IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) /. /A # . % A^: %°ik. V {/ fS\ •io ''''™'°- - nos's- Ihe^T'. ""' "'"'"'' '™^'' ^'°» thoughtful- th?„ ,. ™^' 'y°» "•■•• 'I- ""o^t tiresome girl in the world. I have boon two honrs tryin. fo Z a w,nk of sleep, and just when I succeed vou come m and wake me.' ^ " •It's sorry I am to „,y heart's core,' .said Nora fehe went up to her iiintl,.>.. i • ■"" "ora. and looked with hor o v ', ''''r .,"" ""' '""' wiwi nei lOHy inco into the worn anri faded one of the elder woman - R.r. T shp «niri o • . woman. Here I am, mammy,' she sa,d again, 'your own little Nora; let me sit with you a bit— may I ? ' , let me sit ali?verT"'f ^':. ""'^' '"*""^- ^he looked all over the girl's .lin. figure, and finally her eyes rested on the laughing, lovely i'ace. TliL a elTud NORA. g crossed her forehead, and her eyes became dim with tears. ' Have you heard the last thing, Nora ? ' 'There are so many last things, mother,' said Nora. ' But the very last. Your father has to pay back the money which Squire Murphy of Cronane lent him. It is the (pieerest thing; but the mortgagee means to foreclose, as he calls it, within three months if that money is not paid in full. I know well what it means.' Nora smiled. She took her mother's hand in hers, and began to stroke it gently. 'I suppose,' she said, 'it means this. It means that we must part with a little more of the beloved land, every sod of which I love. We certainly do seem to be getting poorer and poorer; but never mind— nothing will ever alter the fact that ' ' That what, child ? ' 'That we O'Shanaghgans are the proudest and oldest .%mily in the county, and that there is scarcely an Englishman across the water who would not give all he possesses to change places with us.' 'You talk like a silly child,' said Mrs O'Shan- aghgan ; ' and please remember that I am English.' ' Oh mummy, I am so sorry ! ' said the girl. She laid her soft head down on the sofa, pressing it against her mother's shoulder. 6 NOKA. I cannot t nnk of you as En.li.sh/ she said. You have hvod here all, all n.y life. You belong to ather. and you belon^r to Terence and me-what have you to do with the cold En<,dish ? ' 'I rcinen.ber a tinie,' said Mrs O'Shanao-h.an, 'when 1 thou-ht Ireland the most desolate and God-for- suken place on the earth. It is true I have become accnsto.ued to it now. But, Nora, if you only could realise what my old home was really like.' 'I don't want to realise any home different from h.s said the .irl, . cloud shadin.. her bric.ht eyes for the moment. ^ ^S^^g^n. It ,s a great trial to me to have a daughter so unsympathetic ' The.? 3"^" ' '"'' ""^" ^^ ^^ unsympathetic, liioie now, we are quite cosy too-ether Toll onoofthoold.to™.;Ido.o,Lr"::.,,'^"'"" nead uKl the poev.sl, lines went out of her face Woia knew exactly what she was going to sav She neve, tned of hsten.ng to the l,istory of a trim life oi vlneh she knew absoh.toly nothing The o.l v well-dressed servants, the punctual leals, the S and ab„„dant food, the niee dresses, the parties the aohd education, the ,liseipii„e so foreign t^ h 'own NORA. ^ exiBtence. all-all held thoir proper fascination. P.„t alUioucjh she listened with delight to these stories of a by^rone tin.e, she never envied her nu.ther those periods of prosperity. Such a life would have b,>en a prison to her; so she thouol.t, althou^di she never spoke her thonght aloud. Mrs O'Shanao-hcrnr, b^^.^n the old tale to-night telling it with a little more verve even than usual' bhe ended at last with a sifrh. ' Oh, the beautiful old times ! ' she said. •But you didn't know father then/ answered Nora a trown coming to her brows, and an anory feeling for a moment visiting her M-arm lieart. ' You didn't have lather, nor Nora, nor Terry.' 'Of course not, darling, and you make up for much ; but, Nora dear, although I love my husband and my children, I hate this country. I hate it > ' 'Don't, mother,' said Nora, with a look of pain She star-ted to her feet. At that moment loud, stronc^ 8 eps were heard in the hall ; a hearty voice ext claimed : 'Where's Light o' the Morning ? Where have you Jiidden yourself, witch ? ' ' It '8 father,' said Nora. She said the words with a sort of gasp of rejoicing, and the next moment had dashed out of the room. CHAPTER 11. 'SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO.* ^QUIRE O'SHANAGHGAN was a tall, powerfully built man, with doep-set eyes and rugged, overhanging brows ; his hair was of a grizzled gray, very thick and abundant ; he had a shaggy beard, too, and a long overhanging moustache. He entered the north parlour still more noisily than Nora had done. The dogs yelped with delight, and flung themselves upon him. ' Down Creena ! down Cushla ! ' he said. ' Ah, then, Nora, they are as bewitching as yourself, little woman. What beauties they are growing, to be sure ! ' ' I reared them,' said Nora, ' I am proud of them both. At one time I thought Creena could not live ; but look at her now — her coat as black as jet, and so silky.' ' Shut the door, won't you, Patrick ? ' said his wife. ' Bless me ! I forgot,' said the Squire. He crossed 'SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO.' the room, and, with nn effort after quietne.sa, closed the door with one foot; then he seated himself by his wife's side. • Better, Eileen ? ' he said, looking at her anxi- ously. 'I wish you would not call mo Eileen,' she said. ' I hate to have my name Irishised.' The Squire's eyes filled with suppressed fun. ' Ah, but you are half-Irish, whether you like it or not.' he said. ' Is not she, colleen ? Bless me," what a day it has turned out ! We are getting summer weather at last. What do you say to going for a dri^'e, Eileen— Ellen, I mean ? Black Bess is eating her head off in the stables. I want to go as far as Murphy's place, and you might as well come with me.' ' And I too ? ' said Nora. ' To be sure, child. Why not ? You run round to the stables, Norrie, and give the order.' Nora instantly left the room, the dogs following her. ' What ails her ? ' said the Squire, looking at his wife. ' Ails her, Pat ? Nothing that I know of.' ' Then you know very little,' was his answer. ' I never see that sort of anxious frown between the colleen's brows without knowing there 's mischief in the wind. Somebody has been worrying her, and I won't have it.' He put down his great hand with a thump on the nearest table. A?:-' 10 'SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO.' ' Don't, Pat. You quite shatter my nerves." 'Bless you and your nerves, Ellen. I want to give them all possible consideration ; but I won't have Light o' the Morning worried.' ' You spoil that girl ; you '11 rue it yet.' 'Bless her heart! I couldn't spoil her; she's un- spoilable. Did you ever see a sweeter bit of a thing, sound to the core, through and through ? ' •Sweet or not,' said the mother, 'she has got to learn her lesson of life ; and it is no good to be too tender witli her ; she wants a little bracing.' ' You have been trying that on — eh ? ' ' Well, not exactly, Pat ; but you cannot expect mo to keep all our troubles to ourselves. There 's that mortgage, you know.' • Bother the mortgage ! ' said the Squire. ' Why do you harp on things the way you do ? I '11 manage it right enough. I am going round to see Dan Murphy now ; he won't be hard on an old friend.' ' Yes ; but have you not ho jiay v.y ? ' 'Some day, I suppose.' ' Now listen, Patrick. Do be reasonable. When- ever I speak of money you fight shy of the subject.' ' I don't— I don't,' said the Squire restlessly ; ' but I am dead tired. I have had a ride of thirty miles ; I wa -t my tea. Where is Nora ? Do you mind my calling her ? She '11 order Pegeen to bring the tea here.' 'No; I won't have it. We'll have tea in the 'SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST OO.' H dining-room presently. I thought you objected to afternoon tea.' ' So I do, as a rule ; but I am mighty dhry— thirsty I mean, Ellen. Well, all the better ; I 'II get mor* to drmk m the dining-room. Order ti . tea as soon as you please.' ' Ring the bell, Patrick.' The Squire strode to the mantelpiece, ailled a boll- cord which hung from the ceiling, a distant bell was heard ringing in noisy fashion, and a mo^aent after- wards Pegeen put in her head. 'Come right in, Margaret,' said her mistress. • Aw ! then, I 'm sorry, ma'am, I forgot, said the girl. She came in hiding both her hands under her apron, Mrs O'Shanaghgan uttered an impatient si^ •It is impossible to train these creatures,' t-he said under her breath. Aloud, she gave her order i; quiet, impassive tones : ' Tea as soon a.s possible in the west parlour, and sound the gong when it is ready.' 'Why, then, wasn't I getting it?' said Pegeen. She left the room, leaving the door wide open. 'Just like them,' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan. '\^^hen you want the door open they invariably shut it, and when you \^^ant it shut they leave it open.' 'They do that in England too, as far as I can tell,' said the Squire, with a slightly nettled tone in his voice, 12 'SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO.' ' Well, now, Patrick, while we have a few momenta to ourselves, I want to know what you mean to do about that ten thousand pounds ? ' 'I am sure, Ellen, it is more than I can tell you.' 'You will have to pay it, you know.' ' I suppose so, some day. I '11 speak to Dan to- night. He is the last man to be hard on a chap ' 'Some more of the land must go,' said the wife in a fretful tone. ' Our rent-roll will be still smaller There will be still less money to educate Terence I had set my heart on his going to Cambridge or Jxford. You quite forget that he is eighteen now ' ' Cambridge or Oxford ! ' said the Squire. ' Not a bit of It. My son shall either go to Old Trinity or he does without a university education. Cambrido-e or Oxford indeed ! You forget, Ellen, that the kd is my son as well as yours.' 'I don't ; but he is half an Englishman, three parts an Englishman, whatever his fatherhood,' said tlie fequire s Avife in a tone of triumph. 'Well well ! he is Terence O'Shanaghgan, for all that, and he will inherit this old place some day.' 'Much there will be for him to inherit.' _ Eager steps were heard on the gravel, and the next instant Nora entered by the open window. 'I have given the order,' she said; 'Angus will have the trap round in a quarter of an hour.' 'That's right, my girl; you didn't let time drag' said her father. 'S •some more op the tAND MUST GO.' 13 -Angus wants you and mother to be quite ready for he says Black Bess is nearly off her head wUh p.nt Now. then, mother, shall I go upstairs and bring down your things ? ' good bt'' ""' "' '"" '"■ '"'"'■ "y ^"^ "^hes a -We 11 put the air-cushion in the trap,' said the Squire who, notwithstanding her fine-lady airs, had a great respect and admiration for his wife ■ Wom make you right cosy. Ellen, and a rattle through the air will do you a sight of good.' ' May I drive, father > ' said Nora 'You. little one? Suppose you bring Black Bess down on her kneM } Tl.„t u s <^'i Jsesa '""^ Knees ^ That horse is worth three hundred pounds, if she 's worth a penny ' fulif" ?'n "'f/ :™"^ ^' -id the girl reproach- Mly. Now, dad, that i. about the cruellest word you have said to your Nora for many a day ' ■Come and give me a hug, colleen.' said the Squire and r 'r,'° '""' '^'^^^ ""'' ''^^ '■°->d his neck! and kissed him once or twice. He had moved away ' You are fretting about something > ' ■Not I not I.' .said the girl ; but she flushed. --'':rrt::r'"'''''^«--'"''^« that head. It 8 not ^ge, you get it right out of going to worry me. I very evening to have a talk with Dan your am going this 14 'SOME MORE OP THE LAND MUST GO.* 'Oh, if it is Dan Murphy you owe ifc to,' said the girl. 'Ah, he's all right; he's the right sort; a chip of the old block— eh ? He wouldn't be hard on a brother in adversity ? ' 'He wouldn't if he could help it,' said Nora; but the cloud had not left her sensitive face. Then, seeing that her father looked at her with intense anxiety, she made a valiant eftbrt. ' Of course, I believe in you,' she said ; ' and, indeed, what does the loss of money matter while we are together ? ' •Eight you are! right you are!' said the Squire, with a laugh. He clapped her on the shoulder.' 'Trust Light o' the Morning to look at things in the right direction,' he said. ■n i to,' said ft ; a chip hard on a 15 id, indeed, !e we are le Squire, shoulder. things in CHAPTER III. THE WILD M U R I H / ,v. ,ERENCE made Jiis appearance at the tea- table. In every respect he was a contrast to Nora. He was very good- looking— strikingly handsome, in fact ; tall, with a graceful elegance of deportment which was in striking contrast to the burly figure of the old Squire. His face was of a nut-brown hue ; his eyes dark and piercing; his features straight.' Young as he was, there were the first indications of a black silky moustache on his short upper lip, and his clustering black curls grew in a high ridge off a lofty brow. Terence had the somewhat languid air which more or less characterised all his mother's movements. He was devoted to her, and took his seat now by her side. She laid her very thin and slender hand on his arm. He did not respond by look or movement to the gesture of affection ; but had a very close observer been present he would have noticed that he drew his chair about the tenth of an inch nearer to hers. 1 16 THE WILD .WURPHYS. Nora and her father at the other end of the table were chattering volubly. Nora's face waa all smiles; every vestige of that little cloud which had sat between her dark brows a few moments ^wlrfun ™"''"''- """ """ "''' --" »P-«'"S Tho Squire made brilliant sally after sally, to wh,ch she responded with all a., 'rish girl's aptitude lor repartee. IWnce and his mother conversed in low tones ' Yes^ mother/ he was saying, 'I had a letter fron. Uncle George this morning; he wants me to go next week. Do you think you can manage ? ' • How long will you be away, Terence ? ' 'I don't know ; a couple of months, perhaps.' How much money will it cost ? ' 'Ishall want an evening suit, and a new dress-suit, and somethmg for everyday. These things are dis- graceful,. sa.d the lad, just glancing at the frayed coat-sleeve. beneath which showed a linen- cuff of immaculate whiteness. Terence was always the personification of fastidious- ness m his dress, and for this trait in his character alone Mrs O'Shanaghgan adored him 'You shall have it,' she said-' somehow.' T ' w^ ^ """'^ ''P^^ *°-"^^^*'' ^' continued. 'ShaU I ask the governor, or will you ? ' ;We won't worry him, Terry ; I can manage.' ue looked at her a little anxiously. 1 I THE WILD MURPHYS. 17 'You are not going to sell my more of them ? ' he said. 'There is a gold chain and that diamond ring- I never wear either. I would fifty times rather think that you were enjoying yourself with my relations in England. You are fitted to grace any society. Do not say another word, my boy.' 'You are the very best and noblest mother in the world,' said the lad with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Nora and her father continued their gay conversation. 'We will take a basket with us,' said Nora, 'and Bridget shall give me a couple of dozen more of those httle Drown eggs. Mrs Perch shall have a brood of chicks if I can manage it.' 'Trust the girleen for that,' said the Squire, and then they rose from table. 'Ellen,' he continued, addressing his wife, 'have you and Terence done collogueing together? for I hear Black Bess coming to the front-door.' 'Oh, hasten, mother; hasten!' said Nora. 'The mare won't stand waiting ; she is so fresh she is just ready to fly.' The next few moments witnessed a scene of con- siderable bustle. Mrs O'Shanaghgan, with all her English nerves, had plenty of pluck, and would scorn to show even a vestige of fear before the hangers-on, as she called the numerous ragged urchins wlio appeared from every quarter on each imaginable Xilght o' the Momiiijj. -g 18 THE WILD MUnPHYS. foot":, t :t "" "''''''"^^ f™"' ''-' ^ foot w,th absolute ton-,,,, nt the thought of a drive ^rt ^'"t """^ ""•'''»" ">"> '-• -'t - tal Cog cart wthont a n.^.u-k. The .nave Hd.etJd and Jialf reared '^'bt^LLu (Squire ^I'ooui, a briylit-iaced lad, witli a wsp of yellow hai,. falling over l,i„ f„,,.|,ead held firmly to the roiu^ \t • , ^ilul.iu, hermotlj ^o™ juu.ped up bc.ide •Are you goiug to clrive ? ' „,,ked that lady Ties rnuuuny; you h„o„ j ,„„ ^, Be.s!.fs,„e;™d ,,,,„ g,,,. She took ^lio .ej m her capable little h,„„d„ ; the S,,uire sprang up behuid, and Blaek ]!os.s /lew down tl '^ on the wings of the wind " "^""^ "^ '* Mr,, O'Shanaghgan gav,, one hurried pant of sup. p..ssed augujsh, and then „„t perfectly s'till. her Tps these dr"'^ ,''^'""^ '"'-' '"«""- Sh; endut'd these drives ahnost daily, but had never vet ™t accustomed to then,. Nora on thT / ^ they spun through the Tillt 1, "T"'''' "^ -^ hot young bfood eou,':, thLS T IC^d back at her father, who n,»lded to her briefly. That s,t, Nora ;ke,.p her well in. Novv that wo - go,ng .^hill you can give her her head ^ b^ Wo, Black Bess ! wo ! * The mare, after her ,ir.,t wild canter, settled into THIJ WILD MURPHYS. ig a more jog-trot gait, and the dog-cart did not sway so violently from side to side. They were soon careering along a wide, well-made road, which ran for many miles along the top of some high cliffs Below them, at their feet, the wild Atlantic waves curled and burst in innumerable fountains of spray ; the roar of the waves came up to their ears, and the breath of the salt breeze, the freshest and most invigorating in the world, fanned their cheeks. Even Mrs O'Shanaghgan felt her heart beating less wildly and ventured to put a question or two to Nora with regard to the clucking-hen, Mrs Perch. ' I have not forgotten the basket, mammy,' said the girl ; ' and Hannah will puc the eggn under the hen to-night.' 'I am quite certain that Hannah mismanaged the last brood/ tid Mrs O'Shanaghgan ; ' but everything goes wrong at the Castle just now.' 'Oh, mother, hush ! he will hear,' said Nora. 'It is just like you, Nora ; you wish to keep ' 'Oh, come, now,' said the Squire; 'I hear the grumbles beginning. No grumbles when we are having our ride-eh, Ellen ? I want you to come back with a hearty appetite for dinner, and a hearty inclination to sleep to-night.' They drove faster and faster. Occasionally Nora touched the mare the faintest little flick with the end of her long whip. The creature responded to her touch as though girl and horse were one. 20 THE WILD MURPHYS. At last tJiey drew up outside a dilapidated gate one hinc^e of which was off. The Squire jumped down from his seat, came round, and held the horse's head. ' Wo ! wo ! ' he said. ' Hullo, you, Mike ! Why arent you in your place? Come and open the gate this minute, lad.' A s.nall boy, with bare feet and ragged trousers came hurrying, head over heels, down the road. Mrs Ubhanaghgan shuddered and shut her eyes The gate was swung open. Nora led the mare skilfully round a somewhat sharp corner, and the next instant they were dashing with headlong speed up a steep avenue. It was neglected ; weeds grew all over it and the adjacent meadows were scarcely distinguish-' able from the avenue itself. The Squire ran after the dog-cart, and leapt up while the mare was going at full speed. ' Well done, father ! ' called back Nora. 'Heaven preserve us .-'thought Mrs O'Shanaghgan, who still sat speechless, and as if made of iron At last they reached a long, rambling old house with many small windows, interspersed with a few of enormous dimensions. These were called parliament wmdows, and had been put into many houses of that period in order to avoid the window-tax. Most of the windows were open, and out of some of them ragged towels were drying in the evening breeze. About half-a-dozen dogs, most of which were of THE WILD .MURPHVS. 21 mon^ol breed, nisherl forward at the sound of the wheels, barking vociferously. Nora, with a dexter- ous touch of her hand, drew the mare up just in front of the mansion, and then sprang lightly to her feet. ' Now, mother, shall I Jielp you down ? ' ' You had better find out first if Mrs Murphy is in ' said the Squire's wife. A ragged urchin, such as seemed to abound like inuslu'ooms in the place, came and held the reins close to the horse's mouth. The creature stood trembling from the violence of her exertions, and pounng down moisture at every pore. 'She w^ants to be well rubbed down.' said the Sqmre. ' She doesn't get half exercise enough ; this will never do. What if I have to make money on her, and she is spoiled ? ' The low words which came to his lips were not heard by any one ; there was a frown, very like Nora's own. between his brows. The next moment a small man, with reddish hair, in a very shabby suit ot half-worn tweed, appeared on the steps of the front door. 'Hullo, O'Shanaghgan, is that yourself ? ' he called out. ' How are you, Tlrs O'Shanaghgan ? Eight glad to see you. You '11 step inside-won't you ? I be- lieve the wife is somewhere round. Neil, my man g^ and look for the missus. Tell her that Madam U fehanaghgan is here, and the Squire. Well Nora li J 22 THE WILD MURPHYS. I suppose you are wanting a chat with Bridget ? You won't find her indoors this fine evening.' ' Where is she, Mr Murphy ? ' asl'od the girl. ' I do want to have a talk with her.' ' Ah, what 's that basket for ? ' ' I want her to give me some of the pretty brown Qggs: ' Well, go right down there by the sea-path, and you '11 find her, as likely as not.' ' Very well,' answered Il'Vora. Slinging her basket on her arm, she started for her walk. As soon as she was out of sight she began to run. Presently she stopped, and began whistling 'The Wearing of the Green,' which was responded to in a moment by another voice, sweet as that of a blackbird. She looked to right and left, and presently saw a pair of laughing black eyes looking down at her from beneath the shelter of a huge oak-tree. ' Here I am. Will you climb up ? ' said the voice of Bridget Murphy. ' Give me a hand, and I '11 be up with you in a moment,' said Nora. She tossed her basket on the ground ; a very firm, little brown hand was extended ; and the next moment the girls were seated side by side on a stout branch of the tree. 'Well, and what has brought you along here?' said Bridget. ' I came with father .and mother in the dog-cart,' replied Nora. 'Father let me drive Black Bess. I THE WILD MURPHYS. 23 had a jolly timo ; but she did pull a bit— my wrists are (juito stiff.' 'I am ^lad you havo come,' said the other of their colcr. '"'■'' ''>' ""^ l"ishtne» «'^^tei, Tu,^, .,„,;:,,::;:"""■'• '"■'■■"■" -'■ ^"-^ hi» wi£e and the Snuirl IV " ""■"'""'•^ '""'"' -^ •y™, n,,.da„; ";,"':,;• ™'^°— t. '«o «oing to plant in that ' ; i7 • , " ""''" "" ■- had a ver, ,o„d e^ : ;, /: /"'f ;■■• «'e 'J Jiato the very „ain." r.r n . O'Shanaghgan in he^ „,„,,;, :V'"''' »'' «« , • Why, then, „„,an, yon > ''" . ""■•Phy; 'itseemshanlon ,1 " ''' "°' """"""■"^ - "" going. T„e ;iz ::/";;"' ""r "•"* '^■-^p "onld Ireland be Ihont •.: ";! '"'"f — hat «s». it ■« .juite a,,f„, j„ ■ O'^y bo to good- ma'am.' ' ^"" "'«'«"« tlio potato, ■I ™. English, yon know.. .said Mrs O'si, , On tins scene No,v, ,„„, , '. ' " •^''■■"'•■'gl'Ran. M».phy glanced with i te^ I ' """"* «■■ Mrs O'Shanaghgan si ,7 ' ' '" '"" '^'"'g'"-- «'a«thefai„te!t rf , ^ ^ ''""*'"' ''«>• b'-ows. It »ies8 of the action smof '^ «"percilious- painMly. """'^ "1^'^" ^"''N who coloured THE INVITATION. Misty 33 Wo Wo fine for Biddy, takin^i,. I.or eouia-o i„ ],ei- hand, went stnii I I 'IK 34 THE INVITATION. Who in her heart of hearts envied Mrn 0\Sha),nL^hcran's icy manners, and thought them the most perleet in Hi the world. She was in mortal fear of this o.ood ^^ w' n 'V-T ^'''"^'""^ "^ ^'' ^'^^^" ^^^^ J^"«band was. Well, Biddy.' «aid Mrs O'Shanagh^^an. ' May Nora come and spend to-morrow night liere r 'No/ was on Mrs O'Slianagiigan's lips; but just tJicn the Squire came forward. 'To be sure she may; it will do her a sight of good. Tlie child hardly ever goes from home ' Mrs O'Shanaghgan raised displeased eyes to her luisband s face. 'Girls of Nora's age ought to stay at home,' she said. 'Yes, to be sure, to be sure,' said the Squire; 'and we vvould niiss her awfully if she was away from "« ; but a day or two off duty-eh, madam ? ' He glanced at his wife. ' You have your answer, Biddy,' said Mrs O'Shan- aghgan , ' her father wishes Nora to accept your invita- tion. She may stay away for one night-no longer.' Biddy winked broadly round at Nora 'Now, then,' she said, 'come along.' She seized iiei tnend by the arm, and whisked her out of the room. 'It was the dress that did it,' she said ; ' it is the loveliest garment in all the world. Come along now andW,'«.akeitoft: I want to gather those ' for you. eggs THE INVITATION. 35 Sho i-iui iqj.stiiirH nuain, rollovvcd l)y Num. Tlio (JmsH was disposed of in tlio largo woodon wardrobe, the old, torn frock readjusted on IJiddy's stout i'oi'in, and the girls went out into the lovely sununer air. The eggs whicli Nora re((uired were put into the little basket, and in half-an-hour the O'Shanaghgans' party were returning at full speed to Castle O'Shan- aghgan. Nora glanced once into her father's face, and her heart gave a great leap. Her high spirits left her as if by magic; she felt a lump in her throat, and during the rest of the drive hardly spoke. The Squire, on the contrary, talked incessantly. He talked more than ever after Nora liad looked at him. He slapped his wife on the shoulder, and com- plimented her on her bravery. Nora's driving was the very best in all the world ; she was a born whip ; she had no fear in her ; sho was his own colleen, the Light o' the Morning, the dearest, sweetest soul on earth. Mrs O'Shanaghgan replied very briefly and coldly to her husband's excited words. She treated them with what she imagined the contempt they deserved ; but Nora was neither elated just then by her father's praise nor chilled by her mother's demeanour. Every thought of her heart, every nerve in her highly- strung frame, was concentrated on one fact alone — she had surprised a look, a look on the Squire's face, which told her that his heart was broken. •I » 36 C H A I' T E R V. 'I AM ASHAMED OK YOU.' gT vvts Jatu that s,uno evening,, awl the household at the Castle had all retired (o i-est. Jsora was In her own room. This room was not furnished according to an Enghsh ,n-l's fancy. It was plain and bare, bu . con.i.u-ed to Biddy Murphy's chamber, i was a room of con.fort and even luxury. 1 neat :zi ~ ''• ''''"' ^^^-^ -- -^^« ^^X curtan.s to the widows, and the little bed in its true that the washhand-stand was wooden and «.e basm and Ju, of the plainest type ;::;;: O Shana.h,.an herself saw that Nora hud at lea what she considered the necessaries of life. ^ e i^- a neat hanging-press for her dresses and ! Fotty chest of drawers, which her moth ^ 1 1 had saved up her pin-money to buy for her. Nora now stood by one of the open windows her thick and very lono- bhir-I' l.ni.. i • • ma«^ nx- 1 y hangmg m a rippling mass over iKu- rinni- .....i ..i m ^ ,. ^^ ^ her neck and .shoulders. S uddenly, as siie I. Tiiia It is 1, and it Mrs '"■' least 8he uiid a icrsclf 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' 87 bent out of the window, th(3 faint, very faint perfume of a ci«,'ar caiuo up on the nicrht nir. She sniffed excitedly for a moment, and then, bendin^r a little more forwar-d, said in a low tone : ' Is that you, Terry ? ' ' Yes— why don't you go to bed ? ' w.-is i he some- what ungi-acious response. 'I am not sleepy. May I come down and join you ?' ' No.' ' Will you come up and join me ? ' The answer was about to be ' No ' ; there was a moment's hesitation, then Nora's voice said plead- in,i,dy, ' Ah, do now, Terry ; I want to say something so badly.* ' But if anybody hears ? ' ' They can't hear. Father and mother's room is at the other end of the liouse.' ' All right ; don't say any more ; you '11 wake people with that chatter of yours. I 'm coming.' In a couple of minutes there was a knock at Nora's door. She flew to open it, and Terence came in. ' What do ycu want ? ' he said. ' To talk to you ; I have got something to say. Come over and sit by the window.' Terence obeyed. 'The first thing to do is to put out that light,' said Nora, She ran to the dressing-table, and, before ?fi Mi ds ' I AM ASHAMEn OF YOU.' hor Whor could p.-ovunt l.e,-, :„„1 e.Ui„«ui.,l,ed tho 'Now, the,,, thcu i,s tl,„ d.ar ol.l l.uly „„■„„ to lot something most inipjrhvnt to say.' " ' I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' 39 up. ini- ' Well, thon, I will give you five minutes ; not another moment. I know you, Noni ; you alwayH exajjgerato thin<^H. You are an Irishwoman to your backbone.' ' I am, and I ^lory in the fact.' ' You ought to be aHhamed to jLjlory in it. Don't you want to have anything to do with mother and lier relations ? ' 'I love my mother, but I am glad I don't take after her,' said Nora; 'yes, I am glad.' Tlu^ moon shone on the two young faces, and Nora looked up at her brother ; he put on a supercilious smile, and folded Ids arms across his broad chest, ' Yes,' she replied ; ' and I should like to shako you for looking like that. I am glad I am Irish through and througli and throw/h. Would I give my warm heart and my enihusiiism for your coldness and de- liberation ? ' 'Good gracious, Nora, what a little iiinorant thitiL' you iin\ ! Do you suppose no Englishman has en- tlmsiasm ? ' ' We '11 drop the subject ' said Nora. ' It is one I won't talk of ; it puts me into such a boiling rage to see you sitting like that.' Terence did not speak at all for a moment ; then he said quietly : ' What is this tiling that you have got to tell me ? 'i'he five minutes an- nearly up, you know." ' Oh, bother j'our five miimtes ! I cannot tell you 40 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' w m m fivj minutes. When my heart is scalded with unshed tears, how can I measure time by m.:..u^.s; It has to do with father; it is worse than anything that has ever gone before.' 'WJ^at is it, Norrie?' Pier brother's tone had suddenly become gentle. He laid his hand for a moment on her arm ; tJie gentleness of the tone the unexpected sweetness of the touch, overcame Nora • she flung her arms passionately round his neck ' Oh and you are the only brother I have got t ' she sobbed; 'and I could love you-I could love you hke anything. Can't you be sympathetic? Can t you be sweet ? Can't you be dear ? ' ' Oh, come, come,' said Terence, struggling to re- lease himself from Nora's entwining arms ; ' I am not made hke you, you know ; but I am not a bad chap at heart. Now, what is it ? ' 'I will try and tell you.' ' And for goodness' sake don't look so sorrowfully at me Nora ; we can talk, and we can act and do good deeds, without giving ourselves away. I hate gu'ls who wear their hearts on their sleeves.' _ 'Oil ! you will never understand,' said Nora, start- mg back again ; all her burst of feeling turned in upon herself. • I can't imagine how you are father's son. she began. But then she stopped, waited for a moment, and then said quietly, ' There is a fresh mortgage, and it is for a very big sum/ •Oh, is that all?' said Terence. 'I have heard 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' 41 of mortgages nil my life ; it seems to be the fashion at Shanaghgau to mortgage to any extent. There IS nothing in that; fatiier will give up a little more of tlie land.' ' How mu ' land do you think is left ? ' 'I am sure 1 caii't say ; not much. I presume ' 'It IS my impression.' said Nora-' I am not sure • but It IS my impression-that there is ,,othina lefc to meet this big thing but the-the-the land on which '-her voice broke-' Terry, the land on which the house stands.' ' Really, Nora, you are so irielodramatic. I don't know how you can kr.ow anytiiing of this.' • I only guess. Mother is very unhappy.' 'Motlier? Is she?' 'Ah, I have touched you there. But anyhow father is in worse trouble than he has been yet • I never, never saw him look as he did to-night.' 'As if looks mattered.' 'The look I saw to night does matter.' said Nora 'We were coming home from Cronane. and I was driving.' ' It is mad.iess to let you drive Black Bess.' inter- rupted Terence. 'I wonder my father risks spoil- ing one of his most valuable horses.' 'Oh. nonsense, Terry; I can drive as well as you better, thanks.' replied Nora, much nettled, for excellent drivino- w and her w •as proud of. 'Well, I turiiod one of the fev.^ things she round, and I saw I' n '1 1'' I 42 It . 1 1 I 'ifl Ifl': ' 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' father's face, and, oli ! it was just as if some one had stabbed mo throucrli the heart. You know, or per- haps you don't, that the last big loan came from S(iuire Murphy.' 'Old Dan Murjjhy ; then we are as safe as we can bb,' said Terence, rising and whistling, 'You really did make me feel uncomfortable, you have . such a queer way ; but if it is Dan Murphy, he will give father any amount of time. Why, they are the best of friends.' ' Well, father went to see him on the subject I happen to know that — and I don't think he has given Inm time. There is something wrong, anyhow I don't know what ; but there is something very wrong, and I mean to find out to-morrow.' ' Nora, if I were you I wouldn't interfere. You are only a young girl, and these kind of things are quite out of your province. Father has pulled along ever since you and I were born. Most Irish gentlemen are poor in these days. How can they help it ? The whole country is going to ruin ; there is no proper trade ; there is no proper system any- where. The tenfints are allowed to pay their rent just as they please ' 'As if we could harry them,' said inconsistent Nora. 'The poor dears, with their tiny cots and their hard, hard times, I'd rather eat dry bread all my days than press one of them.' 'If these are your silly views, you muat expect 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' 43 our father to bo badly off, and the property to go to the dogs, and everytliing to come to an end,' said the brother in a discontented tone. ' But there, I say once more tJiat you have exaggerated in this matter ; there is nothing more wrong than there has been since I can remember. I am glad I am going to England ; I am glad I am going to be out of it all for a bit.' ' You going to England— you, Terry ? ' 'Yes. Don't you know ? Our Uncle George Hart- :.ck has asked me to stay with him, and I am going.' ' And you can go ? Yon can leave us just now ? ' 'Why, of course; there will be fewer mouths to feed. It 's a good thing every way.' ' But Uncle George is a rich man ? ' ' What of that ? ' 'I mean he lives in a big place, and has heaps and heaps of money,' said Nora. 'So much the better.' 'You cannot go to him shahhy. Wliat are you going to do for dress ? ' 'Mother will manage that.' 'Mother!' Nora leaped up from the window- ledge and stood facing her brother. 'You have spoken to mother ? ' 'Of course I have. Dear me, Nora, you are gettmg to be quite an unpleasant sort of girl.' 'You have spoken to mother,' repeated" Nora, 'and she has promised to help you ? How will she do it ? ' ;jl*i ;■ it t 44 'I AM ASHAMED OF YOU.' Terence moved restlessly. ' I suppose slie knows lierseif how she will do it.' ^ ' And you will let her ? ' said Nora—' you, a man, will let her ? You know she has no money ; you know she has nothing but her little trinkets, and you allow her to sell those to give you pleasure ? Oh, I am ashamed of you ! I am sorry you are my brother. How can you do it ? ' 'Look here, Nora, I won't be scolded by you. After all, I ain your elder, and you are bound, at any rate, to show me decent outward respect. If you only mean to talk humbug of. this sort I am off to bed.' Terence rose from his place on the window-ledge, and, without glancing at Nora, left the room. When he did so she clasped her hands high above her head, and sat for a moment looking out into the night.' Her face was quivering, but no tears rose to her wide-open eyes. After a moment she turned, and began very slowly to undress. ' I will see the Banshee to-morrow, if it is possible,' she whispered under her breath. 'If ruin can be averted, it shall be. I don't mind leaving the place ; I don't mind starving. I don't mind anything but that look on father's face. But father's heart shall not be broken ; not while Nora O'IShauaghgan is in the world.' f 45 CHAPTER VI. THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 'T ten o'clock on the following evening two eager, excited girls might have been seen stealing down a narrow path which led to Murpliy's Cove. Murphy's Cove was a charming little semicircular bay which ran rather deeply into the land. The sand here was of that silvery sheen which, at low tide, shone like burnished silver. The cove was noted for its wonderful shells, producing many cowries and long shells called pointers. In the days of her early youth Nora had explored the treasures of this cove, and had secured a valuable collection of shells, as well as very rare seaweeds, which she had carefully dried. Her mother had shown her how to make seaweeds and shells into baskets, and many of these amateur productions adorned the walls of Nora/s bedroom. All the charm of these things had passed away, however; the time had come when she no longer 46 THE CAVE OF THE LAN8HEE. r ! 1 I'll I J J ill I. ■ M:'' cared to gather ahells or collect seaweeds. She felt that she was turning very fast into a woman. She had all an Irish girl's high .spirits; but she had added to these, a peculiM,rIy warm and sensitive heart' When those she loved were happy, no one in all the world wad happier than Nora O'Slianaghgan • but when any gloom fell on the home-circle, then Nora suffered far more than any one gave her credit for. She h A passed an anxious day at home, watching her father intently, afraid to question him, and only dartmg glances at him when she thought he was not looking. The S(,uire, however, seemed c ^eerful enough, plodding over his land, or arranging about the horses, or doing the thousand-and-one small thmgs which occupied his life. Mrs O'Shanaghgan hovuhh] to have forgotten all about the mortgage, and was eagerly discussing ways and means with Terence. Terence avoided Nora's, eyes, and rode off early \n the evening to see the nearest tailor. It was not likely that this individual could make a fitting suit l',,,- the young heir to O'Shanaghgan ; but the boy nuist have something to travel in, and Mrs O'Shanaghgan gave implicit direc- tions as to the London tailor whom he was to visit as soon as he reached the Metropolis. 'For you are to look your best, and never to forget that you are my son,' was her rejoinder; and Terence forgot aU about Norn/s words on the pre- vious evening. He was to start in two days' time. 'I li THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 47 Even Nora became excited over his trip and in her mother's account of her Uncle Hartrick. ' I wish you were going, Nora,' said the mother. ' I should be proud of you. Of course you are a little rough colt; but you could bo trained;' and then she looked with sudden admiration at her handsome daughter. ' She has a face in a thousand,' she thought ; ' and she is absolutely unconscious of her beauty.' At five o'cbck Nora had started off in the pony- trap to visit her friend Biddy. The trap had been brought back by one of the numerous gossoons who abounded all over O'Shanaghgan, and Biddy and Nora had a few hours before the great secret expedition was to take place. And now the time had come. The girls had put on thick serge petti- coats, short jackets, and little tight-fitting caps on their heads. There was always a breeze blowing round that extreme corner of the Atlantic. Never did the finest summer day find the waves calm there. Nora and Biddy had been accustomed to these waves since their earliest girlhood, and were not the least afraid. They stood now waiting in the little cove, and looking round wonderingly for the appearance of Mike and Neil upon the scene. They were to bring the boat with them. The girls were to wade through the surf to get into it, and Biddy was stooping down to take off her shoes and stockings for the purpose. .'i If i\ i s ii. ll '. 48 t ill I I 1 III iji ■ ! i ii: THE CAVE OP THE BANSHEE. 'Dear, dear!' she said. 'Do you see that ugly bank of clouds just behind the moon ? I hope my lady moon is not going to hide herself ; we can do notlnng m the cave if we have not light.' ' But the cave is dark, .'^urely ? ' 'Yes But don't you know there is a break in the chffi above, just in the centre ? And it is down there the moon sends its shafts when it is at the tull ; It IS there the Banshee will meet us if we are to see her at all. The shafts from the moon will only enter the cave at midnight. I have counted the times, and I know everything.' 'I want to see the Banshee so badly,' said Nora • You won't bo frightened, then, Nora ? ' ^Frightened? No. Not of our own Banshee.' They say,' began Biddy, 'that if you see a spirit, and come face to face with it, you are good for '- ' What ? ' said Nora. 'If you hold out during the year you have seen tlie spirit, you are good to live for another ten ; but during that first year you are in extreme danger of dying. If you escape that fate, however, and are whole and sound, you will be quite safe to live for ten more years. They say nothing can send you out of the world ; not sickness, nor accidents, nor fire, nor water ; but the second year you are liable to an accident, and the year after to a misfortune • then in the fourth year your luck turns— in the' fourth year you find gold, in the fifth year health % THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 4d i' in the sixth year beauty. Oh, I would give any- thing to be beautiful ! ' 'You are very wjII as you are, Biddy.' ' Very well as I am ? What nonsense ! Look at my tumed-up nose.' Here Biddy pressed her finger on the feature in question. ' It looks very racy,' answered Nora. •Bedad, then, it does that,' replied Biddy. 'I believe I got it sound and safe from one of the old' ' You needn't go on,' cried Nora. ' I know what you are going to say.' 'And why shouldn't I say it? You would be proud enough to be descended from ' 'Oh, I have a very fine descent of my own,' answered Nora, with spirit. ' Now, if I was like you,' began Biddy, ' wouldn't I be proud, just ? But, dear, dear ! there never were two Irish girls fartlier asunder as far as appearance goes. See here, let me describe myself feature by feature. Oh, here's a clear pool. I can get a glimpse of myself in it. You come and look in too, Nora. Now, then, we can see ourselves. Oh, holy poker ! it 's cruel the difference between us. Here 's my forehead low and bumpy, and my little nose, scarcely any of it, and what there is turned right up to the sky ; and my wide mouth, and my little eyes, and my hair just standing straight up as rakish as you please. And look at you, with your elegant Ught o' the Morning. D ^1 l| uk l\'\ I 60 THE CAVE OF THE HANSHEE, features and your— oli, but it 'h ponied you are .'—and I love you, Norn alannah ; I love you, and am not a bit jealous of you.' Hero the impulsive ^nrl throw her unn.s round her friend's neck and kissed her. 'All the same,' she ndded, 'I wish those clouds were not cominn. up. It has been so precious hot all day that I sliould not be the least surprised if we had a thunderstorm.' ' A thunderstorm while we are in the cave would be magnificent,' said Nora. ' Does anytliing ever friglitcn you, Nora ? ' ' I don't think anything in nature could frighten me ; but there are some things I am friglitened 2t.' ' What ? Do tell me ; I should i-ke to know.' ' You 'II keep it a secret — wwi't you, Biddy ? ' 'To be sure I will. When did I ever bla^^e out anything you told me ? If I am plain, I am faithful,' ' Well, I am afraid of pain,' said Nora. 'Pain! You? But I have seen you scratch yourself ever so deep and not so much as wink; and I mind that time when you twisted your ankle and you didn't even pretend you were hurt.' ' Oh, it is not that sort of pain. I am terrified of pain when it affects those I love. But there ! don't ask me any more. Here are the boys ; we '11 jump into the boat and be off. Why, it is half-past ten, and it will take half-an-hour's good rowing to THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 51 cross the bay, tmd then we have to enter the cave and ' ' I don't like those clouds/ said Biddy. ' I wonder if it is safe to go.' ' Safe ? ' said Nora. ' We must go. Mother won't allow mo to spend another night here, and I shall lose my chance. I am determined to speak to th<^ Banshee or die in the attempt.' The splash of oars was now distinctly audible, and the next moment a four-oared gig swiftly turned the little piomontory and shot with a rapid movement into the bay. 'Why,' said Biddy, running forward, 'who's in the boat ? ' A lad and a man now stood uj)right and motioned to the girls. ' Where 's Neil ? ' said Biddy. ' Neil could not come, Miss Biddy, so I 'm taking his place,' said the deep voice of a powerful-looking man. He had a black beard down to his waist, flashing black eyes, a turned -up nose, and a low fore- head. A more bull-dog and ferocious looking indi- vidual it would be hard to find. Biddy, however, knew him ; he was Neil's father — Andy Neil, as he was called. He was known to be a lawless and ferocious man, and was very much dreaded by most of the neighbours around. Neither Nora nor Biddy, however, felt any reason to fear him, and Nora said almost cheerfully : m 52 THE CAVE OF THE nANSHEE. i i ; 'As we are to liave such a stiff row, it is just as well to have a man in the boat.' •Faix, now, youn^r ladies, come along, and don't keep me waiting,' said Andy, rising and bran- dishing^ one of his oars in a threatening way. •There's a storm coming on, and I want to be out of this afore it overtakes us. O},, glory be to good- ness, there 'a a flash of liLditnino- ! ' There came a flash on the edge of the horizon lighting up the thick bank of rapidly approaching clouds. ' Nora, had we better go to-night ? ' said Biddy. She had as little fcir as her friend ; but even she did not contemplate with pleasure a wild storm in the midst of the Atlantic. The man Neil looked gravely round. 'Och! good luck to ye now, young ladies; don't be kaping me waiting after the botheration of coming to fetch yez. Come along, and be quick about it.' 'To be sure,' said ;> ,ra. She splashed bravely into the surf, for the b, „t could not quite reach the shore. The waves reached high above her pretty, rosy ankles as she stepped into the boat. Biddy followed in her wake ; and then Nora, pro- ducing a rough towel, began to dry her feet. Both girls put on their shoes and stockings again in absolute silence. Neil had now faced the boat seawards, and with great sweeps with a pair of sculls was taking it out THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. 53 to sea. Tho tide was in their favour, and thoy went at a rai)id rate. The man did not speak at all, and his face was in conipleto sliadow. Nora breatlied hard in Huj»prcfSHod excitement and d« 'light. Biddy crouclied a. tlu bottom of the boat and watched the clouds as thoy ca\ :o up. 'I wis' I iiarti't come,' she muttered onco or twice. The boy Mike sat at fhe stei-n. The two girls had nothing wliatevor to do. ' Shall I take an oar, Andy ? ' said Nora at last. ' You, miss ? ' ' I can take a pjiir of oars and help you,' said the girl. ' If it plazes you, miss.' The man hastily stepped to the back of the boat. Nora took her place, and soon they were going at greater speed than ever. She was a splendid oarswoman, and feathered her oars in the most approved fashion. In less than the prescribed half- hour they readied the entrance to the great cave. They were safe. A hollow, booming noise greeted tliem .'! s they came close. Andy bent forward and gave Nora a brief direction. ' Ship your oars now, miss. Aisy now ; aisy now. Now then, I'll take one pull; pull your left oar again. Now, here we am.' He spoke with animtition. Nora obeyed him implicitly. They entered tlie shadow of the cave, p- 54 THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. and the next instant found tliemselves in complete darkness. The boat bobbed up and down on the restless water, and just at that instant a flash of vivid lightning illuminated all the outside water, followed by a crashing roar of thunder. • The storm is on us ; but, thank the Almighty, we 're safe,' said Mike, with a little sob. ' I wish to goodness we hadn't come, all the same.' ' And so do I,' said Biddy ; ' it is perfectly awful being in a cave like this. What shall we do ? ' 'Do!' said Neil. ' Hould yer tongues and stay aisy. Faix, it 's the Almighty is having a bit of a talk ; you stay quiet and listen.' The four oars were shipped now, and the boat swayed restlessly up and down. ' Aren't we going any farther ? ' said Nora. ' Not while this storm lasts. Oh ! for goodness' sake, Nora, do stay (piiet,' said Biddy. Andy now produced out of his pocket a box of matches and a candle. He struck a match, applied it to the candle, and tlie next moment a feeble flame shot up. It was comparatively calm within the cave. ' There ! that will light us a bit,' said Andy. ' The storm won't last long. It 's well we got into slielter. Now then, we'll do fine.' ' You don't think,' said Biddy in a terrified tone, ' that the cave will be crashed in ? ' • (J lory be to Heaven, no, miss — we have cheated the THE CAVE OF THE I5ANSHEE. 56 storm coming here.' Tlie man smiled as he spoke, sliowing bits of broken teeth. His words were gentle enough, but liis whole .ppearance was more like that of a wild beast than a man. Nora looked full at him. The candle lit up her pale face ; her dark-blue eyes were full of courage ; a lock of her black hair had got loose in the exertion of rowing, and had fallen partly over her shoulder and neck. ' Faix, then, you might be the Banshee herself,' said Andy, bending forward and looking at her atten- tively. 'If the moon comes out again we may see the Banshee,' whispered Nora. ' Can we not go farther into the cave ? Time is flying.' She took lier watch from her pocket and looked at tue hour. It was already past eleven o'clock. ' The storm will be over in good time,' said the man. ' Do you want to get the gleam of moonlight in the crack of the inner cave ? Is that what you 're afther, missy ? ' ' Yes,' siiid Nora. 'Well, you stay quiet; you'll reach it right enough.' '.Nora wants to see the Banshee, Andy,' called out Biddy. ' Oh, what a ilasli ! It nearly blinded me.' ' The rain will soon be on us, and then the worst of the storm will be past,' said the man. Mike uttered a scream ; the liglitning was now forked and intensely blue. It flashed into every i V ,: ' ; '! I II 66 THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. cranny in the cave, .showing the barnacles on the roof, the little bits of fern, tlie strange stalactites. After the flash had passed, the darkness w^hich followed was so intense that the light of the dim candle could scarcely bo seen. Presently the rain thundered down upon tiie bare rock above with a tremendous sound ; there were great hailstones ; the thunder became less frecpient, the lightning less vi\id. In a little more than half-an-hour the fierce storm had swept on to other quarters. ' Now then, we can go forward,' said Andy. Ho took up his oars. ' You had best stay quiet, missies ; just sit there in the bottom of the boat, and let me push ahead.' ' Then I will hold the candle,' said Nora. ' Right you are, miss.' She took it into her cold fingers. Her heart was beating high with suppressed excitement; slie had never felt a keener pleasure in her life. If only she might see the I3f.nshee, and implore the spirit's inter- cession for the fortunes of her house. ^'he man rowed on carefully, winding round corners and avoiding many dangers. At last tliey came bump upon some rocks. 'Now then,' he said, 'we can't go a step farther.' ' But we must,' said Nora. ' We have not reached the chasm in the rock. We must.' ' We dare not, miss ; tb(». boat hasn't wather enough to float her.' THE CAVE OP THE BANSHEE. 6^ 1» Ho How far on is 'Well, then, I shall wade there, the chasm ? ' ' Oh Nora ! Nora ! you won't be so mad as to go alone ? ' called out Biddy. ' I shan't be a scrap afraid,' said Nora. ' But there 's water up to your knees ; you dare not do it,' said Biddy. ' Yes, I dare ; and the tide is going down is it not?' 'It will be down a good bit in half -an -hour,' said the man, ' and we '11 be stranded here as like as not. These are bad rocks when the tide is low ; we must turn and get out of this, miss, in a quarter of an hour at the farthest.' ' Oh, I could just do it in a quarter of an hour,' said Nora. She jumped up, and the next moment had sprung out of the boat into the water, which nearly reached up to her knees. ' Oh Nora ! Nora ! you '11 be lost ; you '11 slip and fall in that awful darkness, and we '11 never see you again,' said Biddy, with a, cry of terror. ' No, no ; let her go,' said Andy. ' There ain't no fear, miss ; you have but to go straight on holding your candle and avoiding the rocks to your left, and you '11 come to the opening. Be as quick as you can, Miss Nora ; be as quick as you can.' His voice had a queer note in it. Nora gave him a look of gratitude, and proceeded on H ! f 11 If: ll . It [i- 4 I Will:' ■11'!; 58 THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. her dangerous journey. Her one fear was that the candle might go out ; tlie flame flickered as the air got less good ; the hot grease scalded her ringers ; but suddenly a breeze of fresher air reached her, and warned her that she was approaching the aperture. There came a little pufF of wind, and the next moment the brave girl found herself in total darkness. The candle had gone out. Just at that instant she heard, or fancied she heard, a splash behind her in the water. There was nothing for it now but to go forward. She resolved not to be terrified. Perhaps it was a water-rat ; perhaps it was the Banshee. Her heart beat high ; still she had no fear. She was going to plead for her father. What girl would be terrified with su >; a cause in view ? She walked slowly and careful! ■ on, and at last the fresher air was followed by a welcome gleam of light ; she was approaching the opening. The next moment she had found it. She stood nearly up to her knees in the water ; the shaft of moonlight was piercing down into the cave. Nora went and stood in the moonlight. The hole at the top was little more than a foot in width ; there was a chasm, a jagged chasm, through which the light camo. She could see a bit of cloudless sky, and the cold moonlight fell all over her. ' Oh Banshee ! — Lady Spirit who bocongs to our house, come and speak to me,' cried the girl. ' Come from your home in the rock and give me a word of bhat as her !hed the the otal bhat lash r it be was [ no hat iW ? the :ht; lent lees iing the lian sm, bit iver our )me I of V^V'Ha' , »;lr * i! ■ s I ■ It is Nora O'Sliaiiagligai. ■, ■■■ "oMa you now.' Page 59. THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE, 59 comfort A dark time i» near, and we implore your help. Come, come, Ban.sl,ee_it is the O'Shanagl ' n, who want you. It i„ N„™ 0'Shanagl,gan wh^ rails J' u u now. The sound of a laugh came from the darkness behmd her, and the next instant the startled girl saw the b,g form of Andy Neil approaching ■ Don't you be frightened, Miss Nora,' he said. ' I am t the Banshee, but I am as good. Faix, now, I want to say something to you, I have como here for t^ purpose. There, don't be frightened. I won't tZg^" ' *"" ^ ™"* ^'"' '° P™"''^" ""^ »™'«- ' What is that ? ' said Nora. •Ihave come here for the' purpo.se. She ain't no good. He mdieated with a motion of his thun.b the distant form of Biddy within the dark recess of the cave. 'Does Miss Murphy know you have followed me r said Nora. th.'ffV'rf.".'^^''"''^''' «^^'«"^ the dark. There's th httle lad Mike will look after her. She won't do nothing until we go back.' 'Oh ! I did want to see the Banshee.' ' The Bansliee may come or not,' said the man ; ' but 1 have my message to yez, and it is this : If you d.itgetSen, will know I followed ye.. You 1 bo drowned horo in tho deep pool, and I go back to the boat, or you pronnso/ and wo both goes back.' 'But, Andy, M-liat am I to promise ?' 'Tliat you won't have me evicted. You s,,v solemn here : " Andrew Neil, I would rather die myself or have my tongue cut out, and may the Holy Mother cast me from her presence for ever, and may the evil spnts take me, if I don't save you, Andy'' You has to say that.' ^' 'No, I won't,' said Nora, with sudden spirit 'T am not afraid. I '1, do my very, very bo. t for you ; but I won't say words like those.' The man looked at her attentively 'I was a little frightened at first,' continued Nora • but I am not now. I would rather you pushed • rne mto that pool, I would rather sink and die than taKe an awful vow like that. I won't take it a vow"^ ""^ ^''^ ^''^ *' '^''' ^''''- ^^* ^ ^^^^"'^ ^-^^ko 'Faix, then, miss, it's you that has the courage; M 1 14 k 62 THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE. but now if I lot ycz off this time, will ye do yer best ? ' ' Yes, I 'II do my best.' ' If yer don't, bonny as you are, and the light of somebody's eyes, you '11 go out of the world. But, conio, I trust yez, and we must be turning back.' The man took the matches from his pocket, struck one, and lit the candle. Then, Andy going in front of Nora, they both turned in the direction where the boat was wailinir for them. C 1/ A P '1' K R V 1 1. TJJE MUUPHYS. ms between two and three in the morn- in^r when the girls found themselves back again in the desolate mansion of Cronane. Biddy liad left a window open ; they had easily got in by it and gone up to -Biddy's big room on th.. first tloor. They were to sleep together in Biddy's small bed. Personally, discomforts did not affect them ; they had never been accustomed to luxury, and rather liked the sense of hardship than otherwise. 'I brought up a bit of suppe. befo..J,and/ said Biddy. 'I am real hungry. What ?<. you say to cold bacon and taters-eh ^ I went down to the larder and got a good few early this morning I put them in the cupboard in a bmwn bowl with a plate over it. You 're hungry-aren't you, Norrie ? ' 'No, not very,' answered Nora, ' What 's come to you, you 're so quiet ? You have lost all your spirit. I thought we would have a real rollicking time over our supper, laughing and talking !: Ml "' li :. IB 64 THE AiORPHYS. n lli X M ii and tellinjij our arlvcuturcs. Oh ! it was awful in that cave ; and wlien you were away talking to the lady Banshee I did have a time of it. I thouirlit that awful Andy was jjoin^j to niunler mo. I iiad a sort of feelinij that he was <^ettin«( closer and closer, and I clutched held of little M'k j, I think he was a bit surprised ; I '11 ^ivc him a penny to-morrow, poor gosoon. lint aren't you hun^'ry, and won't you laugh, and shan't we have a jolly spree ? ' 'Oh, I shall bo very glad to cat something,' siiM Nora; 'and I am a little cold, too. I took a chill standing so long in that icy water.' ' Oh dear ! oh dear ! it 's the rheumatics jou '11 be getting, and then you '11 lose your beautiful straight figure. I must rub your legs. There, sit on the bed and I '11 begin.' Nora submitted to Biddy's ministrations. The room was lit by a small dip candle, which was placed in an old tin candlestick on the mantelpiece. ' Dear, dear ! the light will be coming in no time, and we can quench the glim then,' said Biddy. ' I 've got to be careful about candles. We 're precious short of everything at Cronane just now. We 're as poor as church mice ; it 's horrid to be so desperately poor as that. But, hurrah for the cold taters and bacon ! We '11 have a right good meal. That will warm you up ; and I have a little potheen in a black bottle, too. I '11 put som^= water to it and you shall have a drink.' till TJfE MtTRI'irYS. 65 •I never touch it," Nuid Nom, Hhii(M('rincen at Christmas, and I have not used them yet. I shall want every bit of decent clothing I possess for my visit to my rich Uncle Hartrick.' ' How 'Motl is mother, Terence lier ? Quite well, I suppose ; she is fretting a # 70 THE MURPHYS. rn bit at my going; you'll have to comfort her. The place is very rough for her just now.' ' I don't see tliat it is any rougher than it has ever been,' said Nora a little fiercely. ' You 're always running down tlie place, Terry.' ' Well, I can't lielp it. I hate to see things goincr to the dogs,' said the young man. He turned on hit heel, called a small fox-terrier, who went by the name of Snap, to follow him, and went away in the direc- tion or \jl\e sliore. Nora whipped up her pony and drove on to the house. Here she was greeted by her father. He was standing on the steps ; and, comin.r down he hfted her bodily out of the dog-cart, strained ' Iier to his heart, and looked full into hor eyes. 'Ah, Light o' the Aforning, I have missed you,' he said, and gave a great sigh. The girl nestled up close to him. She was trem- bling with excess of feeling. ' And I have missed you,' she answered. ' How is the mother ? ' ' I suppose she is all riglit, Nora ; but there, upon my word, she does vex me sometimes.— Take the horse to the stables, and don't stand starino- there Peter Jones.' The Squire said these latter words on account of the fixed stare of a pair of bright l>lack eyes like sloes in the head of the little chap who had brought the trap for Nora. He whipped up tlie pony, turned briskly round, and drove away. r V S. m ca i THE MURPHYS. ii stand thino-s T «.• i ""'"""^s , 1 led I cannot again.* ,0,. „.„u,:\f;:' , ;rc t "■ ""' is your mother ami r f ■, '"' ""''of coui'se she ThL never ^s or ir/T"":"'^ "■■™<^ "* "«■■ but ,so„eti,„e. «he triel me "'^ ""' ^'*''"- ^ J^es; como alon^ quick ISTnrn ' Squire, all smiles and J ' answered the mother doesn^ now '1" '"'' ""^^- '^he can havoaple, 7, '"" '^'^ ^""^ ^^^^^'^' "^^ we a pleasant liour to ourselves.' 11 CHAl'TKIt V I ! T. THE SQUIUK'h TItOUHLE. ;ORA ;iii(l her i')itli(M' wtuit slowly down a kIuuIv walk, vvliicli Inl in the direction of the shore. Soon they I'oiind themselves in a hay-Held. The crop here was not particulaily <.(„,d. 'n,,. hay ha,d been spoiled by rains, which had soaked down on the lands a fortnight ago. It was stmili-d in height, and in sonic parts had that iiiijtovi^riHJKMl appearance which is so painful to the heart of (h«! good fai-nicr. S(iuire O'Shanaghgan, notwithstanding his some- what careless ways, was really a ca]ntal farmer. Ho had the best interests of jhe hmd ;a, heart, and did his utmost to get profit out of his many acres. He now shook his head owy ihe hay-crop. 'It's just like all the rest, Norrie — everything going to ruin—the whole place going to the dotns ; and yet— and yet, collei-n, it ',h about the sweetest bit of earth in all God's world. I wouldn't give O'Shanaghgan for the grandest phice in the wliole II THE SQUIKE'S TUOU/JLE. Y3 Had inotlier 'Wl.y did you ,say it, fatl.er ? been , where cverytJiin^r i« cut and dry .,„d no n , vvouici take to our w < wavs Rnf fi Norrio i"f 'c n c 1 wciyH. i^ut there, x-Noiijt, It H tlie freedom of flu. i,T,. n *. • ,„i T . ^^^ "^*^ that suits mo • But I """\"'"-" « » '»Pl'i«- fdiow in the w^rW But there rtc, I eo„,„ f,eo to face with ,„onoy eoiw;.'" '"" ""^ ^ ™ --■<=" ^bout anything, plaSr'°s,'T' 'f '"' ■ ' ''"™-»^ Nora a little P'ajtully. She turned a„d r,^,^ |,i„ ;^.;™d; .that i.enough; you are worried wl; f«e .een,ed t «,: liH .« 7' '.'l f'^ ^""-«' 1-1 -^ '' '1'^ she looked nr^ of i • ■ke a great roek ri,,in« above her 1„T.!' ,'"" ' to auu a.r.if in hi, .nile, ,a.d to look to" him a,:^. in I 'I 74 THE SQUIliE's TIIOUBLE. iptSffir as a sure ro%o i„ any perplexity. She did not love any one in the whole world as she loved her father His manliness appealed to her ; his generous ways suited her ; but, above all these things, he was her father ; he was Irish to his backbone, and so was she 'You must tell me,' she said. 'Something is troubling you, and Nora lias to know.' 'Ah, my Light o' the Morning! what would I do without you ? ' answered the Scjuire. 'Prove that you trust me,' said Nora, 'and tell me what worries you.' 'Well, Nora, you cannot understand; and yet if you could it would be a relief to unburden my mind. But you know nothing about mortgages— do you, little woman ? ' 'More than you think,' said Nora. 'I am not a cliild--I am nearly seventeen ; and I have not lived at O'Shanaghgan all my life for nothincr. Of course we are poor ! I don't know that I want to be rich.' 'I'll tell you what I want,' said the Squire; 'I want to forget that there is such a thing as money. If it were not for money I would say to myself, "There's not a better lot than mine." What air we have here ! ' He opened his mouth and took in a great breath of the pure Atlantic breezes. ' What a place it is ! Look at the beauty of it ! Look round. Norrie, and see for yourself : the mountains over there ; and the water rolling up almost to ou* THE SQUIRE'S TKOUJiLE. yj doons; ami tho g™„d ,„„, „£ „,, ^,^^^ of . u , ' ^ '^ ^''^"''^^^' ^hougli it is a bit I can't stond it ! ■ ■""'' <>. J^ oi a, there ; The Squire dashed hi,, hand to hi» brow. Nora attracted his attention ' ^'"''"' "'"''""'y aaid™' Ar™'"' '' ";r ■""""• "■■"' y™' eolleenrhe Ah t?r" ^™""-'"'^ ^°» »'"•" y°» ■- well » ■ „, .^'!°""''^' '-^-"^ -». father. Co on-tell ■Well, you know, cliild, when I came in for the estate it w,us not to say free.' ' What does that mean, father ? ' the' tn T '"*'"' '"'"" ""->'°" grandfather- th best hunter .n the county. He eouM take his bot le of port and never turn a h,air ; and he rode to hounds .. Cod ble,,s you, Nora ! I wish you eouM have seen your grandfather riding to hound, ft was a^,,gHt to remember. Well, £ died-God b.e ;, 'Tr *"■" "'"'■" ''Mculties. Before he d'ed oUhat. I thought I e„uld ^edl'it t r^w! M 1^ m*#'. '■•*^%, 76 THE squire's TUOUULE. clilld, somoliow rents have been going down ; the poor folk can't pay, and I 'm the hist to press them ; and things liave got worse and worse. I had a tiglit time of it tive years ago ; I was all but done for. It was partly the fact of the famine ; we none of us ever got over that — none of us in this part of Ireland, and many of the people went away. Half the cabins were deserted. There's half a mile of 'em down yonder ; every single one had a dead man or woman in it at the time of the famine, and now they're empty. Well of course, you know all about that ? ' ' Oil yes, father ; Hannah has told me of the f.'iniine many, many times.' • '10 be sure — to be sure ; but it is a dark subject, and not fit for a pretty young thing like you. But there, let me go on. It was five years ago I mort- gaged some of the place, a good bit, to my old friend Dan Murphy. He lent me ten thousand pounds — not a penny more, I assure you. It just tided me over, and I thought, of course, I'd pay him back, interest and all, by easy stages. It seemed so easy to mortgage the place to Murphy, and there was nothing else to be done.' The Squire had been walking on very slowly ; now he stopped, dropped Nora's hand from his arm, and faced her. ' It seemed so easy to mortgage the land to Dan Murphy,' he said, dropping his voice, ' so very easy, and that money was so handy, and I thought ' - THF SQUIRE'S TROUBLE. 7^ 'Yes, father?' .sai,i Yo,., ;. •You ™<1 these vo.* 1 "' " '■'"\'>' '-• easy. Well ? ' °"~~^^ ^^s so ' ^yeU, a month asro diild T ., ^ Murphy, lawyer i,. ^„M „ Lf „: "•'" '"'" Foreclose, f,.,l,e,, Wlmt i„ tlmt ?■ ^ Take possesion, child-take posseasion.- take ZtioT f" '°' "'••" '""•='■ ^ '^■'«y -"M possLssion— possession of the hnu] ,.^ i "mortgaged. Does that n.ean th i/ n , '"'' to S,uire Murphy, father T """'' ^^^'^^"^ '80 I thoucrjifc, ,„y d^^^. ^^jj^ ^ much. The fapf ic t i. x, "" * ^''^t forgot it It 1 „,'"," '"""'• "' "'» «™ »<' ^ <■ K. It «,M only three days a„o that I * another letter to know what I » ant to l! given three months to pay i„ and if I r ; the whole ten thousand with Vl« ' P^^ "? thoy -d foreclose n ' T ■ ™ ^'"'"' '"'««^'. paid a petof ]""'"'/'"■ ""''-. ^o- ; I hadn't eon-pojreri ;„r J ::'"■ ;■"-- -^ Dan charged „e rix pe ce„t on tf ''°"""' ™'"- there, ,ou don't under^t. J tn! , " l,';™;^/ ""' P-tty he^ shan't be worried I'tt f" ''7 pay it all up within the three month, , . ^ :^«v.Po„„ds in the .nirrwi?h!:T: 'I understand,' said Nora • 'and fhnf went the day before ye»terdayrseXi::;XH;" # ^ w IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // {./ ^. t/u 1.0 I.I '- IIIIM |50 "^ IM £ lit litt ■is IIIIIM L25 i 1.4 1.8 1.6 niuujgicipiUL, Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 |\ iV % V rb^ c^ :\ 1^\^ .\\V >^ 52^0- ^-L- .V ,f wo cannot pay the mortgage It " 7 """"""^ -£ and it break., r^y heaf^NoJ' ' " '" "" "'' not r;tt"te 'tr' """^ ™'^' ^-^'^- ^he did 'l'^tl'"wT"'f'°"="«»-''«''-aid. was t]in,king of that,' said tho « • course we'll manage.' H 2! ''""■''• '^^ » a load were liftec, frof ^^;e:rt'"':o;'''• " we 'li manage ' hp vpr.o„^ J , ^ "eart. Of course ' Of course I will tell nothing until vn • ^«'^ve. But how do you mean to n ^ ^'"^^ "^" 'Tarn fi • 1 • *° manage ? ' to help „„ at a pinch like this tL' ^,f '"' see Patrick O'.Shnn, i , "■>' ^^'d "over W nJ too '^^^^^^^^^ t'""' ^' '^^ ^-«- They heart. I Z tl^ ki "^ "" ^' "°"^^ ^^^^ my ' But L ^ °^ ^°'"-^ "P next week ' iJut why next week, father ? Vn„ I. , months. Whv .1. ■ " ^^^^e only three Why do you put it off to next week?' if 1! (!) I 80 THE SQtJIRE's TROUBLE. ' Why, then, you 'ro right, coUccn ; but it 'a a job I don't fancy.' ' But you have got to do it, and yon ought to do it at once.' 'To be sure — to bo sure.' 'Take me with you., father; let us go to- morrow.' 'But I have not got the money for us both. I must go alone ; and then your mother must not be left. There 's Terence gallivanting off to England to visit his fine relations, and that will take a good bit. I had to give him ten pounds this morning, and tliere are only forty now left in the bank. Oh, plenty to tide us for a bit. We shan't want to eat much ; and there 's a good supply of fruit and vegetables on the land ; and the poor folk will wait for their wages. Of course there will be more rents coming in, and we '11 scrape along somehow. Don't you fret, colleen. I declare it's light as a feather my heart is since I told you the truth. Yon are a comfort to me, Norrie.' ' Father,' said Nora suddenly, ' there 's one thing I want to say.' ' What is that, pet ? ' ' You know Andy Neil ? ' ' What ! Andrew Neil — that scoundrel ? ' The Squire's brow grew very black. 'Yes, yes. What about him ? You have not seen him, have you ? ' ' Yes, father, I have.' to- THE squire's trouble. gj 'Over at Mui-pl.y'.s ? He knew he dare not show hiB face here; Well, what about him, Nora ? ' ' This,' said Nora, trembling very much ; ' he-he does not want you to evict him.' 'He'll pay his rent, or he'll go,' thundered the Squire ' No more o? this at present. I can't be worried. 'But, oh, father- he-he can't pay it any more than you can pay the mortgage. Don't be cruel to him if you want to be dealt with mercifully yourself • it would be such bad luck.' ' Good gracious, Nora, are you demented ? The man prys his rent, or he goes. Not another word ' ' Father, dear father ! ' 'Not another word. Go in and see your mother, ox she 1 be M-ondering what has happened to you. Yes, I 11 go off to Dublin to-morrow. If Neil doesn't pay up liis rent in a week, off he goes ; it 's men like Andrew Ned who are the scum of the earth. He has put my back up ; and pay his rent he will, or out he goes. ■ m i M "I ii 'I'll Light 0' the Morning'. F S2 II CHAPTER IX. EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS. .HE n t day the S,,ui,.o and Tc-once went off togotho,-. M,. O'Shanaghgan was very angry w,tl, her husband for goinsr a« she expre^od it, to amu.se hhn,,el£ in Dubhn. Dirty Dublin she was fond of callin. •^ the capital of Ireland. ^ Bhe'lw' '".r^r' '°^° '° Dirty Dublin forV Mile said. You II spend i Inf ^t God knows we have httle e ,o g, I r:^^' "^^ moment.' ""ougn at the present 'Oh no, I won't, Ellon,' he replied. Til be a,, s::'^re:rrrti'^^'''^-"'--"---^ Dragon" aid it' "'' ' " """"^ ""-' "«-» yo»Jn have your potheen and nobody be any the 'I declare, Patrick.' said his lady, facing him .you :;tizr-if!:"r --..o-ouir; -h- It you have no respect for your- a Education and other things. sd self and your ancient family, you ought to remember your daughter.' 'I'm sure I'm not doing the colleen any harm' said the Squire. ' That you never could, father,' replied Nora, with a burst of enthusiasm. Mrs O'Shanaghgan surveyed her coldly. ' Go upstairs and help Terence to pack his things ' she said ; and Nora left the room. The next day the travellers departed. As soon as they were gone Mrs O'Shanaghgan sent for Nora to come and sit in the room with her. 'I have been thinking during the night how terribly neglected you are,' she said; 'you are not getting the education which a girl in your position ought to receive. You learn nothing now.' 'Oh mother, my education is supposed to be finished,' answered Nora. ' Finished indeed ! ' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan. 'Since Miss Freeman left I have had no gover- ness ; but I read a good bit alone. I am very fond of reading,' answered Nora. •Distasteful as it all is to me,' said Mrs O'Shan- aghgan, 'I must take you in liand myself. But I do wish your Uncle George would invite you over to stay with them at The Laurels. It will do Terence a wonderful lot of good ; but you want it more, you are so unkempt and undignified. You would be a fairly nice-looking girl if any justice was ':- ■'■ s ;,■ 84 EDUCATION AND OTHER THINOa you with that toinblo yoiiiig person Bridgot Murphy g-vo my hoart „iito a pang. You sca^oly lool^d' " I"'^'./°" *-» 1-gl.ing in .such a vuhL way and ,„ite foi-gotthig your dcportiiiont. No"" IZi I have been thinking is tliat w„ , ■ ■ / , »mo hours together daily, a„d I would iLrr a course of instruction tor yon.' 'Oh mamiMy,' answercl Nora.. 'I „l,o„|,I be very gW indeed to learn ; y„„ |,„.,„j ,., , ™ ^ Laying ,„y education stopped, but father sai/'Jl _ I don't want to hear what your father said ' interrupted Mrs O'Shanaghgan. ' fatl"i!?r'' '';"; "'°""='' ''""■■> °I '-ally mu«t think of father, and I must respect what he says. Ho told mo hat my grandmother .stopped her schooH ng a ourteen, and he said she w,« the grandest lady'and '.0 fines and bonniest, in the country, and tW "o on could ever p„t her to sh.aine ; f„,., although she .ad not much learning to boast of, she had a sma -«wer for every single thing that was said U, Z He said you never could eateh her tripping ;„ ^ worfs. never-never; and he thinks. moth!r' eon mt;:,ik!"-'" "''"1"' '^"^ ''"»*-^' '"»' l'- a ui Z «'™''™<''l--- There is her miniature npstaira I shonld hke to be like her. Father did love her so very, very much.' •Of course, Nora, if tho.se are your tastes, I have nothing further to say.' answered Mi. O'Slianaghgrn ; EDUCATION AN,> „.,„a ,,,,„^„^ ^^ good ,.„„],■„,, j,.„y . ^"•" ''"'"« " '^""Pk of ho„,V ;Vo,ywoll.,„„tW;I„,„,,„it„ ,^, • No?'"" ^'"l' '"™ ''""" '■"'■Kottc, you,. ,„„„•, ,, any .n>,«ic out ot i' " '■' ""'"'■''•'"^'" '» ««' «oin,- to Dublin no. „:,,'":""'" ^°" f^'">- Nom coloured. ;AlittIo/„l,ean™crc's otio in a thousand, is the Squire,' said Hainiah. 'But what about the young EDUCATION AND OTUKH THINOH. 89 iniiHthor, him with I lie liaiidsoirui fac(* nixl tl.c w.iys f — ay, but ho ain't <^ot your nice, bt)nny Irish ways, Miss Nora — no, that ho ain't' ' Ho has ^'one to EnM I I B'l':,' 94 THE INVITATION. Nora, because, bedad, they haven't got it. A man can't turn stones into money, even for his best and dearest friends.' ' Then what is to be done, fatlier ? ' 'Oh, I'll manao-e someliow,' said Squire O'Shan- aghgan ; ' and we have three months all but a week to turn round in. We '11 manage by hook or by crook. Don't you f-et your pretty little head. I wouldn't liave a frown on the brow of my colleen for fifty O'Shanaghgans, and that 's plain enough. I couldn't say more, could I ? ' ' No, father dear,' answered Nora a little sadly. 'And tell me what you were doing while I was away,' said tlie Squire. ' Faith ! I thought I could never get back fast enough, I seemed to pine so for you, colleen ; you fit me down to the ground.' Nora began to relate the small occurrences which had taken place. The Squire laughed at Mrs O'Shan- aghgan's sudden desire that Nora should be an educated lady. 'I don't hold with these new fashions about women,' he said ; ' and you are educated enough for me.' ' But, father, I like to read, I like to learn,' said the girl. ' I am very, very anxious to improve myself. I may be good enough for you, dear father, for you love me with all my faults : but some day I may pine for the knowledge which I have not got '" I 111 . • ., . ^ Eh! IS It that way with you ? ' said the Squ: ire. THE INVITATION. 95 V looking at her anxiously. ' ^ ley say it 's a sort of a craze now amongst women, the desire to beat us men on our own ground; it's very queer, and I don't understand it, and I am sorry if the craze has seized my girleen.' ' Oh ! never mind, father dear ; I wouldn't fret you for all the learning in Christendom.' 'And I wouldn't fret you for fifty estates Hke O'Shanaghgan,' said the Squire, ' so it strikes me we are both pretty equal in our sentiments.' He patted her cheek, she linked her hand in his, and they walked together down one of the sunny meadows. Nora thought of Neil, but determined not to trouble her father about him just then. Notwithstanding her cheerfulness, her own heart was very heavy. She possessed, with all her Irish ways, some of the common-sense of her English ancestors, and knew from past experience that now there was no hope at all of saving tlie old acres and the old house unless something very unexpected turned up. She under- stood her father's character too well; he w-ald be happy and contented until a week before the three months were up, and then lie would break down utterly— go under, perhaps, for ever. As to turning his back on the home of his ancestors and the acres which had come to him through a long line, Nora could not face such a possibility. ' It cannot be ; something must happen to prevent it/ she thought. h m til ■i I'' 96 THE Invitation. She thought and tliouolit, aiid suddenly a d came into Jior mind. All her life Ion idea mother's relations had boon broue-ht armg her up to her as the pink of propriety, the souls of wealth. Her unci George Hartrick, was, according to her mother, a wealthy man. Her mother had often described him. She had said that lie had been very angry Avitli her for marrying the Squire, but had confe.'-'scd that at times he had been heard to say that the O'Shanaghgans were the proudest and oldest family in County Kerry, and that some day he would visit them on their own estate. 'I have prevented liis ever coming, Nora,' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan ; ' it would be such a shock to him. He tliin':s we live in a castle such as English people live in, with suites of magnificent rooms, and crowds and crowds of respectably dressed servants, and that we have carriages and liorses. I have kept up this delusion ; he must never come over to see the naked- ness of the land.' But now the fact that her Uncle George had never seen the nakedness of the land, and that he was attached to her mother, and proud of the fact that she had married an Irish gentleman of old descent, kept visiting Nora again and again. If she could only see him ! If she could only beg of him to lend her fatlier a little money .just to avert the crowning disgrace of all —the O'Shanaghg.ans leaving their liome because they could not afford to stop there. THE INVITATION. 97 Nora thought, and the wild idea which had crept into her head gathered strength. 'There in nothing for it; something desperate must be done,' she thought. 'Father won't save himself, because he doo:! not know how^ He will just drift on until a week of the fatal day, and then he will have an illness. I cannot let father die ; I cannot let his heart be broken. I, Nora, will do something.' So one day she locked herself in her room. She stayed there for a couple of liours, and Avhen she came out again a letter was thrust into her pocket. Nora was not a good letter- writer, and this one had talcen nearly two hours to produce. Tears had blotted its pages, and the paper on which it was written was of the poorest, but it was done at last. She put a stamp on it and ran downstairs. She went to Hannah's cabin. Standing in front of the cabin was her small admirer Mike. He was standing on his he;i,d with the full blaze of the sunlight all over him, his ragged trousers had slipped down almost to his knees, and his little brown bare legs and feet w^cre twinkling in the sun. His bright sloe- black eyes were fixed on Nora as 5he approached. ' Come here, Mike,' said the girl. Mike instantly obeyed, and ga\'e a violent tug to one of his front lock., by way of salutation. He then stood wath his legs slightly apart, watching Nora. ' Mike, I want you to go a message for me.' Light o' the Moniiug. Q :l (if} .4 I Mi ■ * ;tr ■ !; I ■ i - t ; ( : f, i i 98 THE INVITATION. 'To be sure, miss,' nnswered Mike. ' Take this letter to the post-office ; put it j'our- self into the little slit in the wall. I will give you a penny when you have done it.' ' Yes, miss,' answered Mike. 'Here is the letter; thrust it into yoar pocket. Don't let any one see it ; it 's a secret.' 'A saycret, to be sure, miss,' answered Mike. ' And you shall have your penny if you come up to the Castle to-night. Now good-bye ; run off at once and you will catch the mail.' 'Yes, to be sure,' said Mike. He winked at Nora, rolled his tongue in his cheek, and disappeared like a flash down the dusty road. The next few days seemed to drag themselves somehow. Nora felt limp, and not in her usual spirits. The Squire was absent a good deal, too. He was riding all over the country trying to get a loan from his different friends. He was visiting one house after another. Some of the houses were neat and well to do, but most of them sadly required funds to put them in order. At every house Squire O'Shan- aghgan received a hearty welcome, an invitation to dinner, and a bed for the night ; but when he made his request the honest face that looked into his became sorrowful, the hands stole to the empty pockets, and refusals, accompanif d by copious apologies, were the invariable result. 'There's no one in all the world I would help THE INVITATION. 99 sooner, Pat, if I could,' said Squire O'Grady; 'but I have not got it, my man. I am as hard pressed as I can be myself. We don't get in the rents these times. Times are bad — very bad. God help us all ! But if you are turned out, what an awful tiling it will be ! And your family the oldest in the place. You 're welcome, every one of you, to come here. As long as I have a bite and sup, you and yours shall share it witli me.' And Squire Malone said the same thing, and so did the other squires. There was no lack of hospitality, no lack of goodwill, no lack of sorrow for poor Squire O'Shanaghgan's calamities; but funds to avert the blow were not forthcominc:. The Squire more and more avoided Nora's eyes ; and Nora, who now had a secret of her own, and a hope which she would scarcely dare to confess even to herself, avoided looking at him. Mrs O'Shanaghgan was a little more fretful than usual. She forgot all about the lessons she had set her daughter in her laments over her absent son, over the tattered and disgraceful state of the Castle, and the ruin which seemed to engulf the family more and more. Nora, meanwhile, was counting the days. She had made herself quite an fait with postal regulations during these hours of waiting. She knew exactly the very time when tlic letter Avould reach Mr Kart- rick in his luxurijus home. She thought she would Ul :l r 100 THE INVITATION. give liitn, pwliapH, twelve liours, porhups twenty-fonr, before he i-eplied. She knew, tlien, Jioav loi'.iir, dear! I think I must make a change, I have heard of an excellent cook just about to leave some people of the name of Wilson in the town. They are English people, which accounts for their luu'ing a good servant.' At that moment the redoubtable Pegecn did thrust in her head, holdhig the post-bag at arm's-length away from her. ' Here 's the post, Miss Nora,' she said ; ' maybe you '11 fetch it, miss. I 'm a bit dirty.' Nora could not restrain her.selC another moment. She rushed across the room, seiijed the bag, and laid it by her father's side. As a rule, the post-bag was quickly opened, and its small contents dispersed. These consisted of the local paper for the Squire, which was always put up with the letters, a circular or two, and, at long intervals, a letter for Mrs O'Shanaghgan, and perhaps one from an absent friend for the Squire. No one was excited, as a rule, about the post at the Castle, and Nora's ill- HI if THE INVITATION. HuppresHt'd anxiety wuh sufKcieiitly nmrked now to niuko vwn licr fatJicr look at her in s<,n„> Hurp.iMe. To the chill's relief, lier mother unexpectedly came to the rescue. ' She thinks, perhaps, Terence will write,' she said ; 'but I toM hin» not to worry himself writin^r too often. Stamps cost money, and the boy will need every penny to keep up a decent appearance at my brother's.' 'All the same, perhaps lie will be an Irisl, boy nough to write a letter to his own .sister,' said the Squire. 'So here goes; we'll look and see if there is anything inside here for you. my little Norrie.' The Squire unlocked tlie bag and emptied the contents on the table. They were very meaore contents ; nothing but the newspaper and one letter. The Squire took it up and looked at it. 'Here we are,' he said; 'it is for you, my dear.' "^ ' For me.' s^iid Mrs O'Shanaghgan. holding out her hand. 'Pass it across, Nora.' ' No, it is not for you, my lady, as it happens. It 18 for Nora. Here, Norrie, take it.' Nora took it up. She was shivering now, and her hand coulo -".rcely hold it. It was addressed to her, beyond d. ... ■ J^^s O'Shanaghgan, Oistle V fenanaghgan,' izv. • Read it at once, N..-a,' said her mother. ' I have THE INVITATION. lOH not yet had any letter to speak of fron. T.M-ry my- self. If you read it aloud it will entertain us. It seems to bo a tliiek letter.' ^ 'I don't think— I don't think it— it is from Tt'vence,' answered Nora. ' Nonsen.se, my dear.' • Open it, Norrie, and tell u.s,' .said the Sciuiro. ' It will be refre.shimr to hoar a bit of outside new.s.' Nora now opened the envelope, and took a very thick .sheet of paper out. The contents of the letter ran as follows : ' My dear Nora,— Your brother Terence came here a week ago, and has told us a great deal about you. We are enjoying having him extremely ; but he has made us all anxious to know you also. I write now to ask if you will come and pay us a visit at once, while your brother is here. Ask your mother to spare you. You can return with Terence whenever you are tired of us ;ind our ways, I have busi- ness at Holyhead next Tue.sday, and could meet you there, if you could make it convenient to cross that day. I enclose a paper with the hours that the boats leave, and when they arrive at Holyhead. I could then take you up with me to London, and we could roach here that same evening. Ask my sister to spare you. You will be heartily welcome, my little Irish niece.— Your anectionaie uncle, Georce Hartrick.' I' 1 Ml I' " "y 'Oh mammy! oh daddy! don't disappoint me. cned the girl. < Do-do let me go, please, please. ' Nora,' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan again, ' I xiever «aw you so unreasonable in your life; you are .inite carried away. Your uncle, after long years has condescended to send you an invitation' and you speak in this impulsive, unrestrained fashion. Of course, it would be extremely nice for you to go ; but I doubt for a single mon.ent if it can be afforded.' •Oh daddy, daddy! please take my part,' cried iNora. ' Please let me go, daddy— oh daddy ! ' She rushed up to her father, flung her arms round his neck, and burst into tears. Mrs O'Shanaghgan rose from the table in cold displeasure. ' Give me your . uncle's letter,' she said. ^ Nora did not glance at her ; she was past speak- ing. So much hung on this ; all the future of the OMmnagbgans; the Castle, the old Castle, the hon.e ot lier ancestors, t' place in which sh e was born. i, ! \ ■ ! THE INVITATION. 105 the land she loved, the father she adored— all all their future hung upon Nora's accepting the invita- tion which she had asked her uncle to give her Oh i if they ever found out, what would her father and mother say ? Would they ever speak to her again ? But they must not find out, and she must go ; yes she must go. ' What is it, Nora ?— Do leave her alone for a moment, wife,' said the Squire. « There is something behind all this. I never saw Light o' the Morning give way to pure selfishness before.' ' It isn't— it isn't,' sobbed Nora, her head buried on the Squire's shoulder. 'My darling, light of my eyes, colleen asthore acushla machree ! ' said the Squire. He lavished fond epithets upon the girl, and finally took her into his arms, and clasped her tight to his breast. Mrs O'Shanaghgan, after staring at the two in speechless indignation for a moment, left the room When slie reached the door she turned round. ' I cannot stand Irish heroics,' she said. ' This is a disgraceful scene. Nora, I am thoroughly ashamed of you.' She carried her brother's letter away with her however, and retired into the drawing-room. There she read it carefully. How nice it would be if Nora could go ! And ^ora was a beauty, too--an Irish beauty ; the sort of girl who always goes down in England. She would > I n y li 106 THE INVITATION. IMP' want respectable dres.s ; and then— with her taking ways and those roguish, dark-l^lue eyes of liers, with tliat bewitching smile winch showed a gleam of the whitest and most jjearly teeth in the world, with the light, lissome figure, and the blue-black hair —what could not Irish Nora achie\e ? Conquests innumerable; she might make a match worthy of her race and name ; she might— oh ! she might do anything She was only a child, it is true ; but all the same she was a budding Avouuin. Mrs O'Shanagligan sat and pondered. ' It seems a great pity to refuse,' she said to her- self. 'And Nora does need discipline badly; the discipline of England and n)y brother's well-oi-dered home will work wojiders with her. Poor child, lier f;ither will miss her. I really sometimes think the Squire is getting into his dotage. He makes a per- fect fool of that girl ; to see her there speaking in that selfish way, and he petting her, and calling her ridiculous names, with no meaning in them, and folding her in his arms as if she were a baby, and all for pure, downright selfishness, is enough to make any sensible person sick. Nora, too, who has always been spoken of as the unselfish member of the family, who would not spend a penny to save her life if she tliought the Squire was going to sufll^r. Now she wants him to put his hand intoliis pocket foi- a considerable amount ; for the cliild cannot cro to my brother without suitable elothes—that is \ THE INVITATION. 107 foregone conclusion. But, dear me ! all women are selhsli when it comes to mere pleasure, and Nora is no better than the rest. For my part, I admire dear Terence's downright method of asking for so- and-so, and getting it. Nora is deceitful. I "am much disappointed in her.' I ' I 108 fPl ;il CHAPTER XI. . ^ '^HE DIAMOND CROSS ^'^ UT altliough Mrs O'Shanaghgan spoke of her Ifnmi ^^^^"gl^tor to herself as deceitful, she did ^4^^ not at all ajve up the idea of her accepting her uncle's invitation. George Plartrick had always had an immense influence over ^ his sister Ellen. He and she had been great friends long ago, when the hamdsonie, bright girl had been glad to talce the advice of her elder brother. They had ahnost quarrelled at that brief period of madness in Ellen Hartrick's life when Hhe had fallen in love M^ith handsome ' Squire O ohanaghgan ; but that quarrel had long been made up. Mrs OVShanaghgan had marvied the owner of O Shanag]>gan Castle, and had rued her brief mad- neas oyer since. But her pride had prevented her comixlaining to her brother George. George still nnagincd that sl:e kept her passionate love intact for the wild Trishn.a:.. Only one thing she had manage.l o\e, ,,i!c.,. four-post bedstead occupied a prominent place against one of the walls ; there was an enor- mous mahogany wardrobe against another; but the wliole centre of the room was bare. The dressin very xalnablo ixsuls, aiiJ .sl.c had sold them for a tenth, a, twentieth part of tlioir value. The jcweher in Dublin, avIio was quite accu.stomed to receivincT the poor lady'.s trinkets, had sent her a ehe(pie for tifty pounds for the pearls, knowing well that he could sell them himself for at least" three hundred pounds. Mrs O'Shanaghgan now once more rifled the jewel- case. There were some things still left— two or tliree rings and a diamond cross. She had never wanted to part with that cross. She had pictured over and over how it would sliinc on Nora's white neck; how lovely Nora would look when dressed for her first ball, having that white Irish cross, with its diamonds and its single emerald in the centre, shining on her breast. But would it not be better to give Nora the chance of spending three or four months in England, the chance of educating herself, and let the cross go by ? It was so valuable that the good lady quite thought that she ought to get seventy pounds for it. With seventy pounds s'he could fit Nora up for her English visit, and have a little over to keep in her own pocket. Only Nora must not go next Tuesday; that was quite impossible. Mrs O'Shanagligan quickly determined to make the sacrifice. She could still supply Nora with a little, very simple pearl necklet, to wear with her white dress during her visit; and the cross would Iiiglit o' the Moriiini;. H Hm I W rmmi . ; . Thoro v/ouM 1>,^ a f.w rinijs still left; alter tliut the jewol-caso would be empty. Mi-H O'i-ihanaghgim packed the precious cross into a little box, and took it out herself to re.n;;tcr it and to send it off to tl.e Jeweller who always bouo-},t the trinkets she sent him. She told him tiiat she expected him to give Jier, without the smallest demur, seventy pounds for tl-e cross, nnd hoped to have the money by the next da^'s post. Havincr done this and despatched her letter she walked briskly back to the Castle. She saw Nora wandering about in the avenue. Nora, hatless and gloveless, was playing with the dogs. She seemed to have forgotten all about her keen disappointn.ent of the morning. ^Vhen she saw her mother coming up the avenue she ran to meet her. 'Why, mammy,' she said, 'how early you are out ! Where have you been ? ' 'I dislike extremely that habit you have, Nora, of calling me mammy ; mother is the word yr [ should address your parent with. Please, remember m future that I wish to be called mother.' 'Oh yes, mother,' answered Nora. The o-irl had the sweetest temper in the world, and no anrount of reproof ever caused her to answer angrily. 'But where have you been?' she said, her curiosity getting the better of her prudence. ' Again, Nora, I am sorry to say I must reprove you. I have been to the village on business of my THE DIAMOND CROSS. 115 own. It is scarcely your allair where I clioose to walk in the niornini^.' 'Oh, of course not, mam— I mean mother.' 'But come with mo down this walk. I have somothintj to say to you.' Nora eagerly complied. There was something in the look of her mother's (^yes which made her guess that the usual subject of cnnve.-sation— her own want of deportment, her ignorance of eti.piette— was not to be the theme. 8he felt her heart, whicli had sunk hke lead within her, rise again to the surface. Her eyes sparkled and smilea played round her rosv lips. ^ ' Yes, motiier,' she .said ; ' yes.' 'All impulse,' said Mrs O'Shauaghgan—she laid ]ier liand on Nora's arm— 'all impulse, all Irish enthusiasm.' 'I cannot lielp it, you kno\\',' said Nora. 'I was born that way. I ani Irish, you know, mammy.' 'You arc also English, my dear,' replied her mother. ' Pray remember that fact wlieu you .sec your cousins.' ' My cousins ! My English cousins ! But am I to see them ? Mother, mother, do you mean it ^ ' ' I *Io mean it, Nora. I intend you to accept your uncle's invitation. No lieroics, please,' as the girl was about to f.ing her arms round lior mother's neck ; 'keep tho3e for your r.-itJier, Nora; I do not wish for them. I intend you to go and to behave properly ; 116 THE DIAMOND CROSS. pray reincinbor that when yon ^riw. way (<, ,,„,.o Irishism, ns I may (.xprcss your mo.st in-euliai- inannors, yon di,s"t/ said Mrs O Shanaghgan. • I will provide the memis ' 'Oh mother ! ' said Nora ; ' no, I would rather stay.' But then she remembered all that this involved • .he knew quite well that her mother had rifled the jewel- case ; but as she had done so over and over again just for Terence's mere pleasure, might she not do so once more to save the old place ? 'Very well,' she said demurely; 'I won't ask any questions.' *^ ' You had better not, for I have not the slightest Idea of replying to them.' answered Mrs O'ShanacThcin 'I shall write to your uncle to-day. You cannot go next week, however.' ' Oh, why not ? He said Tuesday ; he would meet me at Holyhead on Tuesday 'I will try and provide |f| P; a fit escort for you to •■'ft 118 THE DIAMOND CROSS. : I j England; but you cannot go next Tuesday; your wardrobe forbids it/ answered Mrs O'Shanagligan. 'My wardrobe! Oh mother, I really need not bother about clothes.' 'You may not bother about them, Nora; but I intend to,' replied Mrs O'Shanaghgan. 'I must buy you some suitable dress.' ' But Iiow Aviil you do it ? ' •I liave not been away from Castle O'Shanaghgan for a long time,' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan, 'and it will be a nice cliange for me. I shall take you to Dublin, and get you wdiat things are necessary. I will then see you off on board tlie steamer.' ' But would not father be best ? ' ' Your father can come with us or not just as he pleases ; but I am the person who wall see to your wardrobe for your English visit,' replied her mother. Nora, excited, bewildered, charmed, had little or nothing to oppose to this plan. After all, her mother was coming out in a new light. How indifferent she had been about Nora's dress in the past ! For Terence were the fashionable coats and the immaculate neck- ties and the nice gloves and the patent-leather boots. For Nora ! Now^ and then an old dress of her mother's was cut down to fit the girl ; but as a rule she wore anything she could lay hands on, made anyhow. It is true she was never grotesque like Biddy Murphy ; but up to the present dress had scarcely entered at all as a factor into her life. I I THE DIAMOND CROSS. Jjg The next few days passed in a whid of bewildered exctement M.^ 0'SI,a„agl,g,„, .-eeei^d, a. she expeeted by ..et,„.n of post, seventy pounds from tl e Dublm jeweller for her lovely diamond cross Tins man was rapidly making his fortune ont of poor Mrs O'Shanaghgan, and he knew that he had secured a splendid bargain for himself when he bought the cross. Mrs O'ShanagJigan, therefore, with a full purse could g,ve directions to her household during he^ bnef absence, and altogether was much brightened and excted at the thought of Nora's visit. Ihe had written her,self to her brother, .saying that she would be very glad to .spare her daughter, and giving him one or two hints with regard to Nora's mannct and bringing up. wf'. ?'* '"™ ■"'""" '""'=™"' ■''<=*•'• "y dear brother, she wrote, ■ with regard to etiquette to those winch were instilled into us: but you will bear patiently with my little wild Irish girl, for she has a very true heart, and is also, I tlnnk yon will admit, mce-lookmp'. _ Mr Hartrick, who read between the lines of Lis 8i«ter'.s letter, wrote to say that business would brinc'r hmi to Holyhead on the following Tuesday week also' and, therefore, it would be quite convenient for hini' to meet Nora on that day. The^ evening before she was to depart arrived at last. The Squire had si^ont a busy dav. Fvo::i tl!-^ ^:| mI V I '! .! ''■I I' " 120 THE DIAMOND CROSS. moment when Nora had told him tliat her mother had provided fmids, and that slie was to go to Eng- land, he had scarcely reverted to the matter. In ti-uth, with that curious Irish phase in his character which is more or less the inheritance of every mem- ber of his country, he contrived to put away the disagreeable subject even from his thoughts. He was busy, very busy, attending to his farm and riding round his establishment. He was still lioping againtt hope that some money would come in his way long before the three months were up, when the mortgagee would foreclose on his property. He was not at all un- happy, and used to enter his house singing lustily or whistling loudly. Nora sometimes wondered if he also forgot how soon slie was going to leave him. His first call wh.en lie entered the house had always been, 'Light o' tlie Morning, where are you ? Come here, asthore ; the old dad has returned,' or some such ex- pression. It came to the excited girl's heart with a pang hoAv he w^ould miss her when slie was no longer there ; how he would call for her in vain, and f*eel bewildered for a moment, and then remember that she was far away, ' But I shan't be long away,' she thought ; ' and when I come back and save him and the old place, oh, how glad lie will be ! He will indeed then think 'HO his Light o' the ]Vrorning. for I shall have saved !iim and the old liome.' But the last evening came, and Nora considered I THE DIAMOND CROSS. 12] Whether she ought to recall the fact that she was tather. He came in as „sual, sat down heavily on the neares settee, and stretched out his long legs I wonder if I a,„ getting old,' he said. ' I Llare » 1; m:f • '°'r *-« '--' ^'°- -^ »•- ' Oh father ! don't you know » ' giriell '• """"■ '""' '°°'' ''"^" ™™S''- Wh-t !« it. 'I am going away to Dublin to-morrow' ■You? Bless you! so you are,' said the Squire it; T,"t 'Upon-y-llforgo't:; ^.bout It. Well, and you are going to have a good .me, and you'll forget the old dad-eh .-y^H forgot all about the old dad !' 'Father, father, you know better,' said Nora-she flung her arms round his neck and laid her soft cheek against his-'as if I could over forget you for a single moment,' she said. 'I know it, a-collee„; I know it. heart's asthore. Of cou^e you won't. I am right glad you are going ; b 1 f d ^ '"''Y"'"^' '°'' ^™- ^"'' "hat about tf bits of d„ds_eh ?_and the pretty trinket, ? Why you 11 be going into grand society; you'll ii Img your little head lik KG a queen. Don't iorgcfc, my pet, that you 're Irish throu^.. ... and that you come of a long line of brave you h and through, ancestors. ^^! Is f* ■ I m 'i^r.i ;!■! 122 THE DIAMOND CROSS. The women of your lioase never stooped to a shabby iiction, Nora ; and never one of them sacrificed her honour for gold or anytliino- else ; and the men were brave, girleen, very brave, and had never fear in on.; of them. You remember that, and keep yourself upright ;md brave and proud, and come back to the old dad with as pure and loving a heart as you have now.' 'Oh father! of course, of course. But you will miss me ; you will miss me.' ' Bedad ! I expect I shall,' said the Squire ; ' but I am not going to fret, so don't you imagine it.' 'Have you,' said Nora in a low whisper— ' have you done anything about— about the mortgage ? ' ■Oil, you be aisy,' said the Squire, giving her a piayf'.I poke; 'and if you can't be aisy, be as aisy as you can.' he continued, referring to the old well-known sajang. ' Things will come right enough. Why, the matter is weeks off yet. It was only yesterday I heard from an old friend, Larry M'Dermott, who has been in Australia, and has made a fine pile. He is back again, and I am thinking of seeing him and settlmg up matters with him. Don't you have an uneasy thought in your head, my child. I 'H write to you when the tiling is fixed up, as fixed it will be by all that 's like'y in a week or fortnight from now But look here, Norrie, you '11 want something to keep m your pocket when you are away. I had best you a five- pound not JTive I THE DIAMOND CKOSS. 128 'No no; .said Nora. ' I wouldn't touch il; I don't want it,' ' Why not ? Js it too proud you are ? ' ' No ; motJicr is liolping ,„« to tliis visit. I don't know how «he ha,s got tlie money. I .suppose in tl,M old way.' •Poor soul!' said the Squire. 'To tell you the truth, Norrio, I can't bear to look at that jewel-ease of hers. I believe, upon my word, that it IS nearly empty. 8he is very generous, is your mother. She 's a very fine woman, and I am des- perate proud of her. When M'Dermott helps me to tide over this pinch I '11 liave all those jewels back agam by hook or by crook. Your mother shan't suffer in the long-run, and I '11 do a lot to the old place— tlio old house wants papering and painting. We '11 dance a merry Jig at O'Shanaghgan at your wedding, my little girl ; and now don't keep me, for I have got to go out to meet Murphy. He said he would look round about this hour.' Nora left her father, and wandered out into the soft summer gloaming. She went down the avenue, and leant for a tinie over the gate. The white gate was sadly in need of paint, but it was not hanging off its hinges as the gate was which led to the estate of Cronane. Nora put her feet on the last rung, leant Jier arms on the top one, and swayed softly,' as she thought of all that was about to hanpon, and the glorious adventures which would in all probability 124 THE DIAMOND CROSS. «i • i ■ im^ be hers during the next few weeks. As she thought, and forgot herself in dreams of tlic future, a low voice calling lier name caused her to start. A man with shaggy hair and wild, bright eyes had come up to the other side of the gate. ' Why, tlien, Miss No7-a, how are ye this evening ? ' he said. He pulled his forelock as he spoke. Nora felt a sudden coldness come over all her rosy dreams; but she was too Irish and too like her ancestors to feel any fear, although she could not help remembering that she was nearly half a mile away from tlie house, and that there was not a soul anywhere within call. 'Good-evening, Andy,' she said. 'I must be going home now.' ' No, you won't just yet,' he answered. He came up and laid his dirty hand on her white sleeve. 'No, don't touch me,' said Nora proudly. Slie sprang oft' the gate, and stood a foot or two away. ' r)on't come in,' she continued : 'stay where you are. If you have anything to say, say it there.' ' Bedad ! it 's a fine young lady that it is,' said the man. ' It ain't afeared, is it ? ' 'Atraid!' said Nora. 'What do you take me for ? ' ' Sure, the7i, I take yez for what you are,' said the man— 'as tine and purty a slip of a girleen as ever dwelt in the old Castle ; but be yez twice as purty, and be yez t^nco as fine, Andy Neil is not the man He came up and laid his dirty hand on lior white .leave. 'M 1! m it' Pagk 124 'in, if m Hi ] 1 ] t s; t] P' re tl: m hi WJ he SOI ma THE DIAMOND CROSS. 125 to forget hfa woni, l,i,, .,won, word, his c.tl, taken to tt.e powers above and th„ power., below, that if his b:t oi a roof is taken off his head, why, them as does ^ shall sntfer. It s for you to know that. Miss Nora. I would have drowned ye. in the deep pool j^nd nobody would over be the wiser, but I thought better of that; and I could here-yos, even now- I could choke yez round your pretty soft neck and nobody would be any the wiser, and I'd think no more of it than I'd think of crushing a fly I wont do ,t; no I won't, Mi.,s Nora; but there 's «>«« aa w,ll have to suffer if Andy Neil is turned out of h,s hut. You spake for mo. Miss Nora; you pake up or me, girleen. Why, the Squire, you Vo the hght of h.s eyes; you spake up, and say, "Lave poor .ndy ,n his little hut ; lave poor Andy with a roof over him. Don't mind the bit of a rint." Why then, M>ss Nora, how can I pay the rint ? Look at my arrum. dear.' As the man .spoke he thrust out his arm, pushing up his ragged shirt-sleeve. The arm was almost like that of a skeleton's; the skin was Starting over the bones. ' Oh, it is dreadful ! ' said Nora, all the pity in her heart welling up into her eyes. 'I am truly, truly sorry for you, Andy. I would do anything in mt power. It is just this : you know father ? ' man, Squire ? Yes, I guess I know Squire,' said the You know,' continued Nora, ' that when he takes ii in 1 1 fl 126 THE DIAMOND CROSS. what you rnioht call the hit between ixis teefh nothing will move him. He is set u^rainsf you. Andy. Oh Andy ! I don't believe he will listen. 'He had betther/ snid the man, his voice droppinc. to a low growl ; ' he had betther, and I say so plain" 1 here's that in nie would stick at nothing, and you had best know it, Miss Nora.' ' Can you not go away, x\ndy ? ' ' I — and what for ? ' ' But can you ? ' ' I could, but I won't.' 'I don't believe father will yield. I will send you some money from England if you will promise to go away.' 'Ay; but I don't want it. I want to stav on Where would my old bones lie when I died" if I am not in my ow i counthry ? I 'm not goino- to leave my counthry for nobody. The cot where I was born shall see me die; and if the roof IS took off, why, I'll put it back again. I'll defy hnn and his new-fangled ways and his En<.lish wife to the death. You '11 see mischief if "you don't put things right. Miss Nora. It all rests with yez, alannah.' ;l am awfully sorry for you, Andy; but I don't believe you would seriously injure father, for you know what the consequences would be.' 'Ay ; but when a man like me is sore put to it he don't think of consequences. It 's just the burning THE DIAMOND CROSS. 127 wish to revennny She enjoyed making Nora presentable, and had excellent taste and a keen eye for a bargain. She fitted up her daughter with a modest but successful wardrobe bought her a proper trunk to hold her belongings' and saw her on board tlu> steamer for Holyhead The crossing was a rough one, but the Irish girl A FEATHER-LED HOUSE, 131 did not sutfci- from sea-sickness. She stood leaning- over the taffrail chatting to the captain, wlio thouglit her one of the most charming passengers he ever had to cross in the Miinster ; and when they arrived at tlie opposite side, Mr Hartrick .vas waiting for his niece. He often said since th. . he would never forget his first sight of Nora O'Shanaghgan. She was wearing a gray tweed travelling-dress, with a little gray cap to match; the slender young figure, the rippling black hair, and the brilliant face flashed for an instant on the tired vision of the man of business; then there came the eager outstretching of two hands, and Nora had kissed him because she could not help herself. ' Oh, I am so glad to see you, Uncle George ! ' Tlie words, the action, the whole look were totally different from wliat his daugliters would have said or done under similar circumstances. He felt quite sure that his sister's description of Nora was right in the main; but he thought her charm- ing. Drawing her hand through his arm, he took her to the raihvay station, where the train w^as already waiting to receive its passengers. Soon they were flying in The Wild Irish Oirl to Euston. Nora was provided with innumerable illustrated papers. Mr Hartrick took out a little basket whicli contained sandwiches, wine, and different cakes, and fed her with the best he could procure. He did not ask her many questions, not even about the f1 ^^ h ! !i i I ii 132 A FEATHER-BED HOUSE. Cast or l,e,- own life. He was detonmned to wait for all t he«e things. He r««l something of her story m her clear blue eyes ; but he would not press her for her confidence. He wa., anxious to know her a iittle better. ;She is Irish, though, and they all exaggerate things so dreadfully,' was his thought. ' But I '11 be very good to the child. What a contrast she is to lerence! Not that Terence i.s scarcely Irish; but any one can see that this child has more of her lather than her mother in her composition ' They arrived at Euston ; then there were fresh changes ; a cab took them to Waterloo, where they once agam entered the train. , 'Tired, my dear niece?' said her uncle as' he settled her for the final time in another first-class compartment. • Not at all. I am too excited to be tired,' was her eager answer. And then he sn.iled at her, arranged the wmdow and blind to her liking, and they started once more on their way. Mr Hartrick lived in a large place near Weybridge and Nora had her first glimpse of the lovely Surrey scenery. A carriage was waiting for the travellers when they reached their destination-a carriage drawn by a pair of spirited grays. Nora thought of Black Bess, and secretly compared the grays to the disad- vantage of the latter. But she was d.f.vniin^d ^o be a« sweet and polite and English as her mother would i\ A FEATHER-BED HOUSE. 138 desire. For the first time in her whole existence she was feelincr a little shy. She would have been thoroughly at home on a dog-cart, or on her favourite outside car, or on the back of Black Bess, who would have carried her swift as the wind ; but in the landau, with her uncle seated by her side, she was altogether at a loss, ' I don't like riches,' was her inward murmur. ' I feel all in silken chains, and it is not a bit pleasant ; but how dear mammy— oh, I must think of her as mother — how m-thei would enjoy it all ! ' The horses wot. ,.^,ng slowly uphill, and now they paused at some )iandsome iron gates. These were opened by a neatly-dressed woman, who curtseyed to Mr Hartrick, and glanced with curiosity at Nora. The carriage bowled rapidly down a long avenue, and drew up before a front door. A large mastiff rose slowly, w^igged his tail, and snifted at Nora's dress as she descended. ' Come in, my dear ; come in,' said her uncle. ' We are too late for dinner, but I have ordered supper. You will want a good meal and then bod. Where are all the others ? Where are you, Molly ? Where are you, Linda ? Your Irish cousin Nora has come.' A door to the left was quickly opened, and a graceful-looking lady, in a beautiful dress of black silk and quantities of coffee hce, utood on the threshold. ' Is this Nora ? ' she said ' Welcome, my dear little ii'« :M i j:>:il ;| J i'l iw 134 A FEATHEK-BED HOUSE^ girl.' She went ir: to Nora, Laid one hand on her shoulder, and la.ssed her gravely on the forehead. There was a staid, sober sort of solenniity about this kiss which influenced Nora and made a lump come into her throat. This gracious English lady was very charming, and she felt at once that she would love her. •The cliild is tired, Grace,' said her husband to Mrs Hartrick. ' Where are the girls ? Why are they not present ? ' 'Molly has been very troublesome, and I was obliged to send her to her room,' was her reply ; ' but here is Terence.— Terence, your sister has come.' ' Oh Terry ! ' cried Nora. Tlie next moment Terence, in full evening-dress, and looking extremely manly and handsome, appeared upon the scene. Nora forgot everything else when she saw the familiar face : she ran up to her brother, flung her arms lound his neck, and kissed him over and over. ' Oh., it is a siglit for sore eyes to see you ! ' she cried. ' Oh Terry, how glad, how glad I am that you are here ! ' 'Hush! hush! Nonsense, Nora. Try to remember this is an English house,' whispered Terence ; but he kissed her affectionately. He was glad to see her, and he looked at her dress with marked approval ' She will soon tame down, and she looks veiy pretty,' was his thouirht. n A FEATHER-BED HOUSE. 135 Just then Linda wan seen coming downstairs. ' Has Nora come ? ' called out her sweet, hioh-bred voice. • How do you do, Nora ? I am so glad to see yon. If you are half as nice as Terence, you will be a delightful addition to our party.' ' Oh, but I am not the least bit like Terence,' said Nora. She felt rather hurt ; she did not know wliy, Linda Avas a very fair girl. She could not have been more than hfteen years of age, and was not so tall as Nora ; but she had almost the manners of a woman of the world, and Nora felt unaccountably shy of her. ' Now take your cousin up to her room. Supper will be ready in a quarter of an hour,' siiid Mrs Hartrick. ' Come, George ; I have something to say to vou.' Mr and Mrs Hartrick disappeared into the drawing- room. Linda took Nora's hand, Nora glanced at Terence, who turned on his heel and went away. ' See you presently, sis,' he called out in what he considered a very manly tone ; and Nora felt her heart, as she expressed it, sink down into her boots as she followed Linda up the richly carpeted stairs. Her feet sank into the velvety pile, and she hated the sensation, ' It is all a sort of feather bed house,' she said to herself, ' and I hate a feather-bed house. Oh, I can understand my dad better than ever to-night; but how mother would enjoy this ! ' n IWr r I, : III 1" ! t| !i iji' I I ■ 'J I 136 CHAPTER XIII. 'there's molly.' S they were going upstairs Linda suddenly turned and looked full at her cousin. ' How very grave you are ! And why liave you that little frown between your brows ? Are you vexed about anything ? ' 'Only I thought Terry would be more "glad to see me,' replied Nora. _ • More glad ! ' cried Linda. ' I saw you hugging him as I ran downstairs. He let you. I d^'on't know how any one could show gladness more. But come along ; this is your room. It is next to Molly's and mine. Isn't it pretty ? Molly and I chose It for you this morning, and we arranged those flowers. You will have such a lovely view, and that little peep of tlie Thames is so charming. I hope you will like your room.' ^ Nora entered one of the prettiest and most lovely cedrooms she had ever seen in her life. Never in her wildest dreams hud she imagined anvthinn- ho cosy. The perfectly cho.^en furniture, the elegant ii ' THERE 'S MOLLY.* 137 appointments of every sort and description, the view from the partly-opened windows, the view of winding river and noble trees— all looked rich and cultivated and lovely; and the Irish girl, as she gazed around, found suddenly a great, fierce hatred rising up in her heart against what she' called the mere prettiness. She turned and faced Linda, who was watching her with curiosity in her some- what small blue eyes. Linda was essentially English, very reserved and quiet, very self-possessed, quite a young lady of the world. She looked at Nora as if she meant to read her through. 'Well, don't you think the view perfect?' she said. ' Have you ever been in Ireland ? ' was Nora's answer. 'Never. Oh, dear me! have you anything as pretty as this in Ireland ? ' 'No,' said Nora fiercely— 'no.' She left the wmdow, turned back, and began to unpin her hat. 'You look as if you did not care for your room.' 'It is a very, very pretty room,* said Nora, 'and the view is very, very pretty, but I am tired to- mght. I did not know it ; but I am. I should like to go to bed soon.' ' So you shall, of course, after you have had supper. Oh, how awfully thoughtless of me not to know that you must be very tired and hungry ! Molly and I are glad you have come.' 'I'l i 1 • ' : ■ ! 138 'there's molly.' 'But where is Molly ? I ,Hould like to see her ' Whit ^^^" "^ ^^ ^^^-^ -' '^^'^ ^" ^ '^o- ' She is in disgrace.' ' In disgrace ? Has she done anything naughty ^ ' usual"' ^^^ ^^ "'"^'''^- ^^" " ^" ^^^^ ^^'^^- -« 'I am sorry/ said Nora. She instantly began to >-eel a strong sensation of sympathy for Molly She was sure, in advance, that she would like her 'But IS she in such dreadful disgrace that I may not see her ? ' she asked after a pause. ^ 'Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose so.' Just then there was heard at the room door a gay laugh and a kmd of scamper. A knock followed, but before Nora could answer the door was burst open and a large, heavily-made, untidy-looking girl, with a dark face and great big black eyes, bouLed into the apartment. _ ■! have burst the bonds, and here I am,' she said. How do you do, Nora ? !■„ Molly. I am alv.-ays Now toJl-tale-ft, you can go downstair., and acquaint mother w,th the fact that I have burst the bonds, for kiss Uttle Irish Nora I will.' 'Oh, I am glad to see you,' said Nora. Her depression vanished on the spot. She felt that naughty as doubtlais " " with her. Molly was, she could get on ' THERE 'S MOLLY.' 139 i 'Come, let's take a squint at you,' said the eldest Miss Hartrick ; 'come over here to the light.' Molly took Nora by both hands o- er to the window. ' Now then, let 's have a category of your charms. Terence lias been telling us that you are very pretty. You are. Come, Linda ; come and look at her. Did you ever see such black hair ? And it 's as soft as silk.' Molly put up a rather large hand and patted Nora somewhat violently on the head. ' Oh, don't ! ' said Nora, starting back. ' My dear little cousin, I am a very ^-ough specimen, and you must put up with me if you mean to get on at The Laurels. We are all stiif and staid hero ; we are English of the English. Everything is done by rule of thumb — breakfast to the minute, lunch to the minute, afternoon tea to the minute, dinner to the minute, even tennis to the minute. Oh ! it 's detest- able ; and I — I am expected to bo good, and you know there 's not a bit of goodness in me. I am all fidgets, and you can never be sure of me for two seconds at a time. I am a worry to mother and a worry to father ; and as to Terence — oh, my dear creature, I am so truly tliankful you are not like Terence ! Here I drop a curtsey to his memory. What an awfully precise man he will make by-and- by ! I did not know you turned out that kind of article in Ireland.' ! It ! ! 140 'THERE'S MOLLY.' 'You and I will get on,' she said, a ,;,,, ,,„„ , room until 1 '"PP""'"' '" "^'^ '" ™y ^--'d- . "' ^°" " '"'™ to answer to me wlien we ar. gomg to bed. that . a,,. By-bye, No,,.. I -," ^Z m the monnng. Do get he,- some hot water, Li Ji dd\::;^™""«°"^*^'«''™>--e Jof ort ot iace, I for one shall adore it. Good-bvc ■Nora, for the present ' ^ ' ■But what ha. she done wrong 1 ' asked Nora. Oh, went agamst discipline. She is at sehool vou know and she would write letters during lesso^ .' 'l compLun, so mother said she shn.dd «tav in he-. ■■oon., instead of being downstairs to 'well: %:: i n 'there's molly.' 141 She is a good 8oul enough : but we none of us can discipline her. She is very funny ; you '11 see a lot of her queer cranks while you are here.' ' How old is she ? ' asked Nora. ' Between sixteen and seventeen ; too old to be such a romp.' ' Only a little older than I am,' said Nora. ' And how old are you, Linda ? ' ' Fifteen ; they all tell me I look more.' ' You do ; you look eighteen. You arc very old for your age.' ' Oh, thank you for the compliment. Now, then, do brush your hair and wash your hands; there's the supper-gong. Mother will be annoyud if we are not down in a jifly. Now, do be ((uick.' Nora waslied her hands, brushed her hair, and nm downstairs with her cousin. As she ate during tlie somewhat stiff meal that followed she thought many times of Molly. She felt that, naughty as Molly doubtless was, she would make the EnHish house tolerable. Terence sat near her at supper, by way of extending to her- brotherly attentions ; but all the time he was talking on subjects of local interest to his aunt and uncle. Mr* Hartrick evidently thought Terence a very clever fellow, and listened to his remarks with a deference which Nora thought by no means good for him. ' 11 e v.-cir.ts one of the dear old dad's downright I ^1 % in 11 142 'there's molly.' snubs.' vvas her inward comment. ' I „,„Ht have a ta k w,fh Imn to-morrow. If ho pro.n.sen at this me to..HrcIs En^.JLsh refinen.ent he will he unbear- able at O'Shana^.h^-un when he returns ; ,,uite. quite unbearablo. Oh for a sniff of the sea ! oh for the wild, wild wind on my cheeks ! and oh for my dear darhnc, bare bedroom ! I .shall be smothered in that heavdy furnished room upstairs. Oh, it is all lovely I know-very lovely ; but I'm not made to enjoy it I belong to the free, and I don't feel free h.re The «dken chains and the f.-ather-bed life won't suit mo ; ot that I a.a quite sure. Thank goodness, however, there s Molly ; she is in a state of rebellion too I must not sympathise with her ; but I am truly glad she IS here.' "^ *» • ' not more than six o'clock. I ^v^ntod V ' niore of you all by m^^self iZ f. """ '""'" now; it ended al n^r ./ "^ "^ P""^^^^"^^^* ' «naea at nudnicrht, and I nm no * anybody else • bnf «« if • x ^ ^''®*^ ^-^ J' y tise , but as it is extreme y likelv I s),.,]i i. back m punislunent by the evenin.. TV t would have a little cli whileTwaTab .T "' Just make way for me in you. b Vn T '' close to you, and we'll be ever so 5^' " ^"^"^ "^ 'Oh do,' said Nora, in a hearty tone. I am glad you are facing the lio->,f fr. r examine ,„„ feature, .e,,; fid ^ f • yl/ ^ tamly are very nice-looking. How prettily yZ eve you We a%afrj:::;ryrs,t' '•*''; enougli colour, not too much T 1,! 7 ■ J™' bat you a,.e ,ju,t perfect. ""■' ''''"'' '"°P''^ ' 'I wisi, you would not flatter me Mollv • -^ Nora ; -noboay flatters me in Ireland '^' "'"' ■Tl.oy don't ? But I thought they were a ne,f . nation of flatterers. I am sure it T "^ "' them.' '" " '" '''wys said of 'Oh, if yon mean the poor nennl„ - -i %t ■ Oiev mil-o „,. n , l'""'^ people, said Nora; tliej make p. etty speeches, but nobody thinks a.-. BITS OF SLANG. 145 ): thing about that. Everybody makes pretty speeclies to everybody else, except when we are having a violent scold by way of a change.' • How delicious : ' said Molly. ' And what sort of house have you ? Like this { ' ' No, not the least like this,' answered Nora. ' With v»diat enipliasis you speak. Do you knoAv that father told me you lived in a beautiful place, a Castle hanging over the sea, and that your moun- tains and your sea and your old Castle were things to be proud of ? ' ' Did he ? Did your father really say that ? ' asked Nora. She sat up on her elbow; her eyes were shining; they assumed a look which Nora's eyes often wore when she was, as she expressed it, ' seeing things out of her head.' Far-off castles in the clouds would Nora look at then; rainbow - tinted were they, and their summits reached heaven. Molly gazed at her with deepening interest. ' Yes, Nora,' she said ; ' he did say it. He told me so before Terence came; but I — do forgive me I don't care for Terence.' 'You must not talk against him to me,' said Norr;,, ' because he happens to be my brother ; but I '11 just whisper one thing back to you, Molly— if he was not my brother he would not suit me.' ' How nice of you to say that ! We shall get on spk'ndidly. Of com-se, you nuist stick up for him, being your brother ; he stuck up for you before you Lifiit o' the Moruliijj. ■ t I III- ;!m' 'i: ' \i i " f 146 BITS OF SLANG. M. came. It is very nice and loyal of you, and I quite understand. But, dear me ! I am not likely to see much of you while you are here.' ' Why not ? Are you not going to stay here ? ' •Oh, my dear, yes; I'll stay. School has just begun over again, you know, and I am P.iways in hot water. I cannot help it ; it is a sort of way of mine. This is the kind of way I live. Breakfast every morning ; then a lecture from mother or from father. Off I go in low spirits, with a great, sore heart inside me; then comet: the hateful discipline of school; and every day I get into disgrace. I have a lot of lessons returned, and am low down in my class, instead of high up, and am treated from first to last as a naughty child. By the middle of the da; I am a very naughty child indeed.' ' But you are not a child at all, Molly ; you are a woman. Why, you are older than L' ' Oh, what have years to do with it ? ' interrupted Molly. 'I shall be a child all my days, I tell you. I shall never be really old. I lile mischief and insubordination, and— and— let me whisper it to you, little Nora— vulgarity. Yes, I do lo.^e to be vulgar! I like shocking mother- I like shocking father. Since Terence came I have had rare fun shocking him. I havo learned a lot of slang, and whenever I see Terence I shout it at him. He has got quite nervous lately, and avoids me. H« likes Linda awfully, but he avoids me. But, to go on with h i; BITS OF SLANG. 147 my day. I am back from school to early dinner, generally in disgi-ace. I am not allowed to speak at dinner. Back again I go to school, and I am home, or supposed to be home, at half -past four ; but not a bit of it, my dear ; I don't get home till about six, because I am kept in to learn my lessons. It is disgraceful, of course ; but it is a fact. Then back I come, and mother has a talk with me. However busy mother may be, and she is a very busy woman, Nora — you will soon find that out-— she always has time to find out if I have 'lone anything naughty ; and, as fibs are not any of my accomplishments, I always tell her the truth ; and then what do you think happens ? An evening quite to myself in my bed- room ; my dinner sent up to me there, and I eating it in solitary state. Tiiey are all accustomed to it. They open their eyes and almost glare at me when by a mere chance I do come down to dinner. They are (juite uncomfortable, because, you see, I am waiting my opportunity to fire slang at one of them. I always do, and always will. I never could fit into the dull life of the English.' ' You must be Irish, really,' said Nora. ' You don't say so ! But I am afraid I am not. I would give all the world to be, but am quite certain I am not. There, now, of course I'd be awfully scolded if it was found out that I had awakened you at this hour, and hud confided niy little history to you. I am over sixteen. I shall be seventeen in ten months' I'; r. I tit •■ J ' 1^ i I 1 iJ 148 BITS OF SLANG. time. And that is my history, insubordination from first to last. I don't suppose anybody really likes me, unless it is poor Annie Je/ferson at school.' ' Who is Annie Jefferson, Molly ? ' 'A very shabby sort of girl, who is always in hot water 00. I have taken to her, and she Just adores me There ,s no one else who loves me ; and she, poor child, would not bo admitted inside these walls -she IS not aristocratic enough. Dear nie, Nora > it is wrong of me to give you all this information so soon • and dont look anxious about me, little goose, for I iiave taken an enormous fancy to you.' _ 'I will tell you one thing,' said Nora after a pause, it you will never tell again.' ' Oh, a secret ! ' said Molly. ' Tell it out, Nora I love secrets. I '11 never betray ; I have no friends to betray them to. You may tell me with all the heart m the world. ■ Well it is this/ said Nora ; ■ we .re not at all "t .t r"' ^^' "" P°°'-' ■™<' ^^' "o l^uries. and the deay old house is ve,y bare; and. oh! but. Mol : there .s no place like it-no place like it. It 's worthal the world to n,e : and when I ea,no here last night, and saw your great, rich, beautiful house i-I quite hated it, and I almost hated Linda too ' and even my uncle, who has been .so kind, I could ™t get up one charitable thought for him. nor for your mother, who is ,,uch a beautiful, gracious lady ; and eveu ferenee-^-oh ! Terry seemed quite Enghsh. BITS OF SLANG. 149 Oil, I was miserable ! But when I saw you MoJly I >said to myseJf, " There is one person who will fit me ; " and— oh, don't, Molly ! What is it ? ' 'Only, if you say another word I shall squeeze you to death in the hug I am giving you,' raid Molly. Her arms were flung tightly round Nora's neck. She kissed her passionately three or four times ; We '11 be friends. I '11 stick up for you through thick and thin,' said Molly, ' And now I 'm off; for if Linda caught me woe betide me.' 'One word before you go, Molly,' called out -Nora. ' Yes r said Molly, standing at the door. • Try to keep straight to-day, for my sake, for I shall want to say a great deal to you to-night.' 'Oh yes, so I will,' answered Molly. 'Now then off I go.' ' The door was banged behind her. It awoke Mrs Hartrick, who turned slowly on her pillow, and said to herself, ' I am quite certain that wicked girl Molly has been disturbing our poor little traveller.' But she fell asleep, and Nora lay thinking of Molly How queer she was : And yet- and yet she was the only person in the English home who had yet managed to touch Nora's warm Irish heart. The rest of the day passed somewhat soberly Many and Linda both started for school immediately after an early breakfast. Tcrei)co went to town with his uncle, and Nora and h.or .a:)t were left alone. rf-l 150 BITS OF SLANG. She had earnestly Jioped that she might have had one of her first important taiks with Mr Hartridt before he left tJiat morning ; but he evidently had no idea ot givmg her an opportunity. He spoko to her kmdly, but seemed to regard her olr-Mdy as quite one of the family, and certainly was not disposed't ah,,r his plans or put out his bus^ne^s arrangements on h<^r account. She re.olvod. with a slightly impatient sigh, to abide her un.e, .nd followed her aunt into the morning-room, wJier. tlie good lady produced some fancy work, and a::Ked Nv,ra if she would like to help her to arrange little squares for a large patch- work quilt which was to be raffled for at a bazaar shortly to be held in tlie place. Nora gravely took the little bits of coloured silk £.nd, under her aunt's supervision, began to arrange thet,. m patterns. She was not a neat worker, and the task was by no means to her taste. ' What time ought I to write in order to catch the post ? ' she said, breaking the stillness, and raising her lovely eyes to Mrs Hartrick's face. 'The post goes out many times in the day, Nora; but if you want to catch the Irish mail, you must have your letter in the box in the hall by half-past three. There is plenty of time, my dear, and you will find notepaper and everything you require in the escritoire in the study. You can always go there if you wish to write your letters. 'Thank you,' answered Nori. BITS OF SLANG. 151 'When you are tired of work, you can go out and walk about the grounds. I will take you for a drive this afternoon. I aia sorry that you have arrived just when the girls have gone back to school ; but you and Linda can have a good deal of fun in the evenings, you know.' ' But why not Molly too ? ' asked Nora. She felt rather alarmed at mentioning her elder cousin's name. Mrs Hartrick did not speak at all for a moment ; then she gave a sigh. ' I am sorry to have to tell you, Nora, that Molly is by no means a good girl. She is extremely rebellious and troublesome; and if this state of things goes on much longer her father and I will be obliged to send her to a very strict school as a boarder. We do not wish to do that, as my husband does not approve of boarding-schools for girls. At present she is spending a good deal of her time in punishment.' ' I hope she w^on't be in punishment to-night,' said Nora. ' I like her so much.' ' Do you, my dear ? I hope she won't influence you to become insubordinate.' Nora felt restless, and some of the bits of coloured silk fluttered to the floor. 'Be careful, my dear Nora,' said her auuo L. a somewhat sharp voice ; ' don't let those bits of silk get about on the carpet. I am most particular that everything in the house should be kept neat and in i \ id 1: 1^ ■ . 1 ,'N 152 BITS OF SLANG. i i«, order. I mm'11 ^.ot you a little work-])a.sket to keep your tinners i,, when next I go upstairs.' ' Tliank you, Aunt Grace,' answered Nora. 'And now, as we are alone,' continued the good lady, 'you might tell me something of your life Your uncle is veiy anxious that your mother should come and pay us a visit. He is very much attached to his sister, and it seems to me strange that they should not have met for so many years. You have a beautiiul place at home, Nora— have you not ? ' 'Yes,' said Nora: 'the place is '-she paused, and lier voice took an added emphasis— ' beautiful.' ' How emphatically you say it, dear ! You have a pretty mode of speech, although very, very Irish.' ' I am Irish, you see. Aunt Grace,' answered Nora. ' \ es, dear, you need scarcely tell me that ; your brogue betrays you.' ' But mother was always particular that I should «peak correctly,' continued the girl. ' Does my accent offend you. Aunt Grace ? ' ' No, dear ; your uncle and I both think it quite charming. But tell me some more. Of course you are very busy just now with your studies, Nora. A girl of your age- how old did you say you were— six- teen ?— a girl of your age has not a moment to lose m acquiring those things which are essential to the education of an accomplished woman of the present day.' ' I am afraid I shall shock you very much indeed, BITS OF SLANG. 153 Aunt Grace, wJien I tell you that my education is supposed to be finislied.' ' Finished ! ' said IVfrs Hartrick. She paused for a moment and stared full at Nora. ' I was astonished,' she continued, ' when your uncle suggested that you should pay us a visit now. I said, as September had begun, you would be going back to school ; but you accepted the invitation, or rather your motJier did for you, without any allusion to your school. You nuist have got on very well, Nora, to be finished by now. How many languages do you know ? ' ' I can chatter in Irish after a fashion,' said Nora ; ' and I am supposed, after a fashion also, to know my own toncrue.' ' Irish ! ' said Mrs Hartrick in a tone of quivering scorn. ' I don't mean anything of tliat sort. I allude to your acquaintance with French, German, and Italian.' ' I do know a very little French,' said Nora ; ' that is, I can read one or two books in French. Mother taught me wiiat I know; but I do not know any German or any Italian. I don't see that it matters,' she continued, a flush coming into her cheeks. 'I should never talk German or Italian in Ireland, I wouldn't be understood if I did.' ' That has nothing to do with it, Nora ; and your tone, my dear, without meaning it, of course, was just a shade pert just now. It is essential in the present day that all • v .'I-educated women should be able to speak at leasi n three languages.' 11' . ■"» BITS OV -^tAXa. 'Then I am sorry, vun( Unice, for I am «frn,-^ you w 11 despise me. I shall „..«; bo welUdutt d m that sense of the word.' educated Mrs Hurtrick was silent. 'I Will speak to your uncle.' she said after « pause, .^levou are here you can 1 Jo ^^^s J It would bo possible to arran,.e that you wen o ot: nt ''■ t-r ''-''' ^^' ^-^ ^>-:and ueiman lesson,'^ while there.' /But I don t expect to bo very lon^. i„ e„.,,,,„^ . «a,d Nora, a note of alann in her voice ^ 'Oh my dear child, now that wo have got you we shal not allow you to go in a hurry, if i Teh a nice change for vou ton • +k,- • . England, fart „ot '' '" ' ""'^ " y™'' '"■»' "-' ^o ' Yes. Aunt Grace.' md I adm, l„m ■n.mon.scly. ,„,„ l,e i, ,,uito ,v,.ll educated and so adaptable : and I „„, ,„,,. ,!„„ J," be the .,a,ne my doa,, wl.on , „„ ,„.,„ „.j ,ZZfy anythmg that you wi»h. Don't be «hy of ,ne ^y she hist leaves her mother, is rather si- ■ I never felt shy at home,' answer," N, • ■ but tl'en, you know, I was ,noro with fati -r ii,., ' ■ mother." latkoi uian with BITS OF SLANO. 155 ' More with your fathor ! Does he stay at home all day, then ? ' ' Ho is always about the place ; he has nothing else to do.' ' Of course he has largo estates.' ' They are not so very lai-ge, Aunt Grace.' ' Well, dear, that is u relative term, of course ; but from ycjur uncle's description, and to iudge from your mother's letters, it must bo a very large place. By the way, how does she manage her servants? She must have a lai'ge stati' at Castle O'Shanaghgan.' ' I don't think Ave manngt; our servants particularly well,' said Nora. ' It is true they all stay with us ; but thvn we don't keep many.' * Ho, many, dear ? ' 'There - Pegeen — she is the parlour-maid — and there's tiio c(jok -we do change our cooks sometime's, for mother is her particular ; then there is the woman who attends to the fowls, and the woman who does the washing, and — I think that is about all. Oh, there's the post-boy; perhaps you woidd consider him a servant, but I scared}^ think he ought to be called one. We give him twopence a week for fetching the lettei-s. Ho is a very good little boy. He stands on his ho.'d whenever he sees me ; he is very fond of me, and that is the way he shows his afiection. It would make you laugli, Aunt Grace, if you saw Michael standing on his head.' *It would make me shudder, v •^fMiii / - t --I mean, Mrs 166 BITS OF SLANG. Ill' III Hartriok .R ,„iy, Nora, y„„r ,ee„„„t „r ,.,„, motlitTH home m rufhr.« t . ^ tor we arc verv nnm- a i. • ' very poor. And,' continued Norn ' for my part, I love to be poo,..' ,s,„ „„„„ , ,, ; "' : t;"^: r-^'t "" "»'■ '"'" "'• «"" ' .i fo . T r ^° ''"^' ^°^"*^' ^*' >'°" like.' «aid her aunt in a dispJeased tone • ' bu^ fJr-«f i .1 pie. up a„ .w «.A"\r ;,;:;;;-'- -*^^^ paper ,,„.p:i,.,trr"'™'"'"''''^-""' are surely not going without a liat ' ; I ..ever wear a hat at home,' .said Nora. Mr. Hltnl' """ "^*"" '""^ '«""' ^'°" '-V -"•J of hr,ife ™ °'"' '^" ""-^ «^^ - «- whole course 157 CHAPTER XV. TWO LETTERS. EAR MOTHER,' wrote Nora O'Shanaghgan later on that same morning, ' I arrived safely yesterday. Uncle George met me at Holyhead, and was very kind indeed. ^ _ had a comfortable journey up to town, WP^ and Uncle Cfcorge saw that I wanted for nothing. When we got to London we drove across the town to another station, called Waterloo, and took a train on here. A carriage met us at the station with a pair of beautiful gray horses. They were not as handsome as Black Bess, but they were very beautiful ; and we arrived here between eight and nine o'clock. This is just the sort of place you would like, mother ; such thick carpets on the stairs, and such large, spacious, splendidly furnished rooms ; and Aunt Grace has meals to th(; mirmte ; and they have lots and lots of servants ; and my bedroom — oh mother ! I think you would revel in my bedroom. It has such a terribly thick carpet on the floor — I mean ■ ' I I :' !! .,, ■ j :', \ ■ ■ I ■ ' JA if .1 158 IJ K- J TWO LETTERS. ^\. — mn- it h,-« a thick cai-pot on the floor; and there k a ™w from the window, the sort you have »„ o en veT::: : ""-^'"'^ ^'^ '--• ™^ ■^ '-- , : w t ■ allT, r'' " '" '™'»— 's. and a shrubbery «.fch all the trees cut so exact and round and prope, cou,«„. keep a boat ou the river, and thoy often lo out .„ the summer evenings. They are going to take holidt;. ' ™" °" '''"'•'''^- "''™ "- g"'' have a • I saw Terence almost immediately after I arrived. He looked just as you would like to see him, so handsome m his evening-dress. «e w-as a little st.fr-at least, I mean he was very correct in his manner. We had supper when we arrived. I was »wf„ y hungry, but I did not like to eat too much, for Terence seemed so correct-niee in his manner I mean^-and everything wa.s just as you have de.scrib;d tlungs when you were young. There are Uo girls vTrr^'"":' " ™'-^ p^^">' «"■■• f-^- »' - very neatly dres.sed ; and Molly, who is not the least like the others. You would not like Molly ; she is rather rough ; but of course I must not complain of her. I have been sitting with Aunt Grace all the nxn-nrng, unt I could bear it no longer-I mean nmn the garden. ^W I am writing this letter In shall T'\ "r"'"S-™«'". »>'d if I look round I Shall see her back. TWO LETTERS. 159 ' Good-bye, dear mother. I will write again in a day or two. — Your affectionate dau<^hter, 'Nora O'Suanaghgan.' ' There,' said Nora, under her breath ' that 's done. Now for daddy.' She took out anotliei sheet of paper, and began to scribble rapidly. ' Darling, darling, love of ray heart ! Daddy, daddy, oh ! but it ',s I that miss you. I am writing to you here in this could, could country. Oh daddy, if I could run to you now, wouldn't I ? What are you doing without your Light o' the Morning ? I am pent up, daddy, and I don't think I can stand it much longer. It 's but a tiny visit I '11 pay, and then I '11 come back again to the mountains and the sea, and the old, old house, and the dear, darling dad. Keep up your heart, daddy ; you '11 soon have Light o' the Morning home. Oh ! it 's so proper, and I 'm wrapped up in silk chains ; they are surrounding me everywhere, and I can't quite bear it. Aunt Grace is sitting here ; I am writing in lier morning-room. Oh ! if I could, wouldn't I scream, or shout, or do something awfully wicked ; but I must not, for it is the English way. They have got the wild bird Nora into the English cage ; and, darling dad asthore, it 's her heart that will ])e broke if she stays here long. There 's one comfort I have — -or, bcdad ! I don't think ¥ h f' i;< !i' HI I''" i*; .160 ¥ u TWO LETTERS. I could bear it-_and that's Molly. She', . w. ve..ti:j;;:ir:h:--^-.^e.theeon. broke entirely. ' ' '"^ '"'' '"»'"■' "■- b^-g ' How are they all at home ? Give th™ 1 i ■ and lavins of love from Nora Tell H, J I "11 bo baek with them V ' ' '°™ messa^P f„ u T " SO round and give a message to each and all ; and don't for^cl H T Croneen, and little Mike and Rrid If "^ Squire Murphy, and the 1 ^^ t^'/'^P''^' "^ • remembe,^ Nora O'Shanaglln Trfl T"^ ""' "'" heart i. imprisoned till she ^^ h^ to th "" she would rather have one bif of b " ' ""^ than all the gould 1,^^! t ' T" "'''"" '»" declare it '. , '"''"'''* "^ England. I aeclare it s rough and wild I am „.tr , heart is bleeding I inve wn-tT ^ ^' ""'^ "^ to mother, and gLn he t, e ^.^ '"'™''' '^"*^ .ouabitofmy^r:.^etrrs;nrfor:::;'""^ »» ™e *«, u H, and I '„ fly ^ae: t y^ "'o'^" It s chains wouldn't keen mo f.. t *teofthingsco„ti„„esI:,?::;riC'^"''^ 'Light o' the Morning.' ^'olt;:C:t:itre'X:t"r^^ rate envelopes and stamped thel. ' ""° "P" i. TWO LETTERS. 161 Mrs Hartrick rose, went over to her desk, and saw Nora's letters. ' Oh, you liave written to your parents,' she said. ' Quite right, my dear. But why put them into sepa- rate envelopes ? They could go nicely in one. That, really, is wilful waste, Nora, which we in England never permit.' ' Oh, please, don't change them. Aunt Grace,' said Nora, as Mrs Hartrick took the two letters up and paused before opening one of the envelopes. ' Please, please, let them go as they are. It 's my own stamp,' she continued, losing all sense of grammar in her excitement. ' Well, my dear, just as you please. There, don't excite yourself, Nora. I only suggested that, when one stamp would do, it was rather wasteful to spend two.' ' Oh, daddy does like to get his own letters to Ins own self,' said Nora. ' Your father-, you mean. You don't, surely, call him by the vulgar \vord daddy ? ' ' Bedad ! but I do,' answered Nora. Mrs Hartrick turned and gave her niece a frozen glance. Presently she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. ' I don't want to complain or to lecture you,' she said ; ' but that expression must not pass your lips again while you are here.' ' It shan't. I am ever so sorry,' said the girl. UgUt o' the Moniiug. Iv "i?l J JSl 162 TWO LETTERS, n T I, II. t ' % ! » I think you are, doar; and how flushed your cheek, are! You seem ,uite tired. Now, go upi.irs »nd wash your hand., ; the luucheon-gong will ri„ '™ five mmutes, and we must be punctual at meab ' Nora slowly left the room. he^n. ' ''"' " '' '""' '""^ "^ '""■■' '' ' "''^ ^-"d to J^'f7 T"1: ™'^ '^''""""y ^"^ 'ho wild Irish g..!- After luneh she and her aunt had a long and proper dnve. They drove through lovely country; but Nora was feehng even a little bit cro.,s, and eouH not see the beaut.es of the perfectly tilled landscape, of the orderly helds, of the lo /ely hedgerow,, 'It IS too tidy,' she said once in a choking sort ot voice. *' 'Tidy!' answered Mrs Hartrick. She looked at No.., uttered a .,.gh, and did not speak of the beauties Ot the country again. When they got back from their drive things were a httle tetter, for Linda and Molly had r:tu™e" fmm school; and, for a wonder, Molly wa, not n disgrace. She looked quite cKoited, a/d darting o oUhe We, took Noras hand and pulled it inside ' Come and have a talk,' she said. • I am hunger- ing for a chat mth yon.' ^ out Mrs Hartnck, then entered the ho„« a.„„„ panied by Linda. " ^" ' " """" I. TWO LETTERS. 163 Meanwhile Molly and Nora went round to the shrubbery at the back of the house. ' What is the matter with you ? ' said Molly. She turned and faced her companion. Nora's eyes filled with sudden tears. ' It is only that I am keeping in so much,' she said ; ' and — and, oh ! I do wish you were not all quite so tidy. I am just mad for somebody to be wild and unkempt. I feel tliat I could take down my hair, or tear a rent in my drcss^ — anything rather than the neatness. Oh ! I hate your landscapes, and your trim hedges, and your trim house, and your ' ' Go on,' said Molly ; ' let it out ; let it out. I '11 never repeat it. You must come in, in about a ([uarter of an hour, to a stiff meal. You will have to sit upright, let me tell you, and not lounge ; and you will have to eat your bread and butter very nicelj'', and sip your tea, and not eat over much. Mother does not approve of it. Then when tea is over you will have to leave the room and go up- stairs and get things out for dinner.' ' My things out for dinner ? ' gasped Nora. ' What do you mean ? ' ' Your evening-dress. Do you suppose you will be allowed to dine in your morning-dress ? ' ' Oh, to be sure,' said Nora, brightening ; ' now I understand. Mother did get me a white frock, and she had it cut square in the neck, and the sleeves are a little short.' H'ji I' ' h I 1^ ' If,'' 164 TWO LETTERS. lor ci You will look sweet in that, bring 'itieally and I will said Molly, gazing at sweet-peas ^o put V ^ Ut' f T " ' ''""^^ ^' a little bunch in youfhair tl; f '"",•,"" '^^^ Wv you are awLly ptl ^ 1 ^^" ^^\^: ^- JUHt mad with ienlomv t . '"'' ^'"^^ ^« althonch she doe" ''"" ' ^ ^'^^^ ^'^^^ ^'' ~.u sue aoes not say anvthino- <5i,-. • A-T^'aging about you in Linda T* " ™""'' dear little w.v, si ' "' " ""^ "' '«r .oin, to ::i::':^z:zxr''^'--' such a pity tliat " ' ^ ' ^ ^^ ^^ ^^J"::^::^:^,-'"'''- ^-^-^ out ^ ^^; What in the world a..e you doing that (or r .aid 'Because I don't want to hear- sho ^-^ . -tow that .she said the.: ;,::""'■""" 1^0 you know thl^he'v i ::;■ J '"^y"" -fully, good all day ? Isn't aJ'T » -^ *""' ''"P' '™ I didn't anLer one ! T T^ *" ^ P™""! °£ ? answer one of my teachers bank «^^ r i-j have a scolding, let me tell you Oh T don't know what I sufcCer ° ■7,"""°^ '"'' ™g.e particle of taste. I have o the fattTstt : of an ear; but mother insists on Z ■ " ' T could draw: 1 conlrl .i..^ i t '> ^^«^"mg. I ^ . could sketch ; I can do anything with 'f 1 TWO LETTERS. 165 'i ! my pencil ; but that doe.s not suit mother. It must be music. I must play ; I must play well at sight ; I must play ill sorts of difficult accompani- ments for songs, because gentlemen like to have their songs accompanied for them ; and I must be able to do tliis tlie very moment the music is put before me. And I must not play too loud ; I must play just right, in perfect time ; and I must be ready, when there is nothing else being done, to play long pieces, those smart kind of things people do play in the present day ; and I must never play a wrong note. Oh dear ! oh dear ! and I simply cannot do these things. I don't know wrong notes from right. I really don't.' ' Oh Molly ! ' cried Nora. ' There you are ; I can see that you are musical.' *I think I am very. I mean I think I should always know a wrong note from a right one ; but I have not had many opportunities of learning.' ' Oh, good gracious me ! what next ? ' exclaimed Molly. ' I don't understand what you mean,' said Nora. ' My dear, I am relieving my feelings, just as you relieved yours a short time ago. Oh dear ! my music. I know I played atrociously ; but that dreadful Mrs Elford was so cross ; she did thump so lierself on the piano, and told me that my fingers were like sticks. And what could I do ? I longed to let out some of ray expressions at her. You must know that I am !• t R 166 TWO LETTERS. 'Zn Z::7"\ "':' -P-™— ™y «Ians, I call them Tl.ey do shock people so, and it in simpW irro- B..st.ble to see thon, shudder, and close their eye^ Td draw themselves together, and then ^^.^^'^ .1 „ ; T" ;'"° "-'^-^"^^^ '" ™.n»o„ed our oP 7 "T °'"'"^- ^ S^'' "'y pi-- to do out of school and when I co.ne hon>e mother lectures Imh w,teh ; and I syn,pathise with you to the bottom of my soul.' 'Molly. Molly !■ here called out Linda's voice- mother says it 's time for you and Kora to come' m to wash your hands for tea.' 'Oh, go to Jericho ! ' called out Molly hout"'" """"' ""'™^'"'^''y ■•"-' went into the •She is a tell-faile-tit,' said Molly ..She will he . ,^ }'" ;'"°w«d any cake ? There is a very ZZ- , , 1 "f""''^ "'™" ™* "-kes, and I am parfeula. y fond of it. You '11 see I am not to have a.^,u»t because I said " Oo to Jericho ! " I am sure 1 Wish Linda w^ould go.' they said >.ora. ' Father wouldn't like them. We say all kinds of funny tilings at home, but not thi^^ iii^e that. I wish you would not.' "^ y ai '] in \v hi II) 111 Two LETtEB 167 ' You wisli I would not what ? ' 'Use words like "Go to Jericho." Father would not like to hear you.' ' You are a very audacious kind of girl, let me tell you, Nora,' said Molly. She coloured, and looked annoyed for a moment, then burst into a laugh. ' But I like you all tlie better for not being afraid of me,' she continued. ' Come, let 's go into the house ; we can relieve our feelings somehow to-night ; we '11 have a lark somehow ; you mark my words. In the meantime mum 's the word.' f : \ II 168 '.<■■ ii C H A I> T E U X V I. A CHEEKY IRISH GIUL. fT tea the girls were very stiff; Molly and Jvora were put a,s far a« possible asunder, fl'ey did not liave tea in tl,e drawi,,..- rooin, but in the dining-room, and M^ t,ble T'!^'"''''"'- '^■'-■««-J-«onthe table, and two „. (in-ee kinds of cike, and of cour.se, plenty of breau a,„l butter ' As Molly had pre,li,,,..l, however, the new., of her Hartrieks eai. and the Hat had gone forth that .she was only to eat bread and butter. It was handed to her m a marked way by her mother, and Linda's ght-blue eyes flashed with plea,sure. Nora felt 1 t^t moment that she almost hated Linda. She her- self ate resignedly and without mueh appetite. Her 1m Lfe b T.*' '''' O'Shanaghgan that she oould help her father out of his serape. It was aw imp^sible t« break through tZ, chains ^ propriety, of neatnesa, of order. Would anybody in I A CHEEKV IRISH OIRL. 169 this trim liouHchold care in the very least whether the old TriHliiiuui broke hi.s heart or not ? whether he and the Irish girl had to go forth from the home of their ancestors ? wiiether the wild, beauti- ful, rack-rent sort of place w.is kept in the faniilv or not ? 'They none of them care,' thought Nora. 'I don t believe Uncle George will do anything ; but all the same I ha^•e got to ask him. He was nice about my letter, I will own that ; but will he really, really help ? ' 'A penny for your tlioughts, Nora, my dear,' said Mrs Hartrick at this moment. Nora glanced up with a guilty flush. ' Oh, I was only thinking,' she began. ' Yes, dear, Avhat about ? ' 'About father.' Nora coloured as she spoke, and Linda fixed her eyes on her face. ' Very pretty indeed of you, my dear, to think so much of your father,' said Mrs Hartrick ; ' but I cannot help giving you a hint. It is not con- sidered good manners for a girl to be absent-minded while slu' is in public. You are more or less in public now ; I im here and your cousins, and it is our bounden duty each to try and make the others pleasant, to add to the enjoyment of the meal by a little graceful conversation. Absent-mindedness is very dull for others, my dear Nora ; so in future try »ot to look quite so abstracted.' ■'I I*' ■!' I'. IMAGE EVALUATBON TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I 11.25 I. ^ 1.4 M 2.2 IIIIM 1.6 7 // .>^/ .V <^ <;'' ^i^ ''p^ / f/. i 1 XlUUj^a[JlilL Sdences CorporatioPx 2J WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 &< i^o^ ^^ (^^ ■i ^ I 170 A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. iiim Nora I of her coloured again. Molly, at the other the table, bit her lip furiously, and stretched c hand to help herself to another thick piece of oreaa and butter. I„ doing so she upset a small milk-iuir " a stream of milk flowed down the tablecloth, and' Mrs Hartrick rose in indignation. 'This is the fourth evening running you have spilt somethmg on the tablecloth, Molly Go to your room immediately' Molly rose, dropped a mocking curtsey to her mother, and left the room. 'Linda dear, run after your sister, and tell her that, for her impertinence to me, she is to remain m her room until dinner-time.' ' Oh ! please forgive her this time ; she didn't mean It really, burst from Nora's lips. ' Nora ! ' said Mrs Hartrick. ' Oh ! I am sorry for her ; please forgive her.' ' Nora ! ' repeated her aunt again. ' It is because you do not understand her that she goes on like that; she is such a fine girl, twice- wice as fine as Linda. Oh, I do wish you would forgive her ! ' ^ v* 'Thank you,' said Linda in a mocking voice. She had got as far as the door, and had overheard Nora's words. She now glanced at her mother, as much as to say, 'I told you so,' and left the room. Nora had jumped to her feet. She liad forgotten prudence ; she had forgotten politeness ; her^ eyes A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 171 piy 1 were bright with suppressed fire, and her glib Irish tongue was eager to enter into the fray. ' I must speak out,' she said. ' Molly is more like me than anybody else in this house, and I must take her part. She would be a very, very good girl if she were understood ' ' What are your -leas with regard to understanding Molly ? ' said Mrs Hartriek in tluit very calm and icy voice which irritated poor Nora almost past endur- ance. She was speechless for a moment, struggling with fresh emotion. ' Oh ! I wish ' she began. 'And I wish, my dear Nora, that you would re- member the politeness due to your hostess. I also wish that you would consider how very silly you are when you speak as you are now doing. I do not know what your Irish habits are ; but if it is con- sidered in Ireland rather a virtue than otherwise to spill a milk-jug, and allow tlie contents to deface the tablecloth, I am sorry for you, that is all.' ' You cannot understand. I — I am sorry I came,' said Nora. She burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room. In a few moments Linda came back. ' Molly is storming,' slie said ; ' she is in an awful rage.' 'Sit down, Linda, and don't tell tales of your sister,' answered Mrs Hartriek in an annoyed voice. It P- t:m ; t » . ;,' J •; :i 172 A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 1 I ' Dear me, motlier ! ' said Linda ; ' and where is Nora ? ' 'Nora is a very impertinent little girl. She is wild, however, and unbroken. We must all have patience with her. toor child ! it is terrible to think that she is your father's niece. What a con- trast to dear Terence ! He is a very nice, polite boy. I am sorry for Nora. Of course, as to Molly she 18 quite different. She has always had the advantage ot my bringing-up ; whereas poor Nora— well, I must say I am surprised at my sister-in-law. I did not think your father's sister would have been so remiss.' 'There is one thing I ought to say,' said Linda. ' What is that, dear ? Linda, do sit up straight, and don't poke your head.' Linda drew herself up, and looked prettily towards her mother. ' What do you wish to say ? ' ' It is this. I think Nora will be a very bad com- panion for Molly. Molly will be worse than ever that Nora is in the house.' • Well, my dear Linda, it is your duty to be a good deal with your cousin. You are too fon(^. of poking holes in others ; you are a little hard upon your sister Molly. I do not wish to excuse xMolly ; but it is not your place as her younger sister to, as it were, rejoice in her many faults.' ' Oh, I don't, motiier,' said Linda, colouring. ' Linda dear, I am afraid you do. You must try A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 178 IS and break yourself of tliat very unchristian habit. But, on the whole, my dear, I am pleased with you. You are careful to do what I wisli ; you learn your lessons correctly; I have good xcjports of you from your school-mistresses ; and if you arc careful, my dear, you will correct those little habits which' mar the perfect whole.' ' Thank you, dear mother,' said Linda. ' I will try to do what you wish. 'What I particularly want you to do just now is to be gentle and patient with your cousin; you must remember that she has never had your advan- tages. Be with her a good deal ; talk to her as nicely as you can ; hint to her what I wish. Of course, if she becomes quite incorrigible, it will be impossible for me to have her long with you and Molly; but the child is much to be pitied ; she is a very pretty creature, and with a little care could be made most presentable. I by no means give her up.' ' Dear mother, how sweetly Christian-like and for- giving you are ! ' said Linda. • Oh, hush, my dear ; hush ! I only do my duty ; I hope I shall never fail in that.' Mrs Hartrick rose from the tea-table, and Linda soon afterwards followed her. Mr Hartrick was seen coming down the avenue. He generally walked from the station. He came in now. ' What a hot day it is ! ' he said. ' Pour me out a cup of tea, Linda. I am very thirsty.' MU i r ■ t ' •Vial ;i I ■! 1^^ ^ff s IJ ^ 11 1 i t lU A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. He fluno. himself into an easy-chair, and Linda waited on hiin, ' Well,' he said, ' where are the others ? Where is the little Irish witch, and where is Molly ? ' 'I am sorry to say that Molly is in disgrace as usual,' said Mrs Hartrick. ' Oh, dear, dear ! ' said Mr Hartrick ; ' we ought to fiend lier to school, poor child ! I am sorry former.' 'And I intended to give her quite a pleasant evening,' said Mrs Hartrick, ' in honour of her cousin's arrival. She was in disgrace yesterday when Nora arrived ; and I had thought of giving the girls a delightful evening. I had it all planned, and was going to ask the Challoners over ; but really Molly is so incorrigible. She was very pert to me, although she did bring a better report from school ;' she used some of her objectionable language to Linda, and was more awkward even than usual.' ' Look at the tablecloth, father,' said Linda. 'I think, Linda, you had better run out of the room,' said Mr Hartrick. He spoke in an annoyed voice. ' Certainly, father, I will go ; but don't you want another cup of tea first ? ' ' Your mother shall pour it out for me. Go, my dear — go.' 'Only, mother, is it necessary that we should not ask the Challoners because Molly is naughty ? The rest of us would like to have them.' A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 176 'I will let you know presently, Linda,' said her mother ; and Linda was obliged, to her disgust, to leave the room. ' Now, then, my dear,' said Mr Hartrick, ' I don't at all like to call you over the coals ; but I think it is a pity to speak against Molly so much as you do in her sister's presence. Linda is getting eaten up with conceit ; she will be an intolerable woman by- and-by, so self-opinionated, and so pleased with her- self. After all, poor Molly may have the best of it in the future ; she is a fine child, notwithstanding her naughtiness.' 'I thought it likely you would take her part, George : and I am sorry,' answered Mrs Hartrick in a melancholy tone ; ' but I am grieved to tell you that there is something else to follow. That little Irish girl is quite as cheeky, even more cheeky than Molly. I fear I must ask you to say a word to her ; I shall require her to be respectful to me while she is here. She spoke very rudely to me just now, simply because I found it my duty to correct Molly.' 'Oh, that won't do at all,' said Mr Hartrick. 'I must speak to Nora.' ' I wish you would do so.' 'I will. By the way, Grace, what a pretty creature she is ! ' 'She is a beautiful little wild-flower,' said Mrs Hartrick. ' I have taken a great fancy to her, not- withstanding her rudeness. She has never had the I '!;] ' l| » 1^ '-■ M I !l ■i. \ M <^M,i^ liil ■;«( 176 A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. smallest care ; she lias simply been allowed to grow up wild' 'Well, nature has taken care of her,' said Mr Hartrick. ' Yes, dear, of course ; but you yourself know the advantage of bringing np a girl nicely.' 'And no one is more capable of doing that than you are,' said Mr Hartrick, giving his wife an ad- miring glance. ' Thank you, dear, for the compliment ; but I should be glad if you would speak to Nora. Now that she IS here, I have no doubt that we shall soon discipline her ; and I should like her to pay quite a long visit —that is, of course, if she becomes conformable to my ways.' 'She will be sure to do that, Grace,' replied the husband. 'I am glad you mean to be good to her, and to take her in hand, poor little lass ! ' 'I thought she might have some good masters and get some valuable lessons while she is here,' said Mrs Hartrick. ' Would you believe it, George ?-that little girl of sixteen cahrdy informed me that her education was finished. At the same time, she said she knew no language but her own, and just a smattering of that dead tongue, Irish. She cannot play ; in short, she has no accomplishments whatever, and yet her education is finished. I must say I do not unde- fitand your sister. I should have thought that she was a little more like you.' I A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL. 177 * There neve^ was a more particular girl than Ellen used to be,' said Mr Hartrick ; ' but I must have a long talk with Nora. I '11 see her this evening. I know she has a good deal she wants to talk to me about.' 'A good deal she wants to talk to you about, George ? ' 'Oh yes, my dear; but I will explain presently. She is a proud little witch, and must not be coerced ; we must remember that her spirit has never been broken. But I '11 talk to her, I '11 talk to her ; leave the matter in my hands, Grace.' ' Certainly, dear ; she is your niece, remember.' i '!l' ■ ' ff I' 1: I'M Light o' the Horaiu^. 11 178 i :ff! J III ■« CHAPTER XVII. TWO DESCRIPTIONS ll^^^OME of Nora's words must have sunk into Mrs Hartrick's heart, for, rather to Molly's own astonishment, she was allowed to dress nicely for dinner, and to come down Her somewhat heavy, dark face did not look to the best advantage. She wore a dress which did not suit her ; her hair was awkwardly arranged • there was a scowl on her brow She felt so sore and cross, after what she considered her brave efforts to be good during the morning, that she would almost rather have stayed up in her room. But Nora would not hear of that. Nora had rushed into Mollys room, and had begged of her, for her sake, to come downstairs. Nora was looking quite charming m that pretty white frock which Mrs O'Shanaghgan had purchased for her in Dublin. Her softly rounded ftgure her dazdingly fair complexion, were seen now for the first time to the best advantage. Her thick back hair was coiled up becomingly on her graceful little head, and, with a bunch of sweet-peas at her TWO DESCRIITIONS. 179 belt, there coukl scarcely have been seen a prettier maiden. When she appeared in the drawing-rooin, even Terence was forced to admit that he had seldom seen a more lovely girl than his sister. He went up to her and began to take notice of her. ' I am sorry I was obliged to bo out all day. I am studying the different museums very ex- haustively,' said Terence in that measured tone of his which drove poor Nora nearly wild. Slu; replied to him somewhat pertly, and he retired once more into liis shell. ' Pretty as my sister is,' he soliloquised, ' she really is such an ignorant girl that few fellows would care to speak to her. It is a sad pity.* Terence, the last liope of the house of O'Shanagh- gan, was heard to sigh profoundly. His aunt, Mrs Hartrick, and his cousin Linda would, doubtless, sympathise with him. Dinner was announced, and the meal went off very well. Molly was absolute! v jiient ; Nora, taking her cue from her, hardly spoke ; and Linda, Terence, and Mrs Hartrick had it all their own way. But, just as dessert was placed on the table, Mr Hartrick looked at Nora and motioned to her to change seats and to come to one close to him. ' Come now,' he said, ' we should like to hear your account of Castle O'Shanaghgan. Terence has told us all about it; but we should like to hear your version.* I I'd "■' if ' 180 TWO DESCRIPTIONS. ti'.' II I ip h II 'And a most lovely place it must be,' said Mrs Hartnck from the other end of tlie table. < Your description, Terence, makes me quite long to see it • and ,f It were not that I am honestly very much' Htraid of the Irish peasantry, I should be glad to go there during the summer. But those terrible creatures, with their shillalahs, and their natural aptitude for firing on you from behind a hodcre are quite too fearful to contemplate. I could not run the risk of assassination from any of them. They > seem to have a natural hatred for the English and— why, what is the matter, Nora ? ' 'Only it 's not true ' said Nora, her eyes flashing They are not a bit like that ; they are the most warm-hearted people in the whole world. Terence have you been telling lies about your country ? If you have, I am downright ashamed of you.' ' But I have not. I don't know what you mean ' answered Terence. ' Oh, come, come, Nora ! ' said her uncle, patting her arm gently ; but Nora's eyes blazed with fire. 'It's not a bit true,' she continued. 'How can Aunt Grace think that ? The poor things have been driven to desperation, because-because their hearts have been trampled on.' 'For instance,' said Terence in a mocking voice which fell like ice upon poor Nora's hot, indignant nature— 'for instance, Andy Neil-^-he 's a nice specimen, is he not ? ' TWO DESCRIPTIONS. 181 ' Oh.' Baid Nora, ' he — he is the exception. Don't talk of him, please.' 'That's just it,' said Terence, laughing. 'Nora wants to give us all the sweets, and to conceal all the bitters. Now, I am honest, whatever I am.' ' Oh, are you ? ' said Nora, in indignation. ' I should like to know,' she continued, ' what kind of place you have represented Castle O'Shanaghgan to be.' 'I don't know why I should be obliged to answer to you for what I say, Nora,' cried her brother. * You describe it now, Nora. We will hear your description,' said her uncle. Nora sat quite still for a moment ; then she raised her very dark -blue e3'es. ' Do you really want me to tell you about O'Shan- aghgan ? ' she said slowly. * Certainly, my dear.' ' Certainly, Nora. I am sure you can describe tilings very well,' said her aunt, in an encouraging voice, from the other end of the table. ' Then I will tell you,' said Nora. She paused for a moinent, then, to the astonishment and disgust of Mrs Hartrick, rose to her feet. ' I cannot talk about it sitting ^^own,' she said. ' There 's the sea, you know — the wild, wild Atlantic. In the winter the breakers are — oh ! I have some- times seen them forty feet high.' ,i 'i: * V!' > li < h 182 TWO DESCRIPTIONS. ' Come, come, Nora ! ' said Terence. ' It is true, Terry ; the times wJien you don't like to go out.' Terence retired into liis shell. 'I have seen the waves like that; but, oh ! in the summer they can be so sweet and conoodling.' ' What in the world is that ? ' said Mrs Hartrick. ' Oh, it is one of our Irish words ; tliere 's no other way to express it. And then there are the cliffs and the great caves, and the yellow, yellow sands' and the shells, and the seaweeds, and tlie fish, pnd the boating, and — and ' ' Go on, Nora ; you describe the sea just like any other sea,' 'Oh, but it is like no other sea,' said Nora. ' And then there are the mountains, their feet washed by the waves.' 'Quite poetical,' said Mrs Hartrick. 'It is ; it is all poetry,' said Nora. 'You are not laughing at me, are you, Aunt Grace ? I wish you could see those mountains, and that sea. and then the home — O'Shanaghgan itself.' 'Yes, Nora; tell us,' said her uncle, who did not laugli, and was much interested in the mrVa description. 'The home,' cried Nora; 'the great big, darling, empty house.' * 7"i-v ■ --at a very peculiar description ! ' said Mrs Hartrick TWO DESCRIPTIONS. 183 •I I, i not *0h ! it is so nice,' said Nora. 'You don't knock over furniture when you walk about ; and the dining- room table is so big that even if you did spill a jug of milk, father would not be angry.' Mrs Hartrick uttered a sigh. ' Oh, we are wild over there,' continued Nora ; 'we have no conventionalities. We share and share alike ; we don't mind whether we are rich or poor. We are poor — oh ! frightfully por ■ and we keep very few servants ; and — and the place is bare ; because it can be nothing but bare ; but there 's no place like O'Shanaghgan.' ' But w4iat do you mean by bare ? * said Mrs Hartrick. ' Bare ? ' said Nora. ' I mean bare : very few carpets and very little furniture, and — and But oh ! it 's the hearts that are warm, and that is the only thing that matters.' ' It must be a right-down jolly place ; and, by Jehoshaphat ! I wish I was there,' interrupted Molly. ' Molly ! ' said her mother. ' Oh, leave her alone for the present,' said Mr Hartrick. ' But do you mean,' he continued, looking at Nora in a distressed way, ' that — that my sister lives in a house of that sort ? ' ' Mother ? ' said Nora. ' Of course ; she is father's wife, and my mother ; she is the lady of O'Shan- aghgan. It ia a very proud position. We don't '!! ) ' I 184 TWO DESCRIPTIONS. htlir 'ifl want grand furniture nor carpets to make it a proud position. Slie is father's wife, and lie is O'Shanaghgan of Castle O'Shanaghgan. He is a sort of king, and lie is descended from kings.' ' Well, Terence, I must say this does not at all coincide with your description,' said his uncle, turning and looking his nephew full in the face. 'T didn't wish to make things too bad, sir. Of course, we are not very rich over there; but still, Nora does exaggerate.' ' Look here, Nora,' said her uncle, suddenly turning and pulling her down to sit beside him, 'you and I must have a little chat. We will just go and have it right away. You shall tell me your version of the story quite by ourselves.' He then rose and drew her out of the room. ' Where shall we go ? ' he said when they stood for a moment in the conservatory, into which the big dining-room opened. ' Do you really mean it ? ' said Nora. ' Mean what, dear ? ' ' To talk to me about — about my letter ? Do you mean it ? ' 'Certainly I do, and there is no time like the present. Come — where shall we go ? ' ' Where we can be alone ; where nonr of the prim English can interrupt.' 'Nora, you must not be so prejudiced. We arc not so bad as all that,' »■ i TWO DESCRIPTIONS. 185 ' Oh, I know it. I wish you were bad ; it 's because you are so awfully good that I hate — I mean, that I cannot get on with any of you.' ' Poor cliild ! you are a little wild creature. Come into my study; we shall be quite safe from inter- ruption there.' *'■ ii:i ■/' I aro ii" >■ 186 fi'W „i :!ri' I ii CHAPTER XVIII. A COMPACT. ^R HARTRICK, still lidding Nora's hand, took her down a corridor, and the next moment they found themselves in a large room, with oak bookcases and lined with oak throughout ; but it was a stately sort of apartment, and it oppressed the girl as much as the rest of the house had done. ' I had thouglit,' she murmured inwardly, ' that his study would be a little bare. I cannot think how he can stand such closeness, so much furniture.' She sighed as the thouglit came to her. 'More and more sighs, my little Irish girl,' said Mr Ha: trick. ' Why, what is the matter with you ? ' 'I cannot breathe ; but I '11 soon get accustomed to it,' said Nora. ' Cannot breathe ? Are you subject to asthma, my dear ? ' ' Oh, no, no ; but there is so much furniture, and I am accustomed to so little.' • All right, Nora ; but now you must pull yourself A COMPACT. 187 togetlicr, and try to be 1)ioacl -minded enough to take U3 English i'olk as we are. We arc not wild ; we are civilised. Our houses are not bare ; but I presume you must consider them comfortable.' 'Oh yes,' said Nora; 'yes.' ' Do you dislike comfortable houses ? ' ' Hate them ! ' said Nora. ' My dear, dear child ! ' 'You would if you were me —wouldn't you, Uncle Georgt; ? ' ' I suppose if I WQvc you I should feel as you do, Nora. I must honestly say I am very thankful I am not you.' Nora did not rt^pjy at all to that. 'Ah, at home now,' .she said, 'tlie moon is getting up, and it is making a path of silver on the waves, and it is touching the Jiead of Slieve Nagorna. The dear old Slieve generally keeps his snow nightcap on, and I dare say ho has it l)y now. In very hot weather, sometimes, it melts and disappears ; but pro- bably he has got his first coat of snow by now, just on his very top, you know. Then, when the moon shines on it and then on tlio water— why, don't you think. Uncle George, you /rould rather look at Slieve Nagorna, with the snow on him and the moon touch- ing his forehead, and the path of silver on the water, than — than be just comfortable ? ' 'I don't see why I should not have botli,' said Mr Hartrick after a pause ; ' the silver path on the i ' !r r i " . ^-. s^ W ' ' r il!. !i ,J'!,4. «l . II ' < m ' Il ! r« ' „ ' Ill' I ! 188 A compact!'. water and the grand look of Slieve Nagorna (I can quite fancy what he is like from your description, Nora), and also have a house nicely furnished, and good things to eat, and But I see we are at daggers drawn, my dear niece. Now, please tell me what your letter means.' * Do you really want me to tell you now ? ' 'Yes.' ' Do you know why I have really come here ? ' ' You said something in your letter ; but you did not explain yourself very clearly.' *I came here,' said Nora, 'for a short visit. I want to go back again soon. Time is flying. Already a month of the three months is over. In two months' time the blow will fall unless—unless you. Uncle George, avert it.' ' The blow, dear ? What blow ? ' 'They are going,' said Nora— she held out both her hands — ' the place, the sea, the mountains, the home of our ancestors, they are going unless — unless you help us, Uncle George.' ' My dear Nora, you are very melodramatic ; you must try and talk plain English. Do you mean to say that Castle O'Shanaghgan ' 'Yes, that's it,' said Nora; 'it is mortgaged. I don't quite know what mortgaged means, but it is something very bad; and unless father can get a great deal of money — I don't know how much, but a good deal — before two months are up, the man .* i- I A C(;MPACT. 189 a (I can 5cription, hed, and e are at tell me •e?' you did rt visit. 1 flying, i^er. In — unless ut both ins, the —unless ic; you nean to ftgaged. ut it is get a ich, but lie man to whom Castle O'Shanaghgan is mortgaged will take possession of it. He is a liorrid Englishman ; but he will go there, and he will turn father out, and mother out, and me — ^oh, Terence doesn't matter. Terence never was an Irishman — never, never ; but he will turn us out. We will go away. Oh, it does not greatly matter for me, because I am young ; and it does not greatly matter for mother, because she is an Englishwoman. Oh yes. Uncle George, she is just like you — she likes comfort ; she likes richly furnished rooms ; but she is my mother, and of course I love her ; she will stand it, for she will think perhaps we will come here to this country. But it is father I am thinking of, the old lion, the old king, the dear, grand old father. He won't understand, he '11 be so puzzled. No other place will suit him ; he won't say a word ; it 's not the way of the O'Shanaghgans to grumble. He won't utter a word ; he will go away, and he will — die. His heart will be broken ; he will die.' ' Nora, my dear child ! ' 'It is true,' said Nora. Her face was ghastly white ; her words came out in broken sobs. ' I see him. Uncle George ; every night I see him, with his bowed head, and his broken heart, and his steps getting slower and slower. He '11 be so puzzled, for he is such a true Irishman, Uncle George. You don't know what we are — happy one day, miserable the next. He thinks somehow, somehow, that the money will be paid. * But oh, Uncle George! — I suppose J • 1/ f ■a u 1. 1;. .^ m 190 A COMPACT. I have got a little l^It of the English in me after all —I know It will not be paid, that no one will lend It to hnn, not any of his old friends and cronies ; and he will have to go, and it will break his heart unless, unless you help him. I thought of you • I guessed you nuist be rich. I see now that you are' vety rich Oh, how rich !-rich enough for carriages, and thick carpets, and easy-chairs, and tables, and grand dresses, and— an , I i • '» bit Wo wouldn't like to bo rich, noithor fathor nor I, butwodowanttokoopO-Sha„agl,gan' »MMrHa::r ""^"^ -^ ''"^'- »<• '^"-- ' We don't care about carr>Pf«j or,^ i • siblvl r ^ . somotl>mg_what I cannot pos- myseJt. But I will do th s : I will o-o tn O'QKo u «™ weok and .00 ., si.to. l'Zl!"Z^Z Squire wliat really is wrong.' 'You will? ' said Nora. She thought quicklv H r father would hato it; but. after alf it wl tlo mlh^' Jr ""^^ ^' ^' ^^'° ^«" «^^ iV she said with sudden rapture. 'And von '11 f.Vn u with you 2 ' ^ *^^^ "'^ *^onie .c:i:;\i:rn:wot;r.rntr''7 th nk that you have very mistaken ideas. I want Bake, and to love their home for your mother's sake u no ", and pos- r for hgan i the ikly. the ense 1 he aid, )me ere ■irl, do mt T'a ke IS, r Ml f 'I iShe Itii ca in.- kuues before in.r uncle could prevent her took Ills hand, and kissed it. Page 193. A COMPACT. 193 und to take .,„,„„ Hints f™,,, your Aunt r„,„,e' for you a„. nil,!, „„d nee.l tra ;;. If j ,,„ ,2 0,Slu„a,I,«,.n f„.. you, wil, y„u\tay [t'rko Laurela lor nie ? ' ^ '' ^"c undo eo„Up,.evo„t he,., took hi, hand, and ki.edi:, Ihon It ,., a compact,' ™id Mr Hartrick ; ■ but remember I only pro„,i.,o to go, I cannot n.ake any p om.os to help your father until I have seen r ♦ ft I. I,'. m 194 CHAPTER XIX. SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN. AM going to Ireland to-morrow, Grcaco,' said Mr Hartrick to his wife that evening. ' To Ireland ! ' she cried. ' What for ? ' ' I want to see my sister Ellen. I feel that I have neglected her too long. I shall run over to O'Shanaghgan, and stay there for two or three nights.' 'Why are you doing this, George?' said Mrs Hartrick very slowly. Mr Hartrick was silent for a moment; then he said gravely : ' I have heard bad news from that child.' ' From Nora ? ' ' Yes, from Nora.' ' But Terence has never given us bad news.' 'Terence is not a patch upon Nora, my dear Grace.' ' There I cannot agree with you. I infinitely prefer Terence to Nora,' wan Mrs Hartriek's calm reply. SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN. 195 ■But I th„„g.,,t y„„ ^,,„^._.^_, ^|_^ ^^_.^^^ the ca„tL« ""■' ''''"' "" ^''"'' ""'^ k^ou.o; was '^ cautious answer. 'T ponnr^f 7 • wild c.i,i ,^h„ ,,.,^ .-^ ^''""°<^ ^^^'""'0 a perfectly j-,iii, wuo Has no iden nf q^^^k t • i- "^ restraint. And remon ] '''^^-^^««PJ"ie or self- xvun lemomber one fliinrr n ever slie savs to .. ^' ^""^''^^ • ^hat- vu%a..i.,„, :j; ,s '0/:; -r /■"'^' '° "■'- " i^J' II tinners are even Imlf as h^.rJ represents then, it is ],,,, ^ime hatT f n " my sister a visit.' ^ ^ "'^^"^^ P'^^y ' Why ? What does she say ? ' joctod to such ,Ii.seo„,fo,.t, t f "'°"" '"' ^''''- aWe, I intend T t to O-S, "T"'"' '^ "'°'»'- and wi„ .ee „ow „aUo,. Le fo ^Sr '°"™™"' Mrs Hartrick was again silc^f two; tl,en«l,e.,„idpj,;y" " ^°' ' """'"t or 'Doubtless you are ii4t to dn .1- i ";':;rt\"--™-'-"^'"'''o;rot:;;:.^''^ What do you moan?' ^^ rash. ' I mean that, from the little T 1 'j- very impetuous eror;e,L';::;:r!_^»' wrnxe a promisi she to you. 'I will tell you quite simply what she haa said, I, i 196 SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN. 1 rl Grace, and then you will understand. She says her father has mortgaged the Castle evidently up to the hilt. The mortgagees will foreclose in a couple of months, unless money can be found to buy them off. Now, it has just occurred to me that I might buy Castle O'Shanaghgan for ourselves as a sort of summer residence, put it in order, and allow Patrick O'Shanaghgan to live there, and my sister. By-and- by the place can go back to Terence, as we have no son of our own. I have plenty of money. What do you think of this suggestion, Grace ? ' ' It might not be a bad one,' said Mrs Hartrick ; ' but I could not possibly go to a place of that sort unless it were put into proper repair.' ' It is, I believe, in reality a fine old place, and the grounds are beautiful,' said Mr Hartrick. 'A few thousand pounds would put it into order, and we could furnish it from Dublin. You could have a great many guests there, and ' ' But what about the O'Shanaghgans themselves ? ' ' Well, perhaps they would go somewhere else for the couple of months we should need to occupy the house during the summer. Anyhow, I feel that I must do something for Ellen's sake ; but I will let you know more after I have been there.' Mrs Hartrick asked a few more questions. After a time she said : • Is Nora to remain here V ' Yes. I was going to speak to you about that. It SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN. 197 IS a sad pity that so pretty a girl should grow up wild. We had better keep her with us for the next two or three years. She will soon tame down and learn our English habits ; then, with her undeniable Irish charm and great beauty, she will be able to do somethmg with her life.' 'I shall be (juite pleased to have her,' said Mrs Hartrick in a cordial tone. ' I like training young girls, and Nora is the sort who would do me credit if she really were willing to take pains.' '^ I am sure she will be ; she is an honest little soul.' ' Oh, I see you are bewitched by her.' ' No, not bewitched ; but I admire honesty and candour, and the child has got both.' ' Well, well ! ' said Mrs Hartrick, ' if it is arranged that Nora is to stay here, I will go and see Miss Flowers at Linda's and Molly's school to-morrow, and ask if Nora can be admitted as a pupil. There is no use in losing time, and she may as well start her lessons next week. By all means, George, go and do your best for the poor things. Of course your sister ought not to be allowed to be in money difficulties.' • I should think not,' said Mr Hartrick. The next day Mr Hartrick bade Nora and his own family good-bye, and started on his expedition to Ireland. Nora was quivering with impatience. When she had seen the last of him she turned back into the house, and was there met by her brother Terence^ ): Li , ' I ,» y heart; »ho ■»'•■ i re- J' 't ii 202 CHAPTER XX. Ill STEPHANOTIE. ''RS HARTRICK made all necessary arrange- ments, and on the following Monday- Nora accompanied her cousins to school. Molly was much delighted. 'Now I shall be able to work,' she said, 'and I won't be guilty of slang when you are by. Don't whisper it to Linda. She would be in the seventh heaven of bliss, and I detest pleasing her ; but I would do anything in the world for you, Nora creena.' Nora gave her cousin's arm an affectionate squeeze. 'I have never been to school,' said Nora; 'you must instruct me what I am to do.' ' Oh dear, dear ! ' said Molly, ' you won't need in- struction ; you are as sharp and smart as any girl could be. You '11 be a little puzzled at first about the different classes, and I '11 give you hints about how to take notes and all that sort of thing. But yon wall quickly get into the way of it, and then you '11 learn like a house on fire.' '^ki,^ 1 1 1' i '11 10 said, J when I. She and I g in the then STEPHANOTIE. 203 'I wish you two wouldn't whisper together so mucli,' said Lirida in an annoyed voice. ' I am going over my Frencli parsing to myself, and you do inter- rupt me so.' ' Then walk a little farther away from us,' said Molly rudely. She turned once more to her cousin. ' I will introduce you to the very nicest girls in my form,' she said. 'I do hope you'll be put into my form, for then in the evenings you and I can do our work together. I expect you know about as much as I do.' ' But that 's just it— I don't,' said Nora. ' I have not learnt a bit in the school way. I had a governess for a time, but she did not know a great deal. Oi course mother taught me too; but I have not had advantages. I .should not be surprised if I were put into the lowest form.' They now arrived at the school, and a few minutes later ^ora found herself in a huge classroom in which about sixty other girls were assembled. Miss Flowers presently sent a pupil-teaclier to ask Miss O'Shan- aghgan to have an interview with her in her private room. Miss Flowers was about fifty years of age. She had white hair, calm, large, well-opened blue eyes, a steadfast mouth, and a gracious and at the sa.ne time "TT f '"^""''- ^^'' ^^« "«t exactly beautiful: i^'Ut she ^"-^ i.1-- , - . " ' f-i . m 1 y -i V '! i: i had the sort of face which most girls I: ^ -^m 11,, 204 STEPHANOTIE. respected and wliieli many loved. Nora looked earnestly at her, and in her wild, impulsive Irish fashion, ^ave her heart on the spot. ' What is your name, my dear ? ' said the head- mistress kindly. Nora told it. ' You are Irish, Mrs Hartrick tells mc.' 'Yes, Miss Flowers, I have lived all my life in Ireland.' ' I must find out what sort of instruction you have had. Have you ever been at school before ? ' 'Never.' ' How old are you ? ' ' Sixteen, Miss Flowers.' ' What things have you been taught ? ' ' English subjects of diiTerent sorts,' replied Nora, ' A little music — oh, I love nnisic, I do love nnisic ! — - and a little French ; a)\d I can speak I sh,' she added, raising her beautiful, dark-blue eyes, and fixinor them on the face of the head-mistress. That winsome face touched Miss Flowers's heart. 'I will do what I can for you,' she said. 'For the present you had better study alone. At the end of a week or so I shall be able to determine wdiat form to put you in. Now, go back to the school- room and ask Miss Goring to come to me.' Miss Goring was the English mistress. Miss Flowers saw her alone for a minute or two. *Po what you can for the Irish girl,' she said. STEPIIANOTIE. 205 'She is a very pretty creature; slie \h evidently io-norant ; but I think she h.i.s plenty of talent.' MiHs Gorincr went hack, and during the rest of the morning devoted herself to Nora. Nora had varied and strange ac(juiremcntH at her finger-ends. She was up in all sorts of folklore ; she could clothe her speech in pictures([ue and striking language. She could repeat poetry from Sir Walter Scott, from Shakespeare, from the old Irish bards tliom- selves; but her grammar was defective, although her reading aloud was very pretty and sweet. Her knowledge of history was vague, and might be best described by the expression up and down. She knew all about the Waldenses ; she had a vivid picture in her mind's eye of St Bartholomew's Eve. The French Revolution appalled and, at the same time, attracted her. The death of Charles I. drew tears from her eyes ; but she knew nothing whatever of the chronological arrangements of history ; and the youngest gij-l in the school could have put her to shame with regard to the Ma<,nia Charta. It was just the same with every branch of knowledge which Nora had even a smatterin ' That was, that I am to stay patiently here, and get as English as ever I can. Oh ! I must stick to my part of the bargain.' 'Well, I cannot say you look very happy,' said Molly, 'although you are such a favourite at the school. If I was not very fond of you myself I should be jealous. If I had a friend whom I really worshipped, before you appeared on the scene, it was Stephanotie Miller, the American girl.' ' Oh, isn't she charming ? ' said Nora. ' She makes me laugh. I am sure she has Irish blood in her.' ' Not a bit of it ; she 's a Yankee of the Yankees.' 'Well, she has been sent to school to get tame, just as I have been,' said Nora ; ' but I don't want you to lose her friendship. After all, I care very little for any one in the school but you, Molly ; only Stephanotie makes me laucdi.' 'We'll have her to tea to-morrow. I'll run in now and ask mother. I shan't mind a bit if you are not going quite to take her from me. After all, she can be friends with both of us.' 'I'll run into the house this moment, and ask mother if we may have Stephanotie to tea.' Molly rushed into the house. Her mother was seated in the morning-room, busily writing. \ r., i ■ 1 ^ 1 '. ' i'; V ;^' 1 / ,-'... . ■1 Illllj ■t i II' il 212 STEPHANOTIE. ' Well, my dear, well ? ' she said. ' I hear you you need not bang the door. What is it, Molly ? ' ' Oh mother ! do look up and listen.' Mrs Hartrick raised her head slowly. ' Yes, dear ? ' she said. • I have behaved a great deal better lately — have I not, mother ? ' 'You certainly have, Molly; and I am pleased with you. If you would restrain some of your iini^etuosity, I should be glad to tell you how pleased I am.' ' It is all owing to Nora.' 'To Nora, my dear! Nora is as wild as you are.' ' All the same, it is owing to Nora ; and she is not as wild as I am. I mean that I have been downrio-ht vulgar ; but if you think there is one trace of that in little Nora, it is because you do not know her a bit.' ' What is your special request, Molly ? I am very busy just now, and cannot discuss your cousin's character. You have improved, and I am pleased with you.' 'Then, if you are pleased with me, mother, will you do me a favour ? ' ' What is that ? ' ' Stephanotie Miller has never been at our house.' 'Stephanotie Miller. What an outlandish name! Who is she ? ' liiii STEPHANOTIE. 213 'SliG is a dear, jolly, sweet, liandsomc American girl. Slie came to school last term, and she is in the same form with Nora and me ; and we both adore her— yes, we do. Whatever she does, and whatever she says, we think simply perfection ; and we want to ask her here. 8he is staying with a rather tire- some aunt, in a little house in the village, and slie has come over to be Englishised. May she have tea with us to-morrow ? ' ' I will inquire about her from Miss Flowers ; and if slie seems to be a nice girl I shall have no objection.' 'But we want her to come to-morrow,' said Molly. 'It is Saturday, you know, and a whole holiday. We thought she might come to lunch, or, if you objected to that, immediately after hmcli.' ' And what about Linda ? Does Linda like her ? ' ' Holy Moses, no ! ' said Molly. ' Molly ! ' •Oh mother! do forgive me, and don't say she mustn't come because I said " Holy Moses." It 's all Linda ; she excites the vulgar in me always. But may Stephie come, mother ? You are always having Linda's friends liere.' 'I will not be reproved by you, Molly.' 'But, please, dear mother, let her come. Nora and I want her so badly.' ' Well, dear, I will try and see Miss Flowers to^ morrow morning.' !l, k I ' r:^ f 1 !■ ::| .iftjjjj 'I I 1 ill mssmmmmiiam^ m 214 STEPHANOTIE. ^ 'Won't you judcro of her for yourself, mother? There never was a better jud^re than you are.' Tliis judicious flattery had its effect on Mrs Hartrick, She sat quite still for a moment, ponder- ing. After all, to be a pupil at Miss Flowers's school was in itself a certificate of respectability, and Molly had been very good lately— that is, for her; and if she and Nora wvanted a special friend to' spend the afternoon with them, it would be possible for ]\ris Hartrick quickly to decide whether the invitation was to be repeated. ' Very well,' she said, looking at her daughter, ' for this once you may have her ; and as you have wisely expressed it, Molly, I can Judge for myself.' ' Oh, thank you, thank you, mother ! ' Molly rushed out of the room. She was flying headlong down the passage, when she came plump up against Linda. 'Now, what is up?' said that young person. ' Really, Molly ! ' ' Oh, hurrah ! I have won my way for once,' said Molly. ' Stephanotie is coming to-morrow to spend the whole afternoon.' ' Stephanotie. That horrid Yankee ? ' said Linda. 'Horrid Yankee yourself,' was Molly's vulgar retort. ' But she cannot come. I have asked Mabel and Rose Armitage.. and you know they cannot stand Stephanotie.' ^Ht^SSKdti^^tex .;: I mother ? arc' on Mrs ponder- ^lowers's lity, and for her ; I'iend to possible ber the ;er, 'for } wisely 1 flying plump person. e,' said spend Linda, vulgar )el and stand STEPIIANOTIE. 215 ' Well, you, and your Mabel and Rose, can keep away from Stephanotie— that 's all,' said Molly 'Anyhow she is coming. Don't keep me. I must tell Nora. Linda made way for her sister to fly past her as she afterwards expressed it, like a whirlwind She stood still for a moment in deep consideration, btephanotie was a daring, bright, go-ahead young person, and had she ever taken, in the very least to Lmda, Lnida would have worshipped her. Stephanotie was extremely rich, and the boucjuets she brought to .school, and the bon-bons she kept in her pocket, and the pretty trinkets she wore, and the dresses she exhibited had fascinated Linda more than once. For rich as the Hartricks were, Mrs Hartrick had far too good taste to allow her daughters more pocket-money or more trinkets, or more bon-bons than their com- panions. Linda, in her heart of hearts, had greatly rebelled against her mother's rule in this particular and had envied Stephanotie what she called her freJ hfe. But Stephanotie had never taken to Linda and she had taken to Molly, and still more had she taken to Nora ; and, in consequence, Linda pretended to hate her, and whenever she had an opportunity used to run her down. Linda and her friends, Rose and Mabel Armitage with several other girls, formed quite a clique in the school against Stephanotie and what she termed her 'set;' and now, to think that this very objectionable m m WIS i 216 STEPHANOTIE. 'B".[L American <]jirl was to spend the next day at The Laurels because Molly, forsooth ! wished it, was quite intolerable. Linda thought for a moment, then went into the room where her mother was busy writing. Mrs Hartrick had just finished her letter. She looked up when Linda approached. ' Well, darling ? ' she said. Mrs Hartrick was very fond of Linda, and petted her a great deal more than Molly. ' Oh, mother ! I am vexed,' said Linda. ' Is it quite settled ? ' * Is what settled, my dear ? ' ' Is it quite settled that Stephanotie is to come to- morrow ? ' ' By the way, I was going to ask you about her, Linda. What sort of girl is she ? ' 'I do not wish to say anything against my schoolfellows, mother ; but if you could only see her ' Mrs Hartrick raised her eyebrows in alarm. ' Molly has taken so violently to her,' she answered, ' and so has Nora ; and I thought that just for once ' ' So you have given leave, mother ? ' ' Yes ; I have.' ' And my friends are coming — those two charming girls, the Armitages/ 'Yes, dear; I greatly admire both the Armitage STEPHANOTIE. 217 girls. I am glad they are coming ; tut why should not Miss Miller come also ? ' 'Only, she is not in their "set," mother— that is all. I wish— I do wish you would ask her to post- pone her visit. If she nnist come, let her come another Saturday.' 'I will think about it,' said Mrs Hartrick. 'I have certainly promised and But I will thiiik about it.' Linda saw that she could not press her mother any further. She went away in great disquietude. ' What is to be done ? ' she thought. ' If only mother would speak to Molly at once ; but Molly is so impetuous; and once Stephanotie is asked, thfre will be no getting out of it. She is just the sort of girl to tell that unpleasant story about me, too. If mother knew that, why, I should at last be in her black books. Well, whatever happens, Stephanotie must not be asked to spend the after- noon here to-morrow. I must somehow contrive to put some obstacle in the way.' !' ;i %'' ! il 1' 218 CHAPTER XXI. THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. I EANWHILE Molly rushea off to Nora. ' Linda means rnischief, and I must put my foot down immediately,' she said. ' Why, Molly, what is up ? ' ' Put on your hat, darling, and come with me as fast as ever you can.' ' Where t j ? ' 'Mother has given in about Stephanotie. Linda will put her finger in the pie if she possibly can. I mean Stephanotie to get her invitation within the next five minutes. Now then, come along, Nora. Do be quick.' Mrs Hartrick never allowed the girls to go out except very neatly drested ; but on this occasion they were seen tearing down the road with their garden hats on and minus their gloves. Had any one from The Laurels observed them, good-bye to Molly's liberty for many a long day. No one did, however. Linda during the critical moment was closeted with her mother. When she reappeared the girls were THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. 210 luilf-way to the yi\]na;o. They reached it in good tune, and arrive.! at the liouse of Miss Truefitt, Steplianotie's aunt. MisH Truolitt was an old-fashioned and precise little lady. Shc« had gone througli a great deal of trouble since the arrival of her niece, and often, as she expressed it, did not know M-hether slie stood on her head or her heels ; but she was fond of Stephanotie, wlio, notwithsta.Kling hvv wild ways, was very affec- tionate and very taking. And now, when she saw IMolly and Nora appearing, she herself entered the hall and opened the door for them. ' Well, my dears,' she said, ' 8tephie is in her bed- room ; she has a headache, and wanted to lie down for a little.' • Oh, just let me run up to her. I won't keep her a minute,' said Molly. 'Come in here with me,' said Miss Truefitt to Nora. She opened the door of her neat little parlour. Nora entered. The room was full of gay pictures and gay books, and scattered here and there were very large boxes of bon-bons. ' How she can eat them all is what puzzles me,' said IMiss Truefitt ; ' she seems to live on them. The quantity she demolishes would wreck the health of any English girl. Ah, here comes Molly.' But Molly did not come downstairs alone; the American girl was with her. Stephanotie rushed into the room. *!= :' 1^- I I »; !. ! I ri a-'i THWlTiTI 220 THE ROSE-COLOUIIED DttEhJS. ! I ' I am going to The LuurelH to-morrow, auntie. I am going (juito etvrly ; this dear old Moll^^ Las asked me. You guess I '11 have a good time There will be a box of bon-bons for Nora, sweet little Irish Nora ; and a box for dear little Molly, a true native of England, and a tine specimen to boot. Oh ! we shall have a nice time ; and I am so glad I am asked.' ' It is very kind of Mrs Har trick to send you an invitation, Stephie,' said her aunt. ' Oh, bother that, Aunt Violet ! You know perfectly well she would not ask me if Molly and Nora had not got it out of her.' ' Well, we did try oiu" best and most canoodling ways,' said Nora in a soft voice. ' Ah, didn't you, you little Irish • vitch ; and T guess you won, too. Well, I 'm going ; we '11 have a jolly lark with Linda. If for no other reason, I should be glad to go to upset her apple-cart.' ' Dear me, Stephie ! you are very coarse and vulgar,' said Miss Truefitt. ' Not a bit of it, auntie. Ha\e a bon-bon, do.' Stephanotie rushed across the room, opened a big box of bon-bons, and presented one, as if it were a pistol, full in Miss Truetitt's face. ' Oh no, thank you, my dear,' said that lady, back- ing ; ' the indigestion I have already got owing to the way you have forced your bon-bons upon me has almost wrecked my health. I have lost all THE HOSE-COLOURED DUES.S. 221 a big appetite. D.ur .n.-, Stephie ! I wish you would not be HO dmuU'ully Aincricaii,' •The process oi' EnuHshising me is a slow one' said Stephatiotie. She turned, walked up to the glass, and sui-veyed herself. She was dressed in rich brown velveteen, made to fit her lissome figure Her hair was of an almost fiery red, and surrounded her face hke a halo ; her eyes were very bright china- blue, and she had a dazzlingly fair complexion. There were people who thought Stephanotie pretty ; there were others who did not admire her at all. She had a go-ahead, very independent manner, and was the sort of girl who would 1 .dised by the weaker members of the school. Molly, however, was by no means a weak member of the school, nor, for that matter, was Nora, and they both took great pleasure out of Stephanotie. ' My bark is than my bite,' said that young person. 'I am something like you, Molly. I am a bit of a scorclier; but there, when I am rained in properly I '11 be one of the best of good creatures.' ' Well, you are booked for to-morrow now,' said Molly ; ' and Jehoshaphat ! if you don't come in time ' ' Oh Molly ! ' whispered Nora. ' There, I won't say it again.' Poor Miss Truefitt looked much shocked. Mnllv and Isora bade her good-bye, and nodded to Stephanotie, who stood upon the doorstep and 222 THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. watched them down the street ; then she returned to her aunt. ' I did think,' said Miss Truefitt slowly, ' that the girls belonging to your school were lady-like ; but to come here without gloves, and that eldest girl. Miss Hartrick, to use such a shocking expression.' ' Oh, bless you, Aunt Vi ! it 's nothing to the ex- pressions she uses at school. She 's a perfect horror of a girl, and I like her for that very reason. It is that horrid little Linda would please you ; and I must ^ say I am sorry for your taste.' Stephanotie went upstairs to arrange her ward- robe for the next day. She had long wished to visit Molly's home. The Laurels was one of the prettiest places in the neighbourhood, and Molly and Linda were considered as among the smartest irirls at the school. Stephanotie wished to be hand~and- glove with Molly, not because she was supposed to be rich, or respectable, or anything else, but simply because her nature fitted to that of the wild, enthu- siastic American girl. But, all the same, now that she had got the entrde, as she expressed it, of the Hartricks' home, she intended to make a sensation. ' When I do the thing I may as well do it pro- perly,' she said to herself. ' I will make them open their eyes. I have watched Mrs Hartrick in church ; and, oh, dear me ! have not I longed to give her a poke in the back ! And as to Linda, she thinks a great deal of her dress. She does not know what mine THE ROSE-COLOl RED DRESS. 223 Will bo when I take out my very best and most lascinatmg gown.' Accordi„o-]y Stepluuiotie rifled her trunk, and Irom Its depths slie produce, a robe whicli would as she said, make the members of Tlie Laurels sit up. It was made of rose-coloured silk, and trimmed with ,^, titles of cream lace. The skirt had many ittle flounces on it, and each was edged with lace. Ihe bodice was cut rather low in the neck, and the sleeves did not come down anything like as far as the wrists. The rose-coloured silk with its cream lace trimmings was altogotlier the sort of dress ^diich migl-.t be worn in tlie evening ; but daring S ephanotie intended to appear in it in the morning She would encircle her waist with a cream-coloured sash, very broad, and with much lace upon it • and would wear many-coloured beads round her neck and many bracelets on her arms. 'The whole will have a stylish eftect, and will at any rate distinguisli mo from every one else,' was her inward comment. She shook out the dress and then rang the bell. One of the servants appeared. 'I want to have this robe ironed and made as presentable as possible,' said Stephanotie ; ' see you have It all done and put in my wardrobe ready tor wear to-night. I guess it will fetch 'em ' she added, and then she !■ shed like a whirlwind into the presence of Miss Truefitt. ,«i I i: i ,;; ( ^ t:; 'i 1 ' i 1 *l 224 THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. ' Auntie,' she said, ' would you like to see me done up in style ? ' ^ 'I don't know, I am sure, my dear,' said Miss True- iitt, looking at her with nervous eyes. ' Oh dear, Aunt Vi ! if you were to see mother now you wouldn't know her ; she is wonderfully addicted to the pleasures of tlie toilet. There is nothing so fascmatmg as the pleasures of the toilet when once you yield to its charms. She rigged me up pretty smart before I left New York, and I am going to wear my rose-coloured silk with the cream lace to- morrow.' 'But you are not going to an evening party, my clear. ' No ; but I shall stay all the evening, and I know I '11 look killing. The dress suits me down to the ground. It is one of my fads always to be in some- thmg red ; it seems to harmonise with my hair.' Miss Truefitt uttered a deep sigh. ' What are you sighing for, Aunt Vi ? ' ' Nothing, dear ; only please don't offer me a bon- bon. The mere sight of those boxes gives me a feeling of nausea.' 'But you have not tried the crystallised figs' cried Stephanotie ; 'they are wonderfully good ; and 'if you feel nausea a peppermint-drop will set you righf I have a kind of peppermint chocolate in this box which is extremely stimulating to the di-estive organs.' ^ THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. 225 ' No no Stephio. I be.-I really do beg timt you will take all the obnoxious boxes out of the room ' ' Very well, auntie ; but you '11 come up to-morrow to see me in my dress ? ' The next dy was Saturday, a holiday of course. Stephanotie had put her hair into Hinde's curlers the night before, and, in consequence, it was a perfect mass of fri..le an. fluff the next morning. Miss Truefi t, wno her own neat gray locks plainly banded rouna .e. head, gave a shudder when she first caught sight of Stephanotie. ^ 'I was thinking, dear, during the night,' she said of your pink silk dress, and I should very much prefer you to wear the gray cashmere trimmed with the neat velvet at the cuffs and collar. It would tone down your ' . 'Oh, don't say it,' said Stephanotie; 'my hair is a perfect glory this morning. Come yourself and look at It—here ; stand just here ; the sun is shining full on me. Every one will have to look twice at me with a head like this.' ' Indeed that is true,' said Miss Truefitt ; ' and per- haps three times ; and not approve of you then ' 'Oh, come, auntie, you don't know how bewitching 1 look when I am got up in all my finery.' ' She is hopelessly vulgar,' thought poor Miss True- fitt to herself; 'and I always supposed Agnes would have such a nice, proper girl such as she was herself in !^ . r ' ^"' '^'"' ^''' Pl^otograph of Agnes shows Ught o' the MornlM. ^ o ■ « ■mi Mt M i ■ i» ,'i i: ( ! ' i O f U I ii it| II ii III ijji 226 THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. a decided falling off. How truly glad I am that I was never induced to marry an American ! I would rather have my neat, precise little house and a small income than go about like a figure of fun. That poor child will never be made English ; it is a hopeless task. The sooner she goes back to America tiie better.' Meanwhile Stephanotie wandered about the house, thinking over and over of the happy moment when she would appear at The Laurels. She thought it best to put on her rose-coloured dress in time for early dinner. It fitted her well, but was scarcely the best accompaniment to her fiery-red hair. ' Oh lor', miss ! ' said Maria, the servant, when she first caught sight of Stephanotie. 'You may well say, "Oh lor'!" Maria,' replied Stephanotie, 'although it is not a very pretty ex- pression. But have a bon-bon ; I don't mean to be en ss.' She whirled across the room, snatched hold of one of her boxes of bon-bons, and presented it to Maria. Maria was not averse to a chocolate peppermint, and popped one into her mouth. The next instant Miss Truefitt appeared. 'Now, Stephanotie,' she said, 'do you think for a single moment Oh, my dear child, you really are too awful ! You don't mean to say you are going to The Laurels like that ? ' ' Have a bon-bon ? ' was Stephanotie's response. THE ROSE-COLOUKED DRESS. 227 ' You are downright rude. I will not allow you to otter me bon-bons arrain.' 'But a fresh box of them has just arrived I got them by the eleven o'clock post to-day/ was Stephanot^e's reckless answer ; ' and oh, such beauties ' And I had a letter from motlier to say that I mi^ht order as many as ever I liked from Fuller's. I mean to write to them to ask them to send me ten shillings' worth. I'll ask for the newest varieties. There surely must be bon-bons which would not give vou mdigestion, Aunt Vi.' » .r ' I must ask you to take off that dress, Stephanotle. I forbid you to go to The Laurels in such unsuitable attire. 'Oh lor' ! and it's lovely !' said Maria, sotto voce, as she was leaving the room. ' What an unpleasant smell of peppermint ! ' said Miss Truefitt, sniffing at that moment. ' You know Stephanotie, how I have begged of you not to eat those unpleasant sweets in the dining-room.' 'I didn't,' said Stephanotie; 'it M^as only Maria' Maria backed out of the room with another violent, ' Oh lor' ! ' and ran down to the kitchen. 'I'll have to give notice,' she said. 'It's Miss Stephanotie; she's the most dazzlingly brilliant young lady I ever set eyes on ; but mistress will never forgive me for eating that peppermint in her presence. ' ' Rinse the mouth out, and take no notice,' was the f '^ j,' :. . *' .,! ! i 228 THE ROSE-COLOURED DRESS. cook's somewhat heartless rejoinder. ' How do you say she was dressed, Maria ? ' ' Pink, the colour of a rose, and that ravishing with lace. I never see'd such a dress,' said Maria. ' She 's the most beautiful young lady and the queerest I ever set eyes on.' Stephanotie and her cUnt were having a battle upstairs, and in the end the elder lady won. Stepha- notie was obliged to take off the unsuitable dress and put on the gray cashmere. As subsequent events proved, it was lucky for her that she did do so. i P!' iH"^ w do you ihing with I. ' She 's ^est I ever 229 4:, II , 1 a battle Stepha- dress and nt events so. CHAPTER XXII. LETTERS. Y the post on the following morning there came two letters for Nora. She hailed ^^^^ them with a cry of delight. C?^^v^ 'At last! 'she said. Mrs Hartrick was not in the room; she had a headache, and did not get up to break- fast. Terence had already started for town. He had secured the post he desired in his uncle's office and thought himself a very great man of business.' Lmda did not count for anything. Nora flung herself into an easy-chair, and opened the first of her letters. It was from her mother. She was soon lost in its contents. ' My dear Nora,' wrote Mrs O'Shanaghgan, ' be prepared for very great, startling, and, at the same tmie, gratifying news. Your dear Uncle George, who has been spending the last three weeks with us,' has made an arrangement which lifts us, my dear nti I ' I fr mm 230 LETTERS. Ill ,( I .1, I'll ,! l!iJl!ii 11 h In I , ill ii ■1 daugliter, out of all pecuniary embarrassments. I will tell you as })riefly as possible what has taken place. He had a consultation with your father, and induced him, at my suggestion, to unburden his mind to him. You know the Sciuire's ways. He pooh- poohed the subject and fought shy of it ; but at last I myself brought him to task, and the whole terrible and disgraceful state of things was revealed. My dear Nora, my dear little girl, we were, it appears, on tlie brink of bankruptcy. In a couple of months O'Shanaghgan would no longer have been ours. I cannot say tliat I sliould ever have regretted leaving this ramshackle and much-dilapidated place, but of course I sliould have shrunk from the disgrace, the exposure, the feeling that I was the cynosure of all eyes. That, indeed, would have cut me to the quick. Had your father consented to sell O'Shanaghgan and live in England, it would have been a mom'^nt of great rejoicing for me ; but tlie place to be sold up over his head was quite a different matter. This, my dear Nora, seems to have been the position of affairs when your dear uncle, like a good providence or a guardian angel, appeared on the scene. Your uncle, my dearest Nora, is a very ricli man. My dear brother has been careful with regard to money matters all his life, and is now in possession of a very large supply of this world's goods. Your dear uncle was good enougli to come to the rescue, and has bought O'Shanaghgan from the man to whom LETTERS. leiits. I las taken -ther, and his mind fie pooh- ut at last e terrible led. My appears, f months ours. I 1 leaving J, but of [race, the ire of all iie quick, maghgan moment i sold up [•. This, sition of ovidence >. Your m. My o money on of a )ur dear 3ue, and whom your fatlier owed the mortgage belongs to your Uncle Gcoi-ge.' 231 O'Shanaghgan now Never! ened Nora, springing to her feet. ^^ hat IS the matter, Nora? 'said Linda. Don t talk to me for the present, or I 'H sav something you won't like to hear,' replied Nora. ' manner.' ""'' "^ ^'" ''' ^^^^^"^^ ^^^"^ - ^^^^ /Don't speak to me,' said Nova. Her face was crimson; she had never felt such a wiMrl Qr^ncn r.f • . ^ ^^^^*^'' surgmg Lmda calm g..y eye« were upon ho,., however. She managed to suppress any more emotion, ,aw that He. eons.„ .as hurnin, with curiosity, and continue: now'l"!'™^'''/"^ ''""■'-"' ^•"■''' ^'-'•^"^ O'Shanaghgan now b longs to your Uncle George, don't suppose tor « smgle moment that he is going to be unkind to ra. Far from ,t. To all appearance the place is still ours ; but with, oh I such a difference. Yo'urtl: i!! ^e^rrolc:;,^^^^^^^^^^ n°' ''r™"-^ eonsnhino. I Shanaghgan ; but, after consulting with me, your Uncle George felt that Jie must not have the reins Hk T.' u ! dear p . t ■, "^"^'^^ "^^"^e, my as ^lir ^"' "f-^^J--ssthat. Yon know - well as I do how reckless and improvident ll \l I I 'F: I »P*r J - Ut 1 ^82 LETTERS. ^1 M> ' Oh mother ! ' gasped Nora. She clenched her littlo white teeth, and Iiad great difficulty in proceeding with her letter. Linda's curiosity, however, acted as a restorative, and she went on with her mother's lengthy epistle. 'All things are now changed, and I may as well say that a glorious era has begun. Castle O'Shanaghgan is now your uncle's property, and it will soon be a place to bo proud of. He is having it refurnished from attic to cellar ; carpets, curtains, mirrors, furniture of all sorts have already begun to arrive from one of the most fashionable shops i"- Dublin. Gardeners have been got to put the gardens to rights, the weeds have been removed from the avenue, the grass has been cut, the lawns have been mown; the whole place looks already as if it had undergone a resurrection. My bedroom, dear Nora, is now a place suitable for your mother to sleep in ; the bare boards are covered with a thick Brussels, carpet. The Axminster stair-carpets arrived yesterday. In the dining-room is one of the most magnificent Turkey carpets I have ever seen; and your uncle has insisted on having the edge of the floor laid with parquetry. Will you believe me, Nora? — your father has objected to the sound of the hammering which the workmen make in putting in the different pieces of wood. You can scarcely believe it possible; but I ^tate a fact. The stables LETTERS. 233 to that I am gl„d to «ay your father does take some nterest A v.ctoria .,., arrived for me, and a pony! trap or you, dear; for it «eema your t^ncle George h« taken a groat fancy to you, my little Nora Well dear all this resurrection, this wonderful re «torat.on of Castle 0'.Shan..ghga„ has occurred durilg your absence. You will come back to a sort of Huyland ; but it is one of your uncle's stipulat o^ that you do not come back at present ; and of com,e. for such a fairy godfather, such a magidan no pronnse is too great to give. So I have told 1 noble Aunt Grace, and with your cbar.aing cousin Ln,da, and your cou.sin Molly-about whom I do not hear so mucb^ long a, he wishes you to do so You ™il recen-e the best of educations, and come back at Chnstmas to a suitable home. You nZ come to OShanaghgan, and that we shall have a ngbt good old-fashioned Christmas in this plaee w nch at last is beautiful and worthy of your an^i^^nt house, ^ou must submit patiently, therefore, dear Nora, to remam„,g i„ England. You will probably .pond the greater portion of your time there for the Bl?t,!T vT' ""'" ''"'' "^ '•'""y accomplished. Bnt the hohdays you, with your dear cousins and your ™cle.and aunt, will always spend at O'Shanaghgaa ■I I; ,' i' ■; I 234 tETTER^r i'l IL"I! il'i^i You must understand, dear, that the house really belongs to your uncle ; the place is his, and wo are simply his tenants, from whom he nobly asks no rent. How proud I am of my dear brother, and how I rejoice in this glorious change !—Your affectionate "^o^^^^i"' Ellen O'Shanaghgan.' The letter dropped from Nora's fingers. 'And was it I who effected all this ? ' she said to herself. ' And I thought I was doing good.' The other letter lay unopened on her lap. She took it up with trembling hands, and broke the seal. It was a short letter compared to her mother's, but it was in the handwriting she loved best on earth. ):( Iflrfii'f' 'Light o' the Morning,' it began, 'why, then, my darling, it 's done— it is all over. The place is mine no longer ; it belongs to the En -j; : . To think I, O'Shanaghgan of Castle O'Shanagl .-. x, should live to write the words. Your mother put it to me, and I could not refuse her ; but oh, Nora asthore, heart of my life, I can scarcely bear to live here now. What with tlie carpets and the curtains, and the fuss and the misery, and the whole place being turned into a sort of furniture-shop, it is past bearing. I keep out most of my time in the woods, and I won't deny to you, my dearest child, that I have shed some bitter tears over tlxe change in O'Shanaghgan ; for the place se really d Wo are anks no and how fectionate HQAN.' le said to ap. She the seal. rnother'a, best on ly, then, ■■ place is ro think 3uld live me, and heart of What USB and d into a j:eep out deny to e bitter bie place LETTERS. isn't what it was. and it 's heart-breaki 285 r, to behold -- ^^. ^.u. mother ,s pleased, and that's one comfort I always did all I ...Vl for her and when she smiles at me and Koks 1..- the sunlshe ;h a remarkably handson.e v o.van. ^.ra-I try to take a ht of comfort. But I st...bl. over the carpets and the m.^, .nd your .othe. is always :X^ P tnck. take care where you are goin/and don^ t iU cogs come in to spoil the new carpets." And 1.0 Enghsh servants that we have now taken are past ^--.^ and it 's just as if I were in chainranTi would almost as lief the place had been sold rlh away .om n.e as see it in its changed condition ' I an add no more now, my child, except to say that, a I am under great and bitter obligations to you Uncle George, I must agree to his request that^^ou Htay m England for the present; but Christmas is eonung, and then I '11 clasp you in my arms, Ld I 11 have a gram of comfort again.-Your sorr;wful old father, p^,,,,^ O'Shanaghgai.. Nora's cheeks flushed bnghter than ever as she read these two letters. The fi.st had cut her to the heart; the second had caused that desire for weep- ing winch unless it is yielded to amounts to torture Oh ! If Linda would not stay in the room. Oh I 1' "^^^'^^ «-°"«'^ away where she, too, could shed wf 7:\ " '^^'"-^^^ "^^''^^ O'Shanaghgan. For what did she and her father want with a f uniiture I ■ I I.r; 236 LETTERS. I* n !* il!j! :,!, I shop ? Must she, for all the rest of her days, live in a sort of feather-bed house ? Must the bareness, the space, the sense of expansion, be hers no more ? She was half a savage, and her silken fetters were tortures to lierj^ 'It will kill him,' she murmured. She said the words aloud. ' What will kill him ? What is wrong ? Do, please, tell me,' said Linda, Nora looked at her with flashing eyes. • How bright your cheeks are, Nora, and how your eyes shine ! But you look very, very angry. What can be the matter ? ' ' Matter ? There is plenty the matter. I cannot tell you now,' said Nora. ' Then I '11 go up and ask motlier ; perhaps she will tell me. It has something to do with that old place of yours, I have not the slightest doubt. Mother has got a very long letter from Ireland ; she will tell me perhaps.' ' Yes, go ; and don't come back again,' said Nora, almost rudely. ' She gets worse and worse,' thought Linda as she slowly mounted the stairs. ' Nora is anything but a pleasure in t; e house. At first when she came she was not (luite so bad ; she had a pretty face, and her manners hai"' not been coarsened from contamina- tion with Molly. Now she is much changed. Yes, I'll go to mother and talk to her. What an awful ■:; ! I LETTERS. 287 afternoon we are likely to have with that American girl here and Nora changing for the worse hour by hour ! ' "^ Linda knocked at her mother's door. Mrs Hartrick was not well, and was sitting up in bed reading her letters. ' My head is better, Linda,' she said. ' I shall get up presently. What is it, darling ? ' _ 'It is only the usual thing,' said Linda, with a deep agh. ' I am always being rubbed the wrong way and 1 don't like it.' ^ ^' ' So it seems, my pet. But how nicely you have done your hair this morning ! How very neat and lady-uke you are becoming, Linda ! You are a great comfort to me, dear.' 'Thank you, mother; I try to please you,' said Lnida. She seated herself on her mother's bed, sup- pressed a sigh, then said eagerly : 'Nora is awfully put out. Is there bad news from that wild place. Castle O'Shanaghgan ? ' ' Bad news ? ' cried Mrs Hartrick. ' Has the child had letters ? ' ' Yes, two ; she has been reading them instead of eating her breakfast, and the sighs and the groans, and the flashing eyes and the clenched teeth, and the jumping to her feet and the flopping herself down again, have been past bearing She won't let out anything except that she is downright miserable, and that it is a burning shame. What n\ \-; n ^¥^ 238 Letters. can she mean, mother ? Is the old place sold ? I always expected they were terribly poor.' ' The best, most splendid news,"* said Mrs Hartrick. ' My dear Linda, you must be mistaken. Your father says that he has given your aunt and uncle leave to tell Nora everything. I thought the child would be in the seventh heaven of bliss ; in fact, I was almost dreading her arrival on the scene, she is so impetuous.' 'Well, mother, she is not in any seventh heaven of bliss,' replied Linda; 'so perhaps they have not told her. But what is it, mother dear ? Do tell me.' •It is this, darling— your father has bought Castle O'Shanaghgan.' ' Oh ! and given it to the O'Shanaghgans Why did he do that ? ' ' He has bought it, but he has not given it to the O'Shanagligans. Some day, if Terence turns out worthy, the old place will doubtless be his, as we have no son of our own ; but at present it is your father's property ; he has bought it.' ' Then no wonder poor Nora is sad,' said Linda. ' I can understand her ; «he is fond of the old place.' ' But why should she be sad ? They are not going ; they are to stay there, practically owners of all they possess ; for, although tlie property is really your father's, he will only exercise sufficient control to pre- vent that poor, wild, eccentric uncle of yours from throwing good money after bad. To all intents and Why LETTERS. 239 purposes the O'Shanaghgans still hold possession ; only now, my dear Linda, they will have a beautiful house magnificently furnished. Tlie grounds are carefully attended to, good gardeners provided, English servants sent for, and the whole place made suitable for your father's sister.' ' But does Nora know of this ? ' ' I suppose so. I know your father said she was to be told.' ' She is very miserable about something. I cannot understand her,' said Linda. ' I tell you what I 'II just go down and tell her. Perhaps those two letters were nothing but grumbles ; and the O'Shanaghgans did not know then the happiness that was in store for them.' ' You can tell her if you like, dear.' ' I will. I will,' said Linda. She jumped off her mother's bed and ran downstairs. Nora was standing in the conservatory. She was gazing straight before her, not at the great, tall flowering cactus nor tlie orchids, nor the mass of geramums and pelargoniums of every shade and hue —sho was seeing a picture of a wild, wild, lonely place, of a bare old house, of a seashore that was hke no other seashore in the world. She was looking at this picture with all the heart of which she was capable shining in her eyes ; and she knew that she was looking at it in imagineition only, and that she would never see the real picture again ■Hi: Ill' 240 LETTERS. for the wild old place was wild no longer, and in Nora's opinion the glory had departed. She turned when Linda's somewhat mincing voice fell upon her ears. ' How you startled me ! ' she said. ' What is it ? ' ' Oh, good news,' said Linda. ' I am not quite so bad as you think me, Nora, and I am delighted Mother has told me everything-Castle O'Shanaghgan IS yours to live in as long as ever you care to do so. Ot course it belongs to us ; but that does not matter, anJ it is furnished from attic to cellar most splendidly, and there are English servants, and there are '■ 'Everything abominable and odious and horr'Ne' burst from Nora's lips. 'Oh, don't keep me; o n't keep me! I am smothered at the thougnt— U bhanaghgan is ruined — ruined ! ' She ran away from her cousin out into the air At headlong speed did she go, until at last she found herself in the most remote and least cultivated pa.rt ot the plantation. Oh, to be alone ! Now she could cry, and cry she did right bitterly. 241 CHAPTER XXIII. THE BOX OF BON-BONS. ;T occuncd to Stephanotie that, as she could not wear tlie rose-coloured dress, as she must go perforce to the Hartricks' in her dove-coloured cashmere, with its very neat ^eh^t collar and cuffs, she would at least make her entrance a little striki 'Why not take a box of bon-bons to Mrs Hart- nek? she said to herself. 'There's that great big dozens of every kind of sweetmeat. I'll present ^t to h ,he '11 be pleased with the attention.'' mild -T ' ''''' '^'^' ^"^' «" ''' ^'^ ™ pam ed a picture of two or three cupfds hovering m he ,,, some of them touching the shoulders o1 a pretty girl who was supposed to be opening a box of choco ates. There was a good deal of coLr and embossed writing also on the cover, and altogether it was as showy and, in Stephanotie's opinion, as hand- «ome a thmg a-s anybody could desire. She walked through the village, holding the box ■L^»^ fi I 11, M. 242 THE mx or BON-BONS. Mi hi i|i tied with great bunches of red ribbon, in lie- liand She scorned to put a brou r, paper c ,ver over it • she would take it in all it. naked .lory into the' midst of the Hartrick household. On her way she mvt the other two girls who were al^o going io spend an afternoon at The Laurols Rose and Mube! .l>-nntage vere the daughters of . neighbouring squir., and were extremely well-bred and lady-like. 'yh^y were nice girls, but couNen- tional. There was notliing original about either of theui ; but they were very much respected in the school' not only on account of their father's position— he represented the county in tlie House— but also be- cause they were good, industrious, and so-called clever. The Armitages took prizes at every exami- nation. Their French was considered very nearly Parisian in accent ; their drawings were all in abso- lutely perfect proportions. It is true the trees in Rose's landscapes looked a little stift": but how care- fully she laid on her water-colours; how honestly she endeavoured to copy her master's smallest re- quirements ! Then Mabel played with great correct- ness, never for a single moment allowing a wrono- note to appear ; and they both sang, very prettib" simple little ballads; and they were dressed witi« exquisite neatness and ropriety in very quiet olrr. . —dark blues, very o . ■ reds, pretty, neat f«K,..3s suitable skirts. Their hair was shiny, and sar a THE BOX OF BON-liONS. 243 PI tie fght tendnfe and pretty curls round their hoada Ihoy were ., 1 ke .s two peas-eaeh girl had a ^ Lttle mouth with rosy lips; each girl possessed In immaculate set of white teeth ■ „n„K • ,V *'''' "" striic),t „„ J ' ™'^ «"■' had a little, ^tra gh nose and pretty, clear gray-blue eyes ■ thei,^ foreheads were low, their eyebrows pencilled d dehcately marked They had neat little figurt ley were neat in every w.ay, neat in soul too' admirable httle people, but commonplace. And ust because hey were commonplace, they did not ike flery-red-ha.red Stephanotie ; they Lught MoUy utirNo b7'r'^^ "'^^ ^--"' ^-"^ beaut,ful ISora, but thought her manners and style conversafon deplorable; and they adored L nda as a kindred spirit. pan of doves, Stephanotie quickened her steps until she came up to them. ^ 'Hallo ! ' slie said ; 'you guess where I 'm off to ? ' Mabel was always Rose's echo. ' I cannot say,' she repeated. 'Well, I can guess where you're going. You're .omg to have a right-down good time'at The wJ —guess I 'm riffht ? ' ■"-'^ureis going to spend an afternoon at The 'We Laurels,- said Rose. •An afternoon at The Laurels,' echoed MabeL i If ' ' i;' 2 '4- . ' ■ s ■ i i *■ Mi 244 THE BOX OF BON-BONS. 'And so am I~that 's the best of the fun,' said Stephanotie ; ' and I mean to ^ive her something to remember me by.' ' Whom do you mean ? ' said Rose. ' Why, my ^rood, respected lioatess, Mrs Hartrick.' ' What do you mean to give her ? ' asked Rose. ' This. How do you like it ? It 'a full of bon- bons.' Rose, notwithstanding her virtuous and common- place mmd, had a secret leaning towards bon-bons, bhe did not dare to confess it even to Mabel ■ for Mabel also had a secret leaning, and did not dare to confess it to Rose. It was not comme il faut in their family for the girls of the house to indulge in bon-bons ; but still, they would have liked some of those delicious sweets, and had often envied Stephanotie when she was showing them to her companions. Of course, not for worlds would they have been friendly with the terrible American girl ; but they did envy her her boxes of sweets. 'How gay!' said Rose, looking at the startling cove^ with its cupids and its greedy-looking maiden How jolly,' said the American girl-' how luscious when you're eating them! Would you like to see them inside ? ' 'Oh, I think not,' said Rose. ' Better not,' said Mabel. u. wjy .,e.tter not ? ' continued Stephanotie. ' It 's V ' i fun,' said ething to irtrick.' lose. of bon- common- )on-bons. ibel ; for dare to faut in indulge ed some envied to her ^e been it they tartling laideri. uscious to see THE BOX OP BON-BONa 245 natural that mvh HIcp na ci, m ,., '■Wlo bit of shelter under M^ u ' ^""' ' " "'"^ greon. white; p , " ™"'^' — "'""ed, every sort ti.f \' ^f'; /°'!7 %^. O.oeolates ; Wore the. in rows on ::l°' '''' ^""'^ *-« '"X jiuy tne bin' hQx ,y ,. , .* P« one o, „,e ,_,j;,;; t™-- tea/ said Step fan^e 7,,:%'°^' ;?'""»" '°' ^°" Panion., up the avenue. "' '"'"^ "^^ -"" In this fashion, thr.^v.fore Hir^ fK^ ^i, house, for bnf. 1. ^.:;*"f ^ ^^^ three enter the •mitages had yielded f- 'It's temptation, and each bon-bon when they appeared ;rirl HI Ifl; M was just finishing a large on the scene. '■,! 246 THE BOX OP BON-BONa Mrs Hartrirk was standing in the great square central hall, waiting for her guests. Stephanotie ran up to her. ' It 'h very good of you indeed to ask me,' she said ; 'and please accept this—won't you? It's from an Americ .i girl, a ti-ophy to remember her by.' ' Indeed ? ' said Mrs Hartrick, flushing very brightly. She stepped back a little ; the huge box of bon'^-bons was forced into her hands. ' Jehoshaphat ! ' exclaimed Molly. ' Molly ! ' said her mother. Linda uttered a little sigh. Rose and Mabel immediately became as discreet and commonplace and proper as they could be : but Stephanotie knew that the boxes of bon-bons were reposing in each of their pockets, and her spirits rose hi^rher than ever. ' Where is Irish Nora ? ' she said. ' It s she that IS fond of a good sweet stich a^ they make for us m the States. But aave the box— won't you, Mrs Hartrick ? I have brought it to you as a token of my ri'gard.' 'Indeed? Thank you very much, Miss Miller,' said Mrs Hartrick in a chilly voico Si.e laid the box on a side- table. 247 fc square she said from an brightly. 3on-bons 1 Mabel lace and ew that of their he that for us 3U, Mrs oken of 3r,' said he box CHAPTER XXIV. THE TELEGRAM. ^HE uirLs went out into the ^.rounds The afternoon happened to be a j^erfect one • ^^'l:''' '''^'^ bahuy, with a touch of the' ludian summer about it. The last roses " "'.blooming on thoir respective bushes; the carefuHvT •"" ' TT ""'"" ' ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^ and dahhas to be ..en in every direction; some late th borders stdl look very attractive, and the chrys- anthenmms were beginning to appear T^nda. pdoting her two friends through the largest ot the greenhouses. * 'Do co,„e away; said Molly; • when Linda speaks m that p,™ vo,ee she's intolerable. Come, Nora- eo,.e, Steph,e-.we '11 j„st have a run by oursel ., • Nora was still looking rather pale. The shock of th _,,„.n„,g had canned the colour to fade from h- chooka; she could not get the utterly changed ill ' ^ I. I li m m 248 THE TELEGRAM. P II'- < I O'Shanagh^mti out of her head. She longed to write to her fatlier, and yet she did not dare. Steplianotie looked at her with t< o curiouH, keen glance which an American girl po,s.se.s.se,s. • What is it ? Do say,' she said, linking her hand inside Nora's. ' Is it anything that a bon-bon will soothe, or is it past that ? ' 'It is quite past that; but don't ask me now, Stephie. I cannot tell you, really,' 'Don't bother her,' said Molly; 'she has partly confided in me, but not wliolly. We '11 have a good time by ourselves. What game do you think we had best play, Stephie ? ' 1 1 'm not one for games at all,' answered Steplianotie. ' Girls of my age don't play games. They are think- ing seriously of the business of life— the flirtations and the jolly time they are going to have before they settle down to their staid married life. You English are so very childish.' ' And we Irish are childish too,' said Nora. ' It 's lovely to be childish,' she .-dded. ' I hate to put away childish things.' ' Oh dear ! so that is the Irish and English way,' said Stephanotie. 'But there, don't lot us talk nationalities; let's be cosy and cheerful. I can tell you I did feel annoyed at coming here such a dowd ; it was not my fault. I meant to make an impression; I did, really and truly. It was very good of jrou, Molly, to ask me ; aL I know lUfr THE TELEGRAM. n 249 »'■ supposed to 1,0 iu,. ,„ ■ ' ' ■"" "''«'"•' open ami T I "' """■'"' ^ "'" f'™ik "nd open an,l I l.ave no concealment aix,ut me T . T a spade a spade.' ' "^ "*" wouldn't snittr„,"\rrv™*^"'"^ •I-e..callont,el,„,,aZt et:^v:;.1'■'• whoeve^Jehosl,apl,„t«,. Imt I have mvltr ' of season. It '3 Taslt ''' '° '°'"^™ »'"' ">" whvmvl ftl ■ ^^ '°"''=°' ™°' ""d I don't see ™y my little ninoeent wishes ,hr„M 4. t • R„» snouid not be ^i-at fieri ' Me nicely dressed ! ' scroamorl ojf. i you cal, this dress nice W ! iTTr '''° » perfect shame that I ,," ,' I T ' " '" 3poct,aelo. It don't suit ^ hi"' v?. "f -«'■ " '"S a dress T pI,„„ , j ™ ^ am order- s, ■» uiess I choose .sJiados of red- tl,»„ t„ down, I. .„«,,,, ,„.,„^_^^ J. ^«^ tone me To my locks, do you mean ? ' Ih- I 250 THE TELEORAM. I b tmu nm 'Yes. They do stick out so funnily. I know mother was shocked; she likes our heads to be perfectly smooth.' ' Like the Armitages', fur instance ? ' said Stepha- notie. Well, yes ; something like theirs. They are pretty girls, are they not ? ' 'Yes,' said Stephanotie ; 'but don't they give you the quivers ? Don't you feel as if you were rubbed the wrong way the moment you speak to them ? ' ' I don't take to them,' said Molly ; ' but I think they 're pretty.' 'They're just like what O'Shanaghgan is now,' thought Nora, who did not sjieak. 'They are all prim and proper; there's not a single wildness allowed to come out anywliere.' But they're for all the world like anybody else,' said Stephanotie. 'Don't they love sweeties just ! If you had seen them— the greedy way they took the bon-bons out of the little boxes I gave them. Oh, they 're just like any})ody else, only they are playing parts ; they are little actors ; they 're always acting. I 'd like to catch them when they were not. I 'd like to have them for one wild week, witli you, Molly, and you, Nora. I tell you there would be a fine change in them both.' ' There 's a telegraph-boy coming down the avenue,' cried Molly suddenly. ' I '11 run and see what is the matter ? ' I know ids to be id Steplia- are pretty- give you no rubbed lem ? ' t 1 think is now,' ■y are all wildness anj^body sweeties «'ay they s I gave only they i they 're hen they ild week, ^ou there ! avenue,' lat is the TKE TELEGRAM. N^Ora djfi r%r,i- 7 '- ahe folt «... IZ^^^'^f^- N-vert,.e. «he stood now a„d stared a 17h '^ """^^^ • «y-vould .sta.. fro,,, «,ei..m'°^ ^ "■»«" i"- Wliat ,s tl,o matter .' • „,;,. s, , ' Yol ' '^' you be rdi:;::ri,r:'„ "■"""''"'"■ *v ^^ouw <^'«e„ra,::^f::^^^^^ < rw 1 "'■just tJie .same Kiiri a^ Oh, don't I know if , ^^'^^^ yoo would „.ali.so l,o,v o^„ "' "' ^ ''«™. «'«.< Molly is eo.m-„„ bad- • ^"'■""'- J^"' let uf;;j"5'™" -^ ^o- -tl-; .,.e .aid. ■!,„ Noia looked at Jf,,,, „„. , "« see who will cet fir ^ '. '° *^' ^"'"^"r- ^^et T li^^e -n- • ^ ''*^ *° ^'^^e tor. of that I "H - -"-^0 running uphili. J '„. ^x.. " " *^'^^ ^"^^■ ma^rl' ^ ^ "^ off; catch me who •1; ^ i7; n ! I i i.li 252 THE TELEGRAM. Molly started. Her figure was stout, and she ran in a somewhat awkward way. Nora flew after her. She soon readied her side. ' There, stop running,' she said. ' What is up ?' ' What is up ? ' cclioed Molly. ' Yes ; what was in that telegram ? ' 'The telegram was for mother.' 'But you know what was in it. I know you do.' 'Nothing — nothing Nora. Come, our race isn't over yet. I 'm off again ; you cannot catch me this time.' Molly ran, panting as she did so. ' I cannot tell her ; I won't,' sIk; said to herself. ' I wish her eyes were not so sharp. She is sure to find out ; but I have bogged and prayed of mother not to tell her, at least until after Stephanotie and the others have gone. Then, I suppose, she must know.' Molly reached the top of the hill. She was so blown that she had to fling herself on the grass. Nora again reached her side. ' Tell me, Molly,' she said ; ' there is something the matter ? ' ' There is a telegram for mother, and I cannot tell you anything whatever about it,' said Molly in a cross voice. ' There, I 'm off" once more. I promised Linda that I would help her to look after the Arrnitagc girls. Prim and proper as they are, they id she ran after her. is up ? ' :now you race isn't h me this THE TELEGRAM. 253 are sometimes a little hif f^ -*- Linda. You tal arl „f T " , '" "^ "^'"'y good fun. Let me go No" It " ' '"''^ '^ '■«" Molly pulled i.„. , , ^ '*"""' go' downhill „,, fast „, . ,?'"* ""-^ ™^l"ng &d Lind. and J:™ fr^:! "'^ ''"^ ^'- ™uld ■ I arself. ' I Is sure to 3f mother notie and she must e was so ;he grass. thing the innot tell oily in a promised after the are, they f! . If, 254 CHAPTER XXV. THE BLOW. [OTWITHSTANDING all the efforts of at least five meriy girls, there was a cloud over the renuimder of that after- noon. Nora's face was anxious; her gay laugh was wanting; jier eyes wore an abstracted, far-away look. The depression which the letters of the morning had caused was now increased tenfold. If she joined in the games it was without spirit; when she spoke there was no animation in her words. Gone was the Irish wit, the pleasant Irish humour ; the sparkle in the eyes wavS missing ; the gay laugliter never rose upon the breeze. At tea things were just as bad. Even at supper matters had not mended. Molly now persistently avoided her cousin. Stepha- notie and she were having a ^vM time. Mollv, to cover Nora's gloom, was going on in a more extrava- gant way than usual. She constantly asked Jehosha- phat to come to her aid ; she talked of Holy Moses more than once ; in short, she exceeded lierseif in her :4 THE BLOW. 255 fforts of e was a it after- US ; her wore an spression seel was games it was no •isli wit, the eyes pon the Even at Stepha- lolly, to ^xtrava- ehosha- y Moses t in her wildness. Linda was so sliocked that she took the Armitage girls to a distant corner, and there dis- coursed with them in low whispers. Now and then she cast a horrified glance round at where her sister and the Yankee, as she termed Stephanotie, were going on together. To her relief, towards the end of the evenn^g, Mrs Hartrick came into the room But even her presence could not suppress Molly now She was beside herself; the look of Nora sitting gloomily apart from tlie rest, pretending to be in terested in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, was too -"ch for her. She knew that a bad time was counng for Nora, and her misery made her reckless. Mns Hartrick, hearing some of her naughtiest words said in an icy tone that Miss Truefitt had sent a maid for Stephanotie ; and a few moments afterwards tlie little party broke up. As soon as the strange girls had departed, Mrs Hartrick turned immediately to Molly. 'I am shocked at your conduct,' she said. 'In order to give you pleasure I allowed Miss Miller to come here ; but I should have been a wiser and happier woman if I had taken dear Linda's advice She IS not the sort of girl I wish either you or Nora ever to associate witli again. Now, go straight to your room, and don't leave it until I send for you ' Molly stalked off with a defiant tread and eyes llashmg fire : she would not even ^lan.. at l^orr,. i^inda beg^n to talk m her prim ^^oice. Before she I: i i* :.fl 256 THE BLOW. could utter a single word Nora had sprung forward caught both her aunt's hands, and looked her in the face. 'Now,' she said, 'I must know. What did that telegram say ? ' 'What telegram, Nora? My dear child, you forget yourself.' *^ ' I do not forget myself, Aunt Grace. If I am not to go quite off my head, I must know the truth.' ' Sit down, Nora/ 'I cannot sit; please put me out of suspense. r lease tell me the worst at once.' 'I am sorry for you, dear; I really am.' ' Oh, please, please speak ! Is anything— anything wrong with father ? ' •'6 'I hope nothing serious.' 'Ah! I knew it,' said Nora; 'there is something wrong.' ° ' He has had an accident.' ' An accident ? An accident ? Oh, what ? Oh ' It 's Andy ; it must be Andy. Oh, Aunt Grace, I shall go mad ; I shall go mad ! ' Mrs Hartrick did not speak. Then she looked at Lmda. She motioned to Linda to leave the room Lmda, however, had no idea of stirring. She was too much interested; she looked at Nora as if she thought her really mad. ' Tell me — tell me ; is father killed ? ' 'No. no. mv poor nhil^ ■ no "o t\- /--i „ ^ — — . .ly^ ^^^ jj^ caiin yoiH^ , I-' 'i forward, sr in the iid that d, you am not h.' ispense. ything lething It Oh! •ace, I ced at room. 3 was as if yoias 1 M ™llW 1 rf} 1 i M m H ''hi i 1 't 1 1 r Li i m III ' xleau it foi liit.-,' alie siiiu ill u. pituous voice. Page 257. THE JiLOW. 257 GE 257. self, Nora. I will let you sec the telegram ; then you will know all that I know.' ' Oh, pluase, please ! ' Mrs Hartriek took it out of her pocket. Nora clutched It very hard, but her trembling lingers could scarcely take the little flin^.sy pink sheet T^ut of its envelope. At last she had managed it. She spread It before her ; then she found that lier dazed eyes could not see the words. What was the misery of the morning to the agony of this moment ? 'Read it for me,' she said in a piteous voice. 'I — 1 cannot see.' ' Sit down, my dear ; you will faint if you don't.' Oh ! e^•el•ythlng is going round. Is he— is he dead ? ' No, dear ; nothing ver^-- wrono-.' ' Read— read ! ' said Nora. Mrs Hartriek did read. The following words fell upon the Irish girl's ears : ' O'Shanaghgan was shot at from behind a hedge this morning. Seriously injured. Break it to Nora,' ' I must go to him,' said Nora, jumping up. ' When IS the next train ? Why didn't you tell me before ? I must go— I must go at once.' Now that the worst of the news was broken, she had recovered her courage and some calmness. ' I must go to him,' she repeated. 'I have telegraphed. I h.ave been mindful of you. I knew the moment you heard this new.s ^ou would Light o' the Morniug. q 268 THE BLOW. Ipif wish to bo oif to Irolnnd, so I have telegraphed to know if there is dan^^er. If there is danger you shall go, my dear clnJd ; indeed, I myself will take yon.' 'Oh! I must go in any case,' repeated Nora Danger or no danger, he is hurt, and he will want me. I must go ; you cannot keep me here.' Just then there came a loud ring at the hall-door ' Doubtless that is the telegram,' said Mrs Hart- nck. ' Run, Linda, and bring it.' Lin.la raced into the hall. ^ In a few moments she came back witl? ». telegram. ' The messenc ,.r is waiting, mother,' she said. Mrs Harh ;ck tore it open, read the contents, uttered a sig.h .f relief, and then handed the paper on to Nora to read. 'There,' she said; 'you can read for yourself.' Nora read : ' Better. Doctor anticipates no danger. Tell Nora I do not wish her to come. Writino-. 'Hartrick.' 'There, my dear, this is a great relief,' said Mrs Hartrick. 'Oh ! I am going all the same,' said Nora. 'No; that I cannot possibly allow.' 'But he wants me, even if he is not in danger. It was bad enough to be away from him when he was well ; but now tliat he is ill You don't aphed to iger you will take !tl Nora, vill want 11-door. •s Hart- ents she d. ontents, e paper If.' Tell ICK.' id Mrs THE BLOW. 259 langer. len he don't understand, Aunt Grace-there is no nn anything for father as 1 can T „ T' r . '"" ^^" Morning.' * ^ ^'» J»« ^'-H o' the 'His what?' said Mrs Hartrick. 'Oh, that is what he calls me • hnf T \ i^ou are an uncrrnteful girl Nor-i TF i , th.nl-f 1 T t^'l^'i^'-an, would fill you with tiiankfulnesH. Ifc {^ y,^ j , •>''^" ^^^"^^ 1 "^ *"v to «tay here Vnn position, and your nromi^A fr. i • • would stay quietlv hn.-n . ^ ^"" break Jf 2 X ^ " '^""°^ "^ ^^" ^^^"our »^reak. If your lather were in danger it would be a different matter. As it i« if • i ;:r;::,: -'^-..s-'r^ Nora sat silent. Mrs TTovfr-i^?.' absolnfp Ti. \ 1 Waitricks words were ab olute. The good lady felt that she was strictly tollowmg the path of duty. ^ ' I can understand the shock you have hnri ' cl. head slightly droopmg, her hands clasped tisrhtlv together, her attitude one of absolute despair ' ' Nora" !'"%""■ '""'""" '° ^^'- <'»"g'"-- 'f^tch' «ora a glass, of wine. I noticed, my dear, that you ate scarcely any supper.' Nora did not speak. 'V. . IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. V « V 1.0 I.I 1.25 112 IMUu |M 2.2 PhotogiBpiiic Sciences Corporation 1.8 LA. nil 1.6 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 i? V #? I^< f/j I 260 THE BLOW. Linda retarned with a glass of claret ^ 'Now drink this off, Nora/ said her aunt; -Thank you, Aunt Gri«e,' sdd Nora in a low "1 ■ 261 i CHAPTER XXVI. TEN POUNDS. rOLLY was standing by the open window of her room wlien Nora came in. She entered quite quietly. Every vestige of colour had left her face ; her eyes, dark and if "^<^^'^'«^Jy blue, were shining; some of her ' jet-black hair iiad got loosened and fell about her neck and shoulders. Molly sprang towards her. UJi JNora !' she said. ' H"«h ! ' said Nora. ' I have heard ; father i.. hurt —very badly hurt, and I am going to him ' 'Are you indeed ? Is mother going to take you ? ' said Molly. "^ ' No ; she has refused. A telegram has come from my uncle ; he says I am not to go-as if a thousand telegrams would keep me. Molly, I am going.' ' But you cannot go alone.' ' I am going.' ' When ? ' said Molly. • Now — this very minute.' 262 TEX POUNDS. wWliM ' What nonsense ! There are no trains.' 'I siiall leave the house and stay at the station I •shall take the very next train to town. I am goinc..' i5ut, Nora, have you money ? ' ° ' Money ? ' said Nora. ' I never thought of that.' . ,^^''' ^^'^"'t S^'-^ you money if she does not wish you to go.' ' I '11 ^^o to my roam and see.' Nora rushed a^v'ay. She came hack in a few moments with her pur.e ; she flung the contents^ o^ Molly's bed. MMy took up the silver coins as.^ey rattled out of Nora's purse Alack and alas ! alf she possessed was eight shillings ana a lew coppers. *. 'Yon cannot go with tl,aV «.aM Molly ; 'and I have nothn,g to lend you, or I would ; indeed. J - „Id give you all I p„«e„,, but mother only give. .xpenee a week. Nothing would induce her to give me an allowance. I have .si.xpence a week just as it I were a baby, and you can ,j„ite nndersiand I don't save out of that. What i.s to be done ? • Nora looked no„plu.,sed. Fov the first time the vigorous mtention, the fierce resolve which was bear- ing her onward, was checked, and checked by so mighty a reason that she could not quite see her way out of the present dithcnlty. To a.,k her Aunt Graee or money would be worse than useless. Nora was a M^fficient reader of character to be c,uite certain that Mrs Hartrick when she .said a thing meant it. She would be kind to xXoia up to a certah. point. Were TEN POUNDS. 263 ation. I n going.' her father in what th.y called danger .he herself would be the first to help Nora to go to hi™ ^.ought the g„.l;. how all this ti,„o hoi. pining for me--he who never knew ilh,e.s. in hi. hfe_nifi„„ pm„,g for n,e! Nothing shall keep ,ne from h.m' I™uldstealt.gotohi,n;thereisLthingIwo:M ' Nora, how queer you look ! ' said Molly 'I am thinking/ said Xora. ' 'I wonder how I am to get that n.o:-.ey Oh, I hav^^f. J 'H ,,k Stepha not. to lend it to me. D. you tlk she would' I don t know. I think it very likely. She is generous, and she has heaps of money.' 'ThonI'llgotolr.r,'saidN6ra. ' Stay, Nora ; if you really want to run away ' ' Run away ? ' said Nora. ' If you like to call it so you may ; but I 'm going. My own father is ill • mv uncle and aunt don't hold the same position t^ me that my father holds. I will go to him-I will ' 'Then I tell you what it is,' said Molly, 'you must do this thmg carefully or you '11 be locked up in your bedroom. Mother would think nothing of lockin. tlie door o your bedroom and keeping you there^ y-ou don t know-mother when once her back is up She can be immensely kind up to a certain point and then— oh ! I know it~immensely cruel.' ' What is to be done ? ' said Nora. ' I hate doing a thmg m this kind of way_in the dark, as it were/ ■ r ,1 264 TEN POUNDS. '0i I". '* very Zr T "''' '""'^ • '^^ »-' ^ ^.me, and I know i>ow to manage matters, There is only one way for you to go.' ' What is that ? ' 'Yon and I must go ofT and see St^phanotie • but we cannot do so .mtil every one is in bed' ' How can we go tlien ? ' ' We can easily climb down from this window. You see this pear-tree; it almost touches the window I have chmbed down by it more ti^an once ; w e ca„ get m again the same way.' ; Oh ye.,. Tf we must sneak out of the house like I ell you It s the only way,' said Molly. -We must be off on our way to London before n,otLr J up to-morrow morning You dnn't i " whatever about train.,.' * ''"°" ™^"""g 'But I can look them out,' said Nora ' Well, go back to yonr room. Mother will n„t ., gomg to bed for quite an hour. We c. n ot h . can do nothing until .she is safe Tb:: "g::: ' :: once, Nora; for if she finds you here talk ir Jme ahe wm suspect something. I cannot tell y^, wl" mother ,s when once her suspicions are aro.il^ an^ ahe has had good cause to suspect me before Tow' But do you really mean to .say you'll come with me r I cert.amly mean to say I won't let you go alone Now then, go away ; .just pack a few thh,gs, Ld Hp ■ TEN POUNDS. u must be ers in my There is otie; but •w. You window. we can 'Use like way.' '. ' We icr gets lythiug not be it; we ^Viiy at to me I wliat ; and ime?' alone. i slip 265 back to me when I knock on tlie will T v when mother ]ux,s gone to bed • if "^"^ should be asleep ."dtW^r"''""'^'^^^ also; thatisall we I- f ^^'^ T'' '' '^'''''^ • A,..i icquiie. Leave the rest to me ' _^^__^c. you a. certain Stc.p„™otio can lend .the 'We can but ask hor TP .i p I adinu-e your courage,' said Molly. •»« tl'e fatal words. Presentlv she heard the ei-.-il- „f r • i . . , in-seiitiy •» rni. °' Linda's bod ,w .she eot info ■*■ This was follo«ed by silence Nora breathed a sigh of relief, but still the dangers were not past. Her little W.,„l i, i ""ngois on the eh, ;. . , * ■'■■'S V q'"te ready on t„e ehair, and she herself sat on the ed.e of her bed. Mi. Hartriek's steps were heard eomi:. 1 Z *n.s, and the next moment the door of Nona', ro 1 was opened and the good lady looked in ^2<>_t m bed, Nora- she said; -but this is veiy 'Oh, I could not sleep,' s:iid Nora. Mrs Hartrick went up to her 'Now, my dear child,' she .s,aid, 'I eannot rest you myself What a wm little face ! My dear rirl you must trust in God. Your uuele'f tt™ ' azures us that there is no danger; and th r rurrz::' ' ^^- -^ - -■- 'Qhlii you would only promise to take me,' said the night, adjoined Jft, when intensely bed ; she >ra could I' ; do be Jv?' but ^'I'esently got into dangers te ready 3 of ]ier : up tlie i''S room IS very ot rest indress ar girl, legram there Jelf to ',' said TEN POUNDS. 267 poor Nora, suddenly rising to her feet tw' • . --^Waun.snee^.,.:^'^--W «- ^' Xr^l^T j:;; it - ^« -y father if would brea/n^yT^::;-^^^^^^ ^^ cannot stay away from him ' ^' ^ '""^"^ Your uncle wishes youTo / '. '"''"'"' ^^^'^" *«• would not wish"Lr-f t^ ' "'"'^ ^^" -^- He for you to go t: i!::;Lu . '""^ "^ ^'^ ^^^^'^^ --- 'Then you will not take me to-morrow.' iNot unless your father is worse P. t help you to get your things off ^'"'' ' "^"«* ^-r Tt' oX ^^^^^^^^^^^^ of her clotlXon^t'^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^" '"^^ ^- -d she was lyin, down i^Ted " ™ ^^^^^^^ «"' fatli'^^^^ ^"'^"^^ ^^^ *'^^^^- together" to go to Relieve me I am nnf ^^ '^'"' "^-^ ^^^tle girl. • ^oram^del: r-r^^^^^'^^^^-^I^ook..' the bedclothes ; a sob Hartrick hesitated for reply. She covered her faci :e with came moment whether she would Mrs m m' , Tf li, |Wt:^ 1 ifJ|H^i FmS * i«' '* \mi ' J 268 TEN POUNDS. say anything further ; but then, hoping that the tircd- out girl would .sleep, hIk; went gently from tlic room. In the pa.sHage she thought for a moment. ' Why did Nora pack that little bag ? ' she .said to herself. 'Can it be po.ssible — but no, the child would not do it. Besides, she has no money.' Mrs Hartrick entered her own room at the otlier end of the corridor and shut the door. Then still- ness reigned o\'er the house — stillness absolute and complete. No liglit had beeii burning under Molly's door when Mrs Hartrick had passed. Molly, indeed, wiser than Nora, had got into bed and lay there, dressed, it is true, but absolutely in the dark. Nora also lay in her bed ; every nerve was beating frantically ; her body seemed to be all one great pulse. At last, in desperation, she spi-ang out of bed — there came the welcome signal from Molly's room. Nora struck a light and began to dress feverishly. In ten minutes she was once more in her clothes. She now put on the dark-gray travelling-dress she had worn when coming to The Laurels. Her hat and jacket were quickly put on, and, carrying the little black bag, she entered Molly's room. ' What hour is it ? ' said Nora. ' It must be lonff past midnight.' ' Oh no ; nothing of the kind. It is not more than eleven o'clock.' * Oh 1 I thought it was one or two. Do you know I'\'' ho tircd- lic room. 3 said to ho child he otlior len stiil- hitu and y's dooi" ad, M'iser dressed, also lay lly ; her . last, in ame the struck a minutes ' put on n when ;et were Lck bag, be long ore than )u know TEN POUNDS. 269 that your mother came to see me and insisted on mv getting into bed ? ' "^ . ' Y<3U were a great goose, Nora. You should have saved a httle tune. But come, mother has been quite quiet for half-an-hour and more; she must be sound asleep. We had better go.' 'Yes, we had better go,' said Nora. 'I packed a ^wthmgsmthisbag;iti.^ cat ry ,t. My money in in it, too-eight 8}ulli„.s room. She had takon caro to oil the ha.,p of the w,„cIow ; and now with extre™ caution, »he' if ted up, tak„,g caro that it did not make the slightest -md a. .he did so. The next moment both g were seated on the window-lodge. Mollj. .sprang l' o the pear-tree, which ,■ ,aked and crackled „!der .er we,ght; but Mr.s Hartrick wa. already in the land of drean,s. Molly dropped on to the ground beneath, and then it wa, Noras turn. ' Shall I shut the window before I get on to th» pear-tree ?' whispered Nora. ■No, no ; leave it open. Come just a, you arc- Nora reached out her arm.,, grasped the pear-tree i slinned down fn fv.^ "round and Pilot Now then, we must be off;' said Molly. 'I hoDe >t won't Rnvt' cii,_ „,„„ n T P was alluding to the big Wl\ won't bark.' She '■i f I ' 2T0 TEN POUNDS. watch-dog. « But there. I '11 speak to him ; he is very fond of me.' The girls stole across the grass. The dew lay heavy on it; their footsteps made no sound. Pre- sently they reached the front of the house, and Pilot, with a deep bay, flew to meet thein. • Pilot ! Pilot ! quiet ; good dog ! ' said Molly. She went on her knees, flung her arms round the dog, and began to whisper in his ear. 'He understands,' she said, looking up at Nora. The great creature seemed to do so ; he wagged his feathery tail from side to side and accompanied the girls as far as the gate. ' Now, go home, go home,' said Molly. She then took Nora's hand and they ran down the road in the direction of the village. ' If it were not that you are so miserable I should enjoy this awfully,' said Molly. ^ ' But how do you mean to wake Stephie ? ' asked Nora at last. ' Well, luckily for us, her aunt. Miss Truefitt, is rather deaf. Miss Truefitt has a bedroom at the back of the house, and Stephanotie sleeps in front. I shall fling gravel at the window. There is not a soul, as you see, in the streets. It 's well that it is such a quiet place ; it will serve our purpose all the better,' They now found themselves outside Miss Truefitt's house. Molly took up a handful of gravel and flung TEN POUNDS. he 18 very which touched Stephanofe, and at the same tin.e stimula J h» U ', '■II ■'■ ( 272 TEN POUNDS. q ii r:" f, curiosity to such an extent that sl^e flew into her clothes, dasliing about perfectly reckless of the fact that she was making a loud noise ; but, luckily for her, Miss Truefitt was deaf and the servants slept in a remote part of the old house. Soon Stcphanotie was tumbling downstairs, the chain was taken off the door, and the two girls were admitted. ' Where shall I take you ? ' said Stephanotie. ' It 's all as dark as pitch. You know Aunt Vi won't hear of gas in the house. But stay, we can go into the dining-room. I suppose you can tell me by the light of a solitary glim.' As she spoke she pointed to the candle which she was holding high above her head. ' Yes, yes, or with no light at all,' said Nora. Stephanotie now opened the door of the dining- room, and the three girls entered. Stephanotie placed the candle on the tabb and turned and faced them. ' Well,' she said, ' what 's up ? What do you want me to do ? ' 'I want you to lend me all the money you have,' said Nora. ' All the money I have — good gracious ! ' ' Oh Jehoshaphat ! be quick about it,' said lifoUy. 'We cannot stand here talking; we want to catch the very next train to town.' ' But why should I lend you all the money I have ? ' 'Oh, I'll tell her, Nora; don't you speak,' said Molly. ' Nora's father has been awfully hurt ; he wns shot at from behind a hedge by some scoundrel in TEN POUNDS, into her the fact ckily for nts slept 3plia;iotie -aken off e. ' It 's )n't Jiear into the the Horlit id to the head, a. dininof- e placed them, ou want .\ have,' Molly, itch the have ? ' k,' said he was drel in 273 Ireland. A telegram came to-day about him to mother and mother won't take Nora to Ireland unless her father is in danger, and Nora is determined to go ' 'I guess I'd about do the same,' said Stephanotie. noddmg her head. ' If poppa was shot at from behind a hedge, I guess there 's nothing would keep me away from him. But is it for that you want the money ? ' ' les,' said Nora, plunginr her hands into the depths of her black bag ; ' there '. .nly eight shillings and fivepence here, and I can't get to Ireland with that ' •Haul out the spoil,' said Molly; o:iutifully,' answered Nora. aughter of ! the house ^ owned a •})oiie(l the id u.slicred ' I ean do jd for the dream of could not ) a couple it as best u done it ' first ; it IVY, nioi-c )re them, glass of beer ? ' ilk,' said in with ead, and tvant it,' ora. ADVENTURES— AND HOME AGAIN. 281 'W^'" tl'-^ n.y dears, I'll leave you now for the ".c^ht. Ihe lamp will burn all ni.ht. It will be lonely for young girls to be in the dark ; and I '11 pronuse to call you at five o'clock. There's a train leaves Euston between six and se^-en that you had better catch, unless you want then, as is hindering you from flight to stop you. I am interested in Ls poor you.ig lady who wants to see her father.' 'Oh, thank you; you are a perfect darling !' said ^ora. 'I'll come and see you some day when I am ^appy agani, and tell you all about it ' 'Bless your kind heart, honey! I'm glad to be able to do something for those who are in trouble Now then, lie down and have a bit of sleep 1 'H wake you sure and certain, and you shan't stir, the two of you, until you have had a hot ctip of tea eaeh ' Mrs ferry was as good as her word. She called he girls m good time, and gave then. .,uite a com- fortable breakfast before they started. The tea was hot ; the bread was good-wl.at else did they want ? Nora awoke from a very short and broken slumber. 'Soon I shall be back again,' she thought 'No matter how changed and ruined the place is, I shall be with him once more. Oh, my darling, my heart's darhng. I shall kiss you again ! Oh .- I am happy at the thought.' ^ Mrs Terry herself accompanied them to Eustoa It was too early to get a cab ; she asked them if they % 282 adventi;res— AN?> homk again. wore jrood walkom Thoy hu.M they wore. She took thorn by the shortest ruute.s ; and. son.ewhat tired, but ■st.ll full of a Htrange exultation, they found them- solveH at the great station. Mrs Terry saw then, into thcr tran, and with n.any loudly-uttered blessings .started then, on their journey. She would not touch anytlung more than the five shillings, and tears were m her eyes as slu. looked her last at them. 'God bless them, ar.d particularly that httle Irish girl. _ Haven't she just got the cunningest, sweetest way ni all the world ? ' thought the good woman. ' I do hope her father will be better when she gets to nim. Don't she love him just ! ' Yes it had been the ' most daring scheme, the wddest .sort of adventure, for two girls to under- take, and yet it was crowned with success Thev were too far on their journey for Mrs Hartrick however m^Jch .-.e might wish it, to rescue them.' She might be as angry as she pleased ; but nothin. now could get them back. She accordingly did the veiy best thing she could do-telegraphed to Mr Hartnck to say that they had absolutely ... a,ay, but begged of him to.meet them in T^^l^;., : i.i^ the good man did. He met them both on the pier, received them quiecly, without much demonstratL SOW? ^ ^°^ "''' ^''''' """^°^'^^ ^"^^' ^"« «^" 'U :^v'-.ve come, Nora, and against my will' ho m ;ire yuu :orry ? ADVENTCTES-^ANr, „nME AGAIN. 288 ' Not u bit, U„d„ 0.,„.«,,' ,,,„ „,„„„^^ , !iav,, comeBgaiust tho wills of „ .1 , f»U.er were ill.' "'°"-'"""' "»«'«« '* It was very ^ood of you to meet us. father Wa. mother terribly anvn the platform Molly, do hsten to tho brogue Isn't it ;„.t .^^ .'.'"""■ Come along and lot ', t.^^' J n '^ "'"'"' ^ beggar.' '" """ P"""- »" I^sh bac'l^iT;;!'"""'' '"""^ "' "" P'^-"'.'-M Molly, ■Bless the crayther, b„t „e is pleasant,' said Nora l™«t go and b.ave a chat with him.' She eanXt ho of Molly's hand, and dragged her to he J ot the paveinent wherp -m .^l^1 • , ^ evp. « ^' '"''"• ^'^'^'i aJmcst blind t-jes, was seated in front nf n i i. , apples. '* '" ^^"'^^^ ^"'^^^ket of rasy 284 ADVENTURES — AND HOME AGAIN. you tills morning, father ? ' said 'And how are Nora. ' Oh, then, it 's the top of the morning to yez, honey,' was the instant reply. ' And how is your- self ?' ' Very well indeed,' said Nora. ' Then it 's I that am delighted to see yez, though see yez I can't. Oh, then, I hope that it 's a long life and plenty you '11 have before you, my sweet, dear, illigant young lady — a good bed to lie on, and plenty to eat and drink. If you has them, what else could ail yez ? Good-bye to yez ; good-bye to yez.' Nora slipped a couple of pence into his hand. ' The blessings of the Vargin and all the Saints be on your head, miss. Oh ! it 's I that am glad to see yez. God's blessing on yez a thousand times.' Nora took the old man's hand and wrung it. He raised the white little hand to his lips and kissed it. 'There now,' he said, 'I have kissed yez; and these lips shan't see wather again for many a long day — that they shan't. I wouldn't wash ofT the taste of your hand, honey, for a bag of yellow gold.' ' What an extraordinary man ! ' said Molly. ' Have you known him all your life ? ' ' Known him all my life ! ' said Nora. ' Never laid eyes on him before ; that 's tlie way we always talk to one another. Oh, I can tell you we love each other here in Ireland.' 'It seems so,' answered Molly, in some astonish- ADVENTURES AND HOME AGAIN. 285 iher ? ' said rlad to see ment. ^ ' Dear me ! if you address a total stranger so, how will you speak to those you really love ? ' ' You wait and see,' answered Nora, her dark-blue eyes shining, and a mist of tears dimming their brightness; 'you wait and see. Ah, it's past words we are sometimes ; but you wait and you '11 soon see.' Mr O'Shanaghgan was pronounced better, although Mr Hartrick had to admit that he was weak and fretful; and, now that Nora had come, it was ex- tremely likely that her presence would do her father a sight of good. 'I knew it. Uncle George,' she answered as they seated themselves in the railway carriage, preparatory to gomg back to O'Shanaghgan—' I knew it, and that was why I came. You, uncle, are very wise,' she added; 'and yours is a beautiful, neat, orderly country ; and you are very kind, and very clever ; and you have been awfully good to the Irish girl- awfully good ; and she is very ignorant ; and you know a great deal; but one thing she does know best, and that is, the love and the longing in the heart of her own dear father. Oh, hurrah! I'm home again; I'm home again! Erin go bragh ! Erin go bragh ! ' ! astonish- (ii 286 ^M ^\ CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILD IRISH. J HE somewhat slow Irish train jogged along Its way ; it never put itself out, did that special train, starting when it pleased, and arrivnig when it chose at its destination Its guard, Jerry by name, was of a like mind with Itself ; there was no hurry about Jerry • he took the world ' aisy,' as he expressed it ^What's the good of fretting?' he used to say. What cant be cured must be endured. I hurry no man's cattle ; and my train, she goes when she likes and 1 ain t going to hurry her, not I' On one occasion Jerry was known to remark to a somewhat belated traveller : ; my, then, miss, is it hurrying ye are to meet the tram ? Why, then, you can take your time.' ' Oh Jerry ! ' said this anxious person, fixing her eyes on his face in great excitement. 'I forgot a most important parcel at a shop half a mile away ' 'Run and fetch it, then, honey.' replied Jerry, 'and 1 11 keep her a bit longer.' THE WILD lUiSH. 287 ed along did that, ised, and itination. ke mind b Jerry ; to say. mrry rvo le likes, irk to a leet tlie ing her a most y, 'and This the lady accordingly did. Wlion she returned the heads of ..11 the other angry passengers were o.^ of the wnidows expostulating with Jerry as to the cause of the delay. 'Hurry up, miss,' he said then. He popped her into a compartment, and she. as he called the train moved slowly out of the station. At times, too, without the smallest provocation, Jerry would stop this special train because a little ' pigeen ' had got oft' one of the trucks and was running along tlie line. He and the porter shouted and raced after the animal, caught it, and brought it back to the train. On another occasion he calmly informed a rather important passenger, ' Ye had best get out here for she 's bust.' ' She ' happened to be the engine. Into this train now got English Molly and Irish Nora. Mr Hartrick pronounced it quite the vilest service he had ever travelled by. He began to grumble the moment he got into the train. ' It crawls,' he said ; • and it absolutely has the check to call itself an express.' But Nora, with her head out of the window, was shouting to Jerry, who came towards her full of blessings, anxious to shake her purty white hand, and telling her that he was as glad as a shower of gould to have her back again in the old counthry. At last, however, the slow, very slow journey came to an end ; and just after sunset the party found themselves at the little wayside station. Here a sight ¥' :i 288 THE WILD IRISH. U %' 't 11 me Noras eyes which displeased her exceedingly Instead of the old outside cur which her father used to drive, with the shabby old retainer, whose livery had long ago seen its best days, there arrived a smart groom, m the newest of livery, with a cockade in his hat He touched his hat respectfully to Mr Hartrick and gave a quick glance round at Nora and Molly ' ^ ' Is the brougham outside, Dennis ? ' was Mr Hart- rick s response. ' Yes, sir ; it has been waiting for half-an-hour • the tram is a bit late, as usual, sir.' 'You need not tell me that this train is ever in ime, said Mr Hartrick. < Well, girls, come alo. ; I told Dennis to meet us, and here we are ' Molly thought nothing at all of the neat broiudiam with Its pair of spirited grays; she was accustomed to dnving m the better-class of carriage all her life • but Nora turned first pale and then crimson Slie got into the carriage, and sat back in a corner; tears were brimming to her eyes. ' This is the first. How am I to bear all the rest ? ' she said to herself. Mr Hartrick, who had hoped that Nora would be pleased with the brougham, with Dennis himself with the whole very stylish get-up, w.-vs mortified at her Hilence, and, taking her hand, tried to d^aw her out 'Well, little girl,' he said, 'I hope you will like the improvements I have made in the Castle. I have done It all at your instigafion, remember.' THE WILD IRISH. 289 coedingly. ^ther used )se livery 1 a smart ide in his Hartrick, Molly. Mr Hart- an-hour ; ever in iloh . ; I on^^liam, ustonied lor life ; n. She f ; tears ! rest ? ' )uld be If, with at her ■ out. ill like I have ^ * At my instigation ? ' cried Nora. ' Oh no, Uncle George, that you have not.' He looked at her in some amazement, then closed his hps, and said nothing more. lyiojly longed to get her father alone, in order to explain Nora's peculiar conduct. ' It is difficult for an Englishman to understand her,' thought Molly ' I do, and I think her altogether charming ; but father, who has gone to this enormous expense and trouble, will be put out if she does not show a little gratitude. I will tell her that she must ; I will take the very first opportunity.' And now they were turning in at the well-known gates. These gates were painted white, whereas they had been almost reduced to their natiA-e wood. Tiie avenue was quite tidy, no weeds anywhere ; but Nora almost refused to look out. One by one the familiar trees seemed to pass by her as she was bowled rapidly along in the new brougham, as if they >verc so many ghosts saying good-bye. But tlien there was the roar, —the real, real, grand roar— of th^ Atlantic in her ears. No amount of tidiness, nothing could ever alter that sound. ' Oh, hurrah for the sea ! ' she said. She flung down the window and popped out her head. Mr Hartrick nodded to Molly. 'She will see a great deal more to delight her than just the old ocean,' he said. Molly was silent. They arrived at the house; Light o' the Morning. g !hl ■(i ,; i ■t ■:■ 290 THE WILD IRISH. the butler was standing, on the steps, a nice, stylish- lookn.g En..li,shn,an, in neat livery. He can.e down opened the carriage door, let down the steps and' ottered his arm to Nora to alight; but she pushed past hnn, bounded up the steps, and the next mon.ent lound herself in her mother's arms. ' How do you do, my dear Nora ? ' said Mrs 0'8han- aghgan. ' I am glad to see you, dear, but also sur- prised You acted in your usual headstrong fashion.' Oh another tin.e, mother. Munnny, how are you ? 1 am gJad to see you again ; but don't scold me now • just wait. I '11 bear it all patiently another time.' How IS the dad, mummy ?— how is the dad ? ' 'Your father is doing nicely, Nora ; there was not the shghtest occasion for you to hurry off and ^ivc such trouble and annoyance.' * ; I don't suppose I have given annoyance to father' said Nora. ' Where is he-hr his old room ? ' ' ^^« ' 7 "^o^'^^l l^i'n upstairs to the best bedroom. We thought it the wisest thing to do ; he was in considerab.^ pain.' 'The best bedroom ? Which is the best bedroom ? ' said Nora. ' Your room, mummy ? ' 'The room next to mine, darling And just come and have a look at the drawing-room, Nora.' ' I will go to father first,' said Nora. ' Don't keen me; I can't stay.' ^ She forgot Molly ; she forgot her uncle ; she even forgot her mother. In a moment she was bounding THE WILD IRISH. ico, stylish- :anie down, stepa^ and ^he pushed xt wionieut r.s 0'8han- '' iilso sur- g fashion.' V are you ? I me now ; :'her time. was not and giXG to fatlier,' bedroom, e was in jdroom ? ' ust come )n't keep 291 she even lounding ..prta>r« ovor those thick Axmin»t«,. earpet»-tho»e awJu ca,-pot«, into which hor feet »«nl<-clown „ covndo,- also l,eavily |i„od with Axminster. nast groat velvet curtains, which scen.cd to stifle her as »l.o p„sl,ed then, aside, and the next instant she iuicl burst open a door. In the old days this roon. had been absolutely destitute of furniture. In the older days again it had been the spare roon. of Castle O'Shanagh.an Here hosintality h.d reigned; here guests of e:;ry degree lutd found a hearty weleon.e, an invitation to «tay as long as they pleased, and the best that the Castle could afford for their aeconnnodation. When Nora had left O'Shanaghgan, the only thing that had mnamed m the old roon. was a huge four-poster. Even the mattress fron. this old bed had been removed • the curtains had been taken from the windows : the three^ great windows were bare of both blinds' and curtanis. Now a soft carpet covered the entire floor • a neat modern Albert bed stood in a recess ; there' were lieavy curtains to the windows, and Venetian bhnds, which were so arrange.] as to temper the light But the light of the sunset i,ad already faded, and it was twilight when Nora popped her wild, excited iittie tace round the door. In the bed lay a gaunt figure, unshaven, with a beard of a week's growth. Two great eyes looked oiit of caverns, then two arms were stretched out, and Nora was clasped to her father's breast M%f. 292 THE WILD IRISH. iiiii'*. If; 1) I ' Ah, then. 1 have you again ; may God be praised ior all HiH mercies,' said the Squire in a great, deep. Jioar.se voice. Nora lay absolutely motionless for nearly half-a- imnute in his arms, then she raised herself. ' Ah,' she said, ' that was good. J hungered for it ' 'And I also hungered for it. my darling,' said the Squire. ' Let me look at you. Light o' the Morning; get a hght somehow, and let me see your bonny bonny, sweet, sweet face.' ' Ah, there 's a fire in the grate,' said Nora. ' Are there any matches ? ' ' Matches, bedad ! ' said the Squire ; 'there 's every- thmg that 's wanted. It 's perfectly horrible. They are ni a silver box, too. bedad ! What do we want with It ? Twist up a bit of paper, do, Nora, like a good girl, and light the glim the old way.' Nora caught at her father's humour at once She had already flung off her hat and jacket. 'To be sure I will,' she said, 'and with all the heart in the world.' She tore a long strip from the local paper, which was lying on a chair near by twisted it, lit it in the fire, and then appHed it to a candle. 'Only light one candle, for the love of heaven child,' said the Squire. 'I don't want to see too many of the fal-lals. Now then, that 's better ; bring the light up to the bed. Oh, what I have suffered with curtains, and carpets, and '- be praised ;reat, deep, 'ly lia]f-a- I'ed for it.' ,' said the Morning ; ir bonny, THE WILD IRISH. 293 a, 'Are 's every- e. They we want ora, like ce. She I all the from the lear by, ed it to heaven, see too ' ; bring suffered 'It's too awful, fatlicr,' said Nora. 'That's it, child. That's the first cheery word I have heard for the last six weeks— too awful I should think it is. They are smothering mo between them, Nora. I shall never get up and breatlie the free air again ; but when you came in you brought a breath of air witli you.' 'Let's open the window There's a gale coming up. We '11 have some air,' said Nora. ' Why, then, Liglit o' the Morning, tliey say I '11 get bronchitis if the window is opened.' ' They ! Who are they ? ' said Nora, with scorn. 'Why, you wouldn't believe it, but they had a doctor down from Dublin to see me. I don't believe he liad a scrap of real Irish blood in him, for he said I was to be nursed and messed over, and gruels and all kinds of tilings brought to my bedside— I who would have liked a fine potato with a pinch of salt better than anything under the sun.' 'You'll have your potato and your pinch of salt now that I am back,' said Nora. 'I mean to be mistress of this room.' The Squire gave a laugh. 'Isn't it lovely to hear her ? ' he said. ' Don't it do me a sight of good ? There, open the window wide, Nora, before your mother comes in. Oh, your mother is as pleased as Punch, and for her' sake I 'd bear a good deal ; but I am a changed man. The old times are gone, never to return. Call this i^cia^i' II 'If ■^ J 294 THE WILD IRfSB. if-"' ■ Vig tZl ? n ''"""•"«''"""• " '"-y bo .suitable for „„ English „oblou,an to live in, but if. „„t u.y .tyi.; .t s not ht for an I.ish «,„i..o. Wo are f.-ce over iLc and we , on t go in for Inxuric, anj .sn.othcrations ' ' Ah, father, I bad to go througl, „ g,eat deal of tut«oitof hfe ba, co,„e here; but tbere-tbere « L::':^,^''""'"- j^- ^™ ^-i a bit of a 'To be sure I do; let me breathe it i„. p,™ „,« up m bed Nora. They .said I vva« to h'e flat Z 2^bae,bnt,b„dad,Ivvon.nowt,,at,oubave sat^b T- 7,''- '' ™"" P'"""'' """'«•■ '«■• f'-"''". and mt helund h„n to support bi,„, and at last she got hun to «,t „p in bed with his face turned to the w.de-open window. The blinds were rattling, the cnrta,ns were being blown into the room, and the soft, w,ld .sound of the sea fell on bis ears. • Ah, I ',n better now,' ho said ; ■ my lunsr, are tzi : ''• tb^™ -'' '-''' "'»' "» ^^■L::tz ymr lady mother come, in. And put the candle so ha I cant see the fal-lals too much,' he continued; but place ,t .so that I can ga.o at yonr bonny face ' whel"" "™" '"" '"' ''"" ^'™ '"''"' '""■'• '»"'"'■■ ™d • Bedad ! then, I won't-^not to-night. I want to have everytnng „s cheerful as possible to-night. My httle g„.l has come back ^-the joy of my he^ THE WILD IRISH. table for an ■ my stylo ; 5 over hei-e, ! rations.' sat deal of I to tliink e — there 'h bit of a Prop me ie Hat on you have ither, and t she got id to the fcling, the and the 20.5 ungs are w before sandle so ntinued ; y face.' her, and want to o-niglit. y heart, the light of my eye.s. the top of the morning, a.id I 'm not going to fret about anything else.' ' You needn't— you needn't,' .s^^iid Nora. ' Oh '• it is ;,'ood to see you again. There never was anybody like you in all the world. And you were longing for Nora ? ' 'Now, don't you be fi.shing.' ' But you were — weren't you ? ' 'To be sure-to be sure. Here, then, let me grip 'Old of your little hand. I never saw such a tiny ittle paw. And so they haven't made a tine En.r|i,sh lady of you ? ' * ' No, not they,' said Nora. ' And you ran away to see your old dad ? Why then, you have the spirit of the old 0'Shanaoh„ans ni you.' " '^ 'Horses would not have kept me from you,' said Nora. 'I might have known as much. How I lauHied when. your mother brought in the telegram from your Aunt Ornce this morning ! And weren't they in a fuss, and M-asn't your Uncle Georire as cross as he could be, and your mother rampagii.g up and Jown the room until I sai.l, "If you want to bring on the fever, you '11 go on like that, Ellen • " and then she went out, and I heard her talkino- to your uncle in the passage. Clap, clap went t'leir tongues. I never knew anything like Enalislx people ; they never talk a grain of anything amusing • that 's the worst of it. Why, it 's the truth T 'm V- -,:f ■m •' ^ffiWllll 206 TUK WILD IfMSII. toll,,,., you, darii..^. ; I J.aver,'t had u h.nviy lau^h since you .1 ho,uo. ni do li„. ,.ow. VVheu they were ou oftl.e.-oo,ndid,,^Io.iv.way! I ,ave two loud ^m huvs. that I d,d. whou I thought oC the trick you >ag of lior own (ace. a g eat ft^ey to you. Notwithstanding your oceen tncfe, Nora-and they are eo„siderabi:-he .a; "u have the malang of a fine girl. But eon.e, we n u,! no negleet your cousin. Come here, dear Molly Tu and Nora wd, be interested in .seeing what a beauli ful place Castle O'Shanaghgan is now ' ent!^d''tr'*,"°"°''-'°"'^°"'-'-"' ""dthey ente ed the drawmg-roon,. It was lit with .soft candles ,n many sconces ; the blinds were down ; across the w,ndows were drawn curtains of Liberty , si Iko the palest, .softest .shade of rose. On the floor wast carpet of many soft colours cunningly mi,,,,,^ ;;: walls were painted a pale artistic gri, hute mirro were .ntroduced here and there and oU Z ly portraits, all newly framed, of dead and 7 0'8hanaghgans, hung on the painted walls. There were new tables, knicK-kn..cks - all the vn things which cons^i^n^„ ,i / . ™™™ Engllh lady " "" draw,ng-room of an Nora felt for one brief, passionate, angr. moment that she was back again at The Laurel, buTtTen J.ng the light in her mother's eyes, the'plk flush of happmess on her checks, she restrained herself ' that,' said ould never in edfre of 'ler looked has taken ur eccen- 3 says you we must oJIy ; you a beauti- rind tliey ith soft ; across r silk of )r M^as a d. The mirrors family 3 gone There various of an noment t then, k flush ilf. ALTERATIONS. 303 ' It makes you happy, mummy/ she said, ' and ' - 'But what do you tliink of it, my darling ? ' 'It IS a very beautiful room.' 'Ah! that is right. I thought my little wild- flower would appreciate all these things when she came back again. Ah, Nora I you have been a naughty, M.ld nnp; but your father was delighted when he heard what you had done. Of course I am terribly angry.' ' No, you are not, mummy ; you are pleased to see me agam.' ; I am glad to have you back, Nora ; but as to being pleased, how could I be ? However you can stay here for a fortnight or so now that you have come ; and then, when your dear uncle leaves us you and Molly can go back with him.' Nora did not say anything ; but a stubborn look came into her face which her mother knew of old From the drawing-room they went to the library which had also undergone complete rejuvenation. The walls were laden with standard works of different i^mds ; but some of the shelves were still empty 'The old books, your uncle ,ays, were of great value said Mrs O'Shanaghgan, 'and he sent them all to Dublin to be rebound. They have not come back yet. They are to be bound in old calf, and will suit the res of the room. Is it not a magnificent apart- i . i If Kl .. I. Nora said ' Yes ' in a somewhat dreamy voice. It, ill 304 ALTERATIONS. They then wont to hor ,„otho>-', inoming-roora and tl,o„ on to the S.,„i,.o'>, smokinsr-roon, 'They n,igl,t at least Jiave left this alone,' thought t>.og,v. -They n,ight at least have left this ot roo,„ where he eonld ..ethe when he felt ,„ite choked by all the furinturo m the rest of the place ' int^'thr" "; • ''"""■"■" -"'-'«-«>•" -as changed mo the sn,ok.ng-roon, of „„ linglish gentle„:n. The,e were deep casy-chai.s covered with leather ■ here were racks for pipes, and great brass do.,' before the fireplace; on the floor was a thick carpet. Nora felt as if she longed to .ive it • savage kick. " '' At last the terrible ordeal of going through the- MoltVu 7^: '■"■"■*-'-"- -» -er. and she and Molly tound themselves alone. said Mrs O Shanaghgan, nodding t Nor,., ' You and your cousin will like to have a chat ; and the," 1 dears, I should reeonnnend you both to go to bed as early as possible.' When they were back again in the big dnvwing. room Nora gave Molly a wild look 'Come out,' she said ; ■ at lea«t out of doo,.s the air IS the same as of old.' he«d''t TT' "^ ' ''""' ^"^^ ™PP^^ '' round her head but Nora went out just as she was. 'You'll catch cold,' said English Molly ' I catch cold in my native land ! ' replied Irish Nora -room, and -,' thon(rht ' tliis one te cliokc'd ■^ clianged entleman. leather ; •nss dogs a tliick ive it a r]i the — «he and ninutes,' i^ou and hen, my 3 bed as rawing- the air Hid lier I Nora. ALTERATIONS. g^,- 'How little you know me! Oh, come, Molly I am go.ng to be wild; I am going to give way.' ' J 7 Tl "''''"'' '"'^''^ "" "^^ ^-°-^ ^-vel «weep Ihe moon wa. „p, and it was shining over every hn.g. In the moonlight Castle O'Shanat,: I ooked very much as it had done before. The m:;" had a ways glorified the old place, and it glo^ t St 11. Nora stood and gazed around her up to clearly defined agamst the evening sky ; across the wide breadth of the Atlantic; ov' the thick pla tat.ons, the fields, and the huge trees in the b'act 'It's all the same,' she said, with a glad lauo-h • hank God it is all the same. Even '. iV Molly cannot destroy the place outside, at least.' ■' Moll V r \ " "f ' '''''^' '''""'y p^-^ •' ' -d dre!lr ''''"°°' ^°" ^^ ^^^^PP^ - ^^ -th its modern ' Happy,' said Nora, suddenly brought back to her sense of misery by the word. 'I am thankful that 2 father xs not so ill; but-but you must help Molly. Promise that you will.' MoilV^'TT yVu '"^'''"^ ^" ''" world,' said Molly I think I have been very good to-day. I have kept ni my naughty words, Jehoshaphat and Mos s and Elephants, and all the rest. What do you want me to do, Nora ? ' " ' Wo must get him out of that room,' said Nora, Light 0' the Morning. rr, ^M- I' „.,:;: I ill II 306 ALTERATIONS. ' Him ? You mean your father ? ' • Yes ; he will never recover there. I have been thinking an,] thinkino:, and I 'II have my plan ready by the morning ; only you must help me. I '11 g,,t Hannah Croneon to come in, and we '11 do it hotw^cn us if you can help me.' ' But what in it ? ' .said iMolly. 'I '11 tell you in the morning ; you wait and see.' Ill 307 t'< CHAPTER XXX. THE LION IN HIS CAGE. HE Squire was better, and not better. Ho Imd received a very nasty flesh-wound ll in the thigh; but the bullet ]md been ,p- extracted. There was not the sligl.test clue to the identity of his would-be murderer, riie Squire himself had said nothing. He had been ound ahnost bleeding to death by the roadside • the alarm had been given, and in tenor and conster' nation his own tenants had brought him home The Squire could have said a good deal, but he said no hing The police came and asked him questions, out he kept his lips closed. 'I didn't see the man,' he said after a pause. 'Some- body fired, of course ; but I can't tell who, for I saw no one ; it was from behind the hedge. Why the scoundrel who wanted to do for me didn't shoot a httle higher up puzzles me. But there, let it rest- let it rest.' And the neighbours and the country had to let it rest, for there was no evidence against any one. !li • iif (if 308 THE LION IN HTR CAGE. ■'li I Amon^rst those who canio to in.nuro after the Sciuire was Andy Neil. He came often, and was full of commiseration, and loudly cursed tlie brute who had very nearly done for his old landlord. But the neigjibours had suspicions with regard to Andy, for he had been turned out of his cot in the mountains, and was living in the village now. They scowled at him when he passed, and turned aside; and his own face looked more misera1)le than ever. Still, he came daily up to the big kitchen to inquire for the Squire. The doctor said there was no reason whatever why Mr O'Shanaghgan shoula not get nuite well. He was by no means old— not more than fifty ; there was not the slightest occasion for a break-down, and yet, to all appearance, a break-down there was. The Squire got morose ; he liardly ever smiled ; even Nora's presence scarcely drew a hearty guffaw from his lips. The doctors were puzzled. ' What can be wrong ? ' they said. But Nora her- self knew very well what was wrong. She and her father were the only ones who did know. She knew that the old lion was dying in captivity ; that he was absolutely succumbing to the close and smothered life which he was now leading. He wanted the free air of his native mountains ; he wanted the old life, now gone for ever, back again. 'It is true the place is saved, Norrie,' he said once to his daughter, 'and I haven't a word to say. I H" tlic S(|uire was full of brute who •d. But the to Andy, for e moiintains, hey scowled :le ; and his r. Still, he [uire for the latover why 11. He was lere was not and yet, to The Squire ven Norpv's ' from his Nora her- lie and her She knew hat he was Jthered life le free air d life, now i said once to say. I THE LION IX HIS CAGE. 309 would be the n.oHt un^^rateful do^. in existence if I breathed a single word of complaint. The place is Haved ; and thou^d. it nominally belon,.s now to your Uncle George, to all intents and purposes it is my place, and he gives me to understand that at my death It goes to my boy. Yes, he has done a noble deed, and of course I admire him immensely ' 'And .so do I, father,' said Nora; but she looked thoughtful and troubled ; and one day, after she had been m her father s room for some time, when she met her uncle m the avenue she spoke to him. 'Well, r,,y dear girl,' he said, ' what about comin.. back with me to England when I go next week ? ' " ' It IS not to be thought of, Uncle George. How can I leave my father while he is ill ? ' 'That is true. I have been thinking about him The doctors arc a little distressed at his growincr weakness. They cannot quite understand it. Tonics have been given to him and every imaginable thiru. bas been done. He wants for nothing ; his nourish" mcnt is of the best ; still he makes no way. It is puzzling.' 'I don't think so,' said Nora. ' What do you mean, my dear girl ? ' 'You might do all that sort of thing for an eagle you know,' said Nora, raising her clear eyes and fixing them on her uncle's face. ' You might give him every -^^ng m his prison, mucli more than he had when he was free ; but, all the same, ho would pine and-and ,;.| 310 THE LION IN HIS cahe. I if Mi .i'lfi: ml' V^ ho would die.' Tears rose to 11.. ^nV. oyos ; sho daHhed them away. •My dear little Nora, I rlon't in the least see the resemblance,' said Mr Hartrick, who felt, and perhaps justly, rather nettled. 'You ..,m to imply by your words that I have done your father an injury when I secured the home of his ancestors for him.' 'Oh! forgive me. Uncle GeorairhereissohcaIthv Do ether «tay. and tl.n porl.^^^ whe tlun,s are dmbrent, we nn^^ht both ..o back.' ' Of course tlnn.s will be different,' said Mr Hart- "ck. A new doctor is coming to see vour fmh next week^ and he will p..oba,>i;cl..;r^t^ he may order him fresh air. and befo.e Ion. ^J Ili have hnn stron. and well amongst us acnin H. absolutely nothing wrong except '-!!" ^^'' Wt 1, well, my dear eluid, I will think over your suggestion that MoP^, should stay with you and in the meantnne ren.mber that we' are all c mi^" o Shanaghgan for Christmas.' '^ 'All of you,' said Nora in dismay. ' Yes, all of us. Your aunt has never snpnf „ . i o.«a.h.-...a C,>™t,n. in Her m..Z T:!::^ English habits to tlii., pl„ce. We wii' m„.f ^^0,0, and have h,i,e\onfi.e3 ^Jd Tl-n: "of m<^ mere, Nora, you smile ; that pleases you • hand n, " ''''"'' *' ™''^- S'- ='id his hands m both ot hers, and then turned away. There never was any one kinder,' thought the * 312 THE LION ]N Ills CAGE. girl to herself ; ' but all the same he does not under- stand.' She re-entered the house and went up to her father's room. The Squire was lying on liis back. The days were now getting short, for November had begun. There ^xas a big fire in the grate; the Si.uire panted in the hot room. 'Just come in here,' he said to Nora. 'Don't make much noise ; lock the door — will you, pet ? ' Nora obeyed. ' Now fling the window wide open ; let me get a breath of air.' Nora did open the window, but the air was moist and damp from the Atlantic, and even she, fearless as she was, hesitated wlien she heard her father's cough. 'There, child, there,' he said; 'it's the lungs beginning to work properly again. Now then, you can sliut it up ; I hear a step. For Heaven's sake, Nora, be quick, or your mother may come in, and won't she be making a fuss ! There, unlock the door.' ' But you are worse, father ; you are worse.' ' What else can you expect ? They don't chain up wild animals and expect them to get well. I never lived through anything of this sort before, and it 's just smothering me.' Mrs O'Shanaghgan entered the room. 'Patrick,' she said, 'would you like some sweet- bread and a bit of pheasant for your dinner ? ' I \ -l '■ he duj's begun. Sifuire THE LION IN HIS CAGE. 313 'Do you know wl.at I 'd like ? ' roared the Squire M Vl "'''^^ P°^"^°' ''''^' ^ P"^«J^ of «^^It.' r„r^ .^^^^/^^^g%-n uttered a sigh, and the colour rushed into her pale cheeks as !he tr Tr ' . ''^' ^^"^^^"'- ^^^-'« h-'t beat as she noticed how feeble it was. She left the room because she could not stay there another i:::.' The tm^ had come to act. She had hesitated long, but she would hesitate no longer. She ran downstan-s. The first person she saw ^as Molly Well, said Molly, ' how is he ? ' 'Very bad indeed,' said Nora; 'there's not a « to lose. Something must be done, Ll ' What is to be done ? ' ^Jomo out with „,e; I have a thought in ,.y Nora and Molly went o„t.i,le. They crossed the avenue went along the plantation at Ihe 1>,«K, and soon found themselves in the hu„„ yard ptfo/tr '": "'* '' "'" "™- ^" -^ '^ pa.t ot the yard was a barn, and this barn Nora now tered. It was untidy ; the doors htted bad^ the floor was of clay. It was ,,„ite empty. Nora gave a sigh of relief. I dreamt of this barn last think it is th e very place. night,' she said. v\ ^i M |:| 314 THE LTON TN TIIS CAGE. ' l^'or what, Noi-a ; for wliat ? ' • I am going to liavc father moved here to-day.' ' Nora, what nonsense you are talking ! You will kill him.' ' Save his life, you mean/ said Nora. ' I am croino- to get a bedstead, a straw paillasse, and an ol,l hard "laUi-ess, and I am going to have them put luu-e • and we'll get a bit of tarpaulin to put on the floor' to prevent the damp coming up ; and I 'II p„t a curta,in across thus window so that he needn't have too nmeh draught, the darling; and there shall be nothino- else m the room except a wooden table. He shall have his potatoes and salt, and his bit of salt bacon It he wishes, and he shall have his great big bare room. I tell you what it is, Molly, he'll never .ret well unless he is bnjughi, here.' '^ What a girl you a,e ! Hut how will you do it ? ' Leave it to me. Do you mind .Iriving with me on the outside car as far as Cronano ? ' ' '^^^'"^ °"*^«^^^ ^^^r ? I have never been on it yet ' 'Oh, come along; rU introduce you to the sweetest conveyance in the world.' Nora's spirits rose at the thought of ii.nnediate action. ' Won't it surprise and delight him ? ' she said She went up to one of the grooms. He was an i^n^dish groom, and was somewhat surprised at the appearance of the young lady in the yard. ' What can I do for you, miss ? ' lie said. -day.' You will %m iroinfr old hard nt lioro ; tlie floor, a curt-iiin oo much nothinpi: He shall It bacon, )ig bare 3ver j^ct do it ? ' vith me ) yet.' to the mediate LC said. iVas an at the THE LION IN HIS CAGE. 315 -^I want AnguH,' answered Nora. ' Where is he ? ' wefe^'smiTr: i ':: '-^ ^^^ '''-' -™^^ ^^o were still left at Castle O'Shanaghgan. He now came forward in a sheepish kind of ;ay ^ but wh he saw Nora his face lit up. ^ ' ''^'" _B^!'] 't." 'V'" '°""' '' "" ^"^«'^^^ «-r at once —Black Bess if you can,' s.aid Nora. 'Yes. miss,' said the man 'with nU th^ 1 in life.' ' ^'^ '^"6 pleasure 'Don't take it round to the front door. Miss Molly an I .ant to drive to Cronane. You neet' con Lii ns, Aii"iis ■ iii""• l<"«lly. ma'am,' replied BKldy ; and ,t ,s sorry I an, that I had not time to change my dress and put on the pink one with the degant httle flounces that my aunt sent me from Uublin. • Oh, your present dress will do very well ' said Mrs O'Shanaghgan. suppressing an internal sluidder a the thought of Biddy at the renovated Castle ot OShanaghgan in her dirty pir.k dress with the flounces. 'But, Miss Murphy,' she continued, 'I am sorry that I cannot ask you to stay. The Squire is too unwell to admit of our having friends at present ' 'Oh, glory!' cried Biddy, 'and how am I to ^et back again ? Why, it was on your own outside car that I came across country, and I cannot walk all the way back to Cronane. Oh, but what a truly beautiful house ! I never saw anything like it. Why, it is a sort of palace.' Biddy's open admiration of the glories of O'Shan aghgan absolutely made the good mistress of the mansion smile. Mrs O'Shanaghgan felt that Nora did not really care for the beautiful place— the grandly furnished rooms had brought no enthusiasm Light o' the MnmiiKi ■,-, li' m Light o' the Morning. u 322 RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE. or dolio-ht to her heart. Nora had tried very hard to keep in her real feeliugH ; but Jier mother was quite Hharp enou. ree to join the othor con,spi™to.., and the gi.-l^ •lu.ckly becune Wends under these conditions Hannah pr„^„d herself a m«,t valuable ally. She w nsked about, dashing here and there, rii„„ ,. w^r wn,d of dust, but, in Nora's opinion, ertee.lng wonders. Angus also was drawn, into the ,„id.st of the fray. H,s delight and approval of Noras scheme was almost beyond bound.s. 'Ah, then,' he said, 'it's this will do the masther good. Oh then. Miss Nora, it's you that ha.s the cute ways, A tarpaulin was found and laid upon the floor. I rom Hamiahs cottage a .small deal table was fetched A washstand w.u, given by Angus ; a cracked tasin' an,I jug were further secured ; and Nora gave implicit dnecfons w>th regard to the boiling of the n'ealy potatoes and the little scrap of bacou on which the oquire was to sup. -You will bring them in-the potatoes, I mean-in then- jackets,- said the Irish girl, -and have then, hot as hot can be.' 'They shall screech, that they shall,' replied Hannah; 'and the bacon, it shall be done a^ tasty and sweet as bacon can be. I '11 give the last bit 324 RELEASE OF THE CAPTrVE. P-i,..'s" of my own little pigeen, with all the heart in the world, for the S(iuiro'H .supper.' Accordingly, when the long cart arrived from Cronane, accompanied by the Sciuire and his factotum, Mike, the barn was ready to receive the bedstead, the straw paillasse, and the mattress. Nora managed to convey, from the depths of the Castle, sheets, bbinkets, pillows, and a counterpane, and everxthing was in apple-pie order by the time the family was supposed to assemble for afternoon tea. This was the hour that Nora had selected for having the Squire removed from his feather-bed existence to the more breezy life of the barn. It was now the fashion at O'Shanaghgan to make quite a state occasion of afternoon tea. The servants, in their grand livery, were all well f-o the fore. Mrs O'Shanaghgan, dressed as be- came tho lady of so beautiful a place, sat in her lovely drawing-room to receive her guests ; and the guests came up in many conveyances — some in carriages, some on outside cars, some on dog-carts, some on foot ; but, come as "-y .would, they came,' day after day, to show th ii respects to the lady whom now the whole county ueiig^hted to honour. On these occasions Mr Hartrick sat with his sister, and helped her to entertain her visitors. It had been one of the sore points between Nora and her mother that the former would not appear to afternoon tea. Nora had made her sick father her excuse. On the present occasion she took good care not even to show rt in the 'ed from factotum, itead, the inaged to blankets, : was in Huppo.sed ;he hour removed ■eezy life naghgan Don tea. all well as be- in her and the some in 3g-carts, y came, lie lady )ur, 3 sister, ad been mother on tea. On the o show RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE. 825 her face ™icle the house. But Afolly k™t watch JUHt Wu„,l the ph.ntatio„, and .,oo„ rushed into the y^^ »y that the carriages .e. beginning to ■A curious party havo come just now,' said Moilv .n™c a d „,,.,,,,,, „.,,,^„,^^^. J^ 'Why, it must bt ,1,0 coacli of the O'Rorkes' Why Madam w,ll scarcely pay a visit to royalty .tsel . Ihore ,s no doubt that n.other is though! a ot of now. Oh dear, oh dear, what a frilf ^.ly society life we shall have to load here in future ■ But I have no time t« think of mother and her fnends just now .S,,uire, will you como up.,tairS w.th me to see father ? Hannah, pUuse wait down here to be ready t« help > Angus, you n.ust also come up.stm™, and wait in the passage outside the hqunes room until I send for you.' Having given her diroetion.s, ' No^a entered the house. All was quiet and peaceful. The well-trained English servants were, some of them, in the kitchen premises, and son,, of them attending in the hall and drawing-rooms, where the guests were now ariiv- .ng thick and fast. Nora had chosen her hour well She entered her father's room, accompanied by Sauire Murpny. The old Squire was lying, half-dozing, in his ■I ii.i in 326 RELEASE OP THE CAPTIVE. luxurious bed. TJie fire had been recently built up. The room felt close. ' Ah dear ! ' said S(|uire Murphy, ' it is difficult to breatlie here! And how's youi-self, O'Shanaghgan, my man ? Why, you do look drawn and pulled down. I a in right glad to see ye, that I am.' T]ie Squire of Cronane grasped the hand of tlie S(iuire of O'Slianaghgan, and tlie Stjuire of O'Slianaghgan looked up at Hie other man's weather- beaten face witli a pathetic expression in his deep-set, hawk-like, darl: eyes. 'I am bad. Murphy— very bad,' said the Squire; ' it 's killing me tJiey are amongst tliem.' 'Wiiy, then, it looks like it,' said Squire Murpliy. M never was in such a smotlieration of a place before. Faix, tlien, why don't 3-ou have the window open, a,nd have a bit of air circulating through the room ? ' ' It 's forbid I am,' said the Squii-e. ' Ah, Murphy ! it 's killing me, it 's killing me.' ' But it shall kill you no longer, father,' s..id Nora. 'Oh father! Scpiire Murphy and I have made up such a lovely, deli-ious plan. What would you sa^- to a big, bare room again, father; and a hard bed again, father ; and potatoes and a pinch of salt and a little bit of bacon again, father ? ' ' What would I say ? ' cried the Squire. ' I 'd say, glory bo to Heaven and all the Saints be praist^d \ but it is too good luck to be ti-ue.' up. RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE. S27 will L ;, T™ ;'"'' ''° "'"" >'°" "'^ bw- »*you will be m the hoigl.t of eontentraa.t " 'We have done it,' she cried, in conclusion; 'the no end of dmn.hts, and you "U get well i„ a jiffy/ ll.en )et s be c.uick/ said the S,|uu-e, 'or your Wy mother will be up and prevent „,e H.L" Ivora, for Heaven's sake ! For the life of „,e, don" g.ve me a eup of cold water to taste, and then dash ■t fi-om my hps. If „.e are not ,,„ick, we 'll be caught and prevented from going. I am ready ; wrap ■"e "p >n a rug, and carry mo out. I am ro.dy and -Ilmir. Oood-bye to feather-bedom. I don't want ever to see these fal-lals again.' Tl,e next few moments were one., of inten.se e.xcite- men ; but before ten minutes had elapsed the Squire was lyng in the middle of the hard bed. gazing round hm, w>th twinkling eyes and a smile on his lips. The appearance of Hannah Croncen, with a dish of steam- .ng potatoes and apiece of boiled bacon, wa.s the final erown to In's rapture. ; . i ,1 Be P 328 H '! .1 11 rfl) CHAPTER XXXII. ANDY. ^RE there any words in tlie language to describe tlie scene which took place at O'Shanaghgan when Mrs O'Shanaghgan discovered what Nora had done ? She called her brother to her aid , and, visiting the barn in her own august person, her com- pany dress held neatly up so as to display her trim ankles and pretty shoes, solemnly announced that her daughter Nora was guilty of the murder of her own father, and that she. Mrs O'Shanaghgan, washed her hands of her in the future. 'Yes, Nora,' said the irate lady, 'you can go your own way from tlii3 tii.ie. I have done all that a mother could do for you ; but your wildness and msubordi- ,tion are past bearing. This last and final act crowns all. The servants shall come into the barn, and bring your poor father back to his bedroom, and you shall see nothing of h'm again until the doctor gives leave.— Prav. Geo7-ge.' mn- tinued Mrs O'Shanaghgan. ' send one of the grooms ANDY. 329 She at once for Doctor Talbot. I doubt if my poor husband has a chance of recovery after this mad deed ; but we must take what steps M^e can.' 'Nov/, look here, Ellen,' said the Squire; 'if you can't bo aisy, be as aisy as you can. There "s no sort of use in your putting on these high-falutin airs. I was born an Irishman. I opened my eyes on this world in a good sharp draught, and, if I am to die, it's in a draught I'll leave the world; but, once for all, no more smotherations for me. I 've had too much of 'em. You say this child is likely to be the death of me. Why, then, Ellen— God foi-give yer ignorance, my poor wife— but it's the life of^me she '11 be, not the death. Isn't it in comfort I 'm lying for the first time since tliat spalpeen behind the hedge tried to fell me to the eartli ? Isn't it a good meal I 've just had ?— potatoes in their jackets, and a taste of fat bacon ; and if I can wash it down,' as I mean to later on, with a drop of mountain-dew,' why, it 's well I '11 slumber to-night. You 're a very fine woman, me lady, ard I 'm proud as Punch of you, but you don't know how to manage a wild Irishman when he is ill. Now, Nora, bless her pretty heart, saw right through and through me— the way I was being killed hy inches ; the hot room and the honid carpets and curtains ; and the fire, not even made of decent turf, but those ugly black coals ; and never a draught through the chamber, except when I took it unbeknownst to you. Ah, Nora guessed that her i 330 ANDY. father was dying, and there was no way of saving him but doing it on the sly. Well, I 'm Iiero, the girleen has managed it, and here I '11 stay. Not all tJie doctors in the land, nor all the fine Encdish grooms, shall take me back again. I 'H wall, b-xek when I 'm fit to walk, and I '11 do n.y best to bear all that awful furniture ; but in future this is my bed- room, and now you knov: the worst.' The S(iuire had a great colour in his face as he spoke ; his eyes were shining as they had not shone snice his accident, and his voice Avas ,iuite strong Squire Murphy, who was standing near, clanped him on the shouldei-. 'Why, Patrick,' lie said, 'it's proud of you I am ■ you 're like your old self again— blest if you 're not.' ' Nora, who was kneeling by her fat. r/s bed, kept her face slightly turned away from lu . mother- the tears were in her eyes, but there was a well of tlianksgiving in her heart. In spite of her mother's angry reproaches, she knew she had done the rio-ht thing. Her fatlier would get well now. After 111 his Irish daughter knew what he wanted, and she must bear her Englisli mother's anger. Ill an incredibly .short space of "time two or thre(^ of the men-servants appeared, accompanied by Dr Talbot. They stood in the entrance to' the barn prepared to carry out orders; but ud-^ -. stole past them the Irish groom, Angus, r.nd -..nnah Croneen. These two came and stood ne^.r Nora at «.»«.. ANDY. 331 the head of the bed. Dr Talbot examined the patient, looked round the cheerless barn, and said vnth a smile, glancing from Mrs O'Shanaghgan to U bhanaghgan's own face : 'This will never do; you must get back to your own comfortable room, my dear sir— that is, if I am to continue to attend you.' 'Then, for God's sake, leave off attending me lalbot, said the Squire. 'You must be a rare igno- ramus not to see that your treatment is kilhno- me out and out. It 's fresh air I want, and plenty of It, and no more fal-lals. Is it in my grave you 'd have me in a fortnight's time ? You getout of this and leave me to Mother Nature and the nursing of my Irish colleen.' This was the final straw. Mrs O'Shanaghgan left the barn, looking more ere. and more stately even than when she had entered it. Mr Hartrick followed her, so did the enraged Dr Talbot, and lastly the English servants. Squire Murphy uttered the one word, 'Routed!' and clapped his hand on his thigh. The Squire, h^^wever, spoke sadly. 'I am sorry to vex your lady mother, Nora.' he said ; 'and upon my soul, child, you must ^nt me wel^ as quick as possible. We must prove to her that we are m the right—that we must.' ' Have a dhrop of the crayther, your honour,' said Hannah, now coming forward. 'It's truth I'm r' :;i 332 ANDY. telling, but this is me very last hotV. o^ poiheea which I was kei^ping for me funeral ; bui there, his honour 's wilcome to every drain of it,' 'Pour me out a little,' said the Squire. He drank off the spirit, which wss absolutely pure and unadulterated, and smacked his lips. ' It 's fine 1 '11 be to-night,' he said ; it 's you that h;^^(> the 'cute ways, Nora. You huxa saved me But, indeed. I th.ir.k you all, my friends, for coming to my *'. liveraaoe.' Tha^ night, in her smoke-begrimed cabin, Hannah Croncoii described with much unction the way madam and the English doctor had been made to know their place, as slie expressed it. "Twas himself that put them down,' said Hannah. 'Ah, but he is a grand man is O'Shanaghgan.' Mrs O'Shanaghgan spent a very unhappy night. No comfort could she derive even from Mr Hartrick's words. Nora was an out-and-out rebel, and must be treated accordingly ; and as to the Squire -well when Nora attended his funeral her eyes might be opened. The good lady was quite certain that the Squn^e would have developed pneumonia by the mornmg; but when the reports reached her that he looked heartier and better than he had been since his illness, she could scarcely believe Iier ears. This, however, was a fact, for Mother Nature d" ' tep in to cure the Squire ; and the draughty barn, ■. , ., its lack of every or.ii.ary comfort, was so su. ;• to his soul •li I" #^ Nora caused him to roar with laughter as she described th Englisli and their ways. Page 333. ► ■ p^- \1 =*~^ ^ "'^">¥.,.; tile Page 333 ANDV. 333 that It began to J.avc an equally good effect upon his body Notwithstanding that it poured rain outside, and tha great eddies of wind catne from under the badly-httnig doors and in at the cracks of tlie small wmdows, the Squire ate his food with appetite, and began once again to enjoy life. In the first place he was no longer lonely. It was impossible for his old friends and retainers to visit him in the solitude of his grand bedroom; but it was perfectly easy not only for Squire Murphy and Squire Fitzgerald and half the other squireens of the neighbourhood to slip mto the barn and have a 'collogue,' as thev expressed it; but also the little gossoons in their ragged trousers and bare feet, and the girleens, with their curly hair, and roguish dark-blue eyes, to scuttle in also. For could they not dart under the bed like so many rabbits if madam's step was heard, and didnt the Squire, bless him! like to have them with him when madam was busy with her English friends ? Then Nora herself, the darling of his heart was scarcely ever away from him now. Didn't she sit perched like a bird on the foot of the hard bed and cause him to roar with laughter as she described the English and their ways ? Molly, too became a prime favourite with the Squire. It is sad to relate that he encouraged her in her naughty words and she began to say ' Jehoshaphat ! ' and Elephants ' ' and = Holy Moses ! ' more frequently than 334 ANDY. The jLnand fact of all, however, was this : the Squire was getting well again. About a week after his removal to the barn Nora was out rather .^ij j^ hersolf. She had been visiting hor favourite haunts by the seashore, and was returning laden with seaweeds and shells, when she was startled by hearing her name spoken in a low tone just behind her. The sound issued from a plantation of thick underwood. The girl paused, and her lieart beat a little faster. ' Yes. What is it ? ' she said. Theliext moment a long and skinny hand and arm were protruded, Nor.-'s own arn^ wjvs forcibly (tken possession of, and she was dr.ngged, against her will, into the underwood. Her first impulse was to cry out ; but being as brave a girl as ever walked, she quickly suppressed this inclination, and turned and faced the ragged and starved -looking man whom she expected to meet. 'Yes, Aiuly, T knev it was you,' said Nora. ' What do you want with me now ? How dare you speak to me ? ' ' How dare T ! What do you mane by that, Miss Nora ? ' ' You know what I n can/ answered the girl. Oh, I have been patient a.' a- not said a w^ ;>] , but do you think I did not low When all the country, Andy Neil, were looking for my father's svould-be murderer, I knew where I could put my hand ou him. ANDY. 335 But I du not ,suy a word. If .„y father had died I n.UHt-I n.u,st have spoken ; but if he recovered, I fe t hat n. me which I cannot describe as pity, |,„t wh,ch yet prevented n.y ,ivin,. y..., .,,, J. jttic!. you ckserv-e. But to meet me here, to dure to wuyh.y me— It IS too much.' ^^ 'Ah. when you speak Hke that you near madden ' me rephed Andy. ' . .ok at mo, Miss Xora ; look well ; look hard. Here 's the skin tight on n.e arumn and stretched «t to burst over n.e cheek-bones; and Jt s empty I am, Miss Nora, for not a bite nor sup have I tasted lor twenty-four Ixours. TJie neighbours they as took agen me. It has got whispering abroad' that ,t s meself handled the gun that laid the Squire on what might have been his deathbed, and they have turned agen me, and not even a pitaty can I get from em, and I can't get work nowhere ; and The rooi took off the little bit of a cabin in which I wis born and two of the childers have died fron. cowld and hnnger. That's n.y portion, Miss Nora; that's my bitter portion ; and 3-et you ashk me, mis. wIt I spake to ye.' , "^ I You know why I said it,' answered Xora. ihere was a timo when I pitied you, but not now. , b^ve gone too far; you have done that which no daughter can overlook. Let n.e go-let me go . don't attempt to touch me, or I shall scream out There are neighbours near who will come to my heln ' No, there are not,' said Andy. ' I tm took good 336 ANDY. care of tluit You may scream a,s loud as you please, but no oiu will hoar; and ir wo go fartiior into the underwood no one will see. Come, my purty miss ; it's my turn now. It's my turn at last. Come along.' Nora was strong and fearless, hut she had not Andy's brute strength. With a clutch, now so fierce and desperate that she wondered her arm was not broken, the man, who was half a madman, dragged her deeper into the shade of the underwood. ' There now,' said Andy, with a chuckle of tiiumph • •you has got to listen. You 're the light o' his eyes' and the darlin' o' his heart. But what o' that ? Didn't my childer die of the cowld and the hunger, and the want of a roof over them, and didn't I love them ? Ah ! that I did. D<. you remember the night I said I 'd drown ye in the Banshee's pool, and didn't we make a compact that if I lot ye go you 'd get the Squire to lave me my bit of a cabin, and not to evict me ? And how did ye kape your word ? Ah, my purty, how did ye kape your word ? ' 'I did my best for you,' said Nora. 'Yer bhest. A poor bhest when I've had to o-o But now. Miss Nora, I ain't waylaid you for nothin'.' The masther has escaped this time, and you has escaped ; but as shure as there is a God in heav'n If you don't get Squire to consint to let me go back' there '11 be mischief. There now. Miss Nora. I 've spoken. You're purty, and you're swate, and 'tis ANDY. you lia,s ^(,1 a tinder heart ; but no good, for I 'm nmd with that m 337 won't do you '«ery. It 'h mo bit of me. You may go Lack now, f,„. I ;., ^^ wl.nt I eomo to „ay ; but it '« to-n.o.Tow night I 'H be here tha I cmvo, for ,f you don't eo„,o, bo the powo.^ . ye 1 hnd that youVo played with firo when y™ neglected Andy Neil.' ^ Having uttered the«e word.s, the mi.serablo man < .-opped Noras arn, and vanished into the depths the plantation. Nora «t„,xl still for a mon.ent then return,,, .honghtfully and .lowly to the ho ' '" UaMo' lie Morning. U 388 •iJ r m CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. ;ORA slept little that ni• »°"'er c nrnr, 1 '" ?"• "' """"™ "^d Ph-e in his He had taken a great dislike to Andy Neil and to «o.ne other tenants of his class: he had L„ro::^L 340 THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN, Stronger eehug by tbeir open reniscance, and had declared t].at not all the Land Leagues in L-eland, not all the Fenians, not all the Whiteboys, were they banded together in one great insurrection, should inghten him from his purpose. Those tenants who defied him, who refused to pay the scanty rent which he asked for their humble cabins, should go out; they should, in short, be evicted. The other men had submitted to the Squire's iron dictation. They had struggled to put their pence and shillings together, and with some difficulty had met the question of the rent; but Andy Neil either could not or would not pay ; and the Squire had got the law, as he expressed It. to evict the man. There had cor»e a day when the wild tenant of the little cabin on the side of the bare mountain had come home to find his household gods exposed to the airs of heaven, the roof off his cabin the door removed from its hinges; the hearth, It IS true still warm with the ashes of the sods of turf which were burning there in the morning, but the whole home a ruin. The Squire had not hhnself witnessed this scene of desolation, but had given his stern orders, and they had been executed by his agent. When Andy saw the ruins of his home he gave one wild howl and rushed down the side of the mountam. His sick children-there were two of them in the cabin at the time-had been taken pity on by some neighbours almost as poor as himself • hnt and had n Ireland, wei-e tliey n, should efused to for their loiiid, in submitted sti'uggled her, and a of the ould not expressed ay when le of the ousehold f off hi.s hearth, sods of ing, but himself iven his by his ome he ■ of the two of en pity If: bufc THE CAI3IN ON THE MOLXTALV ^^^y homeless and childless Z f '"''" ""^^ "°^ way. He vowed ven<,eance V i'"™ I««t thing left to him r Hf Y"^""'" ™^ ""^ »^ wrongs or die S ",■,'•' """''' ""'""g" «» crouched behL eZ :V"\r *™'^- ''« "^^ he had .stolen from , n f L 7";,'' •"' "'" «"" which In the crucial Ze t' t::;':^,"^ r r '""'^«- the shot had lodged noti h ^ ■*°*' '"«' wound. The only one in\llt ff " ''™««-™^ And. .a. the ^.c::::^^:':-^'^-^^ easy for her in ,.,.^ , ^>oia, but it was -i'swor to,.: /r ""' '"° '°*'-"'«--- The to drown her , ,. ;''r:™- "''™ ''» "'-tened peetedh.„,;hn,;,tr„ir;;,r>- ^t™^- would not .sneak of I,. '""'.«"'« symp-ithy. she father's life .Csplj" -»?— " that i,s, if her hut his temner „,„I I f ^ '™ """='' '"='*<'>•; time., andllr \^;'''"-^^'' '" «""* f'"^' " Andy Neil, ''she '':::',l;7-"'' "-object of i'l 342 THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. roof where lie had first seen the light; but this natural request, so dear to the heart of the Squire himself, under altered circumstances, would not weigh with him under existing conditions. The mere fact that Andy still threatened him would make him more determined than ever to stick to his purpose. Nora did not dare to give her father even a hint with regard to the hand which had fired that shot ; and yet and yet— oh, God help her ! she must do something or the consequences might be too fearful to contemptate. As she was dressing on the following morning she thought hard, and the idea came to her to take the matter into her own hands, and herself give Andy leave to go back to his cabin ; but, on reflection she found that this would be no easy matter, for the cabins from which the tenants were evicted were often guarded by men whose business it was to prevent the wretched creatures returning to them No doubt Andy's cabin would be now inaccessible ; still, she might go and look at it, and, if all other means failed, might venture to beg of her father's agent to let the man return to it ; but first of all she would see the place. Somewhat cheered as this determination came to her, she ran downstairs. Mr Hartrick was returning to England by an early train, and the caniage, which was to convey him to the station, was already at the door. Mrs O'Shanaghgan was almost tearful at the thought of parting Jith her beloved brother. Molly, delighted at" being ; but this tlio Squire not weigh mere fact him more >se. Nora hint with '> ; and yet, lething, or titemplate. >rning she take the ive Andy reflection, atter, for e evicted 5S it was to them, ccessible ; all other ■ father's •st of all d as this lirs. Mr fly train, n to the inaghoan mg it w'ith being THE CAIUN O.V THE MOUNTAIN. 343 allowed to stay on at tlio P.^fi but \^n,..>' / •^^^^' ^^'^'^ aI«o present- but Aoias entrance on tlie scene caused Mrs ON. ' aghgan to speak fretfully. ^^'^"- ' Late as usual, Nora ' s-nVl fi, + 1 1 f-in. ho,. Caught. ,:• ^^^- *"■-"« »'■ xtart. for England. I ,vo I , ^°"'' "'"'" have tokon iC t„,^u'~ °"*"- ''"*""-• "'at you again she will T ., ^'t'"'"^ ^''^ ^^^^^ to '-^no uui, i am sure, retrrn fr. t? 1 , resume her stu'™ '«■ ■■"' f .•-''■•'•-'■'■'■'-> I ^no .i:n::r'd- it IS verv fmr^fi f , -^^ neart and fet her get too wild.' ^ ''"'• ""'' »"'' '« -i7J^" H':::,ek''"'' '"r-^ '°- ^•°'"- ™"'' ^-^ ^ • 'iear; he at, ,lr:;\;,^ "''"';''■ "'-^■""'■">- hand on her should 7 , , ' *'"'' '""' '">'"« ''« i'ti snouifier and look no- with ]„•« i-;, 7 into her face 'fn .. j "^ ^Mtn di.s kn id eyes i.iLc, to send your Amif n,. . special messn<.e • for von fl . I '"' ''""•^ ..!.,,, ,... " ' 7"^ ^°" ^'^^^ ti'y ber terribly. Nora MoUv T" ""' "^^ ''"^ ^^^ -^«"^««'f' but^induced ■t«ioUy to accompany you.' ' ^uucea * ''I 344 THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. Nora hesitated for a moment, the colour flamed into her face, and her eyea grew very bri^j-ht. 'Tell her. Uncle George,' she said, speaking slowly and with great emphasis, ' that I did what I did for father. Tell her that for no one else but father would I hurt her, and ask her to forgi^'e mo just because I am an Irish girl ; and I love—oh ! I love my father so dearly.' 'I will take her your message, my dear,' said Mr Hartrick, and then he stooped and kissed his niece. A moment later ho was about to step into the carriage, when Nora rushed up to him. Good-bye ; God bless you ! ' she cried. ' Oh, how kind you have been, and how I love you ! Please, please, do not misunderstand me; I have many cares and anxieties at present or I would say more. You have done splendidly, only ' ' Only what, Nora ? ' said her uncle. 'Only, Uncle George,' answered the girl, 'you have done what you have done to please my mother, and you have done it all in the English way ; and oh i the English way is very fine, and very noble, and very generous ; but— but we did want the old bare rooms and the lack of furniture, and the place as it always has been ; but we could not expect— I mean father and I could not expect— you and mother to remember that.' 'It was impossible, Nora,' said her uncle. ' What I did I did, as yuu express it, my dear, in the English flamed ™E CABm OK THE MOUNTA.N. 345 "t ka.t, wi„ t,„„k ,:o t ?; ""V^-'-'^-v you- tion to 0'Sl,anagl,gJ. "« '''■™«'" '"'"™- A moment later Afr- w..,+ • i '»e .■00,,,, »d No,.a foun ^^^t!""' '-f '^'' cousin Molly. " "'"'"^ witli her 'Whatisit, N^ra?'said Mollv 'V > , pale and anxious.' ^ ^o» look quite ; I look what I foel/ .said Nova. ^^ "'>--- for a drive with me this naorniriff ? You know well tliat I should ' Of course I wjlj, like notLinij better ' bring it round to the eorler rf T 1 ""' """^ '" do not want any one to knl P''"'ta«o„. I I Will drive Black bI lyLT' ""' '^" ^"^'^ '^at ■•ng. and .soon fe7, r^.^'V'T '^^ *""' -"- flying through tl'e hire/ ^ ° ""^ ^°"y «>•« <'i.-ecrion of Sl"l N ""*"» ^""'^ » «>^ mountain thf . it/TT" ^' "'^ *-' "^ «>« Be...-, rein, t'th! :rr;'- ,^"^ '-'^^d Black --n.heandMo,,;h;n::r:::Lru„:: 346 THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. It w,« a glonous winter's day ; the air wa, mild a. it Mly ,., in the west of Ireland, and the sun ^h n w,th power. Nora and Molly walked quickly. Nora who wa, aee„sto,ned to elin.bing fron, ij earliest year,, sealed the roeks, and jun.ped from one tiny pi-ojeefon „, the ground to another; but Molly found her ascent more rUfflnnlf t!i and Pnll 1 , ' ''^*'' '°^" °"^ o^ breatli, and called m lauglnn. tones to Nora to wait for her Forgwe me/ said Nora; • J- 'i'^'Ve seldom or never climbed even a respectable hill, far less a mountain with sides like this one.' mountain _ We will reach the spot which I am aiming for before long/ .aid Nora; < but if you are tired d sit down, and I '11 go on alone ' prese'ntiv'T"-'/''"^ "°"^' "^* ^^^^ < -^^ pr^ ntly the gn-Ls reached a spot where once a mil ca in had stood. The walls of the cabin were «till here, but the thatched roof had disappeared e doors and windows had been removed, and he blackened earth where the hearth had been burnt there for long generations. But there was no lire now on the desolate hearth. 'Oh dear!' said Nora. 'It makes me cry to look at the place. Once lona In, P Terrv o,ul t .• ^' ^^"^ ^^O' when Atrij and 1 were tinv ehildron .,. ""^ t-"iiuion, we came up here THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN. Andy's wife wa.s alive then „, potato each and a pinch 'of S47 and she gave us a hot salt. We ate the they tasted ! Little I)otatoe.'' Mike was a baby snoh o then wu.,ea. now it « a desolation """""" Mo ,y;""'c IT f T: ' ^"°""' "'^' "---«' eveHived W tW '' '" "'""' " ''"^'^'^ awav It ? ^'"■'°" ""'' ■=" «'"« '° have got away. It make,, ,„e „i,u <(;ins, Nora went into the house. It was a ver>^ H^r.all and shabby house, furnished in Irish style, &vaI^ presided over by Mrs Finnigan, a very stout' untidy, and typical Irishwoman, with all the good nature and savoir-faire of her countrywomen. •Aw, then. Miss Nora,' she said, 'I am glad to see you. And how 's the Squire ? ' 'Much better, thank you,' said Nora. 'Is your husband in, Mrs Finnigan ? ' 'To be sure, deary. Finnigan 's abed still. He was out late last night. Why, listen ; you can hear him snoring ; the partition is thin. He snores loud enough to be heard all over the house.' 'Well, do wake him, please, Mrs Finnigan,' said Nora. 'I want to see him on a most important matter at once.' 11. I hope said Nora, mountain, lack Bess tress had id sprang and they back to nough to ig Black It \v !H a isli style, ry stout, the good id to see 'Is your m. He i!xn hear res loud m,' said tiportant THE CABIX ON THE MOUNTAIN. 349 ^ 'Then, that being the case, honey, you just step into the parlour while I go and get Finnigan to rise and dress himself.' Mrs Finnigan threw open the door .,f a very untidy and small room. Several children havii... break- fast by a table which bore traces of tish-bones?potato- peelmgs, and bacon-rinds. The children were untidy like their mother, but had the bright, very dark-blue eyes and curly hair of their country Nora knew them all, and was soon in the midst of a clamorous group, while Mrs Finnigan went out to get her hus- band to rise. Finnigan himself appeared in about a quarter of an hour, and Nora went with him into his little study. 'Well, now,' said that worthy, 'and what can I do for you, Miss O'Shanaghgan ? ' Nora looked very earnest and pleading. 'My father is bettor,' she said, ' but not well enough yet to be troubled with business. I understand that you are doing some of his business for him Mr Finni ^ vO. ^ o^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) Y A 4r I A A ^ 1.0 If I.I It ilM L25 i 1.4 22 1.6 V <^ /. riiuiu^cipiiiC Sciences Corporation €^'' ,\ ^ ^ n„,,,, /„„ "^^ me when you talk like tliaf ■ Then rfo trust me, father, and don't ask me ™v q»o,t,„ns. I -11 tell yo„ by.a„d-by_yo» I fa" .fZ P-n,.se, but I .hall be busy to-day' I may h .' o^ want Molly to help mo. Can yo„ do without me . ' Cquno. A.S ,f I cannot do without you, you little p.eee of .mpertinenee. To be sure, and t; I «u " I can Why, there ,s your lady mother ; she '11 con,e all her grumbles. Nora, my heart, it is dreadful to too comfortable you have been making me and I o-.ght to have a bit of what I do not like o keep me humble^ You go .along now. and come back whe^ you have done th-^ -i --' • -- the brim.' ., ) ^it which ia filling _^.our heart to 356 A DARING DEED. ^ora kisserl her father very gravely; she then went out of the barn, and returned to where An-us and Hannah, and also Molly, were waiting for her." 'I have thought how I can manage, Miss Nora' said Angus. ' When those Englishmen-bad cess to em !— are at dinner I '11 get the long cart out of the yard, and I '11 put the white pony to it, and then it 's easy to get the big tarpaulin that we have for the hay- rick out of its place in the west barn. I have every- thing handy ; and if you could come along with me Miss Nora, and the other young lady, and if Hannah here will lend a hand, why, we '11 do up the place a bit. and the poor forsaken crayther can die there at least.' 'Do not forget the basket of provisions, Hannah' said Nora, 'the potatoes, and the bacon, and a tiny bottle of potheen ; and do not forget some fagots and bits of turf to kindle up the fire again. Oh, and Hannah, a blanket if you can manage it ; and we might get a few wisps of straw to put in the bottom of the cart. The straw would make a fine bed. 'To be sure,' said Hannah. 'You lave it to me me beautiful young lady.' ' The two servants now departed, and Nora and her cous,„ ^ent into the house. The early dinner, or rather lunch, as it was now called, was served soon afterwards ; and almost immediately after the meal wa^ over Nora and Molly ran down to the bottom A DARING DEED. S57 of the plantation, where they found Angus, Hannah the long cart with the pony harnessed to it, and thJ tarpaulin, straw, basket of provisions, &e.. all placed in the bottom. ' Jump in, Molly,' said Nora. M«%;f^"^bled in as best she could; Nora followed her ; and Hannah, climbing in over the left wheel sat (L^n at the bottom of the cart. Angus Jumped on the drivers seat, and whipped up the pony. The pony was stout and very strong, and well accus- tomed to Irish hills. They were off. Molly had never been so rattled and bumped and shaken in the whole course of her life, but she enjoyed it, as she said, immensely. Only, what was Nora doing ? The tarpaulin had been carefully hidden from view by the straw which Angus had cunningly placed over and not under it ; and it was well that this was the case, as after the little party had left O'Shanaghgan a couple of miles, they were met by John Finnigan driving on his outside car. ' Why, then, Miss Nora, what are you doing now ? ' he said. 'Having a drive for my own pleasure,' replied -INora, nodding gaily. Finnigan looked with suspicion at the party, but as there was nothing contraband in anybody driving in a long cart, and as he could not possibly guess what they were doing, he drove on his own way without saying anything further. After less than 358 A DARINWj DEE]). a« hours ,I,.ivii,g tl.cy roach.il tl,o fuot of SHove Na«o,„a nn,l hero 0,c real toil began, for it wa., ,|„ito "ni.o.,s,l,lc for the pony, willing a, he wa., to lug the C'"-t up the n.ountuin. Where there is a will how- over, there is generally a way ; an.l although the I«"y co„l,l not .Irag the cart up, he eouM go „„ innsell, ,en,g ve,y „ure-foote,l and ,|uite willing to bo turne,! „,to a beast of burden for the nonce The I'-avy farpaulin, therefore, was fastened on his back |""l. w.th Angus lea,ling and Hannah following with the basket of provisions, and the two girls nniking up I'o m-.r, the little eavaloa.le started forward Oh how hot ,t seemed, and oh, how tired Jfolly „ot ' But "■•ver mind ; they were n.aking progress. After a tune hey reached the site of Andy's cabin, and l.en Angus and Hannah developed strength which -riy took Molly's breath away, for the tarpaulin 7' ^''^ol'-toly lifted up and deposited as a sort of temporary roof over the roofless walls; .and when tins ha• "onr by; and the straw was ready, soft and "mt.ng, ,n a corner not too far .away fron, the fire, ami the bl.ankets were spread over it; and the basket o prov,s,on,,, COM boile.l potatoes, cold bacon, and the lit le bottle of potheen were all left handy. It was mJeed a n.iseraUe home, but, compared to the de.solate A DARING DEED. «ro appearance it had pro.sentorl if . i , . -fo..u,,. No,.a ,L,..;;u;,;: ;:j:'-:^:'-- At the ap|)oi„teJ hour that ..vi.,„-,„r v ilown to the sho,-,. «i <■ , """"« '^"ra wont Neil w.,;/ f , "^ "•'^l'"'^"^'' '" «'"! A.Kly JMt.ll waiting loi- her. WilJ ,,,„i i„,if ■ ' wa.s, he kept his sel£-ma,l, ''"''-'"»">"' as he She wandered aho C ."Cr'"'^ '" " '•"'"■ "oti- her; for .she k,,r\h , i; J "i "r' """'" thought for a si„,de nioi, nt 1 s, ""*'"'" befriending And,, L would lo ' 1''; ZrT' unturned to cireu.nvent her. He Z -e .^t, d"': h« powe« of evicting tenants, and. as h had ,1 Squire's pennis.sion to do hi.s worst on this would he the last nian in the won: : :riri^ grip. Nora, however, wandered about in vain ■ there w^ no sign of Andy. She even ventured 'gf: the_^borders of the plantation ,nd .softly cad h!: Cdtrl;t„!:"fr''V''" ''"■ '-' "° ^-^^ i 1 , „ "" '"'■'"y neivous. Why wis Andy not there ? What eould possibly have happ'^n d it" ^"■■ned slowly and thoughtfully to the hoiL^e' It would not do to show any alarm, but she certain ^ Ut the rever.se of comfortable. What had happened to the man . «ho did not for a moment think that i '\ ^^'*-^v,. 360 A DA RING DEED. he could bo dead ; on tho contraiy, 8ho pictured him alive and still more insane than tho ni<;}it before, still more desperate in his mind, still more darkly pursued by the grim phantom of revenge. Was Andy now BO really insane that he had even foi-gotten his ap- pointment with Nora ? This was probably the case. But although the man was too insane to think of meeting the girl, he was probably not at all too insane to make another attempt on the Squire's life. He was perhaps so desperate now that his one idea was to carry out his revenge before ho died. What was Nora to do ? She thought and thought, and walked up to tlui house with more and more lagging footsteps. Finally she made up her mind. There was nothing whatever left for it but for her to sit up with the Squire that night ; she herself must bo his guardian angel, for he must not be alarmed, and yet most certainly he nuist be protected. Nora care- fully considered this idea. She had made the h'ttle cabin quite ready for Andy's reception; he could creep into it once move, light his fire, eat his food, and lie down on the bed at least, as good as any other bed he had ever slumbered on ; and if death came to him, it would find him in his old house, and perhaps God would forgive him, seeino- that he Avas so desperate and life had been so hard. Yes, Nora felt tliat God was very merciful — far, far more merciful than man. But to-night — how was to-night to be got through i She had now ^«ifci A DAUIN'*! DKED. 3(51 reached the yard, and found herself face to face with Angus. ' Is there nothing I can do for you, rniHs ? ' said the young man, touching liis hat respectfully to the girl. ' If you could be near somewhere, Angus, and if it were necessary, and we wanted the long cart to-night, could we get it ? ' • You ask me, Miss Nora, what we could get and what we could not get at O'Shanaghgan,' answered Angus ; ' and I answer ye back that what ye want, Miss Nora, ye shall have, if it is the heart out of me body. The long cart, is it ? To be sure, me pretty lady, and at a moment's notice, too. Why, it 's meself will slapo in the bottom of the long cart this blessed night, and all you has to do is to come and pull the front lock of me hair, and I '11 be up in a iiffy. You give it a sharp tug, Miss Nora, for I shapes heavy; but if you come, the long cart and the powny will be there.' ' Then that 's all right,' answered Nora. She went into the barn. The Sfiuire had now contrived to renew all his old accustomed habits. On the little wooden table was a small lamp which smoked badly; the local paper was laid on the table, and the pipe which the Squire best loved lay near. He had been enjoying a good smoke, and was thinking of turning in, as he expressed it, when Nora appeared. ■/%*!^sf.:-*. 362 A DARIXG DEED. ' Good-uight, father,' she s;.i(l. She went up to him, and bent down over him, to give him her accuHtomed kiss, ' Why, then, it 's sh^epy I am,' said tiie Squire. ' I am thinking of turning into bod. I am getting on fine ; and Angus, boy that he is, always comes and gives me a, helping hand on to my bed. I cannot see your face with the smoke of that lamp, mavour- neen ; but tilings are all right — aren't they ? ' 'That they are, father,' replied the girl; 'but I am a little tired ; and if Angus is coming to help you, and you do not want anything mo-e from me, I will go to bed myself.' 'Do that,' said the Squire. 'Your voice sounds peaky; y)u have been doing too much.' Nora lingered another moment or two. How thankful she felt that that smoking lamp prevented her father reading the anxiety in her eyes ! She could not keep all the tiredness out of her voice, but she could at least teep anxiety from it ; and the Squire bade her a hearty good-night, and parted with her with one of his usual jokes. Nora then went into the house. The hour for late dinner was over ; she herself had not been present, but Molly had managed to appear as usual. Nora ran down to the kitchen premises. The cook, a very stately English- woman, stared wdien she saw the young lady of the Castle appear in the great kitclien. ' What is it, Miss O'Shanaghgan ? ' she said, ^azinf ig" ^^m^ A DARING DEED. 363 at Nora all over. What did this wild and eccentric girl want ? How was it possible that she could demean herself by coming so freely into the ser- vants' premises ? ' I want to know, Mrs Shaw,' said Nora, ' if you will oblige me ? ' ' Of course I will, Miss O'Shanaghgan ; if I can.' • Will you pack a little basket with some cold pie, and anything else tasty and no^irishing which you have got ; and will you put a ti..^ bottle of brandy into the basket, and also a bottle of water ; and can I have it at once, for I am in a great hurry ? ' 'Well, there is a fresh pigeon-pie in the larder,' answered the cook ; ' but why should you want it ? ' ' Oh ! please, Mrs Shaw,' answered Nora, ' will you give it to me without asking questions ? I will love you for all the rest of my life if you will' ' Love me, is it ? ' thought the cook. ' A pretty creature like that love me ! ' 'Your love is cheaply purchased, miss,' she said aloud, and then went without a word into the larder, and soon returned with a well -filled basket, which she placed in Nora's hand. ' And I added some fruit, a little cup of jelly, and a knife and fork and a spoon, and some salt; but why you. Miss Nora, should need a picnic in the middle of the night beats me.' ' Remember our conipact,' said Nora. ' You say nothing of this, and — I love you ; ' and then, 364 A DARING DEED. overcome by a sudden impulse, she bent forward and laid the lightest of kisses on the astonished Mrs Shaw's forehead. Mrs Shaw felt slightly overawed. 'Bless her! What a beautiful young lady she is ! ' thought the good woman. ' But the ways of the Irish beat all comprehension.' forward istonislied loss her ! 'Ui,fht the t beat all 365 CHAPTER XXXV. THE COT WHERE HE WAS BORN. ;ORA avoided Molly that night. On reflec- tion, it occurred to her that it would be best for Molly to know nothing of her design. If she were in complete igno- rance, no amount of questioning could elicit the truth. Nora went into her bedroom, and changed her pretty jacket and skirt and neat sailor- hat for a dark-blue skirt and blouse of the same material. Over these she put a long, old-fashioned cloak which at one time had belonged to her mother. On her head she tied a little red handkerchief, and, having eaten a small portion of Mrs Shaw's provisions, she left the room. It was already night-time; and Mrs O'Shanaghgan, Molly, and th3 servants had gone to bed. Nora now locked her door from the outside, slipped the key into her pocket, and, her basket of provisions partly hidden under the falls of her cloak, ran downstairs. The dogs generally slept in the big hall ; but they knew 366 THE COT WHERE HE WAS BORN. Ill Nora's step, and rose slowly, wagging their heavy tails. Nora patted them on their heads, gave them each an endearing word, and stooped to kiss pretty Cushla on her black foreliead. She tlicn softly unbolted one of the windows, lifted the sasli, and got out. She carefully shut the window as noiselessly as she had opened it. She now found herself on the grassy sward in the neighbourhood of the drawing- room. Under the old regime that sward was hard, ^ and knotty tufts of weed as well as grass grew up here and there in profusion; but already, under the English government, it was beginning to assume the velvet-like appearance which a properly-kept lawn ought to have. Nora hated to feel such softness; she disliked everything which seemed to her to flavour of the English and their ways. There was a hot, rebellious feeling in her heart. Why should these things be ? Why should not her Irish land and her Irish people be left in their wild freedom ? She ran round to the yard. Angus had received instructions to leave the little postern door on the latch, and Nora now opened it and went softly in. The moon was beginning to rise, but was not at the full. There was, however already sufficient light for her to see each object with distinctness. She went and sat down in the shadow made by the great barn. She sat on the step of the barn, wrapping her warm cloak tightly round her, and keeping her basket of pro- THE COT wiikim: he was born. dr heavy ive them S8 pretty- in Koftly and got aiselessly f on the Irawing- as luird, grew up ^ under ) assume rly-kept disliked • of the ibellious tigs be ? I people round ions to d Nora ion was There to see nd sat I. She n cloak )f pro- 367 visions by lu-r side. Here she would sit all nicrht if necessary. Her vigil might have no result, but at any rate it would ou, ire her fallu-r from danger. For now only over No.-a's dead body could the wild Andy Neil approach the S.iuire. 'Andy shall kill me first,' she thought; ' and if I (lie, I will scream and father will waken. Angus is on the watch ; the alarm will be gi^■en ; at least my father's lif,. will be spareht beats my comprehension. In my old velveteen jacket and knee-breeches I am a man in this tomfoolery I do not feel as good as my own footman.' ' You look very well in your dinner-dress all the same, O'Shanaghgan,' said Mr Hartrick. And ho added, glancing from Nora to her father, 'I am glad to see you quite recovered.' 'Ah ! it's she has done it,' said the Squire, draw- ing Nora forward and pressing her close to his heart. 'She's a little witch. She has done fine things for me, and I am a happy man to-night. Yes, I will own to it now, I 'm a happy man ; and perhaps there are more things in the world 388 'I'm A HAPPY MAN.' than we Irish people know of. Since I have my barn to sleep in I can bear the house, and I am much obhged to you, George— much obliged to you. But all the same, it 's downright I 'd have hated you' when you altered this old place past knowing, had It not been for my little girl, Light o' the Morning as I call her.' ^' THE END.