Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.“To See the Ruins!”“This begins to grow exciting. The plot develops!” said Mademoiselle gaily to herself, when the fifth day of the last week in the year was reached, and Mr Geoffrey Hilliard made his fifth appearance on the scene in transparently accidental-on-purpose manner. On the first day he had been discovered assiduously pumping up the tyres of a bicycle immediately outside the Castle gates; on the second, he was lounging about the village street with an air of boredom which showed that he had exhausted all the objects of interest long before the O’Shaughnessy party passed by on their morning walk; on the third, he paid a formal call in the afternoon and stayed a good two hours by the clock, for which breach of etiquette he was so much concerned that he was compelled to come again the next day to apologise, and hope the ladies were not fatigued. Bridgie smiled polite reassurements, but Esmeralda lay back in her seat and naughtily yawned, as though in protest against her sister’s words. She affected to conceal her weariness, but it was a transparent pretence, and the young fellow’s eyes twinkled with amusement. Since the moment of their first meeting there had been this pretence of antagonism, this playing at fighting on the girl’s part; but, as Bridgie had foretold, the man seemed to find it rather an encouragement than otherwise, and his smile was never more bright and self-confident than after an exhibition like the present.“Miss Joan seems to have suffered,” he said boldly. “I feel truly guilty; but won’t you allow me to remedy the mischief? If I might make a suggestion, it’s a perfect winter afternoon, and you promised to show me the remains of that old ruin in your grounds. Don’t you think that half an hour’s walk before tea would freshen you up?”“I detest ruins; they are so dull,” said Esmeralda ungraciously; but Mr Hilliard still continued to smile and to look at her in expectant fashion, and presently, almost against her will, as it seemed, she rose from her chair and moved across the room. “Of course, if you really want to see them! It will only take a few minutes. Come then, Pixie! You were asking me to come out. It will do you good to come too.”Bridgie and Mademoiselle exchanged a quick glance of amusement at the look of disgust which passed over the visitor’s face, and which all his politeness was not able to conceal; but Pixie pranced after her sister with willing step, for it had never entered into her heart to believe it possible that there could exist a living creature unto whom her society could be otherwise than rapturously welcome. In the cloak-room off the hall she put on two odd shoes, the two which came first to hand, and a piebald sealskin jacket, which, according to tradition, had descended from a great-aunt, and which was known in the household as “The jacket,” and worn indiscriminately by whosoever might happen to need a warm wrap.The effect of this costume, finished off by an old bowler hat, was so weird and grotesque that at the first moment of beholding it Hilliard thought it must surely be a joke designed for his benefit; but the air of unconsciousness worn by both girls saved him from making a false move, and he speedily forgot all about Pixie in admiration of her sister. Whatever Esmeralda wore, it seemed as if this were the dress of all others to show off her beauty to the best advantage; and the grey golf-cape and knitted cap, set carelessly over her smoke-like locks, appeared at once the ideal garments for a winter promenade. Pixie slipped her arm underneath the cloak to hang on to her sister’s arm, and the three set off together across the snow-bound park.“I suppose you know a great deal about ruins, since you are so much interested in ours,” said Esmeralda, as an opening to the conversation. “People are always interested in things they understand. That’s the only reason why I should like to be clever and learned—it would make life so much more satisfying. It doesn’t amuse me in the least to see old walls, and bits of pillars sticking out of the earth. I’d pull them all down and build something new in their place if I had the chance, but people who understand are quite different. Some people came here once on a picnic from Dublin, and father gave them permission to see over the grounds. Of course it rained, but they all stood round on the damp, soaking grass while an old gentleman gave a lecture about that miserable little ruin. He said something about the shape of the windows, and they all took notes and sketches and snapshots, as if they had never seen anything so wonderful in their lives. There is a bit of a pillar two yards high. He prosed away about that until I had to yawn, but they seemed to like it. Some of them were quite young too. There was a girl rather like Bridgie, with such a pretty hat!” Esmeralda heaved a sigh of melancholy recollection. “She stood there and let the rain soak through the ribbons while she sketched the stupid old things. I envied her so! I thought, ‘Why can’t I be interested in ruins too, and then I should have something to think about, and to amuse myself with when the time feels so long?’”“Does the time seem long to you, then? Do you find it dull over here?” asked Hilliard, in a tone that was almost tender in its anxious solicitude; and Esmeralda heaved a sigh of funereal proportions, delighted to find herself supplied with a listener ready to sympathise with her woes. A home audience is proverbially stoical, and after the jeers and smiles of brothers and sisters, it was a refreshing change to wake a note of distress at the very beginning of a conversation. She became suddenly conscious of a feeling of acute enjoyment, but endeavoured to look pensive, as befitted the occasion, and rolled her grey eyes upward with eloquent sadness.“Oh, dull! Dull does not express my feelings! We are so shut in here, and so little happens, and I know nothing. I have had no chance of learning and finding interests in that way.”“Why didn’t ye study, then, when ye had the chance? Ye drove Miss Minnitt crazy with your idleness!” interposed Pixie brutally; and Esmeralda flushed and hesitated, momentarily discomfited, then, recovering herself, cast a melancholy glance in Hilliard’s face.“Our old governess,” she explained resignedly, in the tone of one who might speak volumes, but is restrained from feelings of loyalty and decorum. “A kind old creature, so good to us! She has lived in this village all her life.”“I understand,” said the model listener. It seemed to him quite natural that this beautiful creature possessed an intellect to match her person, and felt her eagle wings pinioned in the atmosphere of an Irish village. He wished he were only more intellectual himself, so that he might be a fitter companion, and devoutly hoped that he might make no bad slip to betray his ignorance, and so alienate her sweet confidence. “As you say, the more one knows, the less possible it should be to be dull or idle. Amusement can never make up for good solid occupation.”“Oh, never, never!” cried Miss Esmeralda, with a fervour which brought Pixie’s eyes upon her in a flash of righteous indignation. Esmeralda to talk like this! Esmeralda, who sat at ease while others worked, who groaned aloud if asked to sew on a button, and was at once so dilatory and so inefficient that Bridgie declared it was easier to do a task at once than to unravel it after her vain attempts. Pixie gasped and pranced on ahead, her back towards the direction in which she was going, her face turned upon the culprit in kindling reproach.“Joan O’Shaughnessy, what’s happened to you to talk in such a fashion this day? You, that doesn’t know the meaning of work, to be sighing and groaning that you haven’t enough to do! You, to be saying that it would cheer you to be busy, when ye sigh like a furnace and grumble the day long if you have to work for an hour on end! I’ve heard ye say with my own ears that if you had your own way, you would never do another hand’s turn, and of all the lazy, idle girls—”“Wouldn’t it perhaps be wise if you looked which way you were going? The ground is rough, and I’m afraid you will have a fall,” interposed Hilliard mildly; not that he was in truth the least bit anxious about this strange child’s safety, or could not have witnessed her downfall with equanimity, but in pity for Esmeralda’s embarrassment she could not be allowed to continue her tirade indefinitely. He was rewarded by a melting glance, as the beauty sighed once more, and said, in a tone of sweet forbearance—“She does not understand! She has been away, and that’s not the sort of work I meant; and besides—”She stopped short, for she could not think how to finish the sentence, and the fear of Pixie was ever before her eyes. It was in a different and much more natural voice that she again took up her explanation. “Perhaps I was mistaken in saying it was work I wanted, but it is certainly interest. I have never been farther away than Dublin, and I get so tired and weary of it all, and have such a longing for something fresh. The others don’t feel it, for they are so fond of the place; but I’m restless. I feel pent in, knowing the world is moving on and on all the time, and I am shut up here, and sometimes the longing comes over me so strongly that it’s more than I can bear, and I fall into—”“A rage!” said Pixie calmly. Esmeralda had paused just long enough to draw that short eloquent breath which adds so largely to the eloquence of a peroration, and was preparing to roll out a tragic “despair,” when that tiresome child must needs interfere and spoil everything by her suggestion. Esmeralda’s anger was quickly roused, but fortunately even quicker still was her sense of humour. For a moment clouds and sunshine struggled together upon her face, then the sunshine prevailed, she looked at Hilliard, beheld him biting his lips in a vain effort to preserve composure, and went off into peal after peal of rich, melodious laughter.“Next time I wish to talk at my ease, it’s not bringing you out with me I’ll be, Pixie O’Shaughnessy!” she cried between her gasps; and Hilliard’s merry “Ho! ho! ho!” rang out in echo.“She is indeed a most painfully honest accompanist. I am thankful that I have no small brothers to give me away in return. You give your sister a very bad character, Miss Pixie; but you seem very little in awe of her, I notice. She must possess some redeeming qualities to make up for the bad ones you have quoted.”Pixie bent her head in benignant assent, as one bound by honesty to see both sides of a question and to deal out praise with blame.“She’s idle,” she said judicially, “and she’s hasty, but she’s sorry afterwards. The more awful her temper, the quicker she’s sorry. The night after you left—”“Thank you, Pixie, you can spare us further domestic revelations!” cried Esmeralda, flushing in lovely confusion, and keeping her face turned away from the merry blue eyes so persistently bent upon her. “There’s one comfort, Mr Hilliard. You know the worst of me now, and there is nothing more to dread. Pixie has spoiled my chance of posing as a blighted genius, and shown me as just a bad-tempered, discontented girl who has not the sense to be satisfied with her position. I’m sorry, for it would have been interesting to hear you talk like the clever, intellectual people in books, and perhaps, if I had kept very quiet and agreed with all you said, you wouldn’t have discovered my ignorance for quite a long time to come.”“But, dear me, you would have discovered mine! I couldn’t have kept it up for an hour. You surely don’t expect me to lecture on improving topics!” cried Hilliard, in such transparent amaze that Esmeralda could not but be convinced of his sincerity.“Then you are not clever either!” she exclaimed. “What a relief! Now we can just talk comfortably, and not pretend any more. But at any rate you have seen more than we have. Have you travelled much? What have you seen? What countries have you been in?”“I can hardly say straight off. Let me count. France, Belgium, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, Greece, Turkey—”The “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” of astonishment had been steadily gaining in volume, but at the sound of this last name they reached a perfect shriek of delight. There was something so very strange and mysterious about Turkey that even to see a man who had visited its borders gave one a thrill of excitement. Pixie’s premeditated boast that she had been in Surbiton died upon her lips, and Esmeralda’s eyes grew soft with wonder.“Turkey! Oh, you are a traveller! What on earth made you go to Turkey?”“It was part of a tour on which my uncle took me after leaving the University, and I went even farther afield than that,—to Palestine and Egypt. You would like Egypt even better than Turkey, Miss Joan, for there, thanks to our rule, you have picturesqueness without squalor, whereas Turkey does not stand a close inspection. We were thankful to leave Constantinople after a very few days, but were sad indeed to turn our backs on fascinating Cairo. If I had the seven-leagued boots, I should be a frequent visitor over there.”The two sisters linked arms, and gazed at him with awe-stricken eyes.“And you have seen veiled women,” sighed Esmeralda softly, “and Mont Blanc, and the Pyramids, and the desert, and the Red Sea, and Saint Peter’s at Rome, and all the things I have dreamt about ever since I was a child! Oh, you are lucky! I think I should die with joy if anyone offered to take me a trip like that. Did you have any adventures? What did you like best? Begin at the beginning, and tell us all about it!”Well, as our American cousins would say, this was rather a large order; but Hilliard could refuse nothing to such an audience, and, if the truth must be told, had his full share of the traveller’s love of relating his experiences. He passed lightly over days spent in countries near home, but grew even more and more animated as he went farther afield and reached the Eastern surroundings in which he delighted.“Shall I tell you about Palestine? I never knew anything stranger than arriving at that railway station and seeing ‘Jerusalem’ written up on the hoardings. It seemed extraordinary to have a station there at all, and such a station! It was in autumn, and everything was white with dust. Outside in the road were a number of the most extraordinary-looking vehicles you can possibly imagine, white as if they had been kept in a flour mill, and as decrepit as if a hundred years had passed since they were last used. How they kept together at all was a marvel to me, and as for the harness, there was more string than leather to be seen. The drive from the station to the hotel was one of the most exciting things I ever experienced. I am not nervous, and have had as much driving as most fellows, but that was a bit too much even for me. The road is very hilly, turns sharply at many corners, and is, of course, badly made to the last degree, so that it would have seemed difficult enough to manage suck crazy vehicles even at a foot-pace; but our fellow drove as if the Furies were at his back, as if it were a question of life and death to get to the hotel before any of his companions. He stood up on the box and shouted to his horses; he lashed at them with his whip; he yelled imprecations to the rivals who were galloping in pursuit. When an especially dangerous corner came in view, two drivers made for it in a reckless stampede, which made it seem certain that one or other must be hurled to the bottom of the hill. A lady inside our carriage burst into a flood of tears, and I believe her companions were all clinging to one another in terror. As for me, I was on the box, and I never passed a more exciting ten minutes. We were told afterwards that we had had the best driver in Jerusalem, but I never engaged his services again.“That same night in the hotel I was introduced to a dragoman, whom we engaged to take us about. I am sure you will like to hear about Salim, for, apart from himself, he had a great claim to attention, for he had been Gordon’s dragoman years ago when he was in Egypt. Yes! I knew that would interest you, and you would have loved Salim for his own sake too. He had a gentle, sad face, with the beautiful dark eyes of the Eastern, and he spoke English remarkably well. He was unmarried, and lived with his mother and a married brother. Sixteen years he and his sister-in-law had lived in the same house, but he had never seen her face. He had been unlucky in money matters, but accepted his poverty with the placid acquiescence of the Oriental. I remember one day when he told me of a piece of good fortune which had befallen a fellow-dragoman, and I said that I hoped he might be similarly fortunate. He bowed his head with quiet dignity, and waved a brown hand in the air. ‘That is with God, sahib—that is with God!’ I used to question him about Gordon, and he loved to talk of him. ‘He was a good man, sahib, better than any bishop. When we were camping in the desert he was up every morning before it was light, kneeling to pray before his tent, and his heart was so great that he could not bear to see anyone in trouble. I must always keep with me a bag with small moneys, and he would not wait to be asked. Everyone who needed must be helped. When he went away he gave me his two best horses, but my heart was sore. He was a great chief—a great chief; but I heard afterwards that when he came to die he was quite poor—the same as Christ!’”Hilliard told a story well, and now, as he repeated the words, his voice softened into the deep cadence of the Eastern tones in which they had first been said; his hand waved and his eye kindled with emotion.Esmeralda looked at him, and her heart gave a throb of admiration. The manner in which he had spoken was unmistakably reverent, and if young men only knew it, there is nothing which a girl loves more than a mingling of manliness and reverence in the man who singles her out for attention.“He is a good man; I like him,” was the mental comment. Aloud she said dreamily, “Gordon is my hero. I love to hear about him. He was too generous to others to heap up money for himself. I suppose he didn’t care about it. I wish I didn’t, but I do. It’s so very distressing to be always short of money. All the good people in books are poor, but for myself I think it’s bad for the temper. They talk about the peril of riches, but I should like to try it for myself, wouldn’t you, Mr Hilliard?”Hilliard smiled—a quiet, amused smile.“Well, I don’t know. Everything is comparative. If some people would think us poor, others would most certainly consider us very rich indeed. We have all that we need, and for myself I’m quite content. I manage to have a very good time.”“And you get away for holidays like this. That must make it easier. Have you to work very hard? What is your work? In what way do you make your living?”Once more Hilliard smiled in amusement, and in truth there was a directness about Esmeralda’s questionings which was as unusual as it was unconscious. He put up his hand and stroked one end of his curly moustache.“Glue!”“Glue!” echoed Esmeralda shrilly.“Glue!” shrieked Pixie in even shriller echo.The two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him in horrified incredulity. The pity, the commiseration of their expressions was touching to behold.“Oh, poor fellow!” sighed Esmeralda softly. “Youmustbe poor! How can anyone manage to make a living out of—glue?”“But you know, Esmeralda darling, it is useful! We break such heaps of things ourselves. We often use it,” urged Pixie anxiously; and at this her sister brightened visibly.“We do. That’s true for you, Pixie. Perhaps it’s your glue we use, Mr Hilliard. Dear me, it will be quite cheering when we break anything after this! We shall feel we are helping a friend by our misfortune.”“That’s very kind of you. I’ll remember that you said that, and it will cheer me too,” replied Hilliard gallantly, and at that very moment a sound came to the ears of all. “The gong! It must be tea-time. They are sounding it to let us hear. I hope I have not kept you out too long.”Ten minutes later they were all seated in the hall enjoying tea and scones, while Bridgie smiled sweetly on their flushed, animated faces.“You look well after your walk,” she said. “And what did Mr Hilliard think of our tame ruins?”Pixie looked at Esmeralda; Esmeralda looked at Mr Hilliard; Mr Hilliard looked at his boots. One and all they had forgotten all about the ruins!

“This begins to grow exciting. The plot develops!” said Mademoiselle gaily to herself, when the fifth day of the last week in the year was reached, and Mr Geoffrey Hilliard made his fifth appearance on the scene in transparently accidental-on-purpose manner. On the first day he had been discovered assiduously pumping up the tyres of a bicycle immediately outside the Castle gates; on the second, he was lounging about the village street with an air of boredom which showed that he had exhausted all the objects of interest long before the O’Shaughnessy party passed by on their morning walk; on the third, he paid a formal call in the afternoon and stayed a good two hours by the clock, for which breach of etiquette he was so much concerned that he was compelled to come again the next day to apologise, and hope the ladies were not fatigued. Bridgie smiled polite reassurements, but Esmeralda lay back in her seat and naughtily yawned, as though in protest against her sister’s words. She affected to conceal her weariness, but it was a transparent pretence, and the young fellow’s eyes twinkled with amusement. Since the moment of their first meeting there had been this pretence of antagonism, this playing at fighting on the girl’s part; but, as Bridgie had foretold, the man seemed to find it rather an encouragement than otherwise, and his smile was never more bright and self-confident than after an exhibition like the present.

“Miss Joan seems to have suffered,” he said boldly. “I feel truly guilty; but won’t you allow me to remedy the mischief? If I might make a suggestion, it’s a perfect winter afternoon, and you promised to show me the remains of that old ruin in your grounds. Don’t you think that half an hour’s walk before tea would freshen you up?”

“I detest ruins; they are so dull,” said Esmeralda ungraciously; but Mr Hilliard still continued to smile and to look at her in expectant fashion, and presently, almost against her will, as it seemed, she rose from her chair and moved across the room. “Of course, if you really want to see them! It will only take a few minutes. Come then, Pixie! You were asking me to come out. It will do you good to come too.”

Bridgie and Mademoiselle exchanged a quick glance of amusement at the look of disgust which passed over the visitor’s face, and which all his politeness was not able to conceal; but Pixie pranced after her sister with willing step, for it had never entered into her heart to believe it possible that there could exist a living creature unto whom her society could be otherwise than rapturously welcome. In the cloak-room off the hall she put on two odd shoes, the two which came first to hand, and a piebald sealskin jacket, which, according to tradition, had descended from a great-aunt, and which was known in the household as “The jacket,” and worn indiscriminately by whosoever might happen to need a warm wrap.

The effect of this costume, finished off by an old bowler hat, was so weird and grotesque that at the first moment of beholding it Hilliard thought it must surely be a joke designed for his benefit; but the air of unconsciousness worn by both girls saved him from making a false move, and he speedily forgot all about Pixie in admiration of her sister. Whatever Esmeralda wore, it seemed as if this were the dress of all others to show off her beauty to the best advantage; and the grey golf-cape and knitted cap, set carelessly over her smoke-like locks, appeared at once the ideal garments for a winter promenade. Pixie slipped her arm underneath the cloak to hang on to her sister’s arm, and the three set off together across the snow-bound park.

“I suppose you know a great deal about ruins, since you are so much interested in ours,” said Esmeralda, as an opening to the conversation. “People are always interested in things they understand. That’s the only reason why I should like to be clever and learned—it would make life so much more satisfying. It doesn’t amuse me in the least to see old walls, and bits of pillars sticking out of the earth. I’d pull them all down and build something new in their place if I had the chance, but people who understand are quite different. Some people came here once on a picnic from Dublin, and father gave them permission to see over the grounds. Of course it rained, but they all stood round on the damp, soaking grass while an old gentleman gave a lecture about that miserable little ruin. He said something about the shape of the windows, and they all took notes and sketches and snapshots, as if they had never seen anything so wonderful in their lives. There is a bit of a pillar two yards high. He prosed away about that until I had to yawn, but they seemed to like it. Some of them were quite young too. There was a girl rather like Bridgie, with such a pretty hat!” Esmeralda heaved a sigh of melancholy recollection. “She stood there and let the rain soak through the ribbons while she sketched the stupid old things. I envied her so! I thought, ‘Why can’t I be interested in ruins too, and then I should have something to think about, and to amuse myself with when the time feels so long?’”

“Does the time seem long to you, then? Do you find it dull over here?” asked Hilliard, in a tone that was almost tender in its anxious solicitude; and Esmeralda heaved a sigh of funereal proportions, delighted to find herself supplied with a listener ready to sympathise with her woes. A home audience is proverbially stoical, and after the jeers and smiles of brothers and sisters, it was a refreshing change to wake a note of distress at the very beginning of a conversation. She became suddenly conscious of a feeling of acute enjoyment, but endeavoured to look pensive, as befitted the occasion, and rolled her grey eyes upward with eloquent sadness.

“Oh, dull! Dull does not express my feelings! We are so shut in here, and so little happens, and I know nothing. I have had no chance of learning and finding interests in that way.”

“Why didn’t ye study, then, when ye had the chance? Ye drove Miss Minnitt crazy with your idleness!” interposed Pixie brutally; and Esmeralda flushed and hesitated, momentarily discomfited, then, recovering herself, cast a melancholy glance in Hilliard’s face.

“Our old governess,” she explained resignedly, in the tone of one who might speak volumes, but is restrained from feelings of loyalty and decorum. “A kind old creature, so good to us! She has lived in this village all her life.”

“I understand,” said the model listener. It seemed to him quite natural that this beautiful creature possessed an intellect to match her person, and felt her eagle wings pinioned in the atmosphere of an Irish village. He wished he were only more intellectual himself, so that he might be a fitter companion, and devoutly hoped that he might make no bad slip to betray his ignorance, and so alienate her sweet confidence. “As you say, the more one knows, the less possible it should be to be dull or idle. Amusement can never make up for good solid occupation.”

“Oh, never, never!” cried Miss Esmeralda, with a fervour which brought Pixie’s eyes upon her in a flash of righteous indignation. Esmeralda to talk like this! Esmeralda, who sat at ease while others worked, who groaned aloud if asked to sew on a button, and was at once so dilatory and so inefficient that Bridgie declared it was easier to do a task at once than to unravel it after her vain attempts. Pixie gasped and pranced on ahead, her back towards the direction in which she was going, her face turned upon the culprit in kindling reproach.

“Joan O’Shaughnessy, what’s happened to you to talk in such a fashion this day? You, that doesn’t know the meaning of work, to be sighing and groaning that you haven’t enough to do! You, to be saying that it would cheer you to be busy, when ye sigh like a furnace and grumble the day long if you have to work for an hour on end! I’ve heard ye say with my own ears that if you had your own way, you would never do another hand’s turn, and of all the lazy, idle girls—”

“Wouldn’t it perhaps be wise if you looked which way you were going? The ground is rough, and I’m afraid you will have a fall,” interposed Hilliard mildly; not that he was in truth the least bit anxious about this strange child’s safety, or could not have witnessed her downfall with equanimity, but in pity for Esmeralda’s embarrassment she could not be allowed to continue her tirade indefinitely. He was rewarded by a melting glance, as the beauty sighed once more, and said, in a tone of sweet forbearance—

“She does not understand! She has been away, and that’s not the sort of work I meant; and besides—”

She stopped short, for she could not think how to finish the sentence, and the fear of Pixie was ever before her eyes. It was in a different and much more natural voice that she again took up her explanation. “Perhaps I was mistaken in saying it was work I wanted, but it is certainly interest. I have never been farther away than Dublin, and I get so tired and weary of it all, and have such a longing for something fresh. The others don’t feel it, for they are so fond of the place; but I’m restless. I feel pent in, knowing the world is moving on and on all the time, and I am shut up here, and sometimes the longing comes over me so strongly that it’s more than I can bear, and I fall into—”

“A rage!” said Pixie calmly. Esmeralda had paused just long enough to draw that short eloquent breath which adds so largely to the eloquence of a peroration, and was preparing to roll out a tragic “despair,” when that tiresome child must needs interfere and spoil everything by her suggestion. Esmeralda’s anger was quickly roused, but fortunately even quicker still was her sense of humour. For a moment clouds and sunshine struggled together upon her face, then the sunshine prevailed, she looked at Hilliard, beheld him biting his lips in a vain effort to preserve composure, and went off into peal after peal of rich, melodious laughter.

“Next time I wish to talk at my ease, it’s not bringing you out with me I’ll be, Pixie O’Shaughnessy!” she cried between her gasps; and Hilliard’s merry “Ho! ho! ho!” rang out in echo.

“She is indeed a most painfully honest accompanist. I am thankful that I have no small brothers to give me away in return. You give your sister a very bad character, Miss Pixie; but you seem very little in awe of her, I notice. She must possess some redeeming qualities to make up for the bad ones you have quoted.”

Pixie bent her head in benignant assent, as one bound by honesty to see both sides of a question and to deal out praise with blame.

“She’s idle,” she said judicially, “and she’s hasty, but she’s sorry afterwards. The more awful her temper, the quicker she’s sorry. The night after you left—”

“Thank you, Pixie, you can spare us further domestic revelations!” cried Esmeralda, flushing in lovely confusion, and keeping her face turned away from the merry blue eyes so persistently bent upon her. “There’s one comfort, Mr Hilliard. You know the worst of me now, and there is nothing more to dread. Pixie has spoiled my chance of posing as a blighted genius, and shown me as just a bad-tempered, discontented girl who has not the sense to be satisfied with her position. I’m sorry, for it would have been interesting to hear you talk like the clever, intellectual people in books, and perhaps, if I had kept very quiet and agreed with all you said, you wouldn’t have discovered my ignorance for quite a long time to come.”

“But, dear me, you would have discovered mine! I couldn’t have kept it up for an hour. You surely don’t expect me to lecture on improving topics!” cried Hilliard, in such transparent amaze that Esmeralda could not but be convinced of his sincerity.

“Then you are not clever either!” she exclaimed. “What a relief! Now we can just talk comfortably, and not pretend any more. But at any rate you have seen more than we have. Have you travelled much? What have you seen? What countries have you been in?”

“I can hardly say straight off. Let me count. France, Belgium, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, Greece, Turkey—”

The “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” of astonishment had been steadily gaining in volume, but at the sound of this last name they reached a perfect shriek of delight. There was something so very strange and mysterious about Turkey that even to see a man who had visited its borders gave one a thrill of excitement. Pixie’s premeditated boast that she had been in Surbiton died upon her lips, and Esmeralda’s eyes grew soft with wonder.

“Turkey! Oh, you are a traveller! What on earth made you go to Turkey?”

“It was part of a tour on which my uncle took me after leaving the University, and I went even farther afield than that,—to Palestine and Egypt. You would like Egypt even better than Turkey, Miss Joan, for there, thanks to our rule, you have picturesqueness without squalor, whereas Turkey does not stand a close inspection. We were thankful to leave Constantinople after a very few days, but were sad indeed to turn our backs on fascinating Cairo. If I had the seven-leagued boots, I should be a frequent visitor over there.”

The two sisters linked arms, and gazed at him with awe-stricken eyes.

“And you have seen veiled women,” sighed Esmeralda softly, “and Mont Blanc, and the Pyramids, and the desert, and the Red Sea, and Saint Peter’s at Rome, and all the things I have dreamt about ever since I was a child! Oh, you are lucky! I think I should die with joy if anyone offered to take me a trip like that. Did you have any adventures? What did you like best? Begin at the beginning, and tell us all about it!”

Well, as our American cousins would say, this was rather a large order; but Hilliard could refuse nothing to such an audience, and, if the truth must be told, had his full share of the traveller’s love of relating his experiences. He passed lightly over days spent in countries near home, but grew even more and more animated as he went farther afield and reached the Eastern surroundings in which he delighted.

“Shall I tell you about Palestine? I never knew anything stranger than arriving at that railway station and seeing ‘Jerusalem’ written up on the hoardings. It seemed extraordinary to have a station there at all, and such a station! It was in autumn, and everything was white with dust. Outside in the road were a number of the most extraordinary-looking vehicles you can possibly imagine, white as if they had been kept in a flour mill, and as decrepit as if a hundred years had passed since they were last used. How they kept together at all was a marvel to me, and as for the harness, there was more string than leather to be seen. The drive from the station to the hotel was one of the most exciting things I ever experienced. I am not nervous, and have had as much driving as most fellows, but that was a bit too much even for me. The road is very hilly, turns sharply at many corners, and is, of course, badly made to the last degree, so that it would have seemed difficult enough to manage suck crazy vehicles even at a foot-pace; but our fellow drove as if the Furies were at his back, as if it were a question of life and death to get to the hotel before any of his companions. He stood up on the box and shouted to his horses; he lashed at them with his whip; he yelled imprecations to the rivals who were galloping in pursuit. When an especially dangerous corner came in view, two drivers made for it in a reckless stampede, which made it seem certain that one or other must be hurled to the bottom of the hill. A lady inside our carriage burst into a flood of tears, and I believe her companions were all clinging to one another in terror. As for me, I was on the box, and I never passed a more exciting ten minutes. We were told afterwards that we had had the best driver in Jerusalem, but I never engaged his services again.

“That same night in the hotel I was introduced to a dragoman, whom we engaged to take us about. I am sure you will like to hear about Salim, for, apart from himself, he had a great claim to attention, for he had been Gordon’s dragoman years ago when he was in Egypt. Yes! I knew that would interest you, and you would have loved Salim for his own sake too. He had a gentle, sad face, with the beautiful dark eyes of the Eastern, and he spoke English remarkably well. He was unmarried, and lived with his mother and a married brother. Sixteen years he and his sister-in-law had lived in the same house, but he had never seen her face. He had been unlucky in money matters, but accepted his poverty with the placid acquiescence of the Oriental. I remember one day when he told me of a piece of good fortune which had befallen a fellow-dragoman, and I said that I hoped he might be similarly fortunate. He bowed his head with quiet dignity, and waved a brown hand in the air. ‘That is with God, sahib—that is with God!’ I used to question him about Gordon, and he loved to talk of him. ‘He was a good man, sahib, better than any bishop. When we were camping in the desert he was up every morning before it was light, kneeling to pray before his tent, and his heart was so great that he could not bear to see anyone in trouble. I must always keep with me a bag with small moneys, and he would not wait to be asked. Everyone who needed must be helped. When he went away he gave me his two best horses, but my heart was sore. He was a great chief—a great chief; but I heard afterwards that when he came to die he was quite poor—the same as Christ!’”

Hilliard told a story well, and now, as he repeated the words, his voice softened into the deep cadence of the Eastern tones in which they had first been said; his hand waved and his eye kindled with emotion.

Esmeralda looked at him, and her heart gave a throb of admiration. The manner in which he had spoken was unmistakably reverent, and if young men only knew it, there is nothing which a girl loves more than a mingling of manliness and reverence in the man who singles her out for attention.

“He is a good man; I like him,” was the mental comment. Aloud she said dreamily, “Gordon is my hero. I love to hear about him. He was too generous to others to heap up money for himself. I suppose he didn’t care about it. I wish I didn’t, but I do. It’s so very distressing to be always short of money. All the good people in books are poor, but for myself I think it’s bad for the temper. They talk about the peril of riches, but I should like to try it for myself, wouldn’t you, Mr Hilliard?”

Hilliard smiled—a quiet, amused smile.

“Well, I don’t know. Everything is comparative. If some people would think us poor, others would most certainly consider us very rich indeed. We have all that we need, and for myself I’m quite content. I manage to have a very good time.”

“And you get away for holidays like this. That must make it easier. Have you to work very hard? What is your work? In what way do you make your living?”

Once more Hilliard smiled in amusement, and in truth there was a directness about Esmeralda’s questionings which was as unusual as it was unconscious. He put up his hand and stroked one end of his curly moustache.

“Glue!”

“Glue!” echoed Esmeralda shrilly.

“Glue!” shrieked Pixie in even shriller echo.

The two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him in horrified incredulity. The pity, the commiseration of their expressions was touching to behold.

“Oh, poor fellow!” sighed Esmeralda softly. “Youmustbe poor! How can anyone manage to make a living out of—glue?”

“But you know, Esmeralda darling, it is useful! We break such heaps of things ourselves. We often use it,” urged Pixie anxiously; and at this her sister brightened visibly.

“We do. That’s true for you, Pixie. Perhaps it’s your glue we use, Mr Hilliard. Dear me, it will be quite cheering when we break anything after this! We shall feel we are helping a friend by our misfortune.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’ll remember that you said that, and it will cheer me too,” replied Hilliard gallantly, and at that very moment a sound came to the ears of all. “The gong! It must be tea-time. They are sounding it to let us hear. I hope I have not kept you out too long.”

Ten minutes later they were all seated in the hall enjoying tea and scones, while Bridgie smiled sweetly on their flushed, animated faces.

“You look well after your walk,” she said. “And what did Mr Hilliard think of our tame ruins?”

Pixie looked at Esmeralda; Esmeralda looked at Mr Hilliard; Mr Hilliard looked at his boots. One and all they had forgotten all about the ruins!

Chapter Twenty Three.The Unwritten Page.The New Year gathering was a great success, and justified Esmeralda’s boast that she would organise an entertainment which should be both original and striking. Mademoiselle was not admitted to the secret conferences, for she was to be surprised with the other guests; but she could not shut her ears, and would not have done so if she could, for the sound of the music which rose to her ears was too melodious to lose. One and all the O’Shaughnessys possessed beautiful singing voices, and though the carols which they rehearsed were simple in themselves, they were practised with a care which made them a joy to hear. Over and over again the Major made his choir repeat a certain phrase, until thediminuendoorcrescendowas rendered to his satisfaction, until opening and closing notes sounded together to the instant, and due expression was given to every mark. Music he loved, and over music would spend time and trouble which he would have grudged in almost every other way; but he rubbed his hands with satisfaction when the last rehearsal was over, and boasted gleefully that for carol-singing not many choirs could be found to beat his own.By eight o’clock the girls were dressed and strutting up and down the hall to exhibit themselves to the gaze of their companions. Bridgie wore her coming-out dress—not so white as it had once been, but carefully chalked at the worst places, and swathed in lovely old lace round the shoulders. Esmeralda sported a pink moiré dress which had once belonged to her mother, with a voluminous sash of white muslin, since nothing more elaborate was to hand, a wreath of roses out of last summer’s hat pinned over one shoulder, with all the crunched-up leaves ironed out smooth and flat, and white gloves cleaned with benzoline until you could hardly tell them from new. She was a vision of elegance, or looked so at least to the ordinary observer; for when a girl is eighteen, and a beauty at that, she is bound to look charming, whatever be her clothes.At nine o’clock the guests were asked, and the hour had barely struck before they began to arrive. The sound of horses’ feet was heard from without, wheels drew up before the door, and in they came, one party after another, having driven across country in the cold and the dark for five, for six, and in one instance for ten long miles, but arriving fresh and radiant for all that, and brimming over with good humour. Mademoiselle thought that she had not seen such a merry assembly since leaving her own dear land, or heard such a babel of tongues. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and to be on terms of closest intimacy and affection; everyone talked at once and exclaimed with rapture and admiration at the preparations for the entertainment. It was easy to amuse such a company, and dancing and games were carried on with gusto in the long drawing-room, which had been prepared for the occasion, and looked comparatively festive with great fires burning in the fireplaces at either end.Soon after eleven o’clock the different members of the O’Shaughnessy family began to slip out of the room, but almost before their absence was noted, the Major was ringing a bell to attract attention and marshalling the company to the far end of the room. At the same signal two servants entered the room, turned out the lamps, and drew aside the curtains from the mullioned windows, through which the grounds could be seen, lying white and still in the moonlight. There was a rustle of expectation among the guests, for evidently something was about to happen, something appropriate to the day and the hour, yet what it could be no one had the ghost of an idea. That was the best of those dear O’Shaughnessys, a smiling lady confided to Geoffrey Hilliard—no one could tell what they would be up to next! They were different from everybody else, and their ways were so much more amusing and charming than the ordinary stereotyped usages of society.Hilliard agreed with fervour, and found an additional proof of the assertion as, one by one, a picturesque band of carollers entered the room by the farthest door and took up their position in a semicircle facing the audience. They were uniformly robed in black, with cowl-like hoods hanging loosely round the face, and each bore a stick, on the end of which waved a brilliant Japanese lantern. The lights lit up the features of the singers, and seldom indeed had “the beautiful O’Shaughnessys” appeared to greater advantage than at this moment. Jack’s handsome features and commanding stature made him appear a type of young manhood, Miles for once forgot to grimace, and Pat’s misleading air of innocence was even more guileless and touching than usual. As for the girls, Esmeralda looked like a picture by Rossetti, and Bridgie’s halo of golden hair was more bewitching than ever in its sombre setting. No one looked at Pixie until the signal was given and the choristers burst into song, when she came in for even more than her own share of admiration, for the treble solos were without exception given to her to sing, and the piercing sweetness of the young voice moved some of the more emotional of the audience to surreptitious tears.Several carols were sung, interspersed with part-songs suitable to the occasion, and then the singers formed up in rank two and two, and at the Major’s request the guests followed their example, making a long procession in the rear. Another song was started, something slow and plaintive in tone, its subject being the dying year, with regret for all that it had brought of joy and gladness, and to its strains the procession started on a strange and charming expedition. Down one long corridor, unlit save by the cold light from without and the warm flicker of lantern ahead along a deserted wing, where dust lay thick on the walls and the faces of departed ancestors looked down sadly from their tarnished frames, finally down the circular staircase, from which Esmeralda had had her first glimpse of Geoffrey Hilliard, and so into the great hall beneath. At the end farthest from the door the Major halted, raised one hand, and called aloud in slow, solemn tones.“Prithee, silence!” he said. That was all—“Prithee, silence!” and at the sound there was another flutter of excitement among the guests. The hands of the clock pointed to four minutes to twelve, and it was evident that the last item in the charming programme was about to take place. Ladies moved about on tiptoe, mounting the first steps of the staircase, or standing on stools to ensure a better view. Men moved politely to the rear. There was a minute’s preoccupation, and when the general gaze was once more turned to the doorway, it was seen that a significant change had taken place in the scene.Against a background of screens stood the figure of an old man—a very old man, it would appear, since his back was bowed and his head and beard white as the snow on the ground outside. His brown cloak hung in tatters, and he leant heavily upon his staff. A deep-toned “Ah–h!” sounded through the assembly, and showed that the onlookers were at no loss to understand the character which he was intended to represent. “The Old Year,” murmured one voice after another.Then a solemn hush fell over all as the clock ticked out the last minutes, and through the opened door came a blast of icy air and a few flakes of snow, blown inwards by the wind. Only another minute, and then there it came—the slow, solemn chiming of the clock on the tower. One, two, three. Good-bye, Old Year! What if you have brought troubles in your wake, you have brought blessings too, and sunny summer hours! Four, five, six—Dear old friend, we are sorrier to part with thee than we knew! We have not appreciated thee enough, made enough of thy opportunities. If we have ever reproached thee, thou hast cause to reproach us now. Seven, eight, nine. Going so soon? We were used to thee, and had been long companions, and of the new and untried there is always a dread. Good-bye, Old Year! Take with thee our blessings and our thanks, our sorrowful regrets for all wherein we have been amiss. Ten, eleven,twelve.It is here! The New Year has come, and to greet its arrival such a clashing of bells, such an outburst of strange and jangling sounds as fairly deafened the listening ears. Molly, grinning from ear to ear, was running the broom-handle up and down the row of bells outside the servants’ hall. Mike was belabouring the gong as if his life depended on his exertions. The stable-boy was blowing shrilly through a tin whistle, and the fat old cook was dashing trays of empty mustard-tins on the stone floor, and going off into peals of laughter between each movement.Perhaps it was owing to the stunning effect of this sudden noise that what had happened at the doorway seemed to have something of the quickness of magic to the astonished onlookers, but a good deal of the credit was still due to the castors on which the screens had been mounted, to an ingenious arrangement of strings, and to many and careful rehearsals. Certain it is that, whereas at one moment the figure of the Old Year was visible to all, at the next he had disappeared, and the sound of that last long chime had hardly died away before another figure stood in his place. No need to ask the name of the visitor. It was once more patent to the most obtuse beholder. A small, girlish figure with dark locks falling loosely over the shoulders, with a straight white gown reaching midway between the knees and the ankles, and showing little bare feet encased in sandals. A few white blossoms were held loosely in one hand, and in the other a long white scroll—the page on which was to be inscribed the history of an untried path.Pixie’s face was white and awed, for the solemnity of the occasion and the poetry of the impersonation alike appealed to her emotional nature, and there was an expression upon the plain little face which was more impressive than any mere pink and white prettiness, as more than one of the onlookers remarked with astonishment.“Who could have believed that that child could look like that?” cried Geoffrey Hilliard to Mademoiselle, and that young lady tossed her head with an impatient movement.“Why not, pray? If Pixie is not pretty, she is something better—she isspirituelle!” for it had come to this, that Mademoiselle could not endure to hear Pixie adversely criticised, and resented a depreciating remark as hotly as if it had had reference to herself.At this point the formal programme came to an end, and the guests hurried forward to shake hands with their hosts and thank them over and over again for the entertainment which they had provided, while the choristers shed their monk-like robes, (nothing after all but mackintosh cloaks with hoods cut out of black calico!) and appeared once more in evening dress. The way was led to the dining-room, where refreshments were spread out on the long table, and there was much drinking of healths and exchanging of good wishes for the New Year. Everyone was hungry and happy, and Mademoiselle’s cakes and jellies were much appreciated; but Esmeralda sighed as she looked around, and ate sandwiches with such a pensive air that Hilliard demanded the reason of her depression.“This!” she sighed, holding out the half-eaten fragment, on which was plainly circled the mark of small white teeth. “It hurts my sense of fitness. We should have had boar’s head and venison, and a sheep roasted whole. We have some lovely old silver dishes which would have held them, but—” the “but” was significant, and she raised her beautiful shoulders with a shrug—“those days have departed. We have to be content with sandwiches now.”“There’s no limit to one, surely,” Hilliard replied gravely. “We will keep this plate to ourselves, for I am prepared to eat a very good half, and you must be hungry after your exertions. I can’t tell how much I have enjoyed this evening. It will stand out in my memory as unlike any other I have ever spent. I shall often recall it when I am back in town.”“When—when are you going back?” asked Esmeralda, with an anxiety which she made no effort to conceal. “Not very soon, I hope. Jack goes to-morrow, and that is quite enough at one time. Oh, I do hate the end of the Christmas season! Everyone seems to go away. In a fortnight or so Pixie will be off, and Mademoiselle with her. It has been so delightful having a visitor in the house, and she has been so kind and useful. She made most of the things on the table to-night,—all those pretty iced cakes.”“Ah, yes! Very clever, I’m sure,” said Hilliard absently. It was easy to see that he had no attention to spare for Mademoiselle or her confectionery, and presently he added in a lower tone, “There is no immediate hurry for my return. I can just as well stay another three or four days, but I must be back in town before this day week. I fear there is no getting out of that.”“Glue?” queried Esmeralda saucily. They were sitting together at a little table behind most of the other guests, and she lay back in her chair looking up at him with a roguish smile. “Glue?”“Glue principally. It is a very—er—engrossing occupation,” returned Hilliard, nobly resisting the inclination to pun; “but I think it could manage without me for a few days longer, and perhaps we could have another ride together. There is a meet somewhere near the day after to-morrow. Shall you be there?”Esmeralda hesitated, seized with a sudden mysterious disinclination to say “No,” a desperate longing to say “Yes,” and yet—and yet,—how could it decently be done?“I—don’t know! It’s Bridgie’s turn. We have only one horse between us, and I have been the last three times. I don’t like to ask her again. It seems so mean.”“But if you did ask, she would let you go. She would not mind taking her turn later on?”“Oh no, or not at all, for the matter of that. There’s nothing Bridgie wouldn’t give away if anyone else wanted it. She’s an angel. It’s just because she’s so sweet that I’m ashamed to be selfish.”“I can understand that, but—just for once! If you were to ask her very nicely to change places with you this time, because—because—er—”—Hilliard hesitated and pulled his moustache in embarrassment—“because you—”“Yes, that’s just it. What can I say? Because what?” laughed Esmeralda gaily, then suddenly met the gaze of a pair of deep blue eyes, twinkling no longer, but fixed upon her in intent, earnest scrutiny, and flushed in mysterious embarrassment.“Because it was my last chance, and I had asked you especially to be there. Because I had stayed on purpose to have another ride with you! That’s the true reason, so far as I am concerned. I am sure, if you told Miss Bridgie the truth, she wouldn’t have the heart to say No.”Esmeralda looked down at the table and crumbled bread thoughtfully. She was by no means so sure. Bridgie was enough of a mother to take fright at such an open declaration of interest. She would not be so rash as to repeat the conversationverbatim, but go to that meet she would, let Bridgie refuse ten times over, let every horse disappear from the stable. Go she would, if she had to borrow the pedlar’s pony and ride barebacked all the way. Such was the mental decision; aloud she said languidly—“Don’t know, I’m sure! Perhaps I may be too tired. I’ll see when the time comes,” and stretched out her hand to beckon Pixie to her side.Hilliard smiled quietly. He had an extraordinary way of seeing through Esmeralda’s pretences, and he welcomed Pixie as genially as if thetête-à-têtewere of no consequence in his eyes.“Well, little white New Year, are you coming to sit down beside us? Have you had no supper yet? I am sure you must be hungry after all your exertions. Let me wait upon you now, in return for all the pleasure you have given me by your charming singing.”But no, Pixie refused to sit down or to eat any of the good things pressed upon her. For once in her life jellies and creams, even meringues themselves, failed to tempt her appetite, for she was feasting on an even sweeter diet—that of unlimited flattery and praise. As she strolled to and fro among the guests she was greeted on every side with words of commendation for her singing, her charming impersonation of the character assigned to her, and by the more facetious members of the party implored to smile kindly upon them, to promise them her favour, and to remember their especial desires. It was not likely that she was going to sit down in a corner of the room with no one but her sister and that stupid Mr Hilliard, who did nothing but stare at Esmeralda, as if he had never seen a girl before. She shook her head as he pointed to a chair, but lingered a moment to allow him to examine her costume and pay the proper tribute of praise.“It’s charming—quite charming—so simple, and yet so effective. Those few loose flowers are much better than a formal bouquet, and the scroll—who made the scroll? It is most professional, and I see you have a pencil hanging by the side,—white,—to match the rest.” He lifted it as he spoke, and made as though about to write, but at that Pixie drew back in dismay.“No, you mustn’t! Be careful,—you must be careful. It won’t rub out.”She walked hastily away, and the two who were left looked at each other, half sad, half smiling, for the words went home with a meaning deeper than any which the speaker had intended to convey.“Be careful. It won’t rub out,” repeated Hilliard slowly. “That’s a good motto for the New Year. I don’t know that one could have a better. I shall remember that, and the scroll all white and unmarked. I wonder what will be written there before the year is done?”“A great deal, I hope—a great many happenings. I am tired of jogging along in the same old way. I would like a sensational headline in big print, and that as soon as possible!” cried Esmeralda recklessly.Poor Esmeralda! The day was near at hand when she recalled her words, and winced at the remembrance in sorrow and misery.

The New Year gathering was a great success, and justified Esmeralda’s boast that she would organise an entertainment which should be both original and striking. Mademoiselle was not admitted to the secret conferences, for she was to be surprised with the other guests; but she could not shut her ears, and would not have done so if she could, for the sound of the music which rose to her ears was too melodious to lose. One and all the O’Shaughnessys possessed beautiful singing voices, and though the carols which they rehearsed were simple in themselves, they were practised with a care which made them a joy to hear. Over and over again the Major made his choir repeat a certain phrase, until thediminuendoorcrescendowas rendered to his satisfaction, until opening and closing notes sounded together to the instant, and due expression was given to every mark. Music he loved, and over music would spend time and trouble which he would have grudged in almost every other way; but he rubbed his hands with satisfaction when the last rehearsal was over, and boasted gleefully that for carol-singing not many choirs could be found to beat his own.

By eight o’clock the girls were dressed and strutting up and down the hall to exhibit themselves to the gaze of their companions. Bridgie wore her coming-out dress—not so white as it had once been, but carefully chalked at the worst places, and swathed in lovely old lace round the shoulders. Esmeralda sported a pink moiré dress which had once belonged to her mother, with a voluminous sash of white muslin, since nothing more elaborate was to hand, a wreath of roses out of last summer’s hat pinned over one shoulder, with all the crunched-up leaves ironed out smooth and flat, and white gloves cleaned with benzoline until you could hardly tell them from new. She was a vision of elegance, or looked so at least to the ordinary observer; for when a girl is eighteen, and a beauty at that, she is bound to look charming, whatever be her clothes.

At nine o’clock the guests were asked, and the hour had barely struck before they began to arrive. The sound of horses’ feet was heard from without, wheels drew up before the door, and in they came, one party after another, having driven across country in the cold and the dark for five, for six, and in one instance for ten long miles, but arriving fresh and radiant for all that, and brimming over with good humour. Mademoiselle thought that she had not seen such a merry assembly since leaving her own dear land, or heard such a babel of tongues. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and to be on terms of closest intimacy and affection; everyone talked at once and exclaimed with rapture and admiration at the preparations for the entertainment. It was easy to amuse such a company, and dancing and games were carried on with gusto in the long drawing-room, which had been prepared for the occasion, and looked comparatively festive with great fires burning in the fireplaces at either end.

Soon after eleven o’clock the different members of the O’Shaughnessy family began to slip out of the room, but almost before their absence was noted, the Major was ringing a bell to attract attention and marshalling the company to the far end of the room. At the same signal two servants entered the room, turned out the lamps, and drew aside the curtains from the mullioned windows, through which the grounds could be seen, lying white and still in the moonlight. There was a rustle of expectation among the guests, for evidently something was about to happen, something appropriate to the day and the hour, yet what it could be no one had the ghost of an idea. That was the best of those dear O’Shaughnessys, a smiling lady confided to Geoffrey Hilliard—no one could tell what they would be up to next! They were different from everybody else, and their ways were so much more amusing and charming than the ordinary stereotyped usages of society.

Hilliard agreed with fervour, and found an additional proof of the assertion as, one by one, a picturesque band of carollers entered the room by the farthest door and took up their position in a semicircle facing the audience. They were uniformly robed in black, with cowl-like hoods hanging loosely round the face, and each bore a stick, on the end of which waved a brilliant Japanese lantern. The lights lit up the features of the singers, and seldom indeed had “the beautiful O’Shaughnessys” appeared to greater advantage than at this moment. Jack’s handsome features and commanding stature made him appear a type of young manhood, Miles for once forgot to grimace, and Pat’s misleading air of innocence was even more guileless and touching than usual. As for the girls, Esmeralda looked like a picture by Rossetti, and Bridgie’s halo of golden hair was more bewitching than ever in its sombre setting. No one looked at Pixie until the signal was given and the choristers burst into song, when she came in for even more than her own share of admiration, for the treble solos were without exception given to her to sing, and the piercing sweetness of the young voice moved some of the more emotional of the audience to surreptitious tears.

Several carols were sung, interspersed with part-songs suitable to the occasion, and then the singers formed up in rank two and two, and at the Major’s request the guests followed their example, making a long procession in the rear. Another song was started, something slow and plaintive in tone, its subject being the dying year, with regret for all that it had brought of joy and gladness, and to its strains the procession started on a strange and charming expedition. Down one long corridor, unlit save by the cold light from without and the warm flicker of lantern ahead along a deserted wing, where dust lay thick on the walls and the faces of departed ancestors looked down sadly from their tarnished frames, finally down the circular staircase, from which Esmeralda had had her first glimpse of Geoffrey Hilliard, and so into the great hall beneath. At the end farthest from the door the Major halted, raised one hand, and called aloud in slow, solemn tones.

“Prithee, silence!” he said. That was all—“Prithee, silence!” and at the sound there was another flutter of excitement among the guests. The hands of the clock pointed to four minutes to twelve, and it was evident that the last item in the charming programme was about to take place. Ladies moved about on tiptoe, mounting the first steps of the staircase, or standing on stools to ensure a better view. Men moved politely to the rear. There was a minute’s preoccupation, and when the general gaze was once more turned to the doorway, it was seen that a significant change had taken place in the scene.

Against a background of screens stood the figure of an old man—a very old man, it would appear, since his back was bowed and his head and beard white as the snow on the ground outside. His brown cloak hung in tatters, and he leant heavily upon his staff. A deep-toned “Ah–h!” sounded through the assembly, and showed that the onlookers were at no loss to understand the character which he was intended to represent. “The Old Year,” murmured one voice after another.

Then a solemn hush fell over all as the clock ticked out the last minutes, and through the opened door came a blast of icy air and a few flakes of snow, blown inwards by the wind. Only another minute, and then there it came—the slow, solemn chiming of the clock on the tower. One, two, three. Good-bye, Old Year! What if you have brought troubles in your wake, you have brought blessings too, and sunny summer hours! Four, five, six—Dear old friend, we are sorrier to part with thee than we knew! We have not appreciated thee enough, made enough of thy opportunities. If we have ever reproached thee, thou hast cause to reproach us now. Seven, eight, nine. Going so soon? We were used to thee, and had been long companions, and of the new and untried there is always a dread. Good-bye, Old Year! Take with thee our blessings and our thanks, our sorrowful regrets for all wherein we have been amiss. Ten, eleven,twelve.

It is here! The New Year has come, and to greet its arrival such a clashing of bells, such an outburst of strange and jangling sounds as fairly deafened the listening ears. Molly, grinning from ear to ear, was running the broom-handle up and down the row of bells outside the servants’ hall. Mike was belabouring the gong as if his life depended on his exertions. The stable-boy was blowing shrilly through a tin whistle, and the fat old cook was dashing trays of empty mustard-tins on the stone floor, and going off into peals of laughter between each movement.

Perhaps it was owing to the stunning effect of this sudden noise that what had happened at the doorway seemed to have something of the quickness of magic to the astonished onlookers, but a good deal of the credit was still due to the castors on which the screens had been mounted, to an ingenious arrangement of strings, and to many and careful rehearsals. Certain it is that, whereas at one moment the figure of the Old Year was visible to all, at the next he had disappeared, and the sound of that last long chime had hardly died away before another figure stood in his place. No need to ask the name of the visitor. It was once more patent to the most obtuse beholder. A small, girlish figure with dark locks falling loosely over the shoulders, with a straight white gown reaching midway between the knees and the ankles, and showing little bare feet encased in sandals. A few white blossoms were held loosely in one hand, and in the other a long white scroll—the page on which was to be inscribed the history of an untried path.

Pixie’s face was white and awed, for the solemnity of the occasion and the poetry of the impersonation alike appealed to her emotional nature, and there was an expression upon the plain little face which was more impressive than any mere pink and white prettiness, as more than one of the onlookers remarked with astonishment.

“Who could have believed that that child could look like that?” cried Geoffrey Hilliard to Mademoiselle, and that young lady tossed her head with an impatient movement.

“Why not, pray? If Pixie is not pretty, she is something better—she isspirituelle!” for it had come to this, that Mademoiselle could not endure to hear Pixie adversely criticised, and resented a depreciating remark as hotly as if it had had reference to herself.

At this point the formal programme came to an end, and the guests hurried forward to shake hands with their hosts and thank them over and over again for the entertainment which they had provided, while the choristers shed their monk-like robes, (nothing after all but mackintosh cloaks with hoods cut out of black calico!) and appeared once more in evening dress. The way was led to the dining-room, where refreshments were spread out on the long table, and there was much drinking of healths and exchanging of good wishes for the New Year. Everyone was hungry and happy, and Mademoiselle’s cakes and jellies were much appreciated; but Esmeralda sighed as she looked around, and ate sandwiches with such a pensive air that Hilliard demanded the reason of her depression.

“This!” she sighed, holding out the half-eaten fragment, on which was plainly circled the mark of small white teeth. “It hurts my sense of fitness. We should have had boar’s head and venison, and a sheep roasted whole. We have some lovely old silver dishes which would have held them, but—” the “but” was significant, and she raised her beautiful shoulders with a shrug—“those days have departed. We have to be content with sandwiches now.”

“There’s no limit to one, surely,” Hilliard replied gravely. “We will keep this plate to ourselves, for I am prepared to eat a very good half, and you must be hungry after your exertions. I can’t tell how much I have enjoyed this evening. It will stand out in my memory as unlike any other I have ever spent. I shall often recall it when I am back in town.”

“When—when are you going back?” asked Esmeralda, with an anxiety which she made no effort to conceal. “Not very soon, I hope. Jack goes to-morrow, and that is quite enough at one time. Oh, I do hate the end of the Christmas season! Everyone seems to go away. In a fortnight or so Pixie will be off, and Mademoiselle with her. It has been so delightful having a visitor in the house, and she has been so kind and useful. She made most of the things on the table to-night,—all those pretty iced cakes.”

“Ah, yes! Very clever, I’m sure,” said Hilliard absently. It was easy to see that he had no attention to spare for Mademoiselle or her confectionery, and presently he added in a lower tone, “There is no immediate hurry for my return. I can just as well stay another three or four days, but I must be back in town before this day week. I fear there is no getting out of that.”

“Glue?” queried Esmeralda saucily. They were sitting together at a little table behind most of the other guests, and she lay back in her chair looking up at him with a roguish smile. “Glue?”

“Glue principally. It is a very—er—engrossing occupation,” returned Hilliard, nobly resisting the inclination to pun; “but I think it could manage without me for a few days longer, and perhaps we could have another ride together. There is a meet somewhere near the day after to-morrow. Shall you be there?”

Esmeralda hesitated, seized with a sudden mysterious disinclination to say “No,” a desperate longing to say “Yes,” and yet—and yet,—how could it decently be done?

“I—don’t know! It’s Bridgie’s turn. We have only one horse between us, and I have been the last three times. I don’t like to ask her again. It seems so mean.”

“But if you did ask, she would let you go. She would not mind taking her turn later on?”

“Oh no, or not at all, for the matter of that. There’s nothing Bridgie wouldn’t give away if anyone else wanted it. She’s an angel. It’s just because she’s so sweet that I’m ashamed to be selfish.”

“I can understand that, but—just for once! If you were to ask her very nicely to change places with you this time, because—because—er—”—Hilliard hesitated and pulled his moustache in embarrassment—“because you—”

“Yes, that’s just it. What can I say? Because what?” laughed Esmeralda gaily, then suddenly met the gaze of a pair of deep blue eyes, twinkling no longer, but fixed upon her in intent, earnest scrutiny, and flushed in mysterious embarrassment.

“Because it was my last chance, and I had asked you especially to be there. Because I had stayed on purpose to have another ride with you! That’s the true reason, so far as I am concerned. I am sure, if you told Miss Bridgie the truth, she wouldn’t have the heart to say No.”

Esmeralda looked down at the table and crumbled bread thoughtfully. She was by no means so sure. Bridgie was enough of a mother to take fright at such an open declaration of interest. She would not be so rash as to repeat the conversationverbatim, but go to that meet she would, let Bridgie refuse ten times over, let every horse disappear from the stable. Go she would, if she had to borrow the pedlar’s pony and ride barebacked all the way. Such was the mental decision; aloud she said languidly—

“Don’t know, I’m sure! Perhaps I may be too tired. I’ll see when the time comes,” and stretched out her hand to beckon Pixie to her side.

Hilliard smiled quietly. He had an extraordinary way of seeing through Esmeralda’s pretences, and he welcomed Pixie as genially as if thetête-à-têtewere of no consequence in his eyes.

“Well, little white New Year, are you coming to sit down beside us? Have you had no supper yet? I am sure you must be hungry after all your exertions. Let me wait upon you now, in return for all the pleasure you have given me by your charming singing.”

But no, Pixie refused to sit down or to eat any of the good things pressed upon her. For once in her life jellies and creams, even meringues themselves, failed to tempt her appetite, for she was feasting on an even sweeter diet—that of unlimited flattery and praise. As she strolled to and fro among the guests she was greeted on every side with words of commendation for her singing, her charming impersonation of the character assigned to her, and by the more facetious members of the party implored to smile kindly upon them, to promise them her favour, and to remember their especial desires. It was not likely that she was going to sit down in a corner of the room with no one but her sister and that stupid Mr Hilliard, who did nothing but stare at Esmeralda, as if he had never seen a girl before. She shook her head as he pointed to a chair, but lingered a moment to allow him to examine her costume and pay the proper tribute of praise.

“It’s charming—quite charming—so simple, and yet so effective. Those few loose flowers are much better than a formal bouquet, and the scroll—who made the scroll? It is most professional, and I see you have a pencil hanging by the side,—white,—to match the rest.” He lifted it as he spoke, and made as though about to write, but at that Pixie drew back in dismay.

“No, you mustn’t! Be careful,—you must be careful. It won’t rub out.”

She walked hastily away, and the two who were left looked at each other, half sad, half smiling, for the words went home with a meaning deeper than any which the speaker had intended to convey.

“Be careful. It won’t rub out,” repeated Hilliard slowly. “That’s a good motto for the New Year. I don’t know that one could have a better. I shall remember that, and the scroll all white and unmarked. I wonder what will be written there before the year is done?”

“A great deal, I hope—a great many happenings. I am tired of jogging along in the same old way. I would like a sensational headline in big print, and that as soon as possible!” cried Esmeralda recklessly.

Poor Esmeralda! The day was near at hand when she recalled her words, and winced at the remembrance in sorrow and misery.

Chapter Twenty Four.The Last Run.“Me dear,” said Bridgie to Mademoiselle, the next morning, showing all her dimples at once in the most mischievous of smiles, “what do you think Mr Hilliard said to me last night before he left? He has made arrangements to stay a few days later to have another ride with the hounds. He believed it would be a very good meet on Thursday, and how wonderfully my sister did ride, to be sure. It’s my belief he started with the intention of asking me to let Esmeralda go in my place, but I looked so innocent at him that he hadn’t the heart. ‘Indeed,’ I said, ‘she did so, and I feared he would think I made but a poor show in comparison.’ Wasn’t it cruel of me now, and the poor thing looking at me speechless, with those lovely, humbugging eyes! I had to turn away and laugh in a corner, but I wouldn’t relent, for, says I to myself, if I have to give up my run, I’ll get some fun another way—and it is amusing, isn’t it now, when a man shows you so plainly that he doesn’t want you?”“Indeed that is a form of humour I do not understand!” returned Mademoiselle, with her nose in the air. “But you will give way, of course—that goes without saying—and let Esmeralda go once again. You will not stand out to the end!”“How could I? Suppose it was myself, and—someone I told you about. How should I feel if I had the chance of seeing him, and she would not allow me? I believe they are really beginning to care for each other, and he is a nice man. I should like him well enough.”“A week ago you were alarmed at the thought! I confess he makes on me a pleasant impression, but surely you know very little about him, and it is rather rash to accept him at once as a possible suitor. What do you know beyond that he is handsome, and appears amiable and kind?”“His uncle was one of the Hilliards of Nanabeg. My father knew him well, and he was a fine, old-fashioned gentleman. That was what made this Mr Geoffrey come here for the hunting. He had heard his uncle speak of Bally William, and the Trelawneys take paying guests for the hunting season, so he arranged to come to them. He is not very well off, I’m afraid, for Joan tells me that he has to make his money out of glue, poor creature! But he must be nice, if he is the old squire’s nephew.”Mademoiselle’s eyes rolled upward with an eloquent glance. It was a new article of faith that a nephew must needs be exemplary because his uncle had been a popular country squire, but she held her peace and amused herself by watching the play which went on between the two sisters during the next twenty-four hours. Esmeralda was plainly anxious and ill at ease, and made tentative allusions to the coming meet, which Bridgie received with bland obtuseness. She had not the courage to make her request in so many words, but instead brought forward a succession of gloomy prophecies calculated to dampen expectation in the mind of any but the most enthusiastic rider.“It will be a heavy run to-morrow,” she said, shaking her head dismally as she glanced out of the window on the quickly melting snow. “I wouldn’t wonder if it poured with rain! It’s a fine draggled set the women will look before they get home.”“I prefer the ground soft, and as for sunshine, it’s a thing I detest,—dazzling your eyes, and the poor mare’s into the bargain. Dull weather and a cloudy sky is what I hope to see, and for once it looks as if I should get my wish.”“Well, it’s good weather you need, to get safely over that country. Mr O’Brien was saying only last season that it was the worst we had. There are some nasty bits of water this side of Roskillie, and they will be swollen with all this snow. Now next week over at Aughrin it really will be pleasant and comfortable.”“I’m so glad, darling! I hope you will enjoy it!” Bridgie put her head on one side, with a smile of angelic sweetness. Then, as Esmeralda flounced from the room in disgust, turned back to Mademoiselle, laughingly penitent.“Isn’t it wicked of me now, but I do enjoy it! She must care very much to be so shy about asking, for in an ordinary way she would have blurted it out long ago. Well, I shall just wait until to-morrow, and then I’ll say I am—” she paused to laugh over the word—“indisposed!”There is many a true word spoken in jest, and Bridgie was reminded of the proverb when the next morning arrived, and her inclination for hunting or any other amusement died a sudden death through an incident which happened at the breakfast-table. The Major was the only one of the party who received a letter, and when he had perused it he gave an exclamation of dismay, and leant back in his chair with an expression of bewilderment. “It can’t be! It isn’t possible!” he muttered to himself, and when Bridgie inquired the reason of his distress, he threw the letter across the table with an impatient movement.“That wretched bank! They say I have overdrawn. It’s impossible,—there was a decent balance only a few months back! They have made some mistake. I am positive it is a mistake.”He left the room as he spoke, for breakfast had come to an end at last, after the usual long-drawn-out proceedings, and he had waited until he had finished his meal before opening the uninteresting looking envelope, and only Bridgie was left, sitting patiently behind the urn, with Mademoiselle to keep her company. She also rose as if to go, feeling that she might bede tropunder the circumstances, but Bridgie raised a pale face, and said flatly—“Don’t run away, Thérèse, I’d rather you stayed! I knew it must come some day. It’s only a little sooner than I expected.”“But,ma chérie—don’t look like that, Bridgie dear! Your father says there is a mistake. He seemed surprised like yourself. If, as he says, the bank is mistaken—”But at this Bridgie shook her head with doleful conviction.“The bank is never wrong! Oh, I’ve been through this before, and every time father declares it’s a mistake, but it never is! I’ve been disappointed so often that I can’t hope any more. Poor dear father seems to have no idea how quickly money goes, and he is so extravagant with his horses. He bought a new hunter this autumn, and made alterations in the stables. I have tried to be careful, but, as I said before, it is so little I can do! Well, this is the last stage but one. There are a few more shares that can be sold to keep us going for a little longer, and then out we go. Poor father, he won’t be able to carry out his programme at this rate. Esmeralda’s duke has not come forward, and neither has my millionaire. When we leave the Castle we shall have to squeeze into a cottage, and live on potatoes and buttermilk. I am glad I am not going to the meet. I should have been wretched all the time, but Joan need not know until she comes back.”Bridgie’s pale cheeks seemed sufficient explanation of her determination to stay at home, and Esmeralda was sweetly sympathetic and concerned, but quite decided that exertion must at all costs be avoided.“Me dear, you must not think of going! It would be madness. I’ll keep father company, so don’t you worry a bit, but just lie down and take it easy the whole day long,” she cried gushingly; and Bridgie smiled, despite her heartache, and felt comforted by the reflection that two people would owe their happiness to her absence.The Major looked very handsome in his “pink” coat, but his brow was clouded, and he sighed profoundly as he came into the dining-room to light his cigar, and saw his eldest daughter standing disconsolately by the window.“So you are not coming after all, Bride? Letting Joan take your place? Well, everyone to his taste. I feel as if it would do me good to have a hard run and let off steam that way. I’ll show them some riding to-day, if they have never seen it before. There won’t be much that will stand in my way, but you prefer to stay at home and eat your heart out in quiet. Your mother was the same; she couldn’t throw it off. It’s a pity for your own sake you don’t take after me instead.” Then suddenly, as he looked at her, his face altered, and he put his arms round her with a rare tenderness. “Poor little woman! Poor little anxious Martha, this is rough on you! I’ve brought about this ill day by my thoughtlessness. If I’d been as careful as you, we might have lasted out until the children were grown up, but I was like Micawber—always expecting something to ‘turn up.’ You must try to forgive me, Bride. You must not be hard on your old father!”Ah, and it was a lovely sight to see Bridget O’Shaughnessy’s face at that moment—the sweetness of it, and the pity and tenderness, and the deep, unselfish love! Her father was touched by the sight, and lingered by her side, stroking her soft hair and murmuring fond, regretful words.“I haven’t treated you well. That minx Joan has twisted me round her finger, and you have suffered for it. You have had a hard time these last two years. Never mind, we’ll make a fresh start. I’ll turn over a new leaf from this day, and you shall take me in hand. Who knows but we may pull through yet?”He went off waving his hand in adieu, and Bridgie stood watching the two riders until they disappeared from sight, and repeating his loving words with fond appreciation. Hard time! Who had had a hard time? She was a fortunate girl to have had so much love and kindness, to possess such a dear, gallant, handsome father. What if they had to leave the Castle? Happiness did not depend upon the walls by which they were surrounded. So long as they were all together, they might laugh at poverty!Meanwhile Esmeralda and her father were gently trotting along towards the park at Roskillie, from whence, in hunting parlance, they were to proceed to “draw Long Gorse,” and on their way were enjoying the picturesque surroundings of a meet in the country. Along every high road, footpath, and byroad came horses and riders of various sorts and sizes, walking or jogging along towards the central point. Schoolboys were coming on ponies to see the start, farmers on clever nags; neatly dressed grooms riding, or leading horses conspicuous for shape and beauty. Down the cross-road approached the hounds themselves, headed by their whipper-in and surrounding the picturesque figure of the huntsman. They took up their position in the park, and presently from every point of the compass the scarlet coats came trotting forward, followed by a string of drags, dogcarts, and gigs. The Major and his daughter came in for greetings on every side, for they were among old friends, and the girl’s beauty and daring had made her popular with all. There were other ladies present, but they looked colourless and insignificant beside the glowing young Amazon, and she was quite conscious of the fact, and of the becoming correctness of the new habit. While yet twenty yards distant her quick eye had distinguished Geoffrey Hilliard, but she affected not to see him until he rode up to her side, his face aglow with pleasure.“You managed it, then? You managed to get here?”“My sister is not feeling very well. She begged to be excused,” replied Esmeralda demurely, and Hilliard laughed and muttered something about “blessed Saint Bridget,” which on the whole she thought it wiser not to hear. When the signal was given to move on, he kept beside her as the horsemen proceeded to cross several grassy fields; and, contrary to his usual custom, her father lagged behind, as though relieved to leave her to the care of another. Esmeralda turned lightly in her saddle, saw him riding at the farther end of the long line, and looked wonderingly at her companion.“Something’s wrong with the Major. He was so glum all the way here, and look at him now with his head hanging forward! It’s not like him to be down-hearted at a meet.”“Perhaps he is tired. He’ll waken up presently when we get to business. It would only worry him if we took any notice.”“That’s true. Perhaps the mare fidgets him. It’s the one he bought a short time since, and she has an awkward temper. Sometimes she is a paragon and does everything that she ought, but at others she is fidgety and uncertain. Father thinks she has been badly ridden at the start, but that she is good enough to take trouble with still.”“She looks a beauty, and she has not had any time to annoy him to-day. I think it can hardly be that. Did not your brother return to town yesterday? I stayed away on purpose, because I feared that on his last day you would not care to be disturbed; but isn’t it very likely that Major O’Shaughnessy is depressed at being without him?”Esmeralda looked up with a brightening glance. “Why, of course, I never thought of that! Father hates saying good-bye to Jack, hates him being in town at all, for he is the first O’Shaughnessy who has ever gone into business. There was a great scene when Jack was twenty, because he insisted on doing something for himself. ‘Have you no pride?’ cries my father. ‘Faith I have!’ cries Jack. ‘Too much of it to spend all my life starving in a ruin.’ ‘You will be the first of your race to soil your hands with trade.’ ‘Honest work,’ says Jack, ‘will soil no man’s hands, and please God, I’ll touch nothing that isn’t honest.’ ‘You’ll be falling into English ways and selling the old place as not fit for you to live in. I know the ways of your purse-proud English.’ Then Jack went white all over his face, and he says, ‘It’s never a stone of Knock I’d sell if I could keep it with my own heart’s blood, but it’s time it had a master who could spend money on it instead of seeing it fall to pieces before his eyes.’ Then it was the Major’s turn to go white, and mother said softly, ‘Jack dear—Jack!’ You never knew my mother. Bridgie is like her, she always made peace—and after that father made no more objections. I think, in a curious sort of way, he was proud of Jack because he would have his will, and he is doing well. He will retrieve our fortunes some fine day. There! there go the hounds! They are over into the covert, and see! see! there’s that old shepherd holding up his hat. The fox is off! Now for it!”Now for it indeed! From that time forth there was little chance of connected conversation, but all his life long Geoffrey Hilliard looked back upon that morning with the fond, yearning tenderness with which we recall the sunshine which precedes a storm. It was so delightful to be mounted upon a fine horse galloping lightly across country with that beautiful figure by his side, the dark eyes meeting his with a flash of understanding at every fresh incident of the run. As time wore on and the ground became more difficult, the other ladies dropped behind one by one, but Esmeralda never wearied, never flinched before any obstacle. It was the prettiest thing in the world to see her trot slowly but straightly towards gate or fence, loosen the reins, and soar like a bird over the apparently formidable obstacle, and Hilliard privately admitted that it took him all his time to keep level with her. The Major still rode apart, and seemed to take pleasure in choosing the most difficult jumps that came in his way; but his mare behaved well, and no one felt any anxiety about the safety of one of the cleverest riders present. Danger was close at hand, however, in one of those nasty “bits of water” of which Esmeralda had spoken to her sister. The hounds doubled suddenly, and the huntsmen, wheeling their horses to follow, saw before them at a distance of some quarter of a mile a line of those well-known willows which to the practised eye so plainly bespeak the presence of a brook. Esmeralda pointed towards them and spoke a few warning words.“A bad bit, swollen, I expect, after the snow. A fence this side. There’s the Master taking a view. He will tell us if it’s safe, if not, we must try the meadow. Ride over here towards him.”She swerved to the side as she spoke, and a moment later was within short enough distance to hear the warning cry. The Master pointed with his whip in the direction of the meadow of which Esmeralda had spoken, and the next moment the whole hunt was galloping after him. The whole hunt, we have said, but there was one exception, for one rider refused to take warning or to turn aside from the direct line across country. The sudden change of course had left him in the rear, and so it happened that his absence was not noted by his companions, and it was only when several moments had passed that Esmeralda, looking from side to side, began to draw her delicate brows into a frown as she asked Hilliard—“Where’s father? I can’t see him. He is not here.”“I don’t see him either, but he was with us five minutes ago before we turned back. I saw him in the last field.”“So did I, but where is he now? He can’t—” Esmeralda reined in suddenly and turned startled eyes upon her companion—“he can’t have tried that brook?”“No, no! Certainly not.” But even as he spoke Hilliard had a prevision of the truth. Although he would not admit as much as Esmeralda, there had been something in the Major’s bearing which had struck him unpleasantly since the moment of meeting, and his reckless riding had deepened the impression. “You go on,” he said earnestly, “and I will ride back and see. Perhaps he took a look at the brook and then had to come round after all, which would make him late. Please go on, Miss Joan.”But Esmeralda looked him full in the eyes and turned her horse back towards the brook.“I am going back myself. If there has been an accident, it is I who should be there. Don’t hinder me, Mr Hilliard. I must go to my father.”

“Me dear,” said Bridgie to Mademoiselle, the next morning, showing all her dimples at once in the most mischievous of smiles, “what do you think Mr Hilliard said to me last night before he left? He has made arrangements to stay a few days later to have another ride with the hounds. He believed it would be a very good meet on Thursday, and how wonderfully my sister did ride, to be sure. It’s my belief he started with the intention of asking me to let Esmeralda go in my place, but I looked so innocent at him that he hadn’t the heart. ‘Indeed,’ I said, ‘she did so, and I feared he would think I made but a poor show in comparison.’ Wasn’t it cruel of me now, and the poor thing looking at me speechless, with those lovely, humbugging eyes! I had to turn away and laugh in a corner, but I wouldn’t relent, for, says I to myself, if I have to give up my run, I’ll get some fun another way—and it is amusing, isn’t it now, when a man shows you so plainly that he doesn’t want you?”

“Indeed that is a form of humour I do not understand!” returned Mademoiselle, with her nose in the air. “But you will give way, of course—that goes without saying—and let Esmeralda go once again. You will not stand out to the end!”

“How could I? Suppose it was myself, and—someone I told you about. How should I feel if I had the chance of seeing him, and she would not allow me? I believe they are really beginning to care for each other, and he is a nice man. I should like him well enough.”

“A week ago you were alarmed at the thought! I confess he makes on me a pleasant impression, but surely you know very little about him, and it is rather rash to accept him at once as a possible suitor. What do you know beyond that he is handsome, and appears amiable and kind?”

“His uncle was one of the Hilliards of Nanabeg. My father knew him well, and he was a fine, old-fashioned gentleman. That was what made this Mr Geoffrey come here for the hunting. He had heard his uncle speak of Bally William, and the Trelawneys take paying guests for the hunting season, so he arranged to come to them. He is not very well off, I’m afraid, for Joan tells me that he has to make his money out of glue, poor creature! But he must be nice, if he is the old squire’s nephew.”

Mademoiselle’s eyes rolled upward with an eloquent glance. It was a new article of faith that a nephew must needs be exemplary because his uncle had been a popular country squire, but she held her peace and amused herself by watching the play which went on between the two sisters during the next twenty-four hours. Esmeralda was plainly anxious and ill at ease, and made tentative allusions to the coming meet, which Bridgie received with bland obtuseness. She had not the courage to make her request in so many words, but instead brought forward a succession of gloomy prophecies calculated to dampen expectation in the mind of any but the most enthusiastic rider.

“It will be a heavy run to-morrow,” she said, shaking her head dismally as she glanced out of the window on the quickly melting snow. “I wouldn’t wonder if it poured with rain! It’s a fine draggled set the women will look before they get home.”

“I prefer the ground soft, and as for sunshine, it’s a thing I detest,—dazzling your eyes, and the poor mare’s into the bargain. Dull weather and a cloudy sky is what I hope to see, and for once it looks as if I should get my wish.”

“Well, it’s good weather you need, to get safely over that country. Mr O’Brien was saying only last season that it was the worst we had. There are some nasty bits of water this side of Roskillie, and they will be swollen with all this snow. Now next week over at Aughrin it really will be pleasant and comfortable.”

“I’m so glad, darling! I hope you will enjoy it!” Bridgie put her head on one side, with a smile of angelic sweetness. Then, as Esmeralda flounced from the room in disgust, turned back to Mademoiselle, laughingly penitent.

“Isn’t it wicked of me now, but I do enjoy it! She must care very much to be so shy about asking, for in an ordinary way she would have blurted it out long ago. Well, I shall just wait until to-morrow, and then I’ll say I am—” she paused to laugh over the word—“indisposed!”

There is many a true word spoken in jest, and Bridgie was reminded of the proverb when the next morning arrived, and her inclination for hunting or any other amusement died a sudden death through an incident which happened at the breakfast-table. The Major was the only one of the party who received a letter, and when he had perused it he gave an exclamation of dismay, and leant back in his chair with an expression of bewilderment. “It can’t be! It isn’t possible!” he muttered to himself, and when Bridgie inquired the reason of his distress, he threw the letter across the table with an impatient movement.

“That wretched bank! They say I have overdrawn. It’s impossible,—there was a decent balance only a few months back! They have made some mistake. I am positive it is a mistake.”

He left the room as he spoke, for breakfast had come to an end at last, after the usual long-drawn-out proceedings, and he had waited until he had finished his meal before opening the uninteresting looking envelope, and only Bridgie was left, sitting patiently behind the urn, with Mademoiselle to keep her company. She also rose as if to go, feeling that she might bede tropunder the circumstances, but Bridgie raised a pale face, and said flatly—

“Don’t run away, Thérèse, I’d rather you stayed! I knew it must come some day. It’s only a little sooner than I expected.”

“But,ma chérie—don’t look like that, Bridgie dear! Your father says there is a mistake. He seemed surprised like yourself. If, as he says, the bank is mistaken—”

But at this Bridgie shook her head with doleful conviction.

“The bank is never wrong! Oh, I’ve been through this before, and every time father declares it’s a mistake, but it never is! I’ve been disappointed so often that I can’t hope any more. Poor dear father seems to have no idea how quickly money goes, and he is so extravagant with his horses. He bought a new hunter this autumn, and made alterations in the stables. I have tried to be careful, but, as I said before, it is so little I can do! Well, this is the last stage but one. There are a few more shares that can be sold to keep us going for a little longer, and then out we go. Poor father, he won’t be able to carry out his programme at this rate. Esmeralda’s duke has not come forward, and neither has my millionaire. When we leave the Castle we shall have to squeeze into a cottage, and live on potatoes and buttermilk. I am glad I am not going to the meet. I should have been wretched all the time, but Joan need not know until she comes back.”

Bridgie’s pale cheeks seemed sufficient explanation of her determination to stay at home, and Esmeralda was sweetly sympathetic and concerned, but quite decided that exertion must at all costs be avoided.

“Me dear, you must not think of going! It would be madness. I’ll keep father company, so don’t you worry a bit, but just lie down and take it easy the whole day long,” she cried gushingly; and Bridgie smiled, despite her heartache, and felt comforted by the reflection that two people would owe their happiness to her absence.

The Major looked very handsome in his “pink” coat, but his brow was clouded, and he sighed profoundly as he came into the dining-room to light his cigar, and saw his eldest daughter standing disconsolately by the window.

“So you are not coming after all, Bride? Letting Joan take your place? Well, everyone to his taste. I feel as if it would do me good to have a hard run and let off steam that way. I’ll show them some riding to-day, if they have never seen it before. There won’t be much that will stand in my way, but you prefer to stay at home and eat your heart out in quiet. Your mother was the same; she couldn’t throw it off. It’s a pity for your own sake you don’t take after me instead.” Then suddenly, as he looked at her, his face altered, and he put his arms round her with a rare tenderness. “Poor little woman! Poor little anxious Martha, this is rough on you! I’ve brought about this ill day by my thoughtlessness. If I’d been as careful as you, we might have lasted out until the children were grown up, but I was like Micawber—always expecting something to ‘turn up.’ You must try to forgive me, Bride. You must not be hard on your old father!”

Ah, and it was a lovely sight to see Bridget O’Shaughnessy’s face at that moment—the sweetness of it, and the pity and tenderness, and the deep, unselfish love! Her father was touched by the sight, and lingered by her side, stroking her soft hair and murmuring fond, regretful words.

“I haven’t treated you well. That minx Joan has twisted me round her finger, and you have suffered for it. You have had a hard time these last two years. Never mind, we’ll make a fresh start. I’ll turn over a new leaf from this day, and you shall take me in hand. Who knows but we may pull through yet?”

He went off waving his hand in adieu, and Bridgie stood watching the two riders until they disappeared from sight, and repeating his loving words with fond appreciation. Hard time! Who had had a hard time? She was a fortunate girl to have had so much love and kindness, to possess such a dear, gallant, handsome father. What if they had to leave the Castle? Happiness did not depend upon the walls by which they were surrounded. So long as they were all together, they might laugh at poverty!

Meanwhile Esmeralda and her father were gently trotting along towards the park at Roskillie, from whence, in hunting parlance, they were to proceed to “draw Long Gorse,” and on their way were enjoying the picturesque surroundings of a meet in the country. Along every high road, footpath, and byroad came horses and riders of various sorts and sizes, walking or jogging along towards the central point. Schoolboys were coming on ponies to see the start, farmers on clever nags; neatly dressed grooms riding, or leading horses conspicuous for shape and beauty. Down the cross-road approached the hounds themselves, headed by their whipper-in and surrounding the picturesque figure of the huntsman. They took up their position in the park, and presently from every point of the compass the scarlet coats came trotting forward, followed by a string of drags, dogcarts, and gigs. The Major and his daughter came in for greetings on every side, for they were among old friends, and the girl’s beauty and daring had made her popular with all. There were other ladies present, but they looked colourless and insignificant beside the glowing young Amazon, and she was quite conscious of the fact, and of the becoming correctness of the new habit. While yet twenty yards distant her quick eye had distinguished Geoffrey Hilliard, but she affected not to see him until he rode up to her side, his face aglow with pleasure.

“You managed it, then? You managed to get here?”

“My sister is not feeling very well. She begged to be excused,” replied Esmeralda demurely, and Hilliard laughed and muttered something about “blessed Saint Bridget,” which on the whole she thought it wiser not to hear. When the signal was given to move on, he kept beside her as the horsemen proceeded to cross several grassy fields; and, contrary to his usual custom, her father lagged behind, as though relieved to leave her to the care of another. Esmeralda turned lightly in her saddle, saw him riding at the farther end of the long line, and looked wonderingly at her companion.

“Something’s wrong with the Major. He was so glum all the way here, and look at him now with his head hanging forward! It’s not like him to be down-hearted at a meet.”

“Perhaps he is tired. He’ll waken up presently when we get to business. It would only worry him if we took any notice.”

“That’s true. Perhaps the mare fidgets him. It’s the one he bought a short time since, and she has an awkward temper. Sometimes she is a paragon and does everything that she ought, but at others she is fidgety and uncertain. Father thinks she has been badly ridden at the start, but that she is good enough to take trouble with still.”

“She looks a beauty, and she has not had any time to annoy him to-day. I think it can hardly be that. Did not your brother return to town yesterday? I stayed away on purpose, because I feared that on his last day you would not care to be disturbed; but isn’t it very likely that Major O’Shaughnessy is depressed at being without him?”

Esmeralda looked up with a brightening glance. “Why, of course, I never thought of that! Father hates saying good-bye to Jack, hates him being in town at all, for he is the first O’Shaughnessy who has ever gone into business. There was a great scene when Jack was twenty, because he insisted on doing something for himself. ‘Have you no pride?’ cries my father. ‘Faith I have!’ cries Jack. ‘Too much of it to spend all my life starving in a ruin.’ ‘You will be the first of your race to soil your hands with trade.’ ‘Honest work,’ says Jack, ‘will soil no man’s hands, and please God, I’ll touch nothing that isn’t honest.’ ‘You’ll be falling into English ways and selling the old place as not fit for you to live in. I know the ways of your purse-proud English.’ Then Jack went white all over his face, and he says, ‘It’s never a stone of Knock I’d sell if I could keep it with my own heart’s blood, but it’s time it had a master who could spend money on it instead of seeing it fall to pieces before his eyes.’ Then it was the Major’s turn to go white, and mother said softly, ‘Jack dear—Jack!’ You never knew my mother. Bridgie is like her, she always made peace—and after that father made no more objections. I think, in a curious sort of way, he was proud of Jack because he would have his will, and he is doing well. He will retrieve our fortunes some fine day. There! there go the hounds! They are over into the covert, and see! see! there’s that old shepherd holding up his hat. The fox is off! Now for it!”

Now for it indeed! From that time forth there was little chance of connected conversation, but all his life long Geoffrey Hilliard looked back upon that morning with the fond, yearning tenderness with which we recall the sunshine which precedes a storm. It was so delightful to be mounted upon a fine horse galloping lightly across country with that beautiful figure by his side, the dark eyes meeting his with a flash of understanding at every fresh incident of the run. As time wore on and the ground became more difficult, the other ladies dropped behind one by one, but Esmeralda never wearied, never flinched before any obstacle. It was the prettiest thing in the world to see her trot slowly but straightly towards gate or fence, loosen the reins, and soar like a bird over the apparently formidable obstacle, and Hilliard privately admitted that it took him all his time to keep level with her. The Major still rode apart, and seemed to take pleasure in choosing the most difficult jumps that came in his way; but his mare behaved well, and no one felt any anxiety about the safety of one of the cleverest riders present. Danger was close at hand, however, in one of those nasty “bits of water” of which Esmeralda had spoken to her sister. The hounds doubled suddenly, and the huntsmen, wheeling their horses to follow, saw before them at a distance of some quarter of a mile a line of those well-known willows which to the practised eye so plainly bespeak the presence of a brook. Esmeralda pointed towards them and spoke a few warning words.

“A bad bit, swollen, I expect, after the snow. A fence this side. There’s the Master taking a view. He will tell us if it’s safe, if not, we must try the meadow. Ride over here towards him.”

She swerved to the side as she spoke, and a moment later was within short enough distance to hear the warning cry. The Master pointed with his whip in the direction of the meadow of which Esmeralda had spoken, and the next moment the whole hunt was galloping after him. The whole hunt, we have said, but there was one exception, for one rider refused to take warning or to turn aside from the direct line across country. The sudden change of course had left him in the rear, and so it happened that his absence was not noted by his companions, and it was only when several moments had passed that Esmeralda, looking from side to side, began to draw her delicate brows into a frown as she asked Hilliard—

“Where’s father? I can’t see him. He is not here.”

“I don’t see him either, but he was with us five minutes ago before we turned back. I saw him in the last field.”

“So did I, but where is he now? He can’t—” Esmeralda reined in suddenly and turned startled eyes upon her companion—“he can’t have tried that brook?”

“No, no! Certainly not.” But even as he spoke Hilliard had a prevision of the truth. Although he would not admit as much as Esmeralda, there had been something in the Major’s bearing which had struck him unpleasantly since the moment of meeting, and his reckless riding had deepened the impression. “You go on,” he said earnestly, “and I will ride back and see. Perhaps he took a look at the brook and then had to come round after all, which would make him late. Please go on, Miss Joan.”

But Esmeralda looked him full in the eyes and turned her horse back towards the brook.

“I am going back myself. If there has been an accident, it is I who should be there. Don’t hinder me, Mr Hilliard. I must go to my father.”

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