Now there dawned an apparently very happy time in the life of little Margot St. Juste. Her whole heart was full of love, and with love was also a keen interest for the Desmonds of Desmondstown. Of course grand-dad,thegrand-dad, came first, but next to him was Uncle Fergus. As they talked together over the trees they were planting, and the fruit that would come to perfection from the same trees, the little girl rejoiced at the thought that her small efforts were bringing comfort and riches to the home of her ancestors.
In short, whenever she was not with grand-dad, she was with Uncle Fergus, who threw himself into his work as indeed a son of the soil. It was amazing to see this fine-looking man digging, delving, ploughing, arranging. He also got Phinias Maloney to assist him, and in an incredibly short space of time the brick wall was built and the tiny trees planted, which were to bring forth such a rich harvest by-and-bye. Then Margot suggested strawberries and UncleFergus made a strawberry plot. Then she suggested raspberries and gooseberries, to say nothing of various sorts of roses, little bush roses which would go on flowering during the greater part of the year.
Whatever Margot suggested, Fergus obeyed. He had not been so happy since he had left Old Trinity. Margot called herself his assistant gardener, and The Desmond came out now and then to watch the pair with pride.
"Wherever does the avick get the money, Madam?" he said more than once.
But Madam would only shake her head and say they might safely leave it in the hands of Fergus.
The Desmond happened to make this remark one day at the mid-day meal and in the presence of Reparation. Reparation was going back to England in a couple of days now. She dreaded the thought beyond words. What was grand-dad going to do when he was left to the complete wiles of the little Comtesse? She dreaded "grand-dad," as she called him privately to herself, inexpressibly. She wouldn't dare utter a word in his presence. As to The Desmond, he hardly ever gave the bit colleen a thought. She was welcome to stay in the old house if she didn't bother him, but Margot was equally determined that Reparation should go.
She was not thoroughly happy with her about.As a matter of fact she was not sure of her. There was a light which she could by no means admire or trust in the small, light-blue eyes of Tilly of England. In short, she avoided her as much as possible, but Tilly was completely taken up with young Aunt Norah and young Aunt Bridget, whom she called by their Christian names, and said that they looked a lot younger than herself.
"I'm fourteen," she said, "but you—you are only kittens!"
Now nothing could please the Misses Desmond more than to be compared to kittens, and they petted Tilly when she talked to them in this strain, and thoroughly believed her. But Tilly had her own object in view. She did not want to leave Desmondstown, and said that she thought the best possible thing she could do would be to explain certain matters to The Desmond. These matters would of course relate to Margot and would require a great deal of courage.
Nevertheless she believed she might manage it and as the days flew by and as the time of her departure approached, so the more strongly did she make up her mind to the final and great step.
Now Malachi was a man of his word. For that matter all the Desmonds were truthful. Malachi had promised to teach Tilly to ride, and he took herout on a broken-down old mare, a creature so feeble and slow that the timidest person could not fear when seated on her back.
Tilly bore with the mare for a few days, but then she became discontented. She saw Norah and Bridget fly by on thoroughbreds of rare spirit. They bounded over hedges and gates and ditches, they seemed to tread the very air. Tilly got jealous of them and also became exceedingly tired of her slow old mare.
There happened to be a horse in the stable, a young and exquisite creature whom Malachi was taking special care of. He was a thoroughbred from Donegal, and was not yet quite broken in, but every day Malachi put on a sort of skirt and rode sideways on the spirited and lovely creature, and gradually brought the horse into training. He obeyed Malachi's slightest touch. He was of a deep chestnut in tone with a white star on his forehead. His points were perfect, and Malachi was teaching him, as he expressed it, "to 'lep' over everything, so that he might be fit for the hunting when it began."
One day he brought the horse "Starlight" home covered with foam and somewhat disturbed in his temper.
"There now, old boy," said Malachi, "you'll have your feed of the whitest of white oats, andbe ready for another try over that wide ditch to-morrow."
Malachi, as was his custom, spoke his words aloud. He was busy all the time washing down and rubbing the beautiful creature. He then took him to his stall, and said, "Good old boy, dear old boy! You'll be fit for that very wide ditch to-morrow. You funked it a bit to-day but you won't ever again. How then, eat, my mannikin, eat."
"That's a lovely horse," said Reparation standing at the door.
Malachi gave a start when he saw the ugly little girl.
"To be sure he's a jewel, no less," was his instant rejoinder.
"I'd like well to ride him, Malachi," said Reparation. "I'm tired of the old mare. She's so slow—she only crawls. I want to fly like Norah and Bridget and you on Starlight. May I ride Starlight to-morrow, Malachi?"
"May you!" exclaimed Malachi. "Do I want to see yourself broken into little bits? You keep away from this horse. He's not for you."
"But why not?" asked Tilly, coming into the stable now and approaching close to the animal.
"Keep back, if you want to keep your features,"said Malachi. "He'll kick out if he looks at you, as sure as my name is Malachi Desmond."
"Why should he, Malachi?" but Tilly stepped back a pace or two as she spoke. "Why shouldn't I ride Starlight? What are you keeping him for? And you do look such a figure of fun, Malachi, dressed like an old woman with a skirt over you."
"I'm training the horse for my niece," said Malachi. "He'll be ready for her long before she goes back to that place in France, drat it! There now, you'll never manage more than the mare, Tilly, and I can't stand talking to you any more. Be off and play with the gurrls. They've come in from their ride, and I am sure they are willing enough to amuse you."
"Take my hand for one minute, Malachi," said Tilly.
Malachi with extreme unwillingness complied and led the little girl out of the stables. He shut the door behind Starlight, who was enjoying his oats and feeling soothed and comfortable. He did not like his training at all, but afterwards there always came the wash down and the rub down and the delicious tender white oats, and he couldn't unseat Malachi, try as he would.
"Is that beautiful horse really for the shopkeeper?" inquired Tilly.
"It's for no shopkeeper. What on earth do ye mean? It's for my niece, the pushkeen; and I've saved up and sent for an elegant habit for her to Cork. It will arrive any day now. There, I can't talk to ye any more, ye are so downright foolish."
"Come and play horses with us, Till," said Norah, who appeared at that moment.
As a matter of fact Norah had been standing in the vicinity of Starlight's stable for the last few minutes, and certain words uttered by Tilly had aroused her curiosity.
"Why ever did ye go ballyragging Malachi?" she exclaimed. "He's not a boy to be put out when he's over the horses. Leave him to himself and come with me. Biddy and I and the curate, Mr. Flannigan, are going to have a jolly play."
"I'm willing to come," said Till.
"Well, you must be prepared to run, while the others follow. I say, Till, whatever nonsense did you talk to Malachi about the pushkeen's horse?"
"I said it wasn't a horse fit for a shopkeeper," replied Tilly.
"Well, and whoever said it was? It is for the pushkeen, the sweetest pet in the world. Why, me old father, he is fit to devour her with love."
"For all that she is the shopkeeper," said Tilly. "She keeps a shop at Arles. She goes to the shop;every day of her life, when there, and sells things and calls herselfla petiteComtesse, and they all buy from her, more especially the farmers' wives, and she puts on the price like anything. She's a real, real shopkeeper, but I can't see why she should get a beautiful horse like Starlight, and I should have nothing but a stupid old mare who will hardly stir her stumps. You come in, Norah, flying over every obstacle, and there's that beauty being got ready for the pushkeen as you call her. But I know what she is—the shopkeeper of Arles."
"I don't believe it for a single moment," said Norah, but her pretty old-young face turned a little white. "Look here, Till," she said. "You keep that bit of gossip safe in your breast and don't let it out for the Lord's sake, or there'll be a hue and a cry. There now, you understand what I mean. There's no sense in it. My word! A daughter of the Desmonds a shopkeeper! Get out with you and don't be such a fool!"
"I'm not a fool and I know who I'll tell it to," said Till, who was now bursting with rage. She had only two more days at delightful Desmondstown. Little it mattered to her that the house was half bare, that the food was a trifle coarse. Was there not life in the place, and nobody scolded, and no one was cross? She did not want to go. Shewould get that old man Desmond to let her stay a good bit longer. Why should Margot, who kept a shop, have everything and she, Matilda Raynes, have nothing but the use of an old mare? And she must go back, oh, in a couple of days now, to her dreadful stepmother and her cross, cross father. But, but she would have her revenge first. She did not care what happened if only she had her revenge.
While the old-youngs and Mr. Flannigan and Tilly were playing the celebrated game of "Puss in the Corner," Malachi, his face all alight with joy, entered his father's sanctum.
Little Margot had been helping Fergus with the making of the beautiful new fruit garden, but her toils were over for the present, and she was sitting on grand-dad's knee; wrapped up, in short, in grand-dad, as though she was part of him. Her beautiful soft, jet-black hair made a vivid contrast to his white beard. She lay back comfortably in his arms, almost too happy to speak. She felt as though she was indeed part of him, he belonged to her. She was his very own.
Madam, as usual, was crocheting in the distant window. No one took much outward notice of the sweet little Madam, but then she was the very person whom her sons and daughters, and her oldhusband adored. And little Margot loved her, also, although not quite so much as she loved The Desmond.
"To be sure, it must be just as you wish, pushkeen," said the old man, and just at that moment Malachi, with his smiling, handsome face, entered the room.
"What are you up to now, Malachi?" said the old man.
"Starlight is quite broken in for gentle exercise," he said. "I wouldn't trust him yet for great gaps or ditches, but he'd be safe, quite safe, for the pushkeen to ride on the highroad, and I'll ride beside her on Brian the Brave. I've come to tell you this, pushkeen. The horse is ready, Starlight is ready. I took a good bit out of her this morning, and your habit has come from Cork, as well as the saddle. You'll look elegant—that's the only word for it—mounted on Starlight with me alongside of you. We might go for a ride after dinner. I've taken some of the nonsense out of Starlight this morning. He'll be as easy as a bit of silk to manage after we have had our early dinner."
"To be sure, that's fine news," said The Desmond, "but you must take precious care of my little treasure, Malachi."
"To be sure and that I will. You can trust me," said Malachi. "We'll go soft and easy along thehighroad and pushkeen can call and see Annie Maloney and her childer."
"Oh, Iwouldlike it, grand-dad," said Margot, raising her dear, bright little face.
"To be sure you would," said The Desmond. "I suppose theKing of all the Desmondsis a bit stale for me to mount, Malachi."
"He's a bit old, father, but there's good blood in him still. You sit easy by the fire with little Madam, and I'll take pushkeen for her first ride on Starlight alone—we can talk about your riding theKing of the Desmondslater."
The habit was a very pretty one of dark blue cloth, and there was a little soft crimson cap with a long tassel for the pushkeen to put over her jet-black hair. Nothing could be more altogether becoming, and the child's total absence of fear communicated itself to the high-spirited horse, who led her bravely up hill and down dale, Malachi riding beside her on Brian the Brave.
Oh, never was there anything quite so delightful as that ride to the little pushkeen, and little, little did she suspect that her happy days at Desmondstown were coming so quickly to an end. She could dance by nature and she could ride by nature. What Desmond had ever funked a horse? And this child surely was a true Desmond, a chip of the old block.
Never was there anything quite so delightful
Never was there anything quite so delightful as thatride.—Page 207.
The old-youngs and Mr. Flannigan were enjoying themselves at special games on the back lawn when little Margot flashed by in her new dark blue habit with her crimson cap and tassel. She came up quite close to the gate, but pulled in Starlight at a word from Malachi, and then the two horses and the man and the girl disappeared up the highroad.
"Isn't she a purty little thing?" said Flannigan.
Tilly felt a sense of madness coming over her. Now was her opportunity—now—now or never. She slipped away from the old-youngs and softly unhasping the door of The Desmond's sanctum entered and stood before him, her hands folded, her heart beating fast.
The Desmond was gently going off into the land of dreams and Madam was motioning to Till to leave the room, but Till's chance had come and she would not lose it.
"I want to speak," she said. "I want to speak to The Desmond. I won't keep him long. He can grant my request and then nothing need be done, or he can refuse it and then, behold, consider the fruit trees of all sorts, the strawberry beds, the raspberry canes, the roses!"
"Who is talking, who is bothering me entirely?" exclaimed The Desmond.
"I don't want to bother you, sir," said Tilly,although she had such a queer trembling in her limbs that she never exactly knew the meaning of gooseflesh before.
"Oh you are Till Raynes," said the old man. "I couldn't get at the back of your name for a minute. What do ye want, alanna? I'm sleepy and I want to doze. I want to doze while my pushkeen is out."
"Oh, do you indeed?" said Tilly, who, as is often the case, got less nervous as the time went on.
The old man raised his jet-black eyes and looked at the girl.
"What do ye want, young English miss?" he said. He looked very severe and very stately.
Tilly's voice began to choke a little.
"You are The Desmond," she said.
"I'm that, who doubts it?"
"I don't, sir; only you, you frighten me a bit, and I don't like to see you deceived."
"Arrah, then, get out of this!" said The Desmond. "Play with the young gurrls and don't keep botherin' me."
"I will, in one minute; I will, really, only I have something dreadful to tell you."
"Not about my pushkeen? God Almighty help us, not about my pushkeen!"
"Listen to me, sir," said Tilly. "May I stay here as long as your pushkeen stays, and may I rideStarlight every second day? If you say yes to those two things sir, everything will be right and you'll never, neverknow."
The Desmond rose slowly and ponderously from his chair.
"What are ye after at all, colleen?" he said. "The pushkeen herself says ye are to go in two days and her wishes are to be first considered in this house."
"Oh, are they?" said Tilly, her face almost black with rage, "then I'll tell—I'll tell!"
"You'll tell nothing, Tilly Raynes," said Madam, coming up in her soft and sweet way; and, taking the girl out of the room, she closed the door between her and The Desmond. "Now you behave yourself while you are here," she said. "Himself is not to be worried. You understand that clear and cool. Go back and play with my daughters. You can't hurt our pushkeen nor The Desmond himself for all your trying."
Tilly was terribly disappointed. What with the ferocity of The Desmond and the calm, cool firmness of Madam, she had not a chance to get out those hateful words, but she would punish pushkeen yet, yes she would. She did not go back to join the others but sitting in the porch, thought and thoughtout her system of revenge. Presently came the sound of horses' feet tramping down the avenue.
Little Margot leaped to the ground as light as a feather, a groom sprang into view and Margot went straight up to Tilly.
"Why aren't you with the others?" she said. "Oh, I have had a glorious ride!"
"You are a nasty, mean, deceitful thing," said Tilly. "They would have kept me on here but for you, and I just downright hate you."
"Oh, Tilly, you oughtn't," said Margot. "What have I done to you?"
"Done! You've done enough in all conscience. You get everything, I get nothing; and when I went and spoke to The Desmond about staying a little longer, he said you didn't wish it—you, forsooth! I must ride that doddering old mare, and you must have that beautiful horse Starlight. You must have everything and I must have nothing. But I'll revenge myself on you yet, see if I don't!"
"I'm sorry, Tilly," said Margot, in her sweet voice, "but I do think you ought to go back home on Thursday. You have been with us for three weeks and we have all tried to give you a good time."
"You haven't, so don't think it," said Tilly.
"Well, I did my best. I told you I should have to spend most of the time with my grand-dad, andthe people and the place here do belong to me, Tilly, and they don't to you. I'm very, very sorry, but I do think you ought to go home. I wouldn't say it, indeed I wouldn't, if I didn't most truly think it. You'll have been here three weeks on Thursday, and that's a good long time, Tilly, now isn't it?"
"I'll have my revenge, I vow I will," said Tilly.
"I don't know what you can do, but you must just act as you please," said Margot in a very sad voice. "I did want to make you happy, I did most truly, but what was I to do? You wouldn't be happy, try as I would. You can't ride like a Desmond; it isn't in you."
"Little shopkeeper, don't talk any more," said Tilly, and she dashed out of sight, crying as she went.
How it so happened that while Matilda Raynes was planning out her revenge with a certain amount of skill, little Margot had taken off her habit and was seated in her favourite place on her grandfather's knee. He told her a little about the troublesome girl, and Margot begged of him not to mind, for it was only her way and she was soon going.
"Thank the Lord for that," said The Desmond. "I'd have let her stay, but you put your own big foot down, pushkeen."
"Oh, yes, grand-dad, it is time she went home.I'm sorry for her, rather, but she's not—not very nice, I mean."
"She's not nice at all," said The Desmond. "She's a common little brat. What sort of school was that they sent you to, light of my eyes? How did you come by her sort entirely?"
"I couldn't help it, grand-dad; she was at the school. Shall I tell you about my ride on Starlight?"
"Yes, do, to be sure. It's real pretty, to hear your sweet voice."
So Margot talked and the old man asked questions. He asked innumerable questions and Margot showed that she was a true Desmond by her replies. Meanwhile Tilly, her heart set on revenge, was creeping nearer and nearer to the stables and the beautiful new loose box which had all been arranged for the comfort of Starlight. There, in a certain corner hung the new saddle, which had just arrived from Cork.
Malachi was having a gentle snooze in a corner of the stall, but he was fond of calling himself a cat who invariably slept with one eye open. Tilly had not the least idea that he was there, but he saw her all the time. She thought herself quite alone with the exception of Starlight and the new saddle. She did not guess even for a moment that Malachi had opened that one eye of his very wide; in fact, thathe had opened both eyes. Tilly produced out of her pocket a pincushion, which contained pins of different sorts and degrees. These she cleverly inserted in the lining of the new saddle.
Malachi watched her, his eyes twinkling. She put the saddle back in its place, but did not do it well, for the saddle fell. Nevertheless, Malachi did not stir. Tilly now rushed out of the stable. Her revenge was in sure progress of beginning and acting well. When she was quite out of sight, Malachi rose, picked up the saddle, which was bristling with pins, and removed all of them except one. This he left in, placing it carefully and with skill in such a position that whoever rode on Starlight would drive the obnoxious pin a little way into the animal's hide. He very carefully folded up the rest of the pins in a piece of paper, slipped them into his vest pocket and entered the house. During the whole of that evening he was in the highest spirits and laid himself out to entertain Tilly.
The next morning he went to his father and said that as this was the very last day that Tilly Raynes would spend with them she might as well have a little bit of a ride on Starlight. His face was all over twinkles as he made the request.
"It won't do the beastie any harm," he said, "and pushkeen will lend Tilly her habit."
"Of course I will," said pushkeen, who was feeling a little bad at Tilly's cruel words.
Accordingly, at breakfast time, Malachi turned to Tilly, told her that he had been considering matters, and did not see why she should not ride quite as well as the pushkeen, and if she liked he would take her out that morning on the pushkeen's thoroughbred, the pushkeen lending her her habit and he riding beside her on Brian the Brave.
"Oh, but, but will you really!" exclaimed Tilly, then she remembered the pins and became very grave and distrait.
"Please, Malachi," said Tilly, "may I run round to the stables first? I want to look at Starlight before I mount him."
"And what would ail ye not to?" said Malachi.
Tilly rushed as fast as she could to the stables, entered the one containing Starlight and taking down the new side-saddle began to search for the pins, but Malachi had been too clever for Till, for he had placed the one pin in such a way that it would soon begin to annoy Starlight and in such a position that Tilly could not find it.
She came back to the house in the highest spirits for her ride. Someone had removed the pins; she was quite safe. She would show the Irish Margot what riding really meant.
Tilly felt very proud of herself when she put on Margot's smart little dark-blue habit, and although the crimson cap certainly did not look as well on her nondescript sort of hair as it had done on Margot's, she imagined that it did, which comes after all to the same thing.
Malachi was in the best of spirits, his face was all twinkles and light and laughter. His sisters accompanied him as he brought Starlight and Brian the Brave round to the mounting block.
"You are kind, youarekind," said Tilly, trying to show some of her gratitude in her face.
"Ah, to be sure, why wouldn't I?" said Malachi. "Here, spring up, missie, you must be quick, for he's a thoroughbred, remember, he's not like the old mare, but when we get him right under way and you show no fear, which of course you haven't got, we'll have a fine spin together on the King's highroad."
Matilda felt altogether uplifted, as she expressed it. The awful pins had been in some mysteriousway removed. Who had done it? One of the grooms, she supposed, and yet there was malicious laughter in Malachi's bright dark eyes.
"Now then, no time to lose," he said. "Stand back, gurrls, both of you, you'll have your rides this afternoon, but it is fair enough that missie should have her turn on this her last day and she so brave—my word, so wonderful brave! Now then, put your foot on my hand, stand on this block and spring."
Tilly, very much excited because of the new habit, highly pleased at having got the victory, feeling quite sure that she could outdo Margot in the art of riding, sprang into her saddle in her somewhat awkward fashion.
Starlight looked askance with almost a wicked look in his eye at the creature on his back. Notwithstanding the habit and the red cap, she was not Margot. She did not know how to sit on him comfortably. He began to feel a sense of annoyance and a great desire to get rid of her, but Malachi whistled to him softly, somewhat as a thrush whistles to her young. Ah, well, he understoodthatnote. He settled down to endure and do his best.
He thought, in his dear horsey mind, how very easily he could pitch the thing that he didn't like off his back and get rid of her forever when they reached the wide ditch. He did not object to tryingthe wide ditch this morning, anything to get rid of the thing on his back.
Tilly, for a moment, felt inclined to scream.
"Don't let out any noise for the Lord's sake," said Malachi. "You'll set him off if you do and when he does go, it is like a lightning flash, I can tell you. You say you are brave, prove it! Ah, that's better. Hold yourself erect, but for the Lord's sake don't keep the reins so tight. You don't want to strangle the creature. Sit easy, for Heaven's sake, just as though you were part of Starlight and he was part of you. That's the way to ride. That's the way pushkeen rode yesterday."
They had passed the tumble-down gate by this time and Tilly had partly recovered her courage.
"I can ride better than la Comtesse," she said. "I have had far more experience."
"Have ye now? Ye weren't born a Desmond, by any chance?"
"No, I'm a Raynes. The Rayneses are——"
"You needn't tell me," said Malachi. "They are the finest family in the whole of England. They can skim the air on a horse's back like a bit of a bird. Once you put'em on, you can't get'em off. Those are the Rayneses for you. I know the breed, otherwise I wouldn't have mounted you on pushkeen's thoroughbred."
"Why do you call her pushkeen? It is a very ugly name. She's nothing whatever but a little French shopgirl. I told you so my own self, Malachi."
"Did ye now? Well, ye see I wasn't listening. I never listen to untruths."
"But this isn't an untruth. Oh, my, Malachi—I'm—I'm frightened!"
"Whatever are ye frightened about, Miss Raynes of England? Maybe as you are so uncommon brave, we might try a bit of cross-country riding. Why there you are again, jumping like anything. Whatever has come to ye? It seems to me you are a sort of cuckoo in the nest of the Rayneses."
"I'm not, indeed I'm not. But he does jump so. See, look for yourself. Oh, please, Malachi, hold him. He doesn't like me; he's got a wicked sort of spirit in him."
"Maybe his saddle isn't easy," said Malachi. "You sit still and I'll settle it. For the Lord's sake don't let him think you are afraid of him or you are done, done black and blue."
Malachi slipped off Brian the Brave and without in the least disturbing Tilly managed to push the pin a little further out so that it might work a surer and a graver mischief.
"Now we are all right," he said, jumping on hisown gallant steed. "Go it Starlight, old boy, why it's one of the Rayneses you have got on your back. Think of that, Starlight, old chap!"
Starlight certainly did think of it and thought of it with growing passion and indignation. The pin had now thoroughly worked its way through his satiny hide and he was altogether beside himself with rage.
Just then an old-fashioned lumbering motor car came by. This was the finish to Starlight. He reared upright, bolt upright in the air, shook Tilly off him as though she was a fly, left her sitting on the road and immediately relieved from his burden began to munch some delicious green grass from the roadside.
"I'm killed, Malachi, I'm killed," sobbed Tilly.
"Well, to be sure, are you now?" said Malachi. "I'm thinking perhaps 'twas a pin. I don't think you are killed, but you might have been if I hadn't let you down soft. I took all the pins out, I thought."
"What pins?" said Tilly, turning very white.
"What pins! Oh, but ye are a nasty little beggar; didn't I watch you when ye were sticking them all over the inside of the saddle yesterday? Ye didn't guess I was having a snooze in the loose box. I often sleep there when I'm partial to the beasts. Well, to be sure, I put the pins in a packet. Herethey are, you can look at them. How many do you reckon you put in?"
"I don't remember—oh, none! Don't scold me, Malachi!"
"Don't scold ye, ye little liar!"
"Malachi, I tell you I am dying, I am going to faint, I know I am."
"Well, faint away, colleen, it doesn't matter to me!"
This remarkable announcement on the part of Malachi had also a remarkable effect in restoring Tilly's nerves. It was no use to faint if nobody cared. How dreadful Tilly felt, how sore and bruised and broken.
Malachi led the two horses to the nearest tree, and fastened them there with a piece of rope, which he always kept handy in his pocket. He then proceeded to unfasten Starlight's saddle and to remove the obnoxious pin. It was a black pin, deep and strong, and it had already made a decided mark on the satin coat of the lovely horse.
"Now how camethishere, to be sure?" said he, going over to Tilly. "I must have missed this, to be sure I did. And here are the others. We will put them all together. Ten pins. Upon my word, it's a goodly number. I want you to make a present of 'em, Tilly."
"A present?" answered the girl, raising her white and terrified face.
"Yes, to be sure, a present to The Desmond, and you are to tell him why you put them in, and you are to do it at dinner to-day with the pushkeen looking at you. You are not hurt a bit, no, not a bit. You are shook up, whereas you deserved to die, and you may be thankful you are let off so easy. I'm thinking that after you have told the true story of the pins, the story of the shop will go in one ear and out of the other, so far as The Desmond is concerned. The Rayneses may be fine riders—I'm not taking from their merits, not I—but they are black big liars, too, that I can swear by. Now then, get up, I'll mount ye on Starlight. He'll go as easy as a lamb now that that black horror isn't pricking him to death. We'll just get back in time for lunch."
"Oh, Malachi, I—I can't mount that horse again. He fairly terrifies me, and as to that story you want me to tell about the pins, do you think I'd disgrace myself before your father, and me so frightened of him?"
"Very well, Tilly, you can keep silent and I'll tell. But he's got to know."
"It isn't true, it isn't true," wailed Tilly.
"Whist, for the Lord's sake, don't let out any more black ones. Did ye ever see a cat asleep?"
"Why, yes, Malachi, I suppose I have."
"Have you got a cat at your home?"
"Yes, my stepmother has a cat."
"Well, you watch it the next time it dozes, then you'll learn once and forever how a cat sleeps, with one eye half open, never more, never less. Well that eye is on, we'll call it the alert, for mice or birds or any kind of prey. I was lying like the cat, with my one eye open, when I saw you come along. Soon, from being half opened, it was whole opened, and the other eye was opened, too, and I saw ye sticking in the pins. So ye can't get out of it, Tilly Raynes from England. Very badly ye did your job, very badly, entirely, but when ye left the stables, I crept out all choking with laughter and I thought I'd punish ye after all. I took out nine of the pins altogether, for one properly managed could do the job better than your ten, anyhow. Then I palavered ye a bit and got ye to ride on Starlight. I meant it as a punishment and the punishment will end when ye have confessed the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth to The Desmond and made him a present of the ten pins. You thought you'd kill his pushkeen because you were mad with jealousy. Well, now you have just got to do what I say and no bones about it whatsomdever!"
"Oh, Malachi, oh, Malachi, I can't."
"But I say ye can! I'll keep the pins till the minute arrives, and as ye won't mount Starlight, I must walk the two horses home. We are a good bit out and we'd best start at once. You keep in front of me, for I'm not going to lose sight of ye, not for a moment. Now, then, Till Raynes of England, march is the word!"
It was a very miserable, draggled little girl, with a white face considerably scratched from her fall, who arrived at Desmondstown just as the stable clock struck one. Malachi gave the horses over to his own special groom and followed Tilly to her bedroom.
"I'll be standing outside the door waiting for you," he said. "Go in and take off the habit and wash that scratch off your face, for it ain't pretty, to say the least of it."
"Oh, but please, I don't want any lunch," said Tilly.
"You'll come down and take your place at the table. It don't matter in the least whether ye eat or not."
Tilly felt herself sore and beaten and bruised. She had met her master in Malachi and could not get rid of him. In the end she put on a neat white frock and went downstairs and took her place at the long table. There was a huge sirloin of beef, and new potatoes and peas, and quantities of raspberriesand cream on the sideboard. Altogether it was a refreshing and tempting repast and not one she was likely to get in her own poor home.
Malachi deliberately seated himself beside her. He pretended to be very attentive to her. Margot was openly affectionate and asked eagerly how she had enjoyed her ride.
"Oh, to be sure, she is a wonder, no less," said Malachi, "but don't bother her with talking too much till she has got a little food inside her. I didn't know she was one of those celebrated Rayneses. Why they can ride a bear, a bull, a cow, anything! She let it all out to me to-day when she was scampering so gaily on Starlight."
"I never heard of any Raynes who could ride," said The Desmond.
"You've got an ugly scratch on your cheek," said Norah. "How did ye come by that, Till?"
"Didn't I say, let her eat her meal in quiet!" said Malachi. "A gurrl, even though she is a Raynes, can't take it out of a thoroughbred when he's as fresh as Starlight was this morning. Now eat, Till, eat."
He piled her plate with provisions and The Desmond did not trouble himself to look at her again.
"You're a good, a very good little girl," said Malachi. "You're a true Raynes, that is what you are.Now, swallow these peas and get ready for the raspberries and cream."
Margot looked on in a puzzled way. She felt sure that there was something behind the scenes which she would know about later on. Malachi never put on that kind of look for nothing. At last the meal came to an end, and just at its close Mr. Flannigan appeared on the scene.
"Who's for Puss-in-the-Corner?" he said, glancing from one young-old aunt to another.
"We'll have a rare game; it's a fine afternoon," said Bride.
"Help yourself to some more raspberries, Flannigan," said Malachi, "and there's the cream jug by you. Pour it on plentiful, for there's a bit of a lark coming on, man. Till and me,weknow all about it, don't we, Till?"
Matilda had in reality hardly touched her dinner. She felt her head in a whirl and her limbs aching. The strangely fierce appearance of The Desmond at the head of the board terrified her beyond speaking.
"Now, we'll soon get it over," said Malachi. "Here you are, Till, shaking a bit, well, I'll take your little hand. Come along, you know old Malachi well enough by this time."
"I can't—I won't—I can't!" sobbed Tilly.
"For the Lord's sake don't have that girl howling in my presence," said The Desmond.
"She's not howling really, father. She's only bringing you a little present. She's taken a mighty fancy to you, dad, and she wants to give you this little parcel with her humble respects."
"I don't mind taking presents if they are properly earned and suitable," said The Desmond. "What's the matter with ye, colleen? I'm not a bear or a lion."
"To be sure no, dad, ye are the finest man in Kerry."
By this time Malachi and Tilly were standing by The Desmond's chair. Tilly thrust the little packet of pins into the old man's hands and then tried to escape, but she was surrounded on all sides, and finally it was Mr. Flannigan who brought her back to stand by The Desmond's side and watch his face as he opened the paper which contained the strange gift.
"Pins!" he exclaimed. "By the mighty archangels, pins! What do I want with them, colleen?"
"Tell the story," said Malachi, who was watching her.
"I won't—I can't—I can't!" sobbed Tilly.
"Then I will," said Malachi. "I have given you every chance, and I can't do more, but The Desmondshall know and you shall stand by and look at him as he hears those black wicked lies of yours—no less——"
Whereupon Malachi proceeded to enlighten his old father with regard to the pins which Tilly had inserted in the thick deep lining of Starlight's saddle.
He told his story with great verve and passion and made far more of it than Tilly herself would have done. He did not conceal the motive for a moment. He did not attempt to shield the naughty and unhappy girl. Towards the end of the narrative, The Desmond stood up. It was very awful when The Desmond stood up. He looked so much bigger than anyone else, and so much fiercer. His black eyes seemed to eat through Tilly. The fire in them seemed to burn into her.
"Yougo," he said, "not to-morrow, butto-day! This clergyman, Mr. Flannigan, will see you into the train. I'll give him sufficient money to get you out of the house. You are a bad, wicked, deceitful girl. You wanted to kill my heart's treasure! Now, leave the room, and let me never see your face again! As to these pins they bring a curse on you, otherwise they are harmless. Yougo! Flannigan, will you see her off and put her into the train? Nay, it would be safer to put her on board the ship. Ididn't think there was such wickedness anywhere in the world, but I'm learning in my old age; yes, God help me, I'm learning in my old age. Pack your own things andgo!"
Tilly turned and went like a half-drowned kitten out of the room. She was met, however, in the passage by Margot. Margot's beautiful black eyes were brimful of tears.
"Oh, Tilly, Tilly," she exclaimed, "did you really want to kill me?"
"I—I—I think I did," said Tilly. "I hated you, Margot, and I—I hate you now."
"Anyhow I'm going to help you to pack, poor Tilly. It's an awful thing to hate, and why should you hate one who never hated you?"
"Don't you hate me after this?" said Tilly in bewilderment.
"Oh, no, indeed; no, I love you because you are so miserable."
Suddenly Tilly found quite a different order of tears filling her eyes. Margot swept her dear, little round arms about her and took her quickly upstairs and packed for her because she was incapable of packing for herself.
Phinias Maloney's funny old cart was summoned and Tilly and her belongings were packed into it,but the last thing she remembered of Desmondstown was the sweet face of little Margot, who kissed her hand to her, and whose eyes were brimful of tears as she watched her drive away.
If ever there was a girl who was furious in her own mind it was Matilda Raynes. She had enjoyed her life at Desmondstown. Little did she care for the rough and tumble-down old house, the food was good, the young-old aunts were jolly of the jolly. Malachi and Bruce were great fun. Ah no, however, Malachi wasnotgreat fun! She used to think he was, but she found out her mistake. For a man to sleep with one eye open like a cat, for a man deliberately to get her into a hole, for a man deliberately to betray her and force her to tell her horrible mean little story—oh, no, she could not like Malachi any more.
She also dreaded The Desmond inexpressibly, but perhaps of all the happy Irish folks the one she disliked most was that sweet, loving, forgivingla petiteComtesse. How dared she be loving and forgiving? If she had fought her, Tilly would have known what to do, but she did not. She was only gentle and a little sad, in fact very sad; and theyall, every one of them, made such a fuss about her and she was no real Comtesse at all. She was nothing but a little stupid shopgirl. How in the wide, wide world was Tilly ever to bear with her again?
Mr. Flannigan sat very still by her side. She wished heartily that she might have travelled alone to Rosslare. She did not wish for Mr. Flannigan, he seemed to have no fun in him and he looked from time to time with a sort of horror at Tilly.
When they first got into the railway carriage it was crowded, but by slow degrees the passengers got out. They were going, some in one direction, some in another, until at last Tilly and Mr. Flannigan found themselves alone. Then Mr. Flannigan turned his decidedly ungainly back upon Tilly, and having secured that day's copy of the CorkConstitutionbegan to read. He would do anything under the sun for the Desmonds, but he disliked this job with regard to Tilly.
At last she could bear his silence and his gravity no longer. She sprang from her seat in the opposite corner and came and sat facing him.
"How soon shall we get to Rosslare?" she asked.
Mr. Flannigan very slowly dropped his newspaper, looked fixedly at Tilly and then said in a solemn, very sombre voice,
"I'm not tellin' ye, for I don't know."
"Oh, Mr. Flannigan," said Tilly, with a choking sound in her throat. "Are you hating me as much as the others?"
"I'm not lovin' ye at the present moment," said Flannigan.
He resumed his paper, reading it with such apparent zeal that Tilly might as well not exist. She felt more furious than ever. She began to sob, she sobbed very loud. Flannigan took no notice whatever of the noise she was making for some time, but when it became unbearable he said,
"For the Lord's sake don't slobber, girl!"
"What's slobber?" asked Tilly, who pretended not to be acquainted with the word, and who wanted at any cost to get Mr. Flannigan into conversation, but the clergyman did not reply. He was buried again in his newspaper.
Tilly's sobs, which she thought so affecting, but which the old clergyman called "slobber," grew fainter for lack of nutriment.
By-and-bye they reached Rosslare, where a rather small boat was going to cross over to Fishguard.
"Ye'll have a rough crossing, I'm thinkin'," said Flannigan. "The waves look dirty, to be sure. Ye'd best go and lie down. I'll see ye to your cabin and then say good-bye. There's a return train, whichwill take me back to Desmondstown in time for supper."
"Oh, oh, Mr. Flannigan," sobbed Tilly. "You don't believe all these bad things of me?"
"And why shouldn't I? There was the ten pins as large as life. Didn't I count 'em when The Desmond was tellin' ye to begone?"
"But you do know, you must know, Mr. Flannigan, thatsheis only a shopkeeper——"
"She!I'm not acquainted with your meaning."
"It's that horrid Margot," said Tilly. "Have I not bought hats from her and robes from her at Arles, and don't I know what she really and truly is like?"
"Oh, do ye? I'm thinkin' ye don't. I'll be wishin' ye a good day now, Miss Tilly. Don't ye try pins on horses again when there are cats about."
"It was a horrid mean thing to do," said Tilly. "Anyone else would have called out, but he's too mean."
"Don't ye be runnin' down Malachi," exclaimed Flannigan. "Ye wanted to kill or injure the darling of the place. I'm thinking one of your stories is about as true as the other. Good day to ye now, I'm off!" He gave a queer, awkward nod and disappeared up the companion and along the deck until he reached the gangway.
Tilly thought herself quite the most miserable girl in all the world, but still she might have her revenge yet. If she tried very, very,veryhard, if The Desmond did not believe in the story of the shop, at least M. le Comte St. Juste would. It would be her business to get things in train and make things very hard for the little Comtesse against her return to Arles.
Tilly Raynes had a horrible crossing. The boat was small, the sea was rough. She hated all physical discomforts. She cried to the stewardess and begged of her to stay with her, assuring her that she was a very ill-used little girl and had no right to be going in that ricketty old boat at all.
"Well you are in it," said the stewardess, "and if God is merciful wemayyet reach dry land."
"What do you mean—what do you mean?" said Tilly, forgetting her terror and hatred of the Desmonds, in the nearer and possible terror of imminent death.
"What I say," replied the stewardess. "We are like as not to see Davy Jones to-night."
"Whoever is Davy Jones?" asked Tilly.
"He's the king of the bottom of the sea. They who sup with him, sup once and never again. Now don't keep me, little gurrl, see there's a poor lady like to faint in the far saloon from here. You are a bit of a coward, I take it, and I can't staycomforting cowards when there's real illness and real danger."
Then Matilda, somehow or other, forgot her deadly seasickness and her hatred of the Desmonds and shook and trembled in her narrow berth. The wind was blowing great guns and the sailors were rushing here, there, and everywhere. The captain's voice giving directions sounded to Tilly like great claps of thunder. She forgot about the pins and her fall from the horse.
Gradually, as the sea grew rougher and the danger greater, she found herself looking in imagination at one sweet, dark, sad and yet smiling face. It was the face of the little shopkeeper, whom she had tried, yes, her very best, to injure, perhaps to kill. Now she herself was face to face with death. It would be awful to go down into the depths of those wild and terrible waves. Everyone on board seemed uneasy.
The little steamer swayed from side to side and rocked and shook itself as though it knew that it was small and angry and powerless. Thrills of terror ran through Tilly's frame. The captain's voice was heard to say,
"The dangerous time is when——"
She could not catch the rest of the words. The stewardess did not come near her. Women laughedand cried and screamed. Tilly was all alone in her little cabin. She wondered how long she would take drowning. She could think of nothing but the horrors of death. Then all of a sudden she made up her mind not to die in a hole. She would creep upstairs and be on deck. She had read stories of shipwrecks and when the worst came boats were put out. The stewardess was a horrid woman and would not think of her. Well, she would think of herself. She would be one of the very first to leave the boat when the appalling hour of danger came, when they got to the—that unpronounceable name which she could not catch.
But it was all very well for Tilly to try to get out of her berth, she found she could not. The sea took her and threw her back again into it. The sea tossed her against the side of her narrow berth, and she had to cling on with one hand to an extremely narrow rail and with the other to the top of the berth. The sea roared, the winds roared. Showers of foam flung themselves against the port-hole. The combined sounds spoke of nothing but death, death, death!
Never in all her life had she been so miserable before. Even The Desmond and Malachi were nothing to this anguish. She would sink to the bottom of the deep, deep sea and no one would be very, verysorry. Why should they? Had she ever made anyone love her? Her father—had he not punished her and been cross to her all her days! Her stepmother—had she not been sly and told false things about Tilly? Well, they would not have any more trouble with her again; she would eat her last supper with Davy Jones.
She felt confused, slightly raving! What sort of supper would he give her? Fishes, of course, all sorts of fishes and then afterwards the big fishes would eat her and no one would lament unless perhaps, perhapsMargot! But no, it was impossible to think that Margot would be sorry. Why should a shopgirl be sorry? She, Margot, was only that—nothing more at all, although they did make such a fuss about her at Desmondstown.
Suddenly in the midst of her meditations there came a curious and remarkable lull. She no longer found it necessary to cling to either one side or the other of the berth. It seemed as though someone, she thought it was Margot, had poured oil on the disturbed waters. Might she, could she, would she be allowed to save even such a wicked girl as Tilly?
Tilly acknowledged now that she was wicked and that Margot was good and then all of a sudden the stewardess bustled in.
"For the Lord's sake get up, missie," she said ina cheerful tone. "I couldn't come near ye with others so bad, but we are in harbour, thank the Lord, and all danger is over. Yes, we had a rough night, mighty rough. I've never gone through a worse, but I couldn't stay along of cowards. Here's your jacket, missie, I'll slip it on ye, and here's your hat! You do look bad, but we are very late in, and if you want to catch your train for London, ye'd best hurry up. Shall I get a porter for your luggage, missie?"
Tilly answered "yes" in a meek sort of voice and then she gave the stewardess who had done nothing for her all night a shilling out of her scanty store. Presently she was on dry land and in the train. She was not going to eat her supper with Davy Jones, she was going to live after all; she had passed through a fearful night, but she was going to live.
Everything was new and fresh to her now, and when a boy brought her a cup of tea and a plate of bread and butter, she ate greedily and with appetite. Then it occurred to her that she ought to wire to her father. She had money enough for this, too. The Desmond had supplied her with plenty of money.
Mr. Raynes was a coal merchant on a large scale, exceedingly well off. He lived on Clapham Common. The house was ugly and without any pretence togood looks. Tilly's stepmother met her in London, scolded her, shook her, put her hat straight and asked her why in the world was she coming home so soon.
Tilly felt all the old wicked feelings rising in her breast when her stepmother began to harangue her. She immediately said that she was only wasting time at Desmondstown and wanted to work very hard indeed, so as to get to Arles one week before term began.
The stepmother went on scolding. Tilly hardly listened. She was feeling wicked again, but she was thankful to be on dry land. They reached the big, luxuriously furnished, vulgar-looking house on Clapham Common.
Tilly suddenly felt herself very sick; her stepmother was fairly kind to her when she was really sick. She allowed her to go to bed and sent Mary Ann, the house-parlourmaid, upstairs to look after her.
Mary Ann was a favourite with Tilly and listened with mouth wide open, ears extended to their utmost, and eyes that looked as though they were going to spring out of her head, to Tilly's account of the awful storm at sea. She got the girl swiftly and quickly into bed and gave her a very little hot teaand dry toast, and then Tilly forgot all her miseries in sleep.
It may have been her fall off the back of Starlight, or it may have been her fearful crossing, but, whatever the reason, for a few days Matilda Raynes was really ill. She was feverish and the doctor was sent for. During the whole of this time she was attended by Mary Ann and very occasionally saw her stepmother, but never once her father.
The doctor said she must have got a very severe shock of some sort. He told this to her father and also to her stepmother.
When Raynes, the coal-merchant, discovered that his daughter had received a shock and had come back home much sooner than she had expected to do so, he sat down and wrote a firm, cold letter to Mr. Desmond of Desmondstown. He said his child had been brought back to him at death's door and he wanted to know the reason of it. Had those wild Irish folk been playing pranks with his only child? He had no idea of addressing The Desmond as The. He had never heard of such a title, and if he had would not have used it.
At last he received a reply in the neat, firm handwriting of Fergus Desmond. Fergus told him of the letter not being addressed right which naturally came into his possession. His father's title was TheDesmond. He said he did not wish to complain of Matilda Raynes, but as her father wished to know the truth, he would tell him the truth. He then proceeded to give a graphic description of the thoroughbred Starlight and of Tilly's conduct with regard to the ten pins. He wasted no words, but told the story just as it stood.
Tilly was sent away by The Desmond. He could not possibly have such a wicked girl in his house. There was one person whom The Desmond set great store by and that was his little granddaughter Margot, or the pushkeen as he called her. Tilly was jealous of the pushkeen and when she was not allowed to ride her horse she stuck pins into the saddle, hoping thereby to injure if not to kill the little girl. That was the story; he had nothing more to say. He was sorry for Mr. Raynes.
Raynes passed the letter across the table to his wife, who read it with pursed-up lips and glittering pale-blue eyes.
"Well, I must say it was a nasty thing to do," she said.
"It was," said Raynes. "We'll teach her what's what when she's better."
"She's better to-night, Robert. Mary Ann says she is nearly well."
"We'll wait for what's what until to-morrow," said Robert Raynes.
The next day Tilly was dressed. She had partaken of an excellent dinner prepared for her by Mary Ann, and a bright little fire burnt in her room. She was feeling still weak and tired. Her father came in and looked at her. She shrank away from him in a sort of terror.
"Oh, you are afraid of me, are you?" said the coal-merchant. "You have good cause to be. Read that!"
He passed Fergus Desmond's letter across the width of the little table and laid it in Tilly's hand.
"Take your time," he said, "I'm in no hurry."
He sat down deliberately and looked about him. Tilly could not see the letters at all at first from a queer sense of giddiness. She wished her father would go and leave her alone. But he sat quite calmly by the fire.
"You'll just have the goodness to read that quietly," he said. "I'm in no manner of hurry. Take it in, take it all in!"
By degrees Tilly did take it in. She raised terrified weak eyes to her father's face.
"Oh, daddy, daddy," she said. "Don't be angry with me. She's only a shopkeeper and they makesuch a fuss of her—and I—I'm so weak and miserable."
"Perhaps ye are a bit," said Raynes. "I'm not going to be angry, but ye'll get your whipping all the same."
"Oh, dad, oh, dad——"
"Yes, child, there's no escape; just hold on to the foot of the bed and bare your two arms and your shoulders. I don't hold with girls who want to injure other girls. Now for every time you cry out you'll get an extra stroke, so keep as quiet as you can."
Tilly knew there was no help for it. Her father had brought a light, keen-looking cane into the room with him. She had seen it when he had given her the letter to read. He slashed right, he slashed left,—she kept back her screams. After a time she was strangely still, she had fainted.
Then Mary Ann came up and comforted and petted her and put her back to bed and eased her sores by some very delicate ointment. No one else was in the least inclined to be kind. Two days afterwards, however, Raynes entered his daughter's bedroom.
"There isn't the making of a lady in you, Tilly," he said, "and I'm not going to send you back to Arles any more. There's a cheap school for yoursort of girl close by, and you can help your stepmother when you are not working at school, and by the time you are sixteen you'll be sitting in my coal-office taking down orders for tons and tons of coal. No more Arles or French, or fine ladies for you! Bless my soul, youarea mean little thing! But now I want to get at the truth of this. Tell me every blessed thing you know about that kind girl you call the little shopkeeper."
Tilly did tell her story. She told it graphically and even with her father's stern eyes fixed on her face, with a certain amount of correctness. She had bought hats and robes fromla petiteComtesse and the old man the Comte St. Juste didn't know, and the old man The Desmond in Ireland didn't know.
"You are sure of your facts?" said Raynes, when she had stopped.
"Yes, I'm quite positive sure."
"That's all right then. I punished you, my girl, because you did a mean and cruel thing, but I'm not going to let the little shopgirl get off Scot free. I can't talkparlez-vous, so I'm going straight to Ireland to-night, where I'll tell the entire story to those folks who think themselves so fine. You needn't begin your school-life, my girl, till I come back. This has got to be seen to and I'm the man for the job."
"Oh, oh, father, don't—don't——" suddenlycried Tilly. "I see her, she's in the room, she's looking at me!"
"Why you are raving mad, child, who's in the room, who's looking at you?"
"La petiteComtesse Margot. She was the only one who was always kind; even when I stuck pins into the saddle she was kind, and I saw her on board ship, when I thought I was going to the bottom. Oh, but she's good, she'srealgood and M. le Comte, her grandpère, he mustn't be frightened. He loves her like her other grandfather loves her. Oh, father, let it be, let it be!"
"I'm going to Ireland to-night," was Raynes's remark.