaged in stuping Gog's legs, while
Patsy explained how he himself was whipped away
to get eggs. "And they should be fresh," said Patsy,
"for I had to wait on Mary Guinane's yallow hin
while she laid the brown one."
The Star, a dejected object, was faintly tasting
crushed oats and hot bran. Patsy thought she might
hunt on the morrow.
"She'd break any man's heart," he said, watching
an ever-ready heel. "The day afther huntin' she'd
fly round her box like a wild sparry, and I declare
to God she wouldn't pick as much."


268
Three Girls and a Hermit
"There's some comfort in Gog," he went on,
if what he ate would go into his legs."
now.
"even
A big cheque seemed to be a very long way off
Moira, ever hopeful, said they would get it
in the summer, when The Star grew fat and Gog's
legs grew thin. There would be the winter's hunt-
ing reputation to sell them on. Her sore little
heart was resenting the Hermit's appearance and
questionings.
Eva observed gloomily that horses cost sheer
fortunes to feed. She seemed to buy something
each day.
Biddy, appearing with food for some
stray chickens, which she had refused to kill because
they were hens, cast aspersions on all horseflesh.
"There was more vally in the old cow an' the two
pigs we had beyant," she said stoutly, "that'd ate
grass what ye wouldn't miss, an' that male an'
scraps'd kape fat an' sthrong."
The Hermit agreed with her with due gravity.
Yet he observed a few minutes later that he intended
to buy or hire a horse himself, so that he might hunt
next day.
Kathleen immediately suggested Malone.
The Hermit shook his head. "Slattery," he said,
'for me. Malone if I wanted a good young one, but
Slattery's will be trained and fit to go."
"Ould Slathery's dead," remarked James Dunne,
who was staring hard at the Hermit, and appeared to
have something on his mind. "Young Martin an' his
mamma does the bizness now, and a 'cute young chap
he is too."
"We'll motor there," said the Hermit, "and get
back early. They went in to the fire; the morning


The Night of the Party
269
was raw and cold. "And so Ballydare actually has
three parties to-day, and you say you are engaged
elsewhere. Who to, Moira ?"
Mamma wants to know, have you a' shape,' Miss
Moira?" said Baby Julia, putting a coy head round
the door.
"Dear me," said the Hermit faintly, bereft of words
by the vision.
The Baby was somewhat flurried and uncurled.
Perceiving the Hermit, she wound her fur about her
neck to hide her lack of collar-band, and pranced in.
"I'm not got up," she announced truthfully, "for
I'm in the kitchen all morning, an' I just lit up in
the jennet's inside-outside car-that was after fetching
soda-water-and cantered over here to you, mamma
being demented. We're short of a round shape, if
you have one or two to set the jellies in. We have
all ours used, and there's none set to turn out yet. I
hope you'll bring your friend to-night," she added
sweetly, as Moira introduced them.
"It's only a little bit of a hop," she said modestly—
"just boys and girls and a few officers. But, indeed,
we'd be very glad to see you. It's hard to get an
arm to give every girl a twirl. An' papa won't forget
the champagne, whatever happens. There's life in a
drop of champagne," said the Baby joyously.
"There is indeed," said the Hermit gravely.
"I"-he looked at Moira "I shall be charmed to
come."
""
"Success," said Baby Julia, with some enthusiasm,
'success to you."
Biddy appeared with two tin moulds, and Julia,
taking them in her ample hands, sat down.


270
Three Girls and a Hermit
“Claara whipped the head off me this morning,”
she confided, “and set papa on me no less. She
found me making a hiding hole for meself in papa's
writing-room. I tell you I caught it."
She rose, clutching the shapes and her fur.
“I won't be such a figure when you see me again,"
she babbled. “Don't be late now. Eight o'clock
we'll begin, an' go on till we're tired.” And Julia,
clasping her shapes, vanished.
"So-that's the engagement ? ” said the Hermit
slowly. “That's the engagement, Moira ? Papa
Geoghan is rather a decent person as well as I
recollect."
"Oh, yes," said Moira, with an airiness she did
not feel.
“ He used to sell me harness when I was here,"
said the Hermit—"in his own shop. Your world
. is assorted, Moira." He watched her flushing face.
"Come, let's go to buy horses, and I'll wind up with
the car.”
Slattery's was some miles away. The Daracq slid
through the chill grey day at a merry pace. Pallid
clouds had overcast the air, last night's frost still lay
silver in the hollows; but the wind had changed,
and its faint sob spoke of swiftly coming rain. The
Hermit seemed to know his way; they ran through
the high hedges bordering the narrow by-roads, and
on past Malone's house, where Moira had had her
first encounter with Mrs. Vereker and her sheep.
She spoke of it now, pointing to the gap leading
from the road.
“She seemed to dislike us from the first," said
Moira disconsolately, "and to dislike me most of


The Night of the Party
271
all. I've seen her watching me with such a cruel
look."
"It's curious." The Hermit spoke half to himself.
"And I-I seem to have seen her before," went on
Moira. "I felt that from the first."
"You can't think where?" asked the Hermit,
artistically shaving a wandering donkey.
"No-o," answered Moira slowly.
"She seems
mixed up in my mind with you, and that's absurd."
The Hermit said nothing.
They climbed to higher ground, and flashed past
Tulla covert. A faint gleam of sun touched the
patch of gorse as they passed. To Moira the place
always recalled old Dunne's tale; she spoke of it
now of the life-story brought to a close there so
many years ago; of the cruel, cold girl; and the man
who, goaded to madness, had spoken his mind, and
then tried to ride to his death. "Oh, I've pitied him
so often, for he was so young," said Moira softly.
The Hermit slowed the car.
"A slash from the surgeon's knife may be better
than a growing sore," he said, very quietly. "It hurts.
Yes it hurts." His teeth were set now.
"But,
supposing he had married the girl who had no more
heart than the statues she surrounds herself with,
what would his life have been? He was poor, this
boy; the inheritance he hoped for then never came.
Perhaps the pain he bore then was better than a
lifelong one yoked to a woman whose soul would
have cried out for the things he could not give.
Men love shadows sometimes, little Moira-glorious
shadows perhaps, beautiful to see, but cold and chill
withal as the mist wraiths on a winter's night. Oh,


272
Three Girls and a Hermit
andmen's hearts are sore when they find it all out,
until some day perhaps the pain dies and they live
again, and this time, not for the desire of their boyish
eyes, for so much beauty, without one thought of the
nature behind the mask which maddens them, but
some one who creeps into their hearts, who is lovelier
to them now than the being they once deemed
perfect.”
Moira stared hard at the hedges as they slipped by.
The Hermit no doubt spoke of the girl he meant to
marry. The air seemed to grow suddenly sharper, for
her eyes smarted.
“Love is all humbug,” she said gruffly.
“Do you think so ?” The Hermit's voice grew
suddenly chill. “You think so, Moira ? I suppose
,
-he laughed suddenly—“no girl could love me, for
instance."
Moira said politely—and she could not understand
why, going slowly as they were, her eyes should still
hurt—"that no doubt it was all a matter of taste."
She conceived a sudden unreasoning dislike for the
absent fiancée, and wondered why the Hermit would
not speak of it openly. “Some dumpy, ugly thing,”
thought Moira with quick wrath.
"I suppose that's it”-the car leapt suddenly to
fuller speed, licking up the strip of road. “I suppose
Well, I half expected it all." The
Hermit's face was strangely sad as he looked ahead;
his eyes quietly wistful. “He--would appeal to
some tastes."
Moira asked, “Who?" sharply.
“ Your friend Milton," said the Hermit. “ He is of
course good-looking-in a way.”
so, Moira.


The Night of the Party
273
""
He's exceedingly handsome," said Moira crossly.
"But I don't know what he's got to do with
your- She bit off marriage, and left the sentence
unfinished.
The Hermit thought Captain Milton had a great
deal to do with everything, but he said nothing
more.
Slattery's house, a square little building, lay in a
hollow below them. Ranges of stables, painted black,
straggled all round it. A huge hay-barn full of hay
and another of straw overhung the front windows.
All around was a perfect schooling ground-small
fields, fenced by every variety of fence; banks, ditches,
water, even timber. Young Martin was at home, and
came smiling to meet them. It astonished Moira
to see an old helper prick up his head and greet
the Hermit as "Misther Grattan" with a cry of
surprise.
"I had another name down here, you see," said the
Hermit, explaining. "Tremayne is really only a
Christian name which I passed under at Borris-
deane. "How are you, Tom?" he said to the old
man.
"A few more broken bones since you saw me, sir.
It's twenty-two years since you bought a horse from
us; and the ould man, God rest his sowl, was hale an'
well then. An' yet I'm here an' he's gone."
Stables were opened, horses pulled out. Some
were rejected instantly, others seen at a gallop and
across fences. The Hermit's choice from the first
fell on a blood-like brown, fired for curbs, but with a
hunter-like look about him. There was a bay he
rode also a big, raking brute with an awkward
18


274
Three Girls and a Hermit
He
mouth, but a fine mover, and a bold, if not a clever,
jumper.
Moira had often seen him ride at Borrisdeane, but
it was a revelation to watch him manage the bay five-
year-old-steadying it as it rushed, head up, at the
fences; easing it round turns; sitting down on the
fiat to see how it could move.
“How much for the two ?” he asked, slipping
down.
Martin Slattery put on his most guileless expression
and said as it was two, and not one, he would take
two hundred and ninety.
The Hermit walked quickly round the horses.
looked at the brown's hocks, and lighted on a last
year's blemish on the bay.
“I want them. I'll give you a hundred and
eighty,” he said. “And that's more than they're
worth.”
Young Martin leant against a haystack in pained
horror. “When he put them at their lowest, too.
It was useless to talk of a hundred each for such
horses."
The Hermit explained easily that he wasn't doing
He was talking of one hundred pounds for the
bay, bad puller as he was, and eighty pounds for the
fired brown.
Slattery dismissed the horses more in sorrow than
in anger. As a favour he might take off ten pounds
for luck: might even stretch it to fifteen; but other-
wise—“Feed thim horses," he said sorrowfully, “an'
clane thim, Joe."
But Joe had disappeared. His absence was
followed by the hurried appearance of Mrs. Slattery,


The Night of the Party 275
"
a comely woman of fifty, to insist on their taking
refreshment.
“Don't I recall ye well, Misther Grattan ?" she
said, wringing his hands. “Many's the horse Slattery
sold
ye,
an' I wish he could come in to see ye him-
self.
He'd not let ye go hungry, so will ye take
a bit?"
The Hermit cast one gruesome thought on what
the present appearance of Slattery would be like, and
accepted politely.
“ He wasn't as hard a man as his son," said the
Hermit, watching the pained back view of Martin as
he gave some directions to a helper.
Mrs. Slattery said young men were apt to be too
clever, and wished to know if it would be whisky
or a cup of “tay."
The Hermit chose tea hastily, though from old
experience he knew it would resolve itself into a
square meal of boiled eggs and fried bacon and hot
bread and jam, and many other things unsuited to a
mid-day meal.
Moira, her existence blotted out of the flood of
reminiscence flowing from Mrs. Slattery's lips, sat
down modestly. The Hermit inquired for Katie,
asking if she was now married.
Mrs. Slattery shook a troubled head. Her heart,
it would appear, was broke from making matches for
Katie, whom a convent education had rendered too
fine for ordinary men.
“But I think I have her off with Joe Magee's
nephew," said Mrs. Slattery, after a lusty call to her
absent daughter to come to Mr. Grattan.
A hurried pattering overhead was accelerated to a


276
Three Girls and a Hermit
« I'll
swift scampering, and then Katie, very fine and very
breathless, appeared. She was rubbing her hands as
she came.
“Don't mind the wet on me hands, Misther Grat-
tan,” she said as she held them out. "'Tis only the
way I'm afther washin' them."
The Hermit wrung the moist hands warmly, and
tea proceeded. Moira, who was still neglected, ate
eggs and bacon thoughtfully. This was the Hermit
in quite a new light. In absence of mind she even
helped herself to plum jam on to her bacon, and found
they did not agree.
The Hermit rose at last. It was after two, and
Moira wanted to be back. He said no more about
the horses until he was leaving.
Sorry we couldn't deal,” he said as he left.
just look in at old Heinihan, to see if he has a screw
for me for to-morrow. Good-bye." ”
Heinihan, another old friend, was not at home.
There seemed nothing for it but the black or grey
hireling from Malone.
They went slowly back by the lane, past Slattery's
house, and on by the narrow, twisting roads to Bally-
dare. As they drove round the corner above Tulla
covert, they were astonished to see young Martin
Slattery, riding a blood horse, galloping across the
field towards them. Both he and his steed were hot
and breathless; also, his coat was not innocent of
mud stains.
"I galloped straight across," he explained,“ to cut
ye off, Misther Grattan. I'll take yer offer. I wint
in directly you were gone, and I tould me mamma
all—the price, and what was betune us. "Martin,'


The Night of the Party
277
says she, 'don't be a' (Martin bit off a red word
with difficulty), 'don't be a-a-damn fool,' says
she, but take the money the gintleman offered
ye.' Them's the very words, now, me mamma used
to me."
The Hermit examined the steering gear minutely;
when he raised his head he had ceased smiling. He
gave directions concerning the taking of his steeds to
the meet; made no comment as to the altered price,
and drove on.
"I hope I shan't have you late, Moira," he said as
they raced on.
"For what?" said Moira.
"For bridge and Captain Milton," said the Hermit
thoughtfully.
The little drawing-room was full as they got in.
An absence of noise never marked the Considines'
afternoons. Captain Milton was romping with Kath-
leen, who accepted it absently and without enthusiasm ;
though her retaliation of a glass vase full of water was
not ill-aimed. Cromartin was putting out the bridge
things. Biddy had, as directed, left decanters and
syphons on a table in the corner.
Another motor turned in after theirs, and Moira
saw with pleasure it was Dennis Vereker. She whis-
pered the news to the Hermit. He grew suddenly
white and quiet.
"So that is young Vereker. He must be
twenty now," he said. "No; don't introduce me,
Moira."
Dennis lifted a parcel. "A book," he said. "No;
I really can't come in, Miss Moira. It's a book your
sister lent to me.”


278
Three Girls and a Hermit
was.
Moira demanded with asperity his reason for not
taking tea with them.
"1-I can't, really"; and Dennis stumbled and
blushed over the simple words.
“Eva's in,” said Moira.
Dennis looked through the window. Eva, her hair
shining and her pretty face rather grave, was throw-
ing down, almost angrily, a flower which Milton had
pelted her with. A sudden onslaught from Kathleen
involved her in a moment's romping, from which she
had emerged ruffled and clearly annoyed. Dennis's
lips set suddenly. His mother was stronger than he
He looked again-for Eva, who knew he was
there, never looked out and then he bent over
the car.
Good-bye,” he blurted out. “My mother's wait-
ing." Yet, as his car sped over the wide road to the
town, weak Dennis Vereker knew that his eyes were
full of tears; knew that he had forged his slave
chains afresh in treble steel; had bound his boyish
hands with ropes which would never part.
“ His father's son," said the Hermit. “Poor boy!
his life is as much moulded as though it had been
passed into one of Baby Geoghan's 'shapes. Well;
you don't lack gaiety, Moira, in your world."
He sat apart and quiet, saying he would watch the
bridge—a quiet which was almost pungent when they
played their hands.
Borrisdeane had not reached the stage of acute
bridge ; but the Hermit had been a whist player, and
Moira's reckless disregard for any ordinary rules made
his eyebrows wander to his hair.
He came and sat close to her once, watching her


The Night of the Party 279
fumble over a return and distinctly throw away
the game.
It was rather a troubled little face as
he looked down on it, with new, faint lines about
the mouth-lines which had no business to be
there.
"My dear girl”-Milton was a man who permitted
himself these familiarities—"My dear girl, if you
had bottled your ace, and had returned a spade,
we must have won four tricks. You are a little
duffer."
Moira shook her head dolefully, and the Hermit
looked as if an acute desire to hit something had
come across him.
"A most expensive partner.” Milton added up
the score somewhat sourly. “ That's seven and six to
chalk up."
Eva, who was looking on, sighed a little. This
paying of bridge debts was not the smallest of her
troubles. Even at half a crown a hundred persistent
losses mount up. Moira had just reached the stage
when her thoughts leaped far beyond her skill, when
she essayed coups, and then, unable to count cards,
almost forgot what she had tried for. Eventually
she might play well; but at present she was bound
to lose.
Biddy came in with tea, and her inevitable plate of
hot griddle-bread; but Milton, yawning openly,
declined tea. He filled a long glass with a stiff
peg, and was about to drink it when the Hermit
laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. He had
another tumbler in his hand.
"You and I," he said, “can go into the dining-
"
room.”


280
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ How
»
Before Milton could remonstrate he was spirited
away; and as the dining-room was puffing smoke
from a dim fire, he returned in a peevish humour.
The lack of ceremony at The Beeches had been one
of its great charms.
After tea they played more bridge, and, tired of
that, fell to the romping which so often passes for
merriment; and through it all the Hermit sat quiet
and aloof.
The Geoghans' party necessitated a somewhat early
departure for the men.
“I wouldn't miss it for fivers." Milton looked at
his watch and got up, and took Moira aside.
many waltzes, Miss Moira, eh ? "
Moira replied vaguely; she had not enjoyed the
afternoon.
“Well, the first, at all events.” If Milton meant
his voice to be low, he failed, for it travelled clearly
to the ears of the others. “ Then, we can sit out
a bit and watch the fun. Don't fill up until you
see me."
Moira nodded absently, and came back to the fire.
She was very much afraid that she would not be able
to dance at all, some slight practice with a chair having
been her only attempt to learn the art.
“The world is rather a noisy place," said the
Hermit, as he watched the three men go.
“ You were always down upon it," said Moira
resentfully.
Perhaps I thought it was a wide place for three
girls to stray into alone"-his eyes fell rather severely
upon the small table and the whisky decanters.
“ Ballydare, in my day, was stiff and old-fashioned.
6


The Night of the Party
281
>
I am glad the hunting people are all so nice to you,
and realise that you are only young."
There was something in his voice which banished
the angry words which Moira meant to flash back.
The Hermit did not look as if leaving Borrisdeane
had made him happier.
" And now that you've tasted the sweets of all this
rollicking, I suppose you'll like to keep to the life,
Moira: moving about, seeing fresh faces, meeting
new people, always in towns? Young blood would
never care for the stagnation of the old sea coast.
The waves and the lake, and the fishing in summer,
would not weigh for a fraction's space against this
-fun?"
There was question, more than certainty, in his
words.
Moira stared hard at the glowing fire. She seemed
to hear the plash and shiver of the lake through reeds
and on stony beach, hear the distant boom of the sea,
feel the west wind on her face, the ecstasy of a
suddenly tightened line, the triumph of the moment
when a tired fish was slipped into the net; more, to
feel again the peace of that old, dull life, where there
were no disappointments, and no ring of cold,
,
disapproving faces.
The tug at her heart hurt her; her eyes might
smart, but she answered Aippantly.
time to let the Hermit see the failure of the
enterprise.
“Oh yes, I'd love to move about ; to meet heaps
:
of people. Life at Borrisdeane was mere stagnation-
where one saw no one, knew no one." She glanced
across at Eva, who was lost in unhappy thought.
It was
no
>


282
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ Here it is different," said Moira. She would like
to have this kind of fun always.
"I ... see," said the Hermit, and his voice dropped
from question to quiet sadness : and his fists clenched
once or twice, as if an active animosity was mixed
with his musings.
At a little before eight two Miss Considines,
radiant in Aimsy ball gowns, were ready to start.
Eva was nervous, because the scanty sleeves which
she had insisted on copying seemed to leave her
bare and unprotected now.
Moira was
a blaze
of assertive blue, with some beads, which the
Hermit wanted to burn, wound about her soft throat.
Nothing would induce Kathleen to go.
She was
studying a bulky volume, which she said Moroney
had sent her by post, so that she might realise
what a hound was worth next time she jumped
on one.
“And I thought I'd better know before to-morrow,
for Malone is lending me a young one that pulls,"
said Kathleen, settling to her book.
The Hermit put the hood up and drove them across.
Needless to say, they were too early. Baby Julia,
whose amplitude of hair-pads neutralised her lack
of bodice, burst upon them five minutes after they
arrived, and said the breath was out of her from
pulling at Claara's body. “An' we had to lay a bit
of stuff under the lacing at the last," confided the Baby.
"My! I knew we were late. There's mamma in the
kitchen yet, with her puce dress above on the bed
in her room.”
Cornelius, whose shirt front suffered from lack of
stamina, and whose white gloves would go on no
»


The Night of the Party
283
farther than his thumbs, now bounced into the
room to hang over Eva, and pray for dances.
"You could lay your heel on the floor and 'twould
slip to your head," he told her. "Baby has it that
thick with French chalk. An' the fiddler is tuning up
already, inside."
People began to straggle in. It was Moira's first
dance, and she watched breathlessly. The fine young
women of the afternoon emerged from much cloaking
in a vanity of strange garments, Baby Julia's white
silk, shining moonlike amid a cloud of lesser stars.
There were too apparent evidences of neck-bands cut
off for the occasion, skirts not intended for dancing,
among the visitors.
"I just slashed a bit off the top, and bowed up a
few yards of ribbon, and wouldn't it do for court?"
confided one young woman happily, as she embraced
the Baby, and said, "Hello, Corny, ain't you grand in
your new black coat?" to the heir of the house.
Moira, the Hermit by her side, moved into the
dancing-room. He was very tall and remote among
the slouching youth about him; very grave, as he
asked Baby Julia to dance, and declined other in-
troductions courteously.
"They'll tear me for spite," said the Baby, "they
will, indeed. Katie Malone has her eye on me, asking
you. If you could give her one twist ?
•
"
But the Hermit, now exceedingly grave, because
torn by desire for laughter, could not.
"She's eating the face off Tommy Quin," said the
Baby sorrowfully, "because he wants to pull her out.
It's no go, Katie," she shrilled loudly; "you may as
well take Tommy."


284
Three Girls and a Hermit
“It-it”--the Hermit was a little breathless as he
spoke—“it's wonderful, Moira. Supposing we dance.
Not this one-you're engaged-but later." He
wrote his name on her programme, bowed and moved
to Eva, who was striving to escape from Cornelius.
Cornelius left with reluctance, and moodily offered
his support to Moira. “Will we take a turn ?” he
said. “The walls can stand without you."
Moira's first essay of dancing represented a bumping
chaos, a firm clasping of Cornelius, as he swung her
from the ground, and the absolute certainty of striking
into every other pair as they met them.
Cornelius swooped at the floor as he would have at
a gap out hunting. If he heard the music, it was not
apparent in his steps, and when he landed poor,
panting Moira up against a sofa, he wiped his brow
and said, " 'Twas grand."
“There's nothing like a bit of steam,” said Cornelius.
“I'm thinking 'twas we knocked Mary Raffarty, that's
getting up." He pointed to a maiden in pink, who
was rising from her knees.
Moira, faintly, thought it was.
“I wouldn't like to be the one to marry that one,"
ruminated Cornelius. “She threw an eye on me now
like the blow of a hatchet.”
When the dance was ended, Cornelius abandoned his
partner. As she would not take lemonade or tea, he
seemed to have no further use for her.
Milton was late, and Moira again found herself
alone. The fine young women were all enjoying
themselves hugely. Where they had not a partner
apiece, they were not too proud to club round any-
thing in dress clothes, and take small shares in its
>


The Night of the Party 285
protecting presence. Their giggles rose shrilly. Miss
Clara and the Baby were, on the other hand, some-
what absent, for the expected party from the barracks
were fashionably late.
“I have not been to a dance," said the Hermit,
" for over twenty years.” He appeared suddenly by
Moira's side, and the fickle groups turned awe-struck
to stare at his tall, grave presence, and, to them,
eccentrically cut dress clothes.
“Denny Conellan below in Mill Street'd give you
a better fit than that,” said Katey Malone's brother
scornfully.
The Hermit said it was all so interesting. The
lady musician, advancing from the piano, tweaked
out a card containing the number, and installed 2
to replace it. The Hermit looked down at Moira.
“If I've not forgotten how," he said, “let's dance.”
They slipped into the crowd. The other couples,
flopping or bounding, ceased to be nightmare-like
Bare arm's and black sleeves were glided
by untouched. Squeaks of “Easy now, Mr. Slattery,"
“Oh, have a care, Cornelius, you're squeezing me,"
floated and were lost. The music was a stirring
rhythm, bending awkward, unaccustomed feet to its
command.
Moira forgot the painful steps she had learnt with
the chair, she let herself swing as the Hermit danced,
and her soul thrilled to it. In and out, he never lost
an opening, never seemed to hesitate, but danced
until Moira seemed to float in a misty, music-
thrilled haze, with wraiths, half seen, passing and
passed.
“Giddy, eh?" The Hermit's voice sounded a
menaces.


286
Three Girls and a Hermit
long way off. “You would dance perfectly, Moira,
if you practised."
Moira rested, breathless, watching the other
couples as they fopped, and swooped, and lobbed,
in a variety of strange attitudes, past her. The music
died with a last crashing chord.
“Your friend is late, very late," said the Hermit.
Moira's heart was distinctly sore. She considered
that the devotion which every one chaffed her about
ought to have curtailed Milton's dinner, and brought
him in time for the dance. Unless she accepted the
invitations of the so-far-unknown youths, her card
appeared likely to remain empty, for the Hermit had
not asked her to dance again. Eva was wrestling
with the attentions of Cornelius, and wearing a worried
expression as she did so.
At that point the doorway was filled by four black-
coated figures, and the Baby, dropping an unoffending
partner as though his presence stung her, fled to meet
them.
“And then you might have left the bit of pudding
and come along," she said reproachfully.
“I wouldn't put it the same way, but I think it,"
said the Hermit.
Milton did not hurry, but seeing Moira, he came
»
across.
.
“Savage hour to begin," he said. “You've kept
my dances all right, I hope. Supper too ....
The Hermit caught the glint in Moira's eye. “Miss
Considine is taking supper with me,” he said, and
Moira smiled. The Hermit might be trying, but he
always seemed to do the things she wanted him to.
Milton's evening was not at first quite what he had


The Night of the Party 287
»
hoped for. Moira was angry, and no longer quite
complacent. She accepted other partners freely, and
showed a complete lack of enthusiasm when he sug-
gested sitting out for two or three dances, behind
some of the carefully arranged screens. Thoughts
came upon her, spurred to life by the lilt of the
dance music, and for a space she was absent and
absorbed.
But the night was young. The Hermit, who did
not dance again with her, stopped her as she was
leaving the room.
“ About supper,” he said ; "that, of course, was
only to help you out, Moira. Probably you'd prefer
not to change those dances."
Moira's head went up: a sudden bitterness came
cold about her heart. With the quickness of retort
which so often led her into trouble, she told the
Hermit she had no idea of troubling him; crossed
his name viciously from her programme, and thence-
forth flirted with Milton to the depth of his desire.
The Hermit looked at her, and led Miss Clara
into the fray, abandoning his reserve.
“I have never," he said to Eva, “enjoyed anything
so much in my life. I danced with a Miss Reidy, who
said 'twas lovely, six times, and then told me I might
as well call her Katie, as she had a sister older than
herself.” The Hermit grinned with a fervour which
was new to him.
" And you did it?" said Eva.
"I did. I also squeezed her fondly, and she said
* Behave!'” The Hermit burst into unchecked
laughter. "If you and Moira weren't here, I would
not have missed it for gold. At present I am


288
Three Girls and a Hermit
awaiting the inevitable bursting apart of Miss
Claara's body."
“Hurry down to supper," said Baby Julia to them,
“ before the breasts are off the turkeys."
The Geoghans would let no man starve. There
were rows of turkeys and chickens, and even geese ;
mighty hams and several pigs' heads, flanked by hot
potatoes and the home-made jellies, which were back-
boneless in appearance. Champagne flowed freely.
The punch-bowl smoked and flung out a head-
swaying steam.
Papa himself carved frantically, heaping plates
with food.
“ There's no bits of things in 'aspect' jelly here," he
said, as he laid half a turkey before Eva—"just to
chill your stomach an' tantalise it. That bird was fed
on barley meal for three months."
The Hermit made faint protest before a fresh
mountainous helping. Moira, who had no appetite,
was pecking at several pounds of ham carved for
her by Cornelius.
“And the champagne's good," said the Hermit.
“I wonder if the old fellow remembers me.”
Supper was at eleven, and they might have stayed
late had not Eva broken up their evening. She had
left the room with Cornelius, who was not sober, and
was sitting out, when the sound of a ringing slap was
followed by the frantic appearance of the Geoghans'
heir holding his hand to his cheek, and the subsequent
appeal of Eva-following hastily—to the Hermit, to
get her out of this awful place, as Cornelius had tried
to kiss her.
It was not quite as easy as it looked. Cornelius,


The Night of the Party 289
distraught by grief and rage, first drank half a bottle
of champagne, and then, for some occult reason known
only to himself, perhaps to show his complete indif-
ference, sped into the coolness of the night, and pro-
ceeded to wind up and attempt to drive the Hermit's
motor. The Hermit arrived to find his car buzzing
impotently against a locked gate, with the steering
gear irretrievably damaged, and Cornelius declaring
he knew all about motors, abusing this particular one
for its want of power in hill climbing.
“On the top speed, she can't do it," cried Cor-
nelius furiously.
The Hermit with firm despair removed the youth,
seating him upon a stone to sober, while he bribed
a waiting coachman to drive them home; Cornelius,
who was now forgetting the car, rising at intervals
to hold his sleeve, and assure him that he, Cornelius,
would never love again.
The Hermit advised him not to, and with many
protests took his leave, with a plea of Eva's indis-
position.
Baby Julia was not to be hoodwinked.
“ 'Tisn't a
headache at all, but Corny's goings on,” she said
scornfully. “Indeed, you needn't mind, Miss Eva,
for he'd kiss the cook after his supper; and he's
daft about you."
Eva accepted this compliment without comment.
"And you're disturbing your sister," said the Baby.
“She's stuck in a corner these three dances.”
The light of amusement died out of the Hermit's
eyes. He went down the passage and called Moira
coldly.
She was sitting in a corner, but she came with
"
19


290
Three Girls and a Hermit
alacrity, Milton's manner suggesting that if he had
not followed Cornelius's example, he had again not
neglected papa's punch.
Moreover, as they settled themselves into the
borrowed brougham, Moira remarked tartly that she
thought dances, if people wouldn't dance, were
exceedingly foolish, and rubbed her arm as if some-
thing had offended it.
They drove past the gloomy figure of Cornelius,
still resting in the cold, and Eva, with a sudden laugh,
told her tale.
“Cornelius was-upset," she said, “and he would sit
out. And he said my hair was like the hair on his
chestnut horse, 'twas that shiny, or maybe 'twas more
like a new doll's, and my eyes were blue as his
mother's old china set. And if I'd say the word
he'd go to papa and get a dispensation if he had to
go on his own two knees to Rome for it, and when I
didn't say the word but tried to go he ... and I think
his face will be sore to-morrow," added Eva after a
pause, “for I had my fan in my hand. The-the-
wretched creature," she cried, passing from merriment
to sudden wrath.
“ You must never," said the Hermit, “go near those
people again. Miss Kate Reidy, no doubt, would not
have objected. I think at Borrisdeane you would not
have cared to know the Geoghans.
Moira was amazed to find a sudden unbidden tear
trickling down her nose. She wiped it off, and imme-
diately snapped at the Hermit, because she did not
know why it had come there.
Moira went to bed. The Hermit, before he walked
home, stood talking to Eva.
)


The Night of the Party
291
"I suppose it's been for the best," he said. "Many
things may happen down here. You" he checked
himself, remembering Moira's caution about Dennis
Vereker," and Moira- That is-she cares for that
fellow Milton-I suppose. He's always here. It-it
will be settled, Eva?"
Eva shook her head thoughtfully. "Moira has said
nothing to me. I know nothing," she answered-
"nothing, except that it has all been a hideous
failure." And Eva's face was very sad.


1
1
CHAPTER XVI
THE MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS
AS
S the Daracq, much indisposed, still leant against
the locked gate at the Geoghans', the Hermit
accepted the doubtful pleasure of a drive with the
roan horse to the meet. Fate elected that it should
be at Knock Castle, and with bitter certainty Moira
knew that their position in the county's favour would
be too speedily made known. Others would be
pressed to go in, they would be left severely alone,
and the Hermit's quiet eyes would read the truth.
The effect of these ruminations brought Moira to
breakfast with an expression of unchecked gloom,
and her lack of appetite caused Biddy to cast asper-
sions on all ball-goings and their likes.
Runnin' out without a screed on yer necks,"
said Biddy severely. “ The like of that'd upset any-
one's sthomach." She removed the boiled egg which
Moira should have eaten, and said "the cyar was
waitin' on thim, with Misther Tremayne above on it,
an' he lookin' mosht unaisy."
The Hermit was “unaisy." The roan horse, sent
to fetch him, had enlivened the short journey from
the town by backing into two coal carts and upsetting
a perambulator. As he now circled, despising a hand
66
292


The Meeting of Old Friends 293
on his bridle, across the flower-beds, it was evident
that to-day a moving and not a stopping spirit
possessed him.
The Star, leaning piteously against Gog, was just
then led out of the gate, a grey and woebegone
dream, every rib showing under her dry coat, and the
roan's temper was not improved by the waiting before
it was time to start.
Biddy advised more breakfast. She proffered the
egg “Miss Moira wouldn't ate, be raison of the chill
she got as she sthept lasht night,” and on that being
declined, insisted on the Hermit's drinking cups of
hot tea.
It was not a cheerful breakfast party. Moira sat
wound in a web of depression. Eva spluttered out
little spurts of varied indignation, always directed
against Cornelius, and the Hermit himself was very
thoughtful.
“ It is half a lifetime, twenty-two years," he said
once, and looking out at the stretch of country.
“I wonder if people will remember me-I was twenty-
one then. Forty-three now, and I don't believe I've
altered much.”
His years sat lightly on him. His fair, soft hair
had not receded from his forehead, or basely deserted
the crown of his head. His
grave
face was but little
lined, and his eyes, when they were not sad, were
strangely youthful.
“Lying in a backwater does not age one," he
said again, and had his musings rudely broken in
upon by the determined attempt of the roan horse
to come in at the window, and the subsequent
remark of James Dunne's friend that there wouldn't
"


294
Three Girls and a Hermit
be a bit of the "cyar” together if they didn't go
soon.
They drove off into a softly clouded day; grey
drifts of vapour sailing across a pallid, misty blue;
faint gleams of sunlight turning the distant hills to
silver in patches. All the world seemed to be going
to this meet, and the roan horse resented the crowd.
Yet he behaved with discretion until they turned into
the narrow road leading up to Knock, and a pony
trap, with a rattling, jingling bell, came up behind. .
From that moment the hands of James Dunne's
friend were fully occupied ; the car pitched and rolled
to the furious plunges, and ever, as the horse grew
quiet, the bell arrived again to set him wild. The
third occasion—when the roan grated the car against
a wall, and took them over a heap of stones with
a perilous tiltąbroke the silence of James Dunne's
friend. Turning round, he looked at the lady driving
the pony with a long and baleful glance: “I wish
that God Almighty could see her dead this night, an'
yer bell along with her," he said heavily, but without
emotion, and then succeeded in getting past the next
trap and beyond the sound of the jingle.
The Hermit remarked that he thought he would
have included the roan horse in the wish, and they
arrived at the meet. It had seemed to Moira as they
drove out that a breath, colder even than usual, was
to be blown upon them. The roan gave scant time
for greeting, but one or two women she knew had
turned their heads away as though they did not wish
to see her. As they pulled up on the lawn, horses
and motors and traps streamed past them up towards
the gleaming statues, by the sweep before the door.


The Meeting of Old Friends 295
)
The Hermit looked about him quietly, as if waiting
to see them greeted by their friends-waited, with a
look which made Moira's cheeks burn miserably.
• Who is that ?” he said. A pretty woman was
getting on to her horse.
"Lady Anne Knox. She is very nice.” Lady
Anne had often talked to Moira, and the girl nodded
now, smiling
But the cold breath was unmistakable.
Lady
Anne looked, and deliberately turned away. The
roses on Moira's cheeks faded sharply: she said
nothing. There was clearly something wrong. As
the Hermit slipped from his coat, Moira was moved
to an “Oh!” of unstinted admiration, and then sat
staring at him with thoughtful eyes.
Other people passed : Mrs. Bellew, Mr. McArtney,
and they, too, looked away with clear intent.
“Grattan!” It was a positive cry of welcome.
Old General Knox came trotting across the grass.
“ Noll Grattan. After all these years.
After all these years. One would
know you anywhere."
You've grown younger," said the
Hermit.
He was only the first. In a few minutes Moira
saw the Hermit, the man she had so loftily looked
down upon, surrounded and welcomed by these
people who had been so cold to her. They engulfed
him, carried him away, and she drifted near on The
Star, listening to the greetings, and watching the
house through one of the openings in the trees.
Dennis Vereker, coming down the steps, saw her ;
she could see him stop, and stare, and hesitate. A
dark figure came out behind him-his mother's—and
« And you.


296
Three Girls and a Hermit
Moira then saw her nod in their direction-saw Mrs.
Vereker take Mrs. Knox by the arm and whisper in
her ear. There was something fresh, then; the bitter
tongue was not sparing them-passive avoidance was
not enough, they were to feel the whip of active
resentment.
A sob rose in her throat. She rode along the
white iron railings nearer the Hermit.
"Moroney, come here." Old Knox was calling to
every one. "You were a kid in those days. Here's
Noll Grattan who jumped the boundary fence out of
the wood here-and left us all." The Master rode
up, giving warm greeting. "Here, Condon, don't
you remember young Grattan?"
The Hermit's grave face grew soft at his welcome.
He rode among them laughing, exchanging memories
of bygone sport. He had been with them for two
years, and known and loved the place; now the fear of
return, which had been heavy upon him, was passing
swiftly away.
Dennis Vereker came across the lawn between the
house and the railings. "Violet's boy." Old Knox
looked suddenly uneasy.
"I've seen him," said the Hermit quietly.
Dennis laid a hospitable hand upon the Hermit's
bridle.
"Come along," he said, "and have something :
cherry brandy-coffee. I'll look for my mother."
He led the horse to the door.
But Mrs. Vereker came out again herself-tall,
erect, and handsome, coming slowly down the marble
steps, between the four guarding, gleaming statues ;
cold as they were; beautiful despite her years, her


The Meeting of Old Friends
297
pale, perfectly featured face unlined, her dark eyes
clear and hard, her black hair untouched by silver.
“ Dennis ”—she spoke sharply—“you'll not forget
what I told you about — Dear heaven! Oliver!”
She was alive now, whiter than the figure she
reeled against, but the mask off her face, and fear and
pain and lashing memory driving in waves across it.
"You remember me, then, Violet?” The Hermit
held out his hand and took hers.
The fear and pain merged to a sudden flash of
triumph, or was it something more?—some gleam
of a hope, hard held, which the long years had failed
to kill ?
The people about seemed to melt away. Heads
were nodded, whispers hissed from lip to lip. So
that was it. Oliver Grattan had come back to his
faithless love, now a rich and handsome widow. The
long years would be as naught. He would forgive
the past and come to reign at Knock Castle.
Moira, standing by the railings, saw the two meet,
and looking at them-knew. This was the boy old
Dunne had told her of. It was Oliver Tremayne, the
quiet old Hermit, who had flashed out those words
of fiery scorn, and then tried to ride to his death.
She knew now why some strange instinct had made
her think so much of the story, knew with a strange
throb of pain why she had so disliked Mrs. Vereker.
The missing note in her memory rang out with
clarion clearness as she remembered how she had
seen the photograph in the Hermit's book; how she
had bent in rapturous admiration over the lovely
face, and then watched him burn it.
“A picture of a dead friend," he had said. Yet


298
Three Girls and a Hermit
now she saw him walk to greet the dead, and stand
isolated while the hunt got to horse.
He could forgive; he could forget; could come all
this way to marry the dead old man's widow; live on
the dead old man's riches. It was unlike the Hermit,
yet, with that dull pain throbbing at her heart, she
supposed love planed all roughnesses smooth. This
was what he had spoken of when he wrote; this was
the change he meant to make.
Baby Julia, habited in a bright brown, with a blue
tie straying under one ear and a false fringe straying
over another, rode to her side. The Baby's aspect
was hostile; they knew the long-longed-for officers
themselves now, and no longer wanted the Considines.
Also, they were annoyed by the treatment of Cornelius,
who had been found asleep by Mary Maguire's
carriage, and, having contracted a really violent cold,
was now in bed.
"Nice stories we hear about you," said Baby Julia
spitefully. "Mrs. Vereker has it all over the place,
an' I heard it coming out-how you slipped off with
the captain and stayed out all night. Oh, fie! fie for
shame!" said Julia, with acid-tipped playfulness.
"I came home with Mr. Grattan," said Moira
coldly, yet realising with quick remorse how foolish
she had been. She knew now why heads were turned
away. They had gone too far.
"Isn't it nice of him to say so now?" said Julia,
openly incredulous. "Wasn't it bad luck Mrs.
Vereker being at the station to hear, and you having
your little spree settled so nicely? Not that I mind
a farthing," said Baby Julia; "but mamma does."
Clear warning, even from the Geoghans, that


The Meeting of Old Friends
299
friendship was to cease. Had she been mad to go
to this girl's house, to treat her and her people as
friends, and now to suffer in consequence playful and
venom-tipped impertinence?
"I really don't understand you," flashed out Moira,
and turned away, while Baby Julia, who was not
bad-hearted, sucked her whip-handle and wondered if
she had said too much. It was Miss Clara who had
urged her on.
Moira rode across to
Dennis Vereker pass her
faced greeting.
Eva just in time to see
sister with a stiff, shame-
Eva flung her head up and looked with a queer
smile at Moira. "Mr. Vereker," she said clearly.
"I can't stop. Got to speak to Moroney." He
rode on, his red face paling, his hands unsteady on
the reins, and his boy's heart knew its own bitterness.
"You see, Moira-I wanted you to see-that I shall
never reign here among the statues." Eva smiled again.
"Poor foolish boy. I have seen your plan all along,
Moira, but it only amused me-for-." She paused.
"My plans are always otherwise."
"Eva!" said Moira, unhappily looking at the
gloomy, imposing frontage of the house.
"There are better things than money and big, cold
houses," said Eva. "I've watched, smiling through it
all; and now, Moira, people are cutting us."
Moira knew, and knew why. Her folly and her
fault. She had led the others all through; she had
taken the noisy merriment for smartness; she had
scoffed at the elder sister's gentle remonstrances.
And now.... It had been fortune or failure, and
they had been doomed from the commencement.


300
Three Girls and a Hermit
Bitterest of all, the Hermit was here to see the
fulness of the failure. She sought for one redeeming
hope, and could find none. Money had melted ; the
horses were valueless; in a few weeks they must
return to Borrisdeane, to live there for evermore :
poor ; with no thought of ever leaving it, with no
hope to write in golden letters across life's page :
lonely ; no Hermit to fetch her to fish and to walk
and to wrangle. The Hermit would be here in Bally-
dare; master in the big, silent house, moving through
the dim corridors, past lines of gleaming marble
figures, with handsome Violet Vereker, her faithless-
ness forgiven, by his side.
The jog and pounding of the horses' feet, the
laughing voices all round, seemed a dull boom of
pain, a menace of sorrow, as Moira realised how
cruel life can be to those who fail. Soft hands
stretch sweetly to help success to a still higher
pinnacle ; hard-booted feet kick failure from rock
to rock, turning callously aside as he bumps to the
lake at the bottom of life's mountain. Moira looked
back ;
the crowd had left Mrs. Vereker and her old
lover alone. She could see them standing together,
as the groom led up a big thoroughbred with a lady's
saddle on it.
“ Will you put me up?" As some one in a dream,
Mrs. Vereker moved towards the horse. Did she
remember then that he had put her up twenty-two
years before, on the day she had told him of her
falseness? It had seemed easier to let him know
out hunting, where he would not make a fuss.
“ If I have not forgotten how." He took her foot
in his hand, and before she lowered her thick veil he


The Meeting of Old Friends
301
saw her turn scarlet. “You are no heavier," he said
quietly ; "the years have passed you by."
Then they rode on, out past the grey stone dragons
by the gate, across the wide lawn—and still she rode
as a woman in a dream.
"You came back, Oliver ?" she questioned him.
" Why?"
“ To see some friends of mine-the Considine
girls. I want them to be happy here, as they most
foolishly came.” There was no emotion on his face,
save a quiet look of relief—that of a man who, having
feared a hurt, finds he is without pain and whole.
"Most foolishly,” she said ; "they are the talk of
the county."
She knew why: how she herself had spread each
bitter story; and now, with some tangible ground,
had flashed such cold glare of scandal that no one
would speak to them. Looking ahead to where Moira
was jogging, silent and alone, the unreasoning flood
of dislike which she had felt before tore at Violet
Vereker's heart.
“To make them happy ?" she said coldly. “It
would be better to send them back to where they
came from. The girl in front has made herself
conspicuous with a Captain Milton. They must go
away."
"I think not,” said the Hermit slowly. “You can
do a great deal for them, Violet."
As he spoke her name the hope sprang to life
again-sprang and trembled, dreading a second living
death. She had possessed riches, beauty, a slavish
husband, a docile son, yet was it all now worth it?
She had thought so then. But now, with youth


302
Three Girls and a Hermit
behind, with age holding his iron door open in front,
Mrs. Vereker doubted; knew that she had missed
something which could never be hers again.
“ You'll stay for the winter?" she asked.
I may." His face clouded. “It depends—upon
what happens. I cannot read the future just now."
“But-you can forget the past ? ” The scent of the
huge bunch of violets which she wore drove to his
nostrils as she bent across to him; her eyes shone
under the thick meshes of her veil.
"I can-most happily,” he answered steadfastly.
Mrs. Vereker drew a quick breath.
Was it fate that they should ride again to Tulla
covert, seeing the dark patch of gorse far off on the
green hillside ; that they should jog down the lane
where she had told him what she meant to do; and
stand together where he loosed a storm of fiery words
upon her, and she had laughed at him?
The Hermit drifted away a little. Hounds were
in covert, but no whimper stirred the waiting
crowd.
Moira, still riding alone, came up at the far side
of the hedge, and stood still, letting the thin Star eat
the grass. Donough Moroney stood at one corner of
the gorse watching intently. He looked round as the
Hermit came near.
“You rode a great hunt from here, didn't you ?” he
said. “I was a schoolboy, but I remember it. Right
away to Rathallen. It's a thick gorse now.” Then
he stayed silent for a minute. “ You're with the
Considines ?” he asked.
The Hermit said that he was.
" They're a wonderful family,” said the Master
»


The Meeting of Old Friends 303
mournfully. “The little one has two hounds lamed
for me.
She will follow me," he added, with a sudden
spasm of something which was not resentment.
“There's one on a grey clothes-horse, and one on
a motor-'bus; but the little one can shove you to
rights off a bank-if you delay a minute."
The Hermit smiled at Kathleen, who was hovering
near.
Meanwhile Moira, as The Star tore up juicy
mouthfuls, sat silent and miserable; and Mrs.
Vereker, on the other side of the hedge, was unaware
of her presence.
She talked in her clear, cold voice to Mrs. Knox,
who had been away for some time. Moira heard her
own name.
“They are impossible, Nelly. You cannot be kind
to them.” With a suggestion worse than open
accusation, Mrs. Vereker gave the history of the
missed train. " Mere folly, of course, but one cannot
tolerate folly . . . of that class. They are sworn
allies too of those impossible Geoghans. Dennis,
silly boy, was attracted by the fair one ; they laid
traps for him, but I put my foot down. He under-
stands now that he is never to do anything but say
good-morning. They can marry a Geoghan, as they
came here in search of husbands."
Each word beat as a sledge - hammer on to
Moira's bruised heart. All this, the fruit of her
cherished scheme. This to greet the Hermit when he
came to see its working.
" And Dennis will obey me," the cold voice went
on slowly. "His fancy was merely a passing one.
I must say I cannot understand how a man of


304
Three Girls and a Hermit
Mr. Grattan's class comes to be mixed up with
them."
Youth knows its own bitterness, it gathers sorrow
to it with the full belief that having come it will never
leave again. Moira tasted this now; high hopes hurt
as they fall from their giddy perches. Moira had
brought the others here, had built her sand castles,
woven her foolish webs, all on this trip. And for
a time believed she had been right. Was there
nothing, no one triumph or achievement which could
be put forward ? Hounds were speaking in covert,
but it was a difficult place to get a fox away from,
and the field knew they might have some time to
wait.
Miss Clara Geoghan rode through the gap with
Captain Milton. Her expression, as she spied Moira,
changed to a lofty unfriendliness, and she bade good-
morning with full memory of Cornelius's wrongs.
On observing that Milton meant to remain with
Moira, the smiles Miss Clara had turned upon him
changed to obvious sneers.
"I wouldn't intrude,” said Miss Clara spitefully.
“ "Oh, dear no. Indeed, I wouldn't."
She tossed her loosely done hair, and looked frankly
spiteful. And you never asked for poor Cornelius,"
she said, evidently loth to leave, “that's in bed with
his lungs, no less. Nicely your mousey sister treated
him, indeed, and no fear he'll trouble her again, I can
tell you."
" I trust not," said Moira sharply.
Milton was smoking a huge cigar; the long delay
in covert prophesied a poor scent; he had been at
peace with the world, but Miss Clara's first words
9)


The Meeting of Old Friends
305
made him anxious. The story of the deer hunt had
also reached his ears. Good fun and flirtation were
one thing; entwining of names in other ways hinted
at the seriousness of marriage, and he had no
inclination towards this step.
But Moira's face in its sorrow was so pretty that
he could not abandon his old form of light com-
pliment.
"You're looking stunning," he said.
"Don't mind me," said Clara Geoghan viciously,
and, smiting her patient horse, rode away.
Moira looked at Milton steadily. If he were really
in love with her, meant to ask her to marry him, it
would at least be something. Whatever her own
feelings were-and she felt that she could not contem-
plate a whole life spent with Milton-the fact of an
engagement would justify the trip.
So she smiled at him with such pitiful sweetness
that Milton's expression deepened to something even
more fatuous than its wont.
The distant notes of the pack, the hopes of a hunt,
were drowned as she waited.
""
Hang silly story some one's spread about us,"
was what Milton said. I must get Grattan to say
what really happened-how he fetched us, and
so on."
The Hermit rode slowly round the hedge, and
looked hard at them.
"I want you, Moira," he said. "I want you out
here with me."
"The very genuine Sultan," said Milton crossly to
himself.
"Moira, Moria. It has not been a success,"
20


306
Three Girls and a Hermit
mane.
said the Hermit unhappily. He had heard many
things.
The sharp retorts of the Borrisdeane days were
dead; a tear splashed down on The Star's ragged
Then Moira recovered herself.
" It may be," she said.
The Hermit looked at Milton and grunted. His
muttered words were inaudible.
They rode together among the crowd. Heads that
had been turned away in the morning were bent
in greetings now. He took her along the hedge to
where Mrs. Vereker was standing. The elder woman's
eyes flashed in sudden anger on Moira's pretty down-
cast face.
Well, Oliver,” she said, ignoring his companion,
we may finish near Knock. You'll come in, of
course ?"
“I am with Miss Considine," he answered, and his
eyes challenged hers to a response. " I've been here
since I motored her home from stag-hunting a day or
I had arranged to fetch her."
Mrs. Vereker coloured faintly, she knew what he
meant; knew he had heard of her spreading this
story and others.
“ I hope "—she spoke stiffly—“that Miss Considine
will also come in to tea."
“ Thank you." The Hermit did the answering.
“ If there is any of the car left we'll send the roan to
pick us up, Moira."
“And you.” Mrs. Vereker rode with them as they
went on. "When your brother dies—it can be only
months, I hear-shall you hunt here, Oliver ?. You'll
have so many homes then.”
")
two ago.
>
"
)


The Meeting of Old Friends 307
)
“ The inheritance took long to come," he answered,
looking at her. “You have eaten the twenty years of
riches, which might have been those of comparative
poverty, Violet.”
“ And found them bitter on the tongue,” she
answered. "1-l-am rich still, Oliver."
Moira wrenched The Star away. Why talk thus
before her ? But just as she turned, the fox broke out
across the field beneath them, straight for Dirk Hills,
six miles and more away.
"Come, Moira, to the right. Come with me."
He knew the way. The Star thundered by the
brown horse, pulling wildly; Moira wondering when
she would fall. Hounds were racing close on their
fox; across flat fields, fenced with ragged, difficult
banks. Flash, the grey mare cleared the first, the
second she kicked back at. To every horse, however
bad, comes one day when it will jump. This was
The Star's. The impulse to refuse was not upon her.
If she jumped nothing well, she got over safely to the
far side, while better horses came to earth. On, still
racing down the slope to the valley, with no check or
hesitation, while the field tailed behind them, and they
knew that they had got a flying start.
A huge log of timber barred a gap in front. The
Hermit checked his horse as they faced it.
“Can she, Moira ?” he asked.
“She can clear any height,” gasped Moira, her
cheeks pink, her eyes alight, for this was something to
live for.
Over with a rap went the brown, over with a
soaring plunge flew the grey. Hounds swung to
.
them along the fence, so that they had to steady their


308
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
horses. The Master, closely followed by Kathleen,
was riding on their right, a few others to the left.
Pace had choked slow horses, a bad start had left
many.
" It's going to be the old line, Noll”—Knox, on
his striding black, shoved up beside them—“Dirk
Hills over the top and away to Ballybushy. Don't
try the rails and river to-day, my boy."
“To-day I want to live, for I have something to
do," said the Hermit. "Steady her, Moira. It's
narrow."
The Star flew the whole thing, and the Hermit,
watching, groaned. They bent to the west now, ,
along the swelling rise of the hills. . Fences were
smaller, the going lighter; luckily, for horses faltered
in their stride, blown by the deep ground in the
valley. They viewed their fox as they breasted the
.
hill: he was crossing through a spur, going strongly
still.
Horses sobbed as they toiled up, stumbling through
heather and over stones, but the long descent gave
them breath, and hounds worked more slowly over
the rough ground.
The Star was tiring. She changed her stride, and
blundered frequently. A fall was only a matter of
time. As they galloped on they came near a wide
ditch edged by strong railings, with a low-built wall
beyond. Hounds dwelt for a moment where the tired
fox had turned sharply.
I jumped that,” said the Hermit, pointing, “ long
(6
ago."
“ And got over?
Moira asked.
“No, we struck the rails this side, and I was


The Meeting of Old Friends 309
thrown against the wall, as I thought I should be. I
wanted to kill myself. Instead, I was only badly
hurt. I'll tell you all about it soon, Moira."
"I think I know," she answered quietly. “The
old man, Dunne, told us the story. Oh, listen to
them. Look!"
From scent to view now, with a suddenly blood-
thirsty crash of music, every hound racing for blood.
A last turn, a minute's gaining, the bared teeth, and
the swift death of a gallant fox pulled down in the
open.
Moira was not destined to finish the hunt, for as
they crossed the road, running very fast, the tired
Star caught her knees in the bank and turned over
on to a heap of loose stones, cutting herself badly.
Moira jumped up unhurt, and the Hermit, as he
poured whisky and water upon the mare's wounds,
said it would be a long job.
“And a good thing, too,” he said cheerily. “For
I'd never have seen you ride the brute again.”
Two fields away they could hear the merry death
cry of the hunt, and see the people as they crossed
to their right, the jaded horses galloping stiffly, and
jumping with effort. A distant clattering told them
the more remote tail was coming along the road they
stood on.
Cromartin, stopping, told them where the people
Mrs. Vereker had fallen, and gone home;
he had picked her up, and she had sent them a
message to be sure to come in. Eva was miles
behind, plodding hopelessly. Little Kathleen, they
knew, was in front, and had probably got another
brush.
were.


310
Three Girls and a Hermit
“ Come,
“We'll go to Knock," said the Hermit.
Moira. Thanks, Cromartin."
The Miss Geoghans had heard the invitation, their
morning's haughtiness melted. Round-eyed, they
had heard how Oliver Grattan would shortly be
Lord Glendine, with a large income and several
places.
Baby Julia reproached Clara hotly, and now rode
up, beaming coyly.
The Hermit's sotto voce direction to snub that
woman hard was not needed. Moira's sore heart
had suffered too much to forgive.
And you flying like a bird,” babbled the Baby.
“I declare we could see you a mile away. My, but
that's the great mare, and I forgot this morning, but
mamma hopes you'll all come to tea to-morrow, you
and your friend,” beamed Julia, wishing he was already
a lord.
Moira regretted that they were engaged.
“ Then I'll bring round your shapes in the morning,”
said Baby Julia, “and we'll have a chat."
Moira said she was sending Patsy for the shapes.
Her manner was sufficiently remote to check further
advances, and the Miss Geoghans fell back, fighting
furiously.
“And the way you an' mamma cautioned me to
beat them," wailed the Baby. “An' we as thick as
thieves before. And one of them perhaps goin' to
marry that lord that's to be."
The Hermit would have called it a new title ; but
as he was not there, Miss Clara only denounced "all
snobs," and then said " she'd eat the face off mamma
with her stories."
"
9)


The Meeting of Old Friends
311
"
“You liked it, Moira ?" The Hermit's face was
very quiet, set in its saddest lines. He seemed to
have been lost in thought.
“ Liked it!” Moira held the limping Star tightly.
" It was glorious. If one could hunt year after year,
upon good horses."
“Soldiers' wives are so often in places where hunting
is impossible," said the Hermit, looking hard at her.
"And they only keep ponies and traps when they
are in a hunting country." Moira looked contemptuous.
"But, oh! think of the eternity of Borrisdeane winters
after this."
“And Borrisdeane summers; the big trout in the
:
old lake; the sea thundering on the shore : they
were not so bad, little Moira.”
Voice failed her, for she knew now how good they
had been. To hunt, one must have money. Enjoy-
ment was half swept away by the cares which marred
the world here—snubs, averted faces, over-friendly
Geoghans. Worst of all, the Hermit, in a way-
so often despised- turning up to set all things
straight.
They arrived at Knock at the same moment as
Mrs. Vereker and the roan horse. That lady, in
fact, was being driven on their car, having broken
her stirrup-leather, and the roan had treated her
to a variety of stops and bolts, which were very
trying to the nerves.
She turned to welcome the Hermit, her cold face
very handsome, her eyes still alight.
“I am glad you came, Oliver,” she said, with a
strange gentleness.
"And I am glad you asked us, Violet.”


312
Three Girls and a Hermit
6
The flashing look beneath Mrs. Vereker's eyelashes
was half question, half wonder.
“Come!” she said quietly.
They followed her through the splendidly fur-
nished, but chill, unhomelike hall, and down the
long corridor, where the statues gleamed white in
the dusk. Their voices seemed to tone to the still-
ness of it, to die to an echoing hum even as they
spoke of their hunt.
They were the first to come in. Mrs. Vereker led
them into the drawing-room, with its glimmer of
white shaded lights and dimness of many shadows,
and treasures of silver and marble where the lights
fell.
“Do you like my house, Oliver ?” She turned to
him with a certain pride, standing with her hand on
an exquisite copy of Apollo.
“ It is a wonderful house, Violet. You have
gathered treasures into it,” he answered.
Moira, standing by the fire, felt her heart contract.
The Hermit would be master of these treasures ;
husband to the cold, treacherous love he was about
to forgive.
“It is a big house—and lonely," she said thought-
fully. There was no mistaking the note of appeal in
her voice, the look in her eyes.
“ You could make it less lonely," he said, almost
carelessly.
Footmen brought in tea. A stately meal, handed
ceremoniously, with glimmer of gold plate and fragile
white china, and dishes of expensive sandwiches and
cakes; and nothing Moira thought half as good
as Biddy's hot griddle-cakes, which one must eat


The Meeting of Old Friends
313
carefully, because of their too lavish allowance of
butter.
Dennis came in then, bringing a train of splashed,
red-coated men, whose cheery voices sank and whose
faces lengthened as they partook of half-cold tea
and rich cake. Some openly preferred the solider
comforts of the dining-room, and went softly across
the thick carpet, making their way through the patch-
work of light and shadows to the heavy curtains
guarding the dining-room door.
Moira, chilled and hungry, tired by the inevitable
reaction of the run, sat quietly in her corner unnoticed,
yet with keen ears straining for every word.
Old Knox, seeing her, came across.
"In the dark, Miss Moira," he said, and even his
voice sank to a half-whisper. "And in the cold," he
added, wheeling her satin-covered chair nearer to the
dull fire, before he sat beside her. "A great surprise
for us all to-day "; he nodded towards the Hermit.
"Young Noll, after all these years. He can show us
how to go as he could then, and I suppose "-the old
man's voice saddened a little--" that he has come
back to settle here."
Moira made no answer.
It was hard that chilled
tea, swallowed two minutes before, should seem to
choke her.
"And yet," General Knox shook his head. "Oh,
of course, it's all as it should be-but she treated him
villainously. If it had been done to me, Miss Moira,
I could not forgive-even after a score of years."
Moira looked up at the Hermit's quiet face-a
strong face, despite its gentleness; it was strange to
her that he could. "A dead friend," he had said, yet


314
Three Girls and a Hermit
« We
c
he stood beside that friend, and she was alive and
rich and very handsome.
“Of course this place is hers for life.” Old Knox
talked on, not noticing the girl's silence. “Hers, with
a tremendous jointure, to do as she likes with. And
the title may carry no money ; I don't know."
"Shall I take your cup, Moira ?” The Hermit had
seen the tired, white little face, and came over.
had better go back."
“I shall be at home to-morrow, Oliver.” Mrs.
Vereker followed him. “A few people whom you
would like to meet. Will you come ?"
As before, he looked at Moira, and Mrs. Vereker
understood. With some show of cordiality she asked
the Considines also.
A Aicker of red blood warmed her pale cheeks;
her eyes still shone.
Moira accepted quietly. It was at least something
that the ban passed by the county should be lifted off
them. “ They would be glad to come.”
Vi-thank
-as I never
thought it would be." The Hermit's hand closed upon
his old love's with a warmth which made Moira sniff
contemptuously.
They drove home through a golden twilight, with
faint shadows of grey and purple, and the distant
hills bathed in a sea of pallid gold. The roan horse
sped swiftly, too anxious for oats to stop. As they
lurched up and down the steep bridge crossing the
Dare, the Hermit broke the silence which had held
them.
“ I would like to tell you, Moira,” he began, “ of an
old-
Thank you,
you. This
"


The Meeting of Old Friends
315
"
" James Dunne told me when first we came," said
Moira shortly.
" James Dunne," said the Hermit blankly.
"Told me about you—and Mrs. Vereker, though
then I did not know that it was you. Now I re-
member the photograph you showed me at Borris-
deane. It's all very romantic,” said Moira, with a
complete lack of appreciation for romance in her
manner.
" It was-very romantic once," he answered, looking
at her thoughtfully. “ Well, that story needs no
telling. There was another--a newer one—which,
since I've come down, I think I had better keep to
myself for a time.”
And Moira thought she knew that also.
“A dream—and perhaps a bitter awakening, Moira"
-his voice grew insistent. “ Can't you say you are
glad I came down-to help you ?"
“ It makes absolutely no difference to me," said
Moira tonelessly.


CHAPTER XVII
HOW THE TRIP SUCCEEDED
PATA
ATSY came to meet them cheerfully. He said
“The Star's pastern jint was hangin' on by a
bit of skhin, an' he feared she'd niver walk agin.
Miss Eva,” he added, “had come back two hours ago,
bein' left two miles behind the lasht man of all, an'
gettin' tired of it. An' indeed Gog's legs were already
swhellin' up finely."
Having nothing further pleasant to tell them,
Patsy retired to his stables, whistling a Kerry dirge.
But there was cheer in the house. Biddy had
built up a mighty fire. James Dunne had purchased
turf and bog wood from some distant friend, and the
old woman was happy.
“ The smhell of thim would hearten you," he said,
as they came in. “If ye'd shut yer eyes ye might
be back at Borrisdeane.
Moira ran to change, and returned to find the
Hermit welcoming a second tea, and talking earnestly
to Biddy.
This tea was hot, and the thickly buttered griddle-
bread light as a feather; but to Moira both were
chill and tasteless; her world was hollow; the bitter-
ness of complete failure was cold upon her. If one
thing, just one good thing, would come of the trip
316


How the Trip Succeeded
317
she had organised! Crouching close to the fire, with
its faintly pungent fragrance, she lashed hope to a
faint life. Now that Mrs. Vereker was once more
friendly, Eva and Dennis might come together again.
Her sister might yet reign at Knock.
The transparency of her nature forced the wish to
utterance; she put it forward almost roughly.
""
"As one outcome for all you have spent? The
Hermit saw plainly what Moira meant. "But he is
a weak creature, Moira, who gives a girl up at his
mother's bidding. Also, he is a mere boy, younger
than Eva; and unless I am and have been blind, I
doubt if your sister would say 'yes.'"
Moira hung her head sulkily.
"Eva could not say-say 'no,'" she answered. "It
would mean too much."
Then Eva, radiant, pink-cheeked, a thick letter in
her hand, burst in upon them. It was evident that
some great joy had befallen her.
"Moira!" she cried.
"Eva! Has anybody bought Gog?" said Moira.
""
Bought Gog! The poor old cart-horse."
Eva
sat down and got up again, restlessly.
"Has?" Wild thoughts raced through Moira's
brain. "Eva, we are all asked to Knock to-morrow."
"I shall not go." Eva spoke with determination.
"Dennis Vereker was rude to me to-day. Yet perhaps
I may. Oh, Moira-Hermit; it's-it's-Derek!
The Hermit remarked without surprise that he
thought it would be Derek-some day.
"It's Derek. He's coming back at once to shoot
at Borrisdeane. He wants me there. He did not
write, because he had promised his father there should


318
Three Girls and a Hermit
be no engagement for a year He half told me. And
now his father's dead, and he has money, and it's all
too splendid." Eva rhapsodised heartlessly, singing
the late Mr. Carstairs' requiem with complete joy.
It was at least evident that no regret for Castle
Knock occupied her thoughts.
“So, as far as that was concerned," said Moira,
when she had kissed her sister, "we need not have
come to Ballydare."
Eva, too happy to do anything except think, had
drifted off again.
“ It would seem so." The Hermit leant against
the mantelshelf, looking down at Moira's brown hair,
which the twilight turned to red gold. “ And-for
you—Moirap"
“For me?"
She laughed shortly, and answered a
little unsteadily. "For me Ballydare does not seem
.
to have worked wonders. But at least it is over.
Any money we have left must go to buy Eva's
trousseau. I shall go back and live at Lake Cottage.
And
suppose you will never come to Borris-
deane now."
The wide lake, the beating sea, the ripple of wind
across the coarse grasses of the bog seemed to rise
before her. She could see them all, and feel with the
vision a cold and lonely wind rushing across the land.
No hunting ; no horses ; no Hermit to wrangle with
daily.
“I-that would depend." He stared hard at her,
and looked as a man who wants to ask a question,
when Kathleen came bursting in.
“ A hunt-oh, such a hunt. Jim Crow had never
faltered, never made a mistake, and she had not even
you—I
a


How the Trip Succeeded 319
jumped on a hound. Mr. Moroney said at the finish,
it was because—they were too far in front of me,”
said Kathleen, with sudden thoughtfulness.
They dined well off Biddy's cookery, with the
new maid, whom Patsy would not even speak to,
waiting with a cheery and noisy inefficiency. Even
the homely aroma of a goose, roasted before the
fire, and stuffed with a haunting mixture of onions
and potatoes, could not dispel a soberness which
clung to them. Moira had a latent cold, and sniffed
occasionally. Eva was wrapped in the radiant silence
which looks at food, and wonders how people can
wish to eat; and little Kathleen seemed immersed in
the solving of some problem of her own, at which she
wrinkled her white forehead and bit at her lip, and
nodded to herself as if summing up and giving
judgment.
An absent-minded game of bridge in the evening
was marked by Eva inquiring if she might play
to Dereks, and wondering, round-eyed, why they
laughed, and by Kathleen, as she fingered her cards,
replying, “ After you, please."
The Hermit, as he bade them good-night, said he
would call for them at three.
Stillness fell on the little house, but not peace, for
one girl lay wide-eyed, too happy to sleep, and one,
with her head deep in her pillow, hoped Biddy would
not notice its salt dampness in the morning.
The Daracq, speedily mended, came gliding to
fetch them—Eva and Moira—for Kathleen said she
had business, and could not go.
The Hermit looked with interest at the plumed hats
with plumes faintly uncurled ; at the trailing gowns
"


320
Three Girls and a Hermit
66
which hailed from Ballydare ; but he said nothing,
for Moira's face, robbed of its colour and radiance,
was strangely pretty in its pallor and sadness.
The Hermit had heard many things that morning
from old friends at Ballydare : hints of the Consi-
dines' foolish wildness; of how they had offended
people there ; further hints of the attachment between
Milton and Moira ; how he had conspicuously paid
the girl attention for some time, and how, following
the expedition to the staghounds, no doubt the
engagement would be published immediately.
When the Hermit observed that he himself had
fetched Miss Considine home, he was met by the
polite How-nice-of-you-to-say-it-old-chap look,
which cannot be met by hot words, as it is a silent
expression of thought. He was therefore in a gloomy
temper as he wheeled in at the gate of The Beeches;
distinctly snappy to Patsy when he tendered infor-
mation concerning the ills of the horses, and inclined
to pass at reckless speed among the donkey and coal
carts in the town.
It was a grey day, chill and gloomy: dark masses of
clouds on the horizon, whisper of coming rain in the
sobbing wind, the bare branches all moving restlessly.
They crouched under the fur rugs as the motor
sped along the narrow roads, and Moira, whose hands
were icy from holding on her big hat, and whose
heart was heavy and sad, never spoke.
Past the grim, grey lions, pawing endlessly at
unseen foes, through the regularity of the flower
garden, where four white figures kept guard. The
doors of Knock Castle swung to receive them to-day;
the butler had no gloomy forebodings of a scolding


How the Trip Succeeded 321
as he preceded them into the warm silence of the
long corridor. Little groups of people were collected
about, idling in the hall, playing cards, or looking
vaguely for a disc which should give them a prize if
they found it.
Clouds had been grey outside, and the shadows fell
deeply in the half-lighted drawing-room. White
shapes showed ghostly and dim, with rounded limbs
showing sharply where the rays from a lamp touched
them.
There were only two or three people in the
drawing-room. Mrs. Vereker turned quickly as she
heard the butler murmur “ The Miss Considines,"
confidentially.
The radiance of yesterday, the new hope's faint life
nursed through a sleepless night was with her—was
alive in faintly glowing cheeks and softened eyes.
The years that were past seemed to wither up as a
scroll as she came to meet them; the softness of old
lace, the bloom of velvet, the shimmer of diamonds
helping to fling age from her.
No thread of silver in the dark hair ; scarcely a line
on the cold, handsome face. As Moira shook hands,
she felt suddenly the tawdriness of her plumes and
trailing, ill-made skirt, her own insignificance before
this splendid woman.
"You are late. They are playing bridge, or look-
ing for a hidden treasure.” There was a roundness in
the voice which Moira had never heard before.
Eva went away with Cromartin. Moira slipped
into the lurking shadow near the window and stood
alone, fingering a huge cineraria-a thing scentless
and stiff, a mass of tiny mauve flowers.
21


322
Three Girls and a Hermit
"We do not want to play, Oliver; we can talk."
"Of many things," he said quietly.
"Of life-and loneliness." She moved full into the
lights, daring their radiance. "Oliver, I ask you
again, Have you forgiven?"
Completely," he said tranquilly; yet he turned
almost sadly from the light which leapt to his old
love's dark eyes, and looked about the room.
"You said, too, you liked my house. I think I
have made it good to look at. But it's big, Oliver.
Dennis will marry and go to Craglaughan, and I shall
be here."
66
Among your statues," he answered; but his voice
was not happy.
"They have been friends to me." The woman's
voice shook. "If I sinned-perhaps I suffered.”
Her eyes looked quickly at the picture of an old
man-white-bearded, bald-headed, with a wrinkled,
kindly face. She watched the Hermit then, almost
moodily.
"Yet you have had all you wanted, Vi. And I—I
had hoped, before I came here, to have what I want."
The note of love, which is always youth, sounded in
Oliver Grattan's voice.
"I wish, Violet, for old sake's sake, that you had
been kinder to my friends."
Her glance followed his to a figure in the shadows
by a distant window, to a young face which came
suddenly into an arc of light.
Moira could bear no more. She slipped through
a curtained doorway and found herself in a con-
servatory. Electric lights gleamed softly from globes
fashioned like flowers; there was wealth of colour


How the Trip Succeeded 323
66
and the soft scent of plant life. Cyclamens flung
up quaint, gay hoods; friesias, all-powered waxiness ;
and long-stemmed narcissi, yellow and white. Moira
passed among them to a cushioned seat.
A wave of hopeless bitterness swept over Moira.
These things of sweetness and colour were for ever
outside her life. If one thing—but one-could happen
to justify the trip!
The curtains at the far end parted, and Milton
came in.
“Looking for a place to smoke," he explained.
“What luck to find you!”
She looked at him in dreary questioning. If he
asked her, she thought—as she had thought yesterday
-it would be something.
And, by Jove, how shining you look !” He sat
down by her, fatuously contented.
Perhaps this was how men proposed. Moira waited,
the same look of dreary questioning on her face.
“ A little hipped, but ripping." His fingers sought
hers. “I tell you, we've had a good time here."
“I am going away," said Moira quietly, resisting
the impulse to pull her hand away.
Oh she was pretty-very pretty. Milton thought
of the stories afloat; but the wan little face near him
moved him to foolishness, and to attempt at making
things clear.
“But we'll meet again. Silly asses have been talk-
ing, Miss Moira. Just jealousy of your prettiness, and
you all being such good sorts. No straight-laced,
starchy nonsense.
you shall run over
to town, bring a sister, or any one, and I'll give
you a good time: theatres, lunches, or, if the times
Tell you .
.


324
Three Girls and a Hermit
are good, stand a frock to enjoy them in. On the
Q.T., because, you see-my people live there.” His
fingers closed on hers; the magic of her wide eyes
made his tongue run faster. "If things were different,
Moira, we might fix everything up, for I'm really
gone on you--but one's people are so silly. They
wouldn't understand you're only jolly and good sorts.
They are so particular about a fellow's future-and
then money."
Moira understood at last. This man—this veritable
last straw to her burden of false hopes, was telling
her—Moira Considine, that if she were another class
of girl he would almost honour her by asking her to
marry him. She grew scarlet and then pale, and he
was too dense to take warning. His fingers pressed
hers. A kiss would be no harm.
“You dare !” She flashed and started up, sending
some flower-pots crashing down.
He stared at the angry girl.
The curtains parted, and the Hermit came in.
“ Moira. It is tea time. Ah!”—the Hermit paused.
Then, “Anything the matter?" he said.
"Oh-nothing that I do not deserve. Moira was
never reticent. "Merely"-she flung out an accusing
hand—" that this-gentleman-has just told me he
would have liked to ask me to marry him if I had
been a girl whom his people could have received."
“Oh!” There was no surprise in the Hermit's
voice; but the light in his eyes was one of swiftly
moving expression. "Oh! It seems a pity that you
did not explain to him, Moira, before he spoke, that
you were engaged to me."
Moira's face changed. As the wave of hopeless
C
>


How the Trip Succeeded 325
"
>
bitterness had swept over her, a second wave of
comfort dashed the spume of the cold waters on.
She could have laid her head on the Hermit's shoulder
and wept. For the cup of her misery had been full,
and now she seemed to move from outer darkness
into the warmth and shelter of a lighted room.
“Yes, it would have been better if I had," she said
proudly, looking at Milton.
Milton, who had been merely acting according to
his lights, muttered foolishly ; too amazed to proffer
explanation, and went away, his humour a black
one. The future Lady Glendine was quite another
person from little foolish Moira Considine.
“Oh, hang it," said Lancelot Milton, as the curtains
closed upon him, and he passed into outer light.
"But ... why?" asked Moira, her eyes wet.
“ It seemed for the moment to meet the case. To
punish the fellow," said the Hermit. "Moira, you've
been foolish, and this man
At this point Moira poured out her opinion of
Milton with unmeasured wrath. “And yet”-she
destroyed several friesias thoughtlessly—“and yet-
I would have accepted him if he had asked me.
Just to justify my coming here, to show we had done
something by leaving Borrisdeane. ... And after all”-
the wan look settled on her face again—" he will
know soon that it is not true-see that you only said
it to help me. Perhaps I shall be gone away first.
Back- -"
“ Back to Lake Cottage ?” he asked.
“To live there all my life," she said.
“ Need he know? Need you either ? ” said the
Hermit quietly.
-
»


326
Three Girls and a Hermit
She stared until the glowing flowers massed and
waved, and seemed to twist about her.
“ Moira.
Do you remember what I said to you
going out to Slattery's? How a man may live to be
glad of the sorrow he has suffered ? I thought you
cared for this-Milton." The Hermit thoughtlessly
kicked a worm which wriggled from one of the
broken pots.
“But you-you've come down here to marry."
Moira pointed to the drawing-room.
“Perhaps I have. The lake will be blue in the
spring time, soon, Moira. The Danogue will be full
of trout, the old sea all a-thunder on the beach. If
you could put up with that for half a year—for I love
my home there—and hunt in winter, and, incident-
ally put up with me also, why not let things stand ?
Could you, little Moira ?”
The soft colours melted, and merged into a strange
wheel of light as Moira listened. Could she? Having
realised for a week how she cared. Knowing now
that happiness had suddenly wrapped his sunlit cloak
about here, and that the Hermit was the sun of that
happiness.
And then, dimly, she realised that the Hermit was
still talking. Something now about a man's sore
heart and a wilful child, and if she could care-
Then he stopped, for Moira's face answered him.
“And oh, it was just because I cared that I fought
with you," said Moira, as she recovered her voice.
Just like The Star and the curb, which she went
best in afterwards.”
The Hermit, drily, said it was an excellent simile.
His hand upon her arm, they went back to the


How the Trip Succeeded
327
drawing-room, empty still, save for the hostess, who
stood near the fire. She turned and started as she
saw them.
“So, it is that?” she said dully. For his face
spoke.
"I hope so, Violet.”
It was Mrs. Vereker who moved into the shadows
now-close to a marble Clodion. The hope she had
cherished all night bit deep at her heart, and in that
anguish died. For the future she knew she would
move alone in her quiet house, among her still white
companions, with one live thing, regret, ever beside
her. Then something made her come forward and
take Moira's face in her hand, turning the girl's face
up gently.
"You are very pretty, child,” she said.
to him for what I took away."
No one had ever seen the cold woman cry; yet
what she wiped from her cheeks was salt and strong.
In that moment Violet Vereker knew the bitterness
she had dealt to the man at her side twenty-two years
before. She had laughed then; she did not laugh
now, as, for the second time, she saw they must part.
“ Thank you, Violet,” said the Hermit simply. “In
that we make a true peace.”
The rest of the evening was a blur to Moira. She
went through it vaguely, sometimes seeing Eva,
sometimes Dennis, who hovered near her, his face full
of boyish sorrow.
They flashed home, and there were plans to be dis-
cussed, for Eva wanted to go back. Moira, smiling,
explained that on her part she did not want to seek
more fortune, as she was going to marry the Hermit.
“ Make up


328
Three Girls and a Hermit
But the Hermit said that as he had waited so long
for a wife he thought he would like one at once, and
suggested an immediate marriage, and finishing the
season here in another house, “and with little Kathleen
with us," he said.
Kathleen looked up thoughtfully. She said, after a
pause, that they need not bother about her, for she had
been asked to stay at Carrickdown.
Unmoved by a burst of sisterly wrath and quick
reminders that Donough Moroney had no sister,
Kathleen stroked her chin, and then, as the flow of
words subsided, remarked that she was nineteen.
The Hermit said severely that he did not know
what young Moroney could have been thinking of.
“He said I wouldn't kill so many hounds if I
always rode his horses," observed Kathleen meekly.
“Do you mean he wants to marry you ?” burst out
Moira.
“He said it's the only way he could manage it,"
said Kathleen placidly.
A sudden light dawned in Moira's eyes. They
flashed triumph upon the Hermit.
“ Then it has been a success after all," she cried.
“Oh, I perceive,” he said sadly, “that I shall never
be able to criticise the wisdom of your idea." But
he smiled contentedly.
"
PROTEX
OF THE
THE END
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