Desmond flushed crimson at her words, and he turned in repressed fury on her.
"Mind your own business," he said. "Reform your old age pensioners, and kindly allow me to look after myself."
Therewith he went on his way, leaving her to look after him with tears in her eyes.
"Wouldn't I give my life for Desmond!" she thought, as she watched him until he turned a corner. For his part, indignation overcame every other feeling. He was sufficiently young to resent interference, and to forget for the moment the bonds of friendship that bound him to Molly Healy.
Turning to climb upwards to the Presbytery, the girl met Denis Quirk. Like Kathleen O'Connor, Molly Healy was not quite sure how she regarded the manager of "The Mercury." He was always brusque and unapproachable, yet she infinitely preferred his attitude to the polish of Gerard.
"Looking at Desmond?" he laughed.
"And why not? Isn't it a pleasure to look at a handsome man?" she answered.
"I hope you gave him a good talking to. My mother says that Molly Healy is the one that can do that," he said.
"Wait until you are standing for Parliament, and then you will see what Molly Healy can do," she replied. "But you should look after that boy, or he will get into mischief so deep that there will be no getting him out."
"I have an eye on him, never fear," he said, and left her abruptly, to her infinite amusement.
"Denis Quirk has no manners, but he doesn't mean any harm," she told her brother. "It is only his way; a hard crust, but a good wholesome crumb."
That very morning Denis Quirk summoned Desmond into his room.
"See here," he said, "we are not teetotal on this paper, but we know where to stop. It's time you stopped. Make a note of that."
"Perhaps I had better go," cried Desmond in a passion.
"I don't actually say that, for there's good stuff in you, but if you can't behave, you can't go too soon," said Denis.
Cairns was standing near the door, and he heard these exchanges. He had a very kindly feeling for Desmond, and when the reporter came from Denis Quirk's room Cairns drew him into his own.
"Quirk is blunt, but he is true," he said. "He sees that you are going the way of many another real good fellow, and he wants to pull you up short. Don't ruin a promising life, Desmond. Give Gerard a wide berth; he's a bad companion for a man like you."
"Gerard is a good fellow. What have you against him?" cried Desmond.
"He is altogether too good a fellow for a penniless reporter that has a place to win in the world," said Cairns.
"He is the only white man in Grey Town!" said Desmond.
Remonstrance was thrown away on the boy. One night he staggered into the office in a half-drunken condition, and the following day he disappeared into the dark oblivion that we term "the world," takingwith him a letter of recommendation from Cairns to the editor of a metropolitan paper.
"I recommend you for your talent, not for your bad habits. See that you cure them, or Smythe will shoot you out as Quirk has done," said Cairns.
But he gave the boy five pounds to help him while he was looking for work.
Desmond O'Connor was the first victim to the friendship of John Gerard. There were other young men who owed their downfall to him, not that he bore any one of his victims malice; he was merely a man with a full purse, and a lover of good-fellowship. "Let the young beggars look after themselves. All that I ask is good company. It is not my place to teach men morals," he said to one who remonstrated with him.
In the same spirit he continued to court Kathleen O'Connor, enjoying placidly the game of love, and perfectly regardless as to the result.
It was during breakfast at "Layton" that Kathleen O'Connor attacked Denis Quirk on the subject of his treatment of Desmond. Mrs. Quirk was breakfasting in bed; her husband had scrambled through his meal, and rushed out to superintend the making of a drain, leaving Denis alone with the girl. He had noticed her silence and aloofness, sure signs of displeasure, and, as was his way, he calmly faced her in the moment of bitter resentment.
"You are angry with me?" he asked abruptly.
"Why should I be? I have no claims upon your kindness," she answered.
"He had to go, for his own sake," he said, going straight to the point without explanation. "It was the only hope of saving him."
She did not answer, but her eyes filled with tears, vainly though she tried to repress them. Denis Quirk feigned not to see them.
"In Grey Town he must be ruined," he said, not unkindly.
"And what will he do alone in a great city, with no one to advise him?" she cried.
"Fight it out and win, if he is made of the stuff Ibelieve to be in him. He had enemies here who were ruining him, body and soul."
"He had one friend at least in Mr. Gerard," she said.
"We had better not discuss Gerard," he replied, rising quietly.
"Mr. Gerard has told me——," she began.
"Never believe a hostile witness until he has safely stood the fire of cross-examination," he remarked, oracularly.
"Oh, it was cruel not to give the boy just one chance!" she cried. "My heart is breaking for him!"
Therewith she rose and left the room. Denis took out his pipe and filled it. Then he went to "The Mercury" office, smoking thoughtfully. The first person to meet him on his arrival was John Gerard.
"What do you want with me?" asked Denis Quirk, abruptly.
"Just to hand in my resignation. I have other schemes on hand, and cannot find the necessary time to your work," replied Gerard.
Denis Quirk noted the absence of the customary suavity and deference in the way in which Gerard addressed him.
"Right you are! Come to me in five minutes for your cheque. You have saved yourself dismissal," he said.
"Are you dismissing the whole staff?" asked Gerard.
"Only the useless ones," replied Denis quietly, as he entered the room.
"Your cheque—and the door, you durned skunk!" he said, five minutes later. Gerard was on the point of retorting furiously, but one look at the strong, ugly face and sturdy figure convinced him of the wisdom of silence until he was actually on the doorstep of the office. Then he said:
"You will have to deal with me yet, Mr. Denis Quirk."
"I am quite capable of doing that," replied Denis, smilingly.
Thus did "The Mercury" lose its first sporting editor.
In the quiet of his office Denis Quirk sat for fully five minutes thinking, a most unusual thing for him to do, and, more unusual still, thinking of a woman. He checked himself abruptly with the half-muttered words:
"Well, she must battle through alone: I can't help her."
Then he began to write a letter to a friend in Melbourne:
"'The Mercury,' Grey Town."January 17, 19—."Dear Jackson,—There is a young fellow now in Melbourne, one Desmond O'Connor, a wild, harum-scarum, but of good stuff. You will find him at Mrs. Tippett's, 102 The Grove, Upper Hawthorn. Look him up, if you still love me, and take him under your care. Find him a place in your office; he has thenecessary qualifications. He is a journalist, but I foresee ruin in that line for Desmond. Supply his immediate needs, and draw upon me, but invent some pious fiction to account for the capital—a dead maiden aunt or any other apocryphal person you like. If he thinks that the money comes from me, ten to one he will have none of it. Make him keep himself as far as possible by his own brains, and never offer the boy whisky. If you do this for me, I shall recognise that you are the same good old Jackson, whom I am proud to call a friend.—Yours sincerely,"DENIS QUIRK."
"'The Mercury,' Grey Town.
"January 17, 19—.
"Dear Jackson,—There is a young fellow now in Melbourne, one Desmond O'Connor, a wild, harum-scarum, but of good stuff. You will find him at Mrs. Tippett's, 102 The Grove, Upper Hawthorn. Look him up, if you still love me, and take him under your care. Find him a place in your office; he has thenecessary qualifications. He is a journalist, but I foresee ruin in that line for Desmond. Supply his immediate needs, and draw upon me, but invent some pious fiction to account for the capital—a dead maiden aunt or any other apocryphal person you like. If he thinks that the money comes from me, ten to one he will have none of it. Make him keep himself as far as possible by his own brains, and never offer the boy whisky. If you do this for me, I shall recognise that you are the same good old Jackson, whom I am proud to call a friend.—Yours sincerely,
"DENIS QUIRK."
As he closed the note and handed it to Tim O'Neill, Molly Healy entered the office. Like Kathleen O'Connor, she resented Denis Quirk's treatment of Desmond, and she had come to express her sentiments openly.
"Are you busy?" she asked.
"Not more so than usual; a pile of advertisements and correspondence, a few proofs to glance at, and a council committee at ten. I can spare you five minutes," he answered.
"I have not come to talk gently to you," said Molly. "I think you should be ashamed of yourself for your treatment of Desmond O'Connor."
"Now, Miss Molly, have you considered this question carefully? Just sit down for five minutes, and hear me explain it to you."
Molly Healy took a chair reluctantly, her face expressing a determination not to be convinced.
"Desmond O'Connor," he said, and all the while he was stamping and closing envelopes, "came under the influence of a man——."
"Gerard!" she cried, interrupting him.
"John Gerard. If he had remained here that influence must have ruined him."
"And could you not separate the two?" she asked.
"Not I, nor you; not even Father Healy. Desmond was gambling, he was beginning to drink; he would have degenerated into an habitual drunkard——."
"I as much as told him that myself," said Molly Healy.
"Outside there," he pointed to the window towards the east, "in Melbourne, lies the boy's chance. It was not for my sake I sent him packing. That boy was useful to me, and I can never replace him; but better 'The Mercury' should suffer than he and Kathleen O'Connor."
"Well, you're not a bad sort of man," she remarked. "Your heart's better than your face."
Denis Quirk laughed heartily at her remark.
"You don't like my face?" he remarked. "Haven't I been called the ugliest man in Grey Town? And proud I am of it."
"Good-day!" cried Molly Healy. "I will not ruin your paper, after all, as I had intended doing. But my heart is sore for poor Desmond—out there."
She, in turn, pointed towards the east before she left the office.
This day was spent by Denis Quirk in fighting. In the council committee he came into conflict with theman whom he regarded as the greatest opponent to the progress of Grey Town. This was Councillor Garnett, and he was not above the suspicion that he made use of his privileges to further his own ends. Apart from this, he was at once narrow-minded and obstinate. For such men as he Denis Quirk had no mercy.
The council of Grey Town was not unlike other municipal councils—its members honest for the greater part, but many of them men who followed old traditions, and believed that quiet things should not be moved. For many years they had lived under a system of accepting the imperfect, and never attempting to make it more perfect. Of these easy-going, self-satisfied gentlemen Councillor Garnett was the chief.
This special meeting of the council had been summoned to consider the condition of the roads in the town. Year after year the council had spent less money on the roads than they deserved, and year after year the roads had degenerated. At this time they were deplorable, and Denis Quirk had compelled his fellow-councillors to take action. After a drive around the town, they met to discuss ways and means, and then occurred a scene that was the first skirmish in a fierce campaign.
At this time Denis Quirk stood practically alone. Opposed to him was a body of resolute Conservatives; between the two factions, a few who hesitated, favouring Denis Quirk rather than Councillor Garnett. The debate began gently, but it ended in such a storm as the municipal council chamber had never witnessed before.
The mayor, a kindly man, was at his wits' end to keep the peace. Again and again he called the two parties to order, until finally the meeting broke up, Denis Quirk having been defeated.
But he was the last man to accept defeat. From the municipal chambers he hurried round the town to convene an indignation meeting for the following week. Meanwhile he laid his case before the public in the columns of "The Mercury." This accomplished, he turned home to "Layton."
Councillor Garnett was hand in glove with Ebenezer Brown, and the latter was, above all things, a good hater. He had little cause to love Denis Quirk, and he possessed not a little power in the town, gained by illicit means. In those days there were factions in Grey Town, as there always will be where progress confronts stagnation. The skirmishes and battles were fought over mere trifles, but they were fought none the less bitterly for that reason. Day after day Denis Quirk found himself defeated; yet day after day he gained strength, a member here and there from the doubtful councillors, and public approbation abroad.
But at home in "Layton" he was not happy, for he recognised relentless hostility on the part of Kathleen O'Connor, and he realised that John Gerard was too intimate with the girl. It was not for him to remonstrate with her. He had no right to speak, no reasons to advance against Gerard, beyond an unreasoning antipathy. In his heart of hearts he believed that Gerard, now an agent in the town, was a worthlessfellow, but such unproven beliefs are useless. He could only look on hopelessly, and trust that time would put things straight.
Desmond O'Connor paid a flying visit to "Layton" in the summer. He came quite unexpectedly, and surprised Kathleen one afternoon when she was reading to Mrs. Quirk out in the garden. Molly Healy was there, too, cutting flowers for the church, returning every now and again to interrupt the reading.
Desmond O'Connor came walking up the avenue, lined by trees and shrubs, and paused to look at the group on the green lawn under the shade of a large elm tree. He looked fresh and bright in his face, although it had lost some of the tan associated with country life. His eye was clear, and his step free; there was the dignity of self-respect in the way in which he carried himself.
Molly Healy was the first to see him. Shading her eyes with her hand to avoid the glare of the sun, she took one look at him. Then she dropped her basket of flowers, and hurried towards him, crying:
"It is Desmond himself!"
Kathleen sprang up and dropped her book. The two girls hastened to meet him.
"Take him away to your room, Kathleen," said Mrs. Quirk, when she had welcomed Desmond. "I can look after myself, and you have much to talk about."
"Let me look after you, Granny," cried Molly Healy; but she cast a regretful eye at Kathleen and Desmond.
"No, Molly; you can come with us and hear what he has to say for himself," said Kathleen.
"May I, then? But I would only be in the way," suggested Molly.
"Not one bit, Molly. Come and listen to my wonderful tale of adventure—a story of robbers slain, wild animals subdued, good fairies and witches," said Desmond.
"I hope you are minding your soul. It is a dangerous place for young men, is Melbourne," said Mrs. Quirk.
"Oh, that's all right," replied Desmond, airily. "I am not on the side of the saints or the sinners."
Molly Healy noted this reply, but she abstained from commenting on it. She was shrewd enough to recognise that the man who boasts of lukewarmness is generally something less than tepid.
"You will be coming to see the Father?" she suggested.
"You must make my excuses, Molly. I am here to-day and back in Melbourne to-morrow. I have fallen on my feet. Where do you think I am working?" he asked Kathleen as they walked towards the house.
"On a paper," she suggested.
"No; in an advertising agency, the biggest in Melbourne, drawing posters for them, and helping in the business. I shall be a partner before long. Jackson, the boss, has been a good friend to me, and Mrs. Jackson might be a mother, and Sylvia—a sister."
The hesitation that preceded the latter part of thisspeech was not lost upon Molly Healy. It caused her a spasm of pain that was sharp, if it was only short-lived, for she was a girl, if a sensible and healthy one, and she always had greatly admired Desmond O'Connor.
In the dining-room they sat down close together.
"I am glad you have such good friends? How did you find them?" asked Kathleen.
"I can't for the life of me discover that. Jackson came to see me and offered to help me. I rather fancy Gerard must have sent him."
"Gerard!" cried Molly Healy, scornfully. "Do you fancy he would take so much trouble? It is 'out of sight as good as buried' with Gerard."
Kathleen O'Connor flushed up at these words, but refrained from reply. Desmond answered banteringly:
"You will hate to the end, Molly?"
"Sure, my hates are as enduring as my loves," said Molly. "You can always know how you will find Molly Healy."
"I don't think you are quite fair to Gerard," said Desmond.
"Now, tell us about—Sylvia Jackson, Desmond," said Kathleen, anxious to terminate the discussion.
"Sylvia Jackson," he answered, with an assumed carelessness, that was in itself suspicious to the critical ears of Molly Healy. "Why are you so anxious to hear about her?"
"Is she pretty?" asked Kathleen.
Molly Healy watched him curiously, and noted a certain embarrassment in his face.
"That is a question of taste. Some people consider her pretty," he answered.
"And why not say that Desmond O'Connor is one of those people? Of course she is pretty, Kathleen, and charming and kind to Desmond. Didn't he say so? Are you kind to her, Desmond?" cried Molly.
"Kind to her?" he replied, with a species of horror in his voice, as if one of his most sacred convictions had been criticised. "One cannot be kind to a girl like Sylvia Jackson."
"And why not kind?" asked Molly.
"I admire and respect—in fact, I almost reverence—her. She is so"—he paused for a suitable word—"so ethereal. She is more like a spirit than a piece of common human nature."
Molly Healy was with great difficulty attempting to restrain a giggle. She recognised that to give her amusement full play would be to grievously annoy him. For this reason she turned to look out of the window, thrusting her handkerchief into her mouth the while.
"Does she play?" asked Kathleen.
"She plays and sings divinely. She does everything well. To dance with her—is——."
He ended abruptly, not being capable of giving full expression to his sensations when dancing with Sylvia Jackson.
"Denis Quirk!" cried Molly Healy, and climbedthrough the window. It was a relief to her to give her mirth full vent.
"Ethereal! Poor Desmond! I wonder will he recover?" she laughed.
"You will not be rude to him?" Kathleen asked her brother anxiously.
He laughed unrestrainedly. All resentment against Denis Quirk was long forgotten, for his anger was short-lived.
"I regard him as a benefactor. He has released me from the thraldom of Grey Town and introduced me to the larger life," he answered.
"Whatever you do, don't speak to him of Sylvia, or I shall laugh," cried Molly on meeting Denis Quirk.
"You are speaking Dutch puzzles, Miss Molly. Who and what are he and Sylvia?" he answered.
"Desmond O'Connor is him, and Sylvia a spirit, just a woman that's ethereal and a spirit. I am thinking poor Desmond is love sick."
Desmond followed Molly through the window, and came with outstretched hand to meet his former chief. Kathleen O'Connor, watching from the window, admired her brother's magnanimity. She would herself have unbent to Denis long ago had it not been for Gerard's influence, and for the dread lest her brother should be lost in the darkness of the great city life.
Denis took the proffered hand and wrung it cordially. One glance at the open face convinced him that his plan had proved successful; the drink fiend had been exorcised.
"And how is Melbourne treating you?" he asked.
"Better than I deserve. I have found good work and good friends," replied Desmond.
"I knew you would come out all right, lad," said Denis, kindly. "What is your work—papers or politics?"
"Nothing so grand; just advertising."
"Then you are at the very top, for advertising is the great power these times. You will make and unmake kings and emperors of commerce."
Kathleen O'Connor was that evening kinder and more gracious to Denis Quirk than she had been since Desmond had gone away. Mrs. Quirk, who had noted their estrangement with wondering sorrow, smiled placidly as she heard them laughing, while Molly Healy and Desmond exchanged jests together.
"You are not cross with Denis now, Honey?" she asked the girl after the two men had left the house—Denis for his office, and Desmond for the hotel. "He is good at heart, if sometimes quick in his temper."
Molly Healy, who was preparing to drive home in Father Healy's jinker, cried out:
"Denis is a great man! His heart is as big as your own, Granny!"
Kathleen kissed the old lady as she answered:
"I could not long be cross with anyone whom you loved."
"God reward you, Honey, for your kindness to an old woman," said Mrs. Quirk, lovingly.
Ebenezer Brown lived a lonely life in an old house on the outskirts of the town, the large garden surrounded by a high stone wall. There was always a feeling of gloom about the house, no sound of voices, for Ebenezer Brown was a bachelor, with no relations to care for him, and only one elderly female to provide for his comfort. A venturesome relation had on one occasion taken advantage of the old man's sickness to attempt to secure a footing in his house; but no sooner was the old man out of his bed than the relative was to be seen driving to the station with her luggage. Warned by her fate, no other relation, male or female, dared to enter the house.
It was seldom that lights were seen to gleam from the windows of the house. Still more uncommon was it to find visitors assembled there. The old man had a place of business in the town, and anyone wishing to see him might find him there. He discouraged visitors, for visitors suggested hospitality, and hospitality represented the expenditure of money, the one and only thing that the old man valued.
Lights were, however, twinkling from Ebenezer Brown's dining room out into the night a few eveningssubsequently to Desmond O'Connor's visit to Grey Town. A meagre attempt at hospitality had been made for the visitors, a scanty supply of water biscuits, a few apples of an antique appearance, with a bottle of limejuice and water. But not one of the guests was sufficiently hungry or thirsty to taste of the good things provided for them.
They sat around the large, bare table, Ebenezer Brown and his three guests, Garnett, Gifford and Gerard—the three G's, as Denis Quirk had nicknamed them. Ebenezer Brown half leaned on the table, his face peculiarly white and eyes very bright in the light of an incandescent gas burner.
"Every man has a past, if you can unearth it. The greater the saint, the worse his past. Eh, Garnett?" he asked.
It was noticeable that Garnett refrained from any direct answer; possibly even he had had a past.
"That play," continued Ebenezer. "What did you call it?" he asked Gerard.
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."
Ebenezer Brown's hearing was exceptionally acute to-night.
"That's the one!" he cried; "and it's true to nature. There's good in a few and bad in all. Eh, Gifford?"
"Unhappily there is," sighed Gifford.
"This man, Quirk," cried the old man, vindictively, "has a past, if we can discover it. We must rid ourselves of him; he's a public nuisance, a dangerous, meddlesome fellow. Always poking his nose intosomething; always making things unpleasant. Quirk must go!"
"Quirk," said Garnett, in the slow and sententious manner he adopted, "is a radical and a demagogue, a positive scourge to the town. As you say, Quirk must go!"
Ebenezer Brown turned to Gerard this time and asked him:
"Are you prepared to make the necessary enquiries for us?"
"Certainly, if you are prepared to pay the necessary expenses," replied Gerard, carelessly.
Ebenezer Brown winced at this, but his hatred of Denis Quirk was an absorbing passion now.
"Garnett and I will share the expenses."
Garnett protested feebly, but the old man overbore him triumphantly.
"Garnett and I will pay," he said.
"Let me have it in writing," said Gerard, producing a typewritten paper from his pocket.
Ebenezer Brown read it through carefully; then, after one or two protests as to the amount, he prepared to sign it, but he paused, saying:
"No evidence; no pay?"
Gerard looked the old man full in the face, and answered:
"You can add that. I promise you full and convincing evidence."
The deed was signed and witnessed to by Gifford and the old housekeeper, aroused from her sleep for the purpose. A few minutes later the three G's wereleaving the house. As they emerged from the gate the bright head lights of a motor picked them out distinctly, before the car swept by, leaving a blacker darkness behind it.
"Did you see those three, Cairns?" asked Denis Quirk, who was racing towards "The Mercury" office in company with his editor. "There's mischief on foot when you see insects like those together."
"Ebenezer Brown has been having a card party," laughed Cairns. "Cards and wine."
"And light talk? It's a pity there is no law for the destruction of vermin of the human sort!"
"Did you see who was in the car?" Garnett asked Gerard.
"I think it was Quirk himself and Cairns," replied Gerard. "Probably they have been writing an article about you; something hot and strong. Quirk knows where to strike, and he hits hard."
Garnett's comment was hurled into the surrounding darkness; but his companions heard it and laughed.
"I expect to return in six months' time," said Gerard; "possibly sooner. Another six weeks later, and 'The Mercury' will probably need a new proprietor. Why not buy it yourself and make me the editor, with Gifford under me? You might do worse."
Outside the first hotel he suggested a drink. Gifford refused to enter the bar, and went on towards his home; the others walked into the private bar and called for whisky and soda.
"Did you ever see such a miser as Ebenezer Brown?" Gerard asked. "Dry biscuits, dry apples,and that sour stuff! It makes me sick to see a man like him, with all his money. He won't enjoy it here—nor hereafter, if there is a hereafter," he added.
Garnett, a strict Calvinist, winced at the remark, but passed it over. Gerard was too useful a man to quarrel with.
And so these two worthies walked home, laughing together, while Denis Quirk and Cairns were preparing fresh powder and shot for the campaign against reaction. When Councillor Garnett read the leading article in "The Mercury" on "Ways and Means," after the first irritation he smiled grimly.
"This can't go on for ever. We shall wear them out," he remarked to his wife.
There was yet another question in the town, about which the feeling ran high and bitterly. The council was desirous of building a more imposing town hall, and the land they desired belonged to Ebenezer Brown. Naturally, he asked twice the just value for it, and, as was now the commonly accepted course of events, Councillor Garnett supported him. Denis Quirk and the councillors, who now followed him, set resolutely to work to prevent this spoliation. Had Denis not been there, the public would have grumblingly accepted the purchase of the land. As it was, he roused them to such a pitch of resentment that the price was slowly reduced until it finally remained at one and a quarter times the rightful value of the block. At this price the council purchased it.
During the conflict party feeling ran high, andpersonalities were indulged in. It was at this time that the scandal was first whispered.
Who originated it, no one knew, but it flew from mouth to mouth, and it was not the less grim for the constant repetition. Denis Quirk had a past—an evil past—so evil indeed that his wife had divorced him in the States. At this time the story had no substance; it was merely an ugly rumour. Strange to say, it did not reach Denis Quirk's ears, because his enemies repeated it among themselves, while his friends refused to insult him by mentioning the story.
Father Healy, on hearing it, lost for once his accustomed kindliness.
"Would you be bringing such tales to me, a priest?" he asked. "Denis Quirk is a man who goes to his duties; not by any means a saint, but a good, honest Catholic. Tell the next man or woman who speaks about it that scandal and detraction are steps in the ladder down to the devil's kingdom. There are more souls lost that way than you can count."
The narrator, a well-meaning gossip, left the presbytery in consternation, and forbore from further repetition of what was to her a "bonne bouche." But not even Father Healy could keep the tale from growing in magnitude and increased offensiveness.
The story came to Kathleen O'Connor's ears, and, curiously enough, she strongly discredited it. Not that she cared for Denis Quirk, but she had a strong sense of justice and of probability. She could not believe that Denis Quirk, whom she regarded as an honourable man, could be guilty of that of which he wasaccused. He was a hard man, rugged and deficient in manners, but, seeing him constantly, she recognised that he was not the sort of man to commit the crimes of which he was accused.
For this reason she was kinder to him than ever she had previously been. Denis Quirk, although he appreciated the fact, never attributed it to any absurd reason, such as a younger and more conceited man might have done. In the matter of women he was absolutely humble and wanting in vanity, for he regarded himself as hopelessly ugly and deficient in the qualities that charm the female sex.
But poor old Mrs. Quirk had a romantic idea in her mind that the two persons she loved best, after her husband, should make her happy by marriage. She noted the kindlier feeling between them, and one evening she spoke to Kathleen, most diplomatically as she believed.
"You are beginning to understand Denis, honey. The more you know him the better you will like him."
It was an autumn evening, and the air was beginning to turn chilly. Mrs. Quirk, who felt the cold, sat near a wood fire. Kathleen was beside the window. Presently she would slip out to say a few words to Gerard, for thus far had their intimacy gone that he frequently came and talked to her in the avenue near the house. And these meetings were unknown to Mrs. Quirk, who dozed in her chair, or to Samuel Quirk, smoking in his den. There was nothing in their têtes-a-têtes, no word spoken, no action done, that was wrong; but there was danger to the girlbecause of her very innocence. She was this night working and watching. Outside a bright moonlight lay on the trees and gardens, making the shadows darker by the contrast. Gerard, who lurked in the shadow, would presently call her from one of these.
"Mr. Denis Quirk is an honourable man, and I respect him," she said.
"It is near my heart——," Mrs. Quirk began. Then she paused.
"Yes?" asked Kathleen.
"Never mind, honey. If it is God's will, He will work it. It is difficult to arrange things for Providence."
A low whistle from a deep shadow, like the note of a bird. Mrs. Quirk fancied it was a bird, but Kathleen rose and slipped out.
"I shall be gone only a few minutes," she said.
Kathleen O'Connor was walking slowly in the deep shadow of the avenue with Gerard beside her. There was a stillness everywhere save for the droning of flying beetles as they hurried past, apparently careless as to where they might go. Beyond the avenue lawns, gardens, and trees were distinctly outlined in the bright moonlight. From the pines and from shrubs and flowers a sweet perfume arose, enervating, intoxicating, but this was as nothing to the intoxicating power in the words of Gerard. Never before had he or any man spoken to Kathleen as he did on this night; never had she felt the same strange thrill as now. Not that his words were evil or suggestive of evil; they were merely a powerful appeal to the girl's affections. They appeared to come straight from his heart, and they had a compelling effect upon her.
"I am going away from Grey Town to-morrow, Kathleen," he began.
Her heart sank at these words, for already his visits had come to assume an important part in her scheme of life.
"For a long time?" she asked him.
"For six months. Will you come with me?"
"I can't leave Mrs. Quirk," she faltered. "Not yet. Wait until you return."
"I may never come back," he urged.
"Surely you cannot expect me to come with you, like this, at a moment's notice?" she pleaded.
He put his arm around her, the first time he had touched her, and she did not shrink from him.
"You love me, Kathleen. I am sure of it. I cannot wait until I return. Come with me to Melbourne—now, at once. We shall be married there," he said, in a low voice.
"But I can't leave Mrs. Quirk like this. It would be so horribly ungrateful," she protested.
"You must!" His arm was more firmly around her. She had the feeling that she was in his power, that he was exercising some influence over her, hitherto unknown to her. "I need you more than she."
"I can't," she answered, more faintly. "Why should we steal away clandestinely, without telling Mrs. Quirk?"
"Because I am compelled to go, and I cannot go without you. I will take you to America, and give you a chance of seeing the world. We shall be happy together, you and I. Come, Kathleen!"
They had strolled back along the avenue, and were not far from the house.
"Kathleen! Honey!"
Kathleen could hear Mrs. Quirk's voice calling to her from the house.
"I must go inside," she urged.
"No! You must come with me, now, to-night!There is the night express, and I have a cab waiting for us outside the gate," he answered. There was mastery in his voice, and she felt that she could not resist.
"Kathleen! Honey!" cried the voice again. Looking up at the window, she saw Mrs. Quirk framed in the light as she peered out.
"I must go! I will!" she said.
"Come with me," he answered, and began to lead her towards the gate. As she went the voice became fainter and fainter: her resisting power weaker.
They were half-way down the avenue when they heard a man's steps, rapid and firm. A moment later they could see the figure, though indistinctly, in the shadow. For one moment Gerard hesitated, then with an oath he sprang behind a thick shrub, leaving her free. Immediately she was running towards the house, her heart palpitating, her breath coming and going in gasps. She felt that she must get away from the temptation.
In the drawing-room she found Mrs. Quirk still peering anxiously out into the garden. The old lady did not hear the girl's entry, nor did she know that Kathleen was present, until the latter went and touched her on the shoulder; then she turned quickly.
"I had a dream, honey, a fearsome dream," she said, "that someone was taking you away from me. Sure, I thought it was," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "the devil! I could see him leading you down the avenue there, and I awoke calling out to youin terror. When you did not answer me I went to the window to peer out."
"No one shall take me away from you," said the girl. "I will stay with you while you need me."
She led Mrs. Quirk back to her chair, and placed a cushion behind her. Then she remained beside her, gently stroking the old lady's hand and singing to her in a low voice. Thus did Denis Quirk find them when he entered.
Little did he know how closely she had approached to destruction. Nor was he aware that a man crouching behind the shrubs had viewed him with the acute hatred of disappointment in his heart. Gerard had clenched his fist in impotent rage, and cursed the man he regarded as an enemy. "I will be even with you for this, Denis Quirk!" he had muttered to himself as he went down the dark avenue, after waiting in the vain hope that Kathleen might return to him.
Of all this Denis Quirk was ignorant. He had fancied he saw figures as he came up the avenue, but even of this he was doubtful. Entering the room, and seeing Kathleen occupied with his mother, his voice became almost gentle as he said:
"Miss O'Connor, you are very nearly an angel."
Kathleen appreciated the kindness of his words and tone, but she did not look up nor answer him. She had not yet recovered from the scene in the garden; to speak at this moment might have proved too much for her.
Denis was, where women are concerned, quite ignorant and simple. Men he understood, but thefemale mind was like a strange, unexplored territory to him. He had a vast respect for women, a respect that bordered on fear. To conceal this he made use of a brusquerie of speech and manner that was merely a cloak to his real nervousness. Kathleen O'Connor he regarded as an ideal of womanly perfection: he placed her on a pedestal, and paid her his homage secretly. For her part, Kathleen was beginning to realise that the rough exterior concealed a character truthful, and not ungentle. Realising this, she had laid aside her attitude of resentment, and adopted a friendly camaraderie such as may exist between brother and sister.
To-night, finding his remarks unanswered, Denis turned to his mother.
"I have a plan for to-morrow, old lady," he said—"a day off. What do you say to a boating excursion up the river?"
Mrs. Quirk was still influenced by the vivid effect of her dream. It had been peculiarly real, and had left a marked impression on her mind.
"Will Kathleen be coming?" she asked.
"Kathleen has not been asked," said the girl in a low voice.
"Miss O'Connor was included in my plan," said Denis.
"And will you come, honey? Sure, if I must be drowned, I would like to have you beside me," said Mrs. Quirk.
Denis laughed at the reply, and Kathleen could not forbear from a smile.
"We will all go down together, and lie twined up in the bottom of the river. It will make the fishes smile to see us," he laughed. "Be prepared to-morrow, ten sharp."
Kathleen was sorely tempted to ask his advice in regard to Gerard. Indeed, she went so far as to call him back as he was leaving the room, but, when he turned, she asked:
"Have you any news of Desmond?"
"The best," he answered. "He is doing well. Did I do right to send him away?"
"You did," she said; "but I could not foresee. Shall I thank you now?"
"No need to do that. I am always at your service."
"Denis meant that; every word of it all," said Mrs. Quirk, when her son's footsteps had died away. "He is true to his friends, that boy is."
"I am sure that he is," replied Kathleen.
All night she lay between waking and sleeping, the events in the garden returning constantly to disturb her. She still regarded Gerard as something more than a friend; to-night she had stood on the threshold of love. But she was afraid of him; the strange influence he exerted over her had terrified her. What should she answer when he asked her to marry him on his return, and what would she do without his companionship while he was away? The morning found her still wearied with her night's combat. It brought her a note from Gerard, written prior to his departure. In it he urged Kathleen to join him in Melbourne, but all the desire to do this had now left her. Last nightin the garden she had struggled almost vainly against his power, now she was able to realise the folly and danger of that which he suggested.
The quiet party up the Grey River, with Denis Quirk rowing and Mrs. Quirk beside her, while she steered, was soothing to the girl's tired spirit.
As they wound in and out of the river bends, now between the frowning grey rocks that jutted out on each side of the river, and now through green meadows, where the cows were contentedly browsing, the quiet and stillness of the day was a sedative to her. Here and there they would pause to explore a cave, its interior, moist and covered with moss, extending far into the rocky hill, away out towards the ocean. Now and again they could obtain a distant view of Grey Town, a blue smoke hanging about its roofs and church towers.
Denis Quirk rowed steadily, but without undue exertion, and Kathleen allowed one hand to trail in the water as she steered with the other. It was a still day, and the river reflected the sky and the rocks as they passed; even the cattle standing to drink in places knee deep in the water were reduplicated. In silence the girl drank in the peacefulness of the scene, while Denis Quirk cast an occasional remark at his mother and her.
About mid-day they drew the boat up on a patch of sand, while they picnicked on a piece of green meadow land. When that was ended they drifted slowly down the stream, and returned in the motor to "Layton."
"Now," cried Denis, when he had assisted hismother and Kathleen out of the car, "after a day of peace to return to war and strife. Don't you feel better for the day off. Miss O'Connor?"
"Much better. Why is not every day like to-day?" Kathleen asked.
"We should not appreciate it properly. Work and play in thin slices makes life an appetising sandwich. Good-night, and pleasant dreams."
He turned to the chauffeur and told him to drive him to the "Mercury" office. There he flung off his coat, and directed the staff with an energy that was almost superhuman. With Denis Quirk and Cairns to control the paper, it was not to be marvelled at if the Grey Town people boasted of their daily paper.
Sometimes Ebenezer Brown, smarting over an exceptionally vigorous attack, vowed that he would start his old paper in opposition; but a short reflection showed him the hopelessness of such an undertaking.
"Wait until Gerard returns!" he said, rubbing his thin hands together. "Then we shall see Quirk crumble up and fall into pieces. Take away a man's reputation and you destroy him here in Grey Town."
"Marry? Why should I? I am perfectly happy as I am. My father dotes on me and gives me everything I ask for. I know at least a score of men who regard me as the last thing in feminine perfection. I am perfectly content to remain as I am."
Sylvia Jackson, fair haired, ethereal, as Desmond O'Connor had described her, with large, rather sleepy, blue eyes, looked at Kathleen O'Connor in surprise.
"But you may fall in love," suggested Kathleen.
"Love? I really don't know what it means. I have always liked to have a few men about me and know that they will do whatever I ask, even to destroying themselves. But the passion is on their side."
The two girls were sitting in Kathleen's room, in evening dress, as they had come from the annual club ball in Grey Town. There was a fire in the grate, a lamp in a corner of the room was lighted and half turned up, but it shed a very subdued light on the room.
Kathleen remembered that Desmond had done his utmost at the ball to monopolise Sylvia Jackson, that they had disappeared for a considerable portion of the evening. She could still see her brother's flushed faceand sparkling eyes as he returned from some dark corner with Sylvia on his arm. She had hoped to hear an avowal of love from Mrs. Quirk's guest.
"I fancied——," she began in a disappointed voice.
"Of course I like Desmond," said Sylvia Jackson, divining her thought. "He is so fresh and unconventional that we all like him at home. He is the very nicest boy I know; but I am like a mother or an elder sister to him. Why, I am centuries older than Desmond, not in actual years, but in knowledge of the world. I shall find him a charming girl-wife, like you are, but I shall always expect him to remain on my staff."
"After he is married?" cried Kathleen.
"Why not? It is a recognised thing, I assure you. But I suppose we must go to bed. What an ugly man Mr. Denis Quirk is! Really, he is the ugliest man I ever met!"
"That is because you don't know him. Mr. Quirk's face is the worst part of him," said Kathleen.
"I have a dread of ugly men. I select my staff with particular attention to good looks. What queer old people those Quirks are! The old woman should be in the kitchen; I am sure she would feel more at home there."
Now, if there was one subject upon which Kathleen felt keenly, it was the virtues of Mrs. Quirk. She well knew that the old lady was laughed at and derided behind her back; but no one had dared hitherto to speak disrespectfully of her to Kathleen's face. Reddening slightly, she answered:
"Mrs. Quirk is the best and kindest woman I know; if you really wish to be friends with me, don't say a word against her. I shall quarrel with anyone who does that."
"Don't quarrel with me, please! I am far too lazy for that. I always agree with everybody, and for your sake Mr. Denis Quirk shall be handsome, and Mrs. Quirk as refined as she is rich."
It had been Mrs. Quirk's suggestion that Sylvia Jackson should be invited to "Layton," and Sylvia, being at the time rather hipped at home, accepted the invitation readily. Desmond O'Connor, on hearing of her intended visit, managed to obtain a few days' holiday, and arrive in Grey Town in time for the club ball. There he had her undivided attention, an impossible thing to achieve in Melbourne. But the fact did not make her less elusive. She laughed at him when he became too tender, allowed him a certain degree of liberty to check him when he approached the question of love. She was always gracious and kind to him, as to every other man; in this way she prevented her staff from deserting her; but, while she loved to be admired, she had expressed her true sentiments to Kathleen as they sat together after the ball.
For his part, Desmond O'Connor lived in a fever heat of passion. To hint that Sylvia was not perfection was to make him an implacable enemy. She so far encouraged him as to make him believe that the barrier between them was the most fragile and easily broken affair, and that at any moment it would be shattered by his great love. Relying on this hope, hecame and went at her bidding, filling to perfection the duties of an obedient staff officer.
On the morning after the dance, Kathleen met Sylvia in a somewhat hostile spirit. She resented Desmond's devotion to the girl, and she had been hurt by the allusions to Mrs. Quirk; but Sylvia did her utmost to dispel this feeling.
"I am sure you are cross with me," she said, "and I want you to like me. I think you are the most charming girl I have ever met. For your sake I intend to cultivate even Mr. Denis Quirk, and to make love to that dear old woman."
This programme she began to carry out scrupulously. To Mrs. Quirk she was most attentive, and on Denis she exercised her fascinations, to his intense surprise.
"Do you walk into town?" she asked him.
"Sometimes I do. It depends on the state of my liver. When I feel in a desperate temper and inclined to destroy the whole world, myself included, I walk into town; at other times I ride in the car."
"Are you walking to-day?" she asked him.
"I am," he answered.
"Then I intend to walk with you, if I may," she said.
"You won't enjoy it a bit. It is all that I can do to prevent myself from snapping my own nose off," said Denis.
"Oh, that does not matter a bit. You couldn't make me angry if you tried. Will you come with us, Kathleen?"
"I am afraid I can't leave Mrs. Quirk. But I will meet you in town, and we will have lunch together," said Kathleen.
"Come with us," said Denis Quirk, almost despairingly. "The mother will get on for once without you."
"I flatter myself that Mrs. Quirk will be quite miserable without me," she answered, laughingly. "I have a very good opinion of myself, Mr. Quirk; I feel that I am necessary to one person in the world."
But she watched them as they walked down the avenue, wondering what they were laughing about, perhaps a little bit annoyed at Sylvia Jackson's presumption in forcing herself on Denis Quirk.
Sylvia Jackson was very adaptable, where men were concerned. She rarely found any great difficulty in securing the attention of a man, old or young, when she desired so to do. It was her way to find out where a man's special vanity lay. If he were so singular as to have no particular vanity, she would discover wherein his interests were centred and attack him through that avenue. So skilful was she, so insinuating in her flattery and in her questions, that she rarely failed to secure admiration as a woman of singular penetration. She had the gift of being able to listen with apparent interest to a conversation, throwing in the necessary question here and there. When it was necessary to talk, she could change her tactics and make conversation for the shy, reserved man.
They had not gone far to-day before Denis Quirk said to himself: "This is a clever woman." He wasnot far wrong in this appreciation, for Sylvia Jackson was undoubtedly clever. Before they had come to Grey Town the two were laughing and joking with one another as though they had known each other for years. For a woman to arrive at such intimate relations with Denis Quirk in a short time was a triumph.
Desmond O'Connor was awaiting Sylvia outside "The Lounge," as the big emporium in Gressley St. was called. Seeing her approach with Denis Quirk, his brows contracted slightly, but he met them smilingly.
"You call this punctuality?" he asked.
"I call it feminine punctuality. If a woman fails to keep an appointment by not more than half an hour, she is a model woman. I promised to meet you at nine, and it is now barely twenty-five minutes past. Mr. Quirk, could any woman achieve more than that?"
"My acquaintance with women is so limited that I must refuse to arbitrate. If I were Desmond, I should swear," answered Denis.
"Have you been swearing, Desmond?" she asked.
"If so, I have forgotten it. I am now the most supremely contented man in the world," answered Desmond.
"Well, good-bye, children!" cried Denis.
He was surprised at himself for this speech; it was a frivolity that he had never before been guilty of. But with Sylvia Jackson there were no restraints, nor was his remark in the slightest degree extraordinary to her. She called out after him as he went:
"Don't forget our appointment after lunch."
"You have charmed the grizzly bear," said Desmond. "I believe you could teach him to dance."
"I intend to do that. Before I go away he shall dance to my music, the dear old grizzly," she answered. "I intend to drop you handsome men and cultivate the ugly ones. Denis Quirk is charming!"
"I believe he is a good sort," said Desmond, who was above the pettiness of deprecating a possible rival.
"I am sure that you are the very best of good sorts. Now, what are we to do?" she answered.
"Walk along the cliffs, and see the grandest sight in Nature—the eternal war between the ocean and the land," he answered.
And Sylvia Jackson, who was artistic and emotional to an extreme degree, fully agreed with him when she stood on the cliffs that tower over the sea just two miles beyond the town.
A strong wind was blowing from the south, the sun shining through a sky dappled with fleecy broken white cloudlets. The spray sparkled in the bright light before it broke into a rainbow of changing colours. Above the big rollers the cliffs rose in broken perpendicular columns; there was a constant roar in the ears as breaker after breaker hurled itself on the rocks. Sea-birds wheeled about overhead. In the far distance the ocean stretched out, to where a bank of clouds rested on the distant horizon, in slopes and peaks, a perfect copy of snow-clad mountains.
"Don't stand so close to the cliffs!" cried Desmond.
She laughed at him mockingly.
"You need have no fear for me. I am an ethereal spirit, a thing of vapour," she answered.
"I wouldn't dare stand where you are; I should be drawn down. Good heavens!"
As he watched her she became suddenly pale and giddy. Seeing this, he sprang and seized her in his arms, drawing her back, shaking and trembling in every limb.
"It was just in time," she said. "Another second and I was lost. Suddenly a giddiness came over me, as if someone seized me and was pulling me over the cliff. Take me away from this dreadful place."
There were tears in her voice and in her eyes. She continued to sob until they were remote from the sea. Then she suddenly asked, laughingly:
"Do you still imagine I am in danger that you continue to hold me?"
"It was an opportunity I could not miss. Sylvia——," he said, sinking his voice to the sentimental key.
"Now, you must stop at once. Remember our compact. Once you become too sentimental our friendship ends. Drop your arms by your side. That will do. Now you may smile pleasantly and talk to me like a sensible man."
It was a repulse, but it sounded rather as an invitation to continue the siege in a less impulsive manner. So did Desmond construe what she had said, and his spirits reflected the satisfaction which the belief afforded him. When she joined them at lunch Kathleen found the two as full of spirits as if they had been children. Their laughter and jests were an offence tomany who were lunching in the same room as they. To these simple country folk the manners and style of the new school, to which Sylvia Jackson belonged, were something as yet strange and disagreeable. But the new school pays no attention to other people, and rejoices in causing a sensation and outraging old-fashioned ideas.
It was immediately after luncheon that Sylvia Jackson suggested:
"We will go and visit Denis Quirk, and turn his office upside down."
"I don't think you know Quirk," replied Desmond. "He's a martinet in 'The Mercury' office."
"Oh, nonsense!" she cried. "Denis Quirk and I are like brother and sister."
She shot a quick glance at Kathleen to note the effect of this remark, but Kathleen showed no sign of concern.
"You will come with us, Kathleen," she continued, "and take a lesson from me on the taming of bears. I positively love wild animals of the human sort; they afford a natural tamer like me such a fund of pleasure."
"Oh, yes, I will come," Kathleen replied.
She was vaguely surprised at the welcome they received. Denis Quirk was a new personality to her; for the moment he threw away his accustomed gravity and joined with his guests in their frolics. He led them around the office, introducing them in turn to each employe, from Cairns right down to Tim O'Neill, now promoted to office boy and occasional reporter.He explained the mysteries of the printing room, and retailed a score of newspaper anecdotes. Finally, he insisted on taking them to a tea-room, and there ordering tea for the whole party.
When he had parted from them to return to "The Mercury," Sylvia Jackson asked:
"What do you think of the martinet now? Can you suggest any other man in Grey Town whom I can transform into something human?"
"Ebenezer Brown," laughed Desmond O'Connor. "Why, there he comes, the old rascal!"
It was done in a moment. As the man came slowly up the street, Sylvia Jackson dropped her purse in his path. It fell with a clink, and this it probably was that caused Ebenezer Brown to stoop and pick it up.
As he handed it back to her, Sylvia Jackson gave him a most gracious smile.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Brown!" she said.
Ebenezer paused for a moment to ask:
"You know me, young lady?"
"You would not remember me, but I met you once, years ago. My name is Sylvia Jackson."
"Jackson?" grunted the old man. "Don't remember the name, but I shouldn't forget you if I had met you once."
He went along the street, chuckling in his throat in a dry, disagreeable fashion he affected when amused.
"You took a great risk in allowing old Eb. to hold your purse. How he resisted an inclination to pocket it I can't for the life of me understand," said Desmond O'Connor.
"Are there no other impossible men in Grey Town?" asked Sylvia Jackson. "I feel so exalted by my two successes that I would love to discover a really hardened woman-hater, and convert him to more humanitarian principles."
"Be content with what you have achieved, and devote your gifts to me," said Desmond.
Kathleen recognised that she was the unnecessary third, but they protested that she must walk home with them, and managed to ignore her presence entirely as they followed the dusty road to "Layton."