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diff --git a/3621.txt b/3621.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..90adfe7 --- /dev/null +++ b/3621.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14337 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peg O' My Heart, by J. Hartley Manners + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Peg O' My Heart + +Author: J. Hartley Manners + +Posting Date: April 23, 2009 [EBook #3621] +Release Date: January, 2003 +First Posted: June 18, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEG O' MY HEART *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +Peg O' My Heart + + +by + +J. Hartley Manners + + + + + To + "LAURIE" + + "--in that which no waters can quench, + No time forget, nor distance wear away." + + + + +PREFACE + +Up to the time of publication, December 1922, "Peg o' My Heart" has +been played as a comedy in English in the United States and Canada in +excess of 8000 times, in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and +Ireland in excess of 6000 times, in India 65 times, in the Orient 20 +times, in Holland 152 times, and in Scandinavia 23 times. Australia and +New Zealand have seen 701 performances while South Africa has witnessed +229. + +Three companies are playing in France where the total performances +exceed 500, the Belgian figures are not yet available, Spain has two +companies, and Italy five, the total figures for these three countries +last-named running well over a thousand performances. In France and +Belgium "Peg de Mon Coeur" is the title for the French language +version, in Italy "Peg del Mio Cuore" is the name of the Italian "Peg", +while her Spanish admirers and translators have named her "Rirri." + +Over 194,000 copies of the novel have been sold in the United States, +while the British Empire has bought 51,600 in novel form. In play form +3000 copies have been sold to date. The new film "Peg o' My Heart" in +nine reels is being distributed throughout the entire world, and while +innumerable companies are playing the comedy throughout the United +States, Canada and the British Empire, an internationally-known +composer, Dr. Hugo Felix, is at work upon the score of a "Peg" operetta +in collaboration with its author, so that the young lady may continue +her career in musical form. + +The present work is submitted in its original form with the addition of +illustrations taken from the film recently made, through the courtesy +of the Metro Pictures Corporation, for which acknowledgment is +gratefully made. + +It is believed that these statistics are unique in theatrical and +publishing history for it will now be possible in any large city to +read or witness "Peg o' My Heart" in the five phases of her career to +date, viz., novel, printed play, acted comedy, photo play and operetta. + + +J. Hartley Manners. + +The Lotes Club, New York City, December, 1922. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK THE FIRST + +The Romance of an Irish Agitator and an English Lady of Quality + + I The Irish Agitator Makes His First Appearance + II The Panorama of a Lost Youth + III St. Kernan's Hill + IV Nathaniel Kingsnorth Visits Ireland + V Angela + VI Angela Speaks Her Mind Freely to Nathaniel + VII The Wounded Patriot + VIII Angela in Sore Distress + IX Two Letters + X O'Connell Visits Angela in London + XI Kingsnorth's Despair + XII Looking Forward + + +BOOK THE SECOND + +The End of the Romance + + I Angela's Confession + II A Communication from Nathaniel Kingsnorth + III The Birth of Peg + + +BOOK THE THIRD + +Peg + + I Peg's Childhood + II We Meet an Old Friend After Many Years + III Peg Leaves Her Father for the First Time + + +BOOK THE FOURTH + +Peg in England + + I The Chichester Family + II Christian Brent + III Peg Arrives in England + IV The Chichester Family Receive a Second Shock + V Peg Meets Her Aunt + VI Jerry + VII The Passing of the First Month + VIII The Temple of Friendship + IX The Dance and its Sequel + X Peg Intervenes + XI "The Rebellion of Peg" + XII A Room in New York + XIII The Morning After + XIV Alaric to the Rescue + XV Montgomery Hawkes + XVI The Chief Executor Appears on the Scene + XVII Peg Learns of Her Uncle's Legacy + XVIII Peg's Farewell to England + + +BOOK THE FIFTH + +Peg Returns to Her Father + + I After Many Days + II Looking Backward + III An Unexpected Visitor + + +Afterword + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE IRISH AGITATOR MAKES HIS FIRST APPEARANCE + + +"Faith, there's no man says more and knows less than yerself, I'm +thinkin'." + +"About Ireland, yer riverence?" + +"And everything else, Mr. O'Connell." + +"Is that criticism or just temper, Father?" + +"It's both, Mr. O'Connell." + +"Sure it's the good judge ye must be of ignorance, Father Cahill." + +"And what might that mane?" + +"Ye live so much with it, Father." + +"I'm lookin' at it and listenin' to it now, Frank O'Connell." + +"Then it's a miracle has happened, Father." + +"A miracle?" + +"To see and hear one's self at the same time is indade a miracle, yer +riverence." + +Father Cahill tightened his grasp on his blackthorn stick, and shaking +it in the other's face, said: + +"Don't provoke the Man of God!" + +"Not for the wurrld," replied the other meekly, "bein' mesef a Child of +Satan." + +"And that's what ye are. And ye'd have others like yerself. But ye +won't while I've a tongue in me head and a sthrong stick in me hand." + +O'Connell looked at him with a mischievous twinkle in his blue-grey +eyes: + +"Yer eloquence seems to nade somethin' to back it up, I'm thinkin'." + +Father Cahill breathed hard. He was a splendid type of the Irish +Parish-Priest of the old school. Gifted with a vivid power of eloquence +as a preacher, and a heart as tender as a woman's toward the poor and +the wretched, he had been for many years idolised by the whole +community of the village of M--in County Clare. But of late there was a +growing feeling of discontent among the younger generation. They lacked +the respect their elders so willingly gave. They asked questions +instead of answering them. They began to throw themselves, against +Father Cahill's express wishes and commands, into the fight for Home +Rule under the masterly statesmanship of Charles Stuart Parnell. +Already more than one prominent speaker had come into the little +village and sown the seeds of temporal and spiritual unrest. Father +Cahill opposed these men to the utmost of his power. He saw, as so many +far-sighted priests did, the legacy of bloodshed and desolation that +would follow any direct action by the Irish against the British +Government. Though the blood of the patriot beat in Father Cahill's +veins, the well-being of the people who had grown up with him was near +to his heart. He was their Priest and he could not bear to think of men +he had known as children being beaten and maimed by constabulary, and +sent to prison afterwards, in the, apparently, vain fight for +self-government. + +To his horror that day he met Frank Owen O'Connell, one of the most +notorious of all the younger agitators, in the main street of the +little village. + +O'Connell's back sliding had been one of Father Cahill's bitterest +regrets. He had closed O'Connell's father's eyes in death and had taken +care of the boy as well as he could. But at the age of fifteen the +youth left the village, that had so many wretched memories of hardship +and struggle, and worked his way to Dublin. It was many years before +Father Cahill heard of him again. He had developed meanwhile into one +of the most daring of all the fervid speakers in the sacred Cause of +Liberty. Many were the stories told of his narrow escapes from death +and imprisonment. He always had the people on his side, and once away +from the hunt, he would hide in caves, or in mountains, until the hue +and cry was over, and then appear in some totally unexpected town and +call on the people to act in the name of Freedom. + +And that was exactly what happened on this particular day. He had +suddenly appeared in the town he was born in and called a meeting on +St. Kernan's Hill that afternoon. + +It was this meeting Father Cahill was determined to stop by every means +in his power. + +He could hardly believe that this tall, bronzed, powerful young man was +the Frank O'Connell he had watched about the village, as a boy--pale, +dejected, and with but little of the fire of life in him. Now as he +stood before Father Cahill and looked him straight through with his +piercing eye, shoulders thrown back, and head held high, he looked +every inch a born leader of men, and just for a moment the priest +quailed. But only for a moment. + +"Not a member of my flock will attend yer meetin' to-day. Not a door +will open this day. Ye can face the constabulary yerself and the few of +the rabble that'll follow ye. But none of my God-fearin' people will +risk their lives and their liberty to listen to you." + +O'Connell looked at him strangely. A far-away glint came into his eye, +and the suspicion of a tear, as he answered: + +"Sure it's precious little they'd be riskin', Father Cahill; havin' NO +liberty and their lives bein' of little account to them." + +O'Connell sighed as the thought of his fifteen years of withered youth +in that poor little village came up before him. + +"Let my people alone, I tell ye!" cried the priest. "It's contented +they've been until the likes of you came amongst us." + +"Then they must have been easily satisfied," retorted O'Connell, "to +judge by their poor little homes and their drab little lives." + +"A hovel may be a palace if the Divine Word is in it," said the priest. + +"Sure it's that kind of tachin' keeps Ireland the mockery of the whole +world. The Divine Word should bring Light. It's only darkness I find in +this village," argued O'Connell. + +"I've given my life to spreadin' the Light!" said the priest. + +A smile hovered on O'Connell's lips as he muttered: + +"Faith, then, I'm thinkin' it must be a DARK-LANTERN yer usin', yer +riverence." + +"Is that the son of Michael O'Connell talkin'?" + +Suddenly the smile left O'Connell's lips, the sneer died on his tongue, +and with a flash of power that turned to white heat before he finished, +he attacked the priest with: + +"Yes, it is! It is the son of Michael O'Connell who died on the +roadside and was buried by the charity of his neighbours. Michael +O'Connell, born in the image of God, who lived eight-and-fifty years of +torment and starvation and sickness and misery! Michael O'Connell, who +was thrown out from a bed of fever, by order of his landlord, to die in +sight of where he was born. It's his son is talkin', Father Cahill, and +it's his son WILL talk while there's breath in his body to keep his +tongue waggin'. It's a precious legacy of hatred Michael O'Connell left +his son, and there's no priest, no government, no policeman or soldier +will kape that son from spendin' his legacy." + +The man trembled from head to foot with the nervous intensity of his +attack. Everything that had been outraged in him all his life came +before him. + +Father Cahill began to realise as he watched him the secret of the +tremendous appeal the man had to the suffering people. Just for a +moment the priest's heart went out to O'Connell, agitator though he was. + +"Your father died with all the comforts of the Holy Church," said the +priest gently, as he put his old hand the young man's shoulder. + +"The comforts of the church!" scoffed O'Connell. "Praise be to heaven +for that!" He laughed a grim, derisive laugh as he went on: + +"Sure it's the fine choice the Irish peasant has to-day. 'Stones and +dirt are good enough for them to eat,' sez the British government. +'Give them prayers,' say the priests. And so they die like flies in the +highways and hedges, but with 'all the comforts of the Holy Church'!" + +Father Cahill's voice thrilled with indignation as he said: + +"I'll not stand and listen to ye talk that way, Frank O'Connell." + +"I've often noticed that those who are the first to PREACH truth are +the last to LISTEN to it," said the agitator drily. + +"Where would Ireland be to-day but for the priest? Answer me that. +Where would she be? What has my a here been? I accepted the yoke of the +Church when I was scarcely your age. I've given my life to serving it. +To help the poor, and to keep faith and love for Him in their hearts. +To tache the little children and bring them up in the way of God. I've +baptised them when their eyes first looked out on this wurrld of +sorrows. I've given them in marriage, closed their eyes in death, and +read the last message to Him for their souls. And there are thousands +more like me, giving their lives to their little missions, trying to +kape the people's hearts clean and honest, so that their souls may go +to Him when their journey is ended." + +Father Cahill took a deep breath as he finished. He had indeed summed +up his life's work. He had given it freely to his poor little flock. +His only happiness had been in ministering to their needs. And now to +have one to whom he had taught his first prayer, heard his first +confession and given him his first Holy Communion speak scoffingly of +the priest, hurt him as nothing else could hurt and bruise him. + +The appeal was not lost on O'Connell. In his heart he loved Father +Cahill for the Christ-like life of self-denial he had passed in this +little place. But in his brain O'Connell pitied the old man for his +wasted years in the darkness of ignorance in which so many of the +villages of Ireland seemed to be buried. + +O'Connell belonged to the "Young Ireland" movement. They wanted to +bring the searchlight of knowledge into the abodes of darkness in which +the poor of Ireland were submerged. To the younger men it seemed the +priests were keeping the people from enlightenment. And until the +fierce blaze of criticism could be turned on to the government of +cruelty and oppression there was small hope of freeing the people who +had suffered so long in silence. O'Connell was in the front band of men +striving to arouse the sleeping nation to a sense of its own power. And +nothing was going to stop the onward movement. It pained him to differ +from Father Cahill--the one friend of his youth. If only he could alter +the good priest's outlook--win him over to the great procession that +was marching surely and firmly to self-government, freedom of speech +and of action, and to the ultimate making of men of force out of the +crushed and the hopeless. He would try. + +"Father Cahill," he began softly, as though the good priest might be +wooed by sweet reason when the declamatory force of the orator failed, +"don't ye think it would be wiser to attend a little more to the +people's BODIES than to their SOULS? to their BRAINS rather than to +their HEARTS? Don't ye?" + +"No, I do NOT," hotly answered the priest. + +"Well, if ye DID," said the agitator, "if more priests did, it's a +different Ireland we'd be livin' in to-day--that we would. The +Christian's heaven seems so far away when he's livin' in hell. Try to +make EARTH more like a heaven and he'll be more apt to listen to +stories of the other one. Tache them to kape their hovels clean and +their hearts and lives will have a betther chance of health. Above all +broaden their minds. Give them education and the Divine tachin' will +find a surer restin' place. Ignorance and dirt fill the hospitals and +the asylums, and it is THAT so many of the priests are fosterin'." + +"I'll not listen to another wurrd," cried Father Cahill, turning away. + +O'Connell strode in front of him. + +"Wait. There's another thing. I've heard more than one priest boast +that there was less sin in the villages of Ireland than in any other +country. And why? What is yer great cure for vice? MARRIAGE--isn't it?" + +"What are ye sayin'?" + +"I'm sayin' this, Father Cahill. If a boy looks at a girl twice, what +do ye do? Engage them to be married. To you marriage is the safeguard +against sin. And what ARE such marriages? Hunger marryin' thirst! +Poverty united to misery! Men and women ignorant and stunted in mind +and body, bound together by a sacrament, givin' them the right to bring +others, equally distorted, into the wurrld. And when they're born you +baptise them, and you have more souls entered on the great register for +the Holy Church. Bodies livin' in perpetual torment, with a heaven +wavin' at them all through their lives as a reward for their suffering +here. I tell ye ye're wrong! Ye're wrong! Ye're wrong! The misery of +such marriages will reach through all the generations to come. I'd +rather see vice--vice that burns out and leaves scar-white the lives it +scorches. There is more sin in the HEARTS and MINDS of these poor, +wretched, ill-mated people than in the sinks of Europe. There is some +hope for the vicious. Intelligence and common-sense will wean them from +it. But there is no hope for the people whose lives from the cradle to +the grave are drab and empty and sordid and wretched." + +As O'Connell uttered this terrible arraignment of the old order of +protecting society by early and indiscriminate marriages, it seemed as +if the mantle of some modern prophet had fallen on him. He had struck +at the real keynote of Ireland's misery to-day. The spirit of +oppression followed them into the privacy of their lives. Even their +wives were chosen for them by their teachers. Small wonder the English +government could enforce brutal and unjust laws when the very freedom +of choosing their mates and of having any voice in the control of their +own homes was denied them. + +To Father Cahill such words were blasphemy. He looked at O'Connell in +horror. + +"Have ye done?" he asked. + +"What else I may have to say will be said on St. Kernan's Hill this +afternoon." + +"There will be no meetin' there to-day," cried the priest. + +"Come and listen to it," replied the agitator. + +"I've forbidden my people to go." + +"They'll come if I have to drag them from their homes." + +"I've warned the resident-magistrate. The police will be there if ye +thry to hold a meetin'." + +"We'll outnumber them ten to one." + +"There'll be riotin' and death." + +"Better to die in a good cause than to live in a bad one," cried +O'Connell. "It's the great dead who lead the world by their majesty. +It's the bad livin' who keep it back by their infamy." + +"Don't do this, Frank O'Connell. I ask you in the name of the Church in +which ye were baptised--by me." + +"I'll do it in the name of the suffering people I was born among." + +"I command you! Don't do this!" + +"I can hear only the voice of my dead father saying: 'Go on!'" + +"I entreat you--don't!" + +"My father's voice is louder than yours, Father Cahill." + +"Have an old man's tears no power to move ye?" + +O'Connell looked at the priest. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. +He made no effort to staunch them. O'Connell hesitated, then he said +firmly: + +"My father wept in the ditch when he was dyin', dying in sight of his +home. Mine was the only hand that wiped away his tears. I can see only +HIS to-day, Father." + +"I'll make my last appeal. What good can this meetin' do? Ye say the +people are ignorant and wretched. Why have them batthered and shot down +by the soldiers?" + +"It has always been the martyrs who have made a cause. I am willin' to +be one. I'd be a thraitor if I passed my life without lifting my voice +and my hands against my people's oppressors." + +"Ye're throwin' yer life away, Frank O'Connell." + +"I wouldn't be the first and I won't be the last" + +"Nothing will move ye?" cried the priest. + +"One thing only," replied the agitator. + +"And what is that?" + +"Death!" and O'Connell strode abruptly away. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PANORAMA OF A LOST YOUTH + + +As O'Connell hurried through the streets of the little village thoughts +surged madly through his brain. It was in this barren spot he was born +and passed his youth. Youth! A period of poverty and struggle: of empty +dreams and futile hopes. It passed before him now as a panorama. There +was the doctor's house where his father hurried the night he was born. +How often had his mother told him of that night of storm when she gave +her last gleam of strength in giving him life! In storm he was born: in +strife he would live. The mark was on him. + +Now he came to the little schoolhouse where he first learned to read. +Facing it Father Cahill's tiny church, where he had learned to pray. +Beyond lay the green on which he had his first fight. It was about his +father. Bruised and bleeding, he crept home that day--beaten. His +mother cried over him and washed his cuts and bathed his bruises. A +flush of shame crept across his face as he thought of that beating. The +result of our first battle stays with us through life. He watched his +conqueror, he remembered for years. He had but one ambition in those +days--to gain sufficient strength to wipe out that disgrace. He trained +his muscles, He ran on the roads at early morning until his breathing +was good. He made friends with an English soldier stationed in the +town, by doing him some slight service. The man had learned boxing in +London and could beat any one in his regiment. O'Connell asked the man +to teach him boxing. The soldier agreed. He found the boy an apt pupil. +O'Connell mastered the art of self-defence. He learned the vulnerable +points of attack. Then he waited his opportunity. One half-holiday, +when the schoolboys were playing on the green, he walked up +deliberately to his conqueror and challenged him to a return +engagement. The boys crowded around them. "Is it another batin' ye'd be +afther havin', ye beggar-man's son?" said the enemy. + +O'Connell's reply was a well-timed punch on that youth's jaw, and the +second battle was on. + +As O'Connell fought he remembered every blow of the first fight when, +weak and unskilful, he was an easy prey for his victor. + +"That's for the one ye gave me two years ago, Martin Quinlan," cried +O'Connell, as he closed that youth's right eye, and stepped nimbly back +from a furious counter. + +"And it's a bloody nose ye'll have, too," as he drove his left with +deadly precision on Quinlan's olfactory organ, staggering that amazed +youth, who, nothing daunted, ran into a series of jabs and swings that +completely dazed him and forced him to clinch to save further damage. +But the fighting blood of O'Connell was up. He beat Quinlan out of the +clinch with a well-timed upper-cut that put the youth upon his back on +the green. + +"Now take back that 'beggar-man's' son!" shouted O'Connell. + +"I'll not," from the grass. + +"Then get up and be beaten," screamed O'Connell. The boys danced around +them. It was too good to be true. Quinlan had thrashed them all, and +here was the apparently weakest of them--white-faced +O'Connell--thrashing him. Why, if O'Connell could best him, they all +could. The reign of tyranny was over. + +"Fight! Fight!" they shouted, as they crowded around the combatants. + +Quinlan rose to his feet only to be put back again on the ground by a +straight right in the mouth. He felt the warm blood against his lips +and tasted the salt on his tongue. It maddened him. He staggered up and +rushed with all his force against O'Connell, who stepped aside and +caught Quinlan, as he stumbled past, full behind the ear. He pitched +forward on his face and did not move. The battle was over. + +"And I'll serve just the same any that sez a word against me father!" + +Not a boy said a word. + +"Fighting O'Connell" he was nicknamed that day, and "Fighting +O'Connell" he was known years afterwards to Dublin Castle. + +When he showed his mother his bruised knuckles that night and told her +how he came by them, she cried again as she did two years before. Only +this time they were tears of pride. + +From door to door he went. + +"St. Kernan's Hill at three," was all he said. Some nodded, some said +nothing, others agreed volubly. On all their faces he read that they +would be there. + +On through the village he went until he reached the outskirts. He +paused and looked around. There was the spot on which the little cabin +he was born in and in which his mother died, had stood. It had long +since been pulled down for improvements. Not a sign to mark the tomb of +his youth. It was here they placed his father that bleak November +day--here by the ditch. It was here his father gave up the struggle. +The feeble pulse ebbed. The flame died out. + +The years stripped back. It seemed as yesterday. And here HE stood +grown to manhood. He needed just that reminder to stir his blood and +nerve him for the ordeal of St. Kernan's Hill. + +The old order was dying out in Ireland. + +The days of spiritless bending to the yoke were over. It was a "Young +Ireland" he belonged to and meant to lead. A "Young Ireland" with an +inheritance of oppression and slavery to wipe out. A "Young Ireland" +that demanded to be heard: that meant to act: that would fight step by +step in the march to Westminster to compel recognition of their just +claims. And he was to be one of their leaders. He squared his shoulders +as he looked for the last time on the little spot of earth that once +meant "Home" to him. + +He took in a deep breath and muttered through his clenched teeth: + +"Let the march begin to-day. Forward!" and he turned toward St. +Kernan's Hill. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ST. KERNAN'S HILL + + +To the summit of the hill climbed up men, women and children. The men +grimy and toil-worn; a look of hopelessness in their eyes: the sob of +misery in their voices. Dragging themselves up after them came the +women--some pressing babies to their breasts, others leading little +children by the hand. The men had begged them to stay at home. There +might be bad work that day, but the women had answered: + +"If WE go they won't hurt YOU!" and they pressed on after the leaders. + +At three o'clock O'Connell ascended the hill and stood alone on the +great mount. + +A cry of greeting went up. + +He raised his hand in acknowledgment. + +It was strange indeed for him to stand there looking down at the people +he had known since childhood. A thousand conflicting emotions swept +through him as he looked at the men and women whom, only a little while +ago, it seemed, he had known as children. THEN he bent to their will. +The son of a peasant, he was amongst the poorest of the poor. Now he +came amongst them to try and lift them from the depths he had risen +from himself. + +"It is Frankie O'Connell himself," cried a voice. + +"Him we knew as a baby," said another. + +"Fightin' O'Connell! Hooray for him!" shouted a third. + +"Mary's own child standin' up there tall and straight to get us freedom +and comfort," crooned an old white-haired woman. + +"And broken heads," said another old woman. + +"And lyin' in the county-jail himself, mebbe, this night," said a third. + +"The Lord be with him," cried a fourth. + +"Amen to that," and they reverently crossed themselves. + +Again O'Connell raised his hand, this time to command silence. + +All the murmurs died away. + +O'Connell began--his rich, melodious voice ringing far beyond the +farthest limits of the crowd--the music of his Irish brogue making +cadences of entreaty and again lashing the people into fury at the +memory of Ireland's wrongs. + +"Irish men and women, we are met here to-day in the sight of God and in +defiance of the English government," (groans and hisses), "to clasp +hands, to unite our thoughts and to nerve our bodies to the supreme +effort of bringing hope to despair, freedom to slavery, prosperity to +the land and happiness to our homes." (Loud applause.) "Too long have +our forefathers lived under the yoke of the oppressor. Too long have +our old been buried in paupers' graves afther lives of misery no other +counthry in the wurrld can equal. Why should it be the lot of our +people--men and women born to a birthright of freedom? Why? Are ye men +of Ireland so craven that aliens can rule ye as they once ruled the +negro?" ("No, no!") "The African slave has been emancipated and his +emancipation was through the blood and tears of the people who wronged +him. Let OUR emancipation, then, be through the blood and tears of our +oppressors. In other nations it is the Irishman who rules. It is only +in his own counthry that he is ruled. And the debt of hathred and +misery and blasted lives and dead hopes is at our door today. Shall +that debt be unpaid?" ("No, no!") "Look around you. Look at the faces +of yer brothers and sisthers, worn and starved. Look at yer women-kind, +old before they've been young. Look at the babies at their mothers' +breasts, first looking out on a wurrld in which they will never know a +happy thought, never feel a joyous impulse, never laugh with the honest +laughther of a free and contented and God-and-government-protected +people. Are yez satisfied with this?" (Angry cries of "No, no!") + +"Think of yer hovels--scorched with the heat, blisthered with the wind +and drenched with the rain, to live in which you toil that their owners +may enjoy the fruits of yer slavery--IN OTHER COUNTHRIES. Think of yer +sons and daughthers lavin' this once fair land in hundhreds of +thousands to become wage-earners across the seas, with their hearts +aching for their homes and their loved ones. The fault is at our own +door. The solution is in our own hands. Isn't it betther to die, pike +in hand, fightin' as our forefathers did, than to rot in filth, and +die, lavin' a legacy of disease and pestilence and weak brains and +famished bodies?" His voice cracked and broke into a high-pitched +hysterical cry as he finished the peroration. + +A flame leaped through the mob. The men muttered imprecations as a new +light flashed from their eyes. All their misery fell from them as a +shroud. They only thought of vengeance. They were men again. Their +hearts beat as their progenitors' hearts must have beaten at the Boyne. + +The great upheaval that flashed star-like through Ireland from epoch to +epoch, burned like vitriol in their veins. + +The women forgot their crying babies as they pressed forward, screaming +their paean of vengeance against their oppressors. + +The crowd seemed to throb as some great engine of humanity. It seemed +to think with one brain, beat with one heart and call with one voice. + +The cry grew into an angry roar. + +Suddenly Father Cahill appeared amongst them. "Go back to your homes," +he commanded, breathlessly. + +"Stay where you are," shouted O'Connell. + +"In the name of the Catholic Church, go!" said the priest. + +"In the name of our down-trodden and suffering people, stay!" thundered +O'Connell. + +"Don't listen to him. Listen to the voice of God!" + +"God's help comes to those who help themselves," answered the agitator. + +Father Cahill made his last and strongest appeal: + +"My poor children, the constabulary are coming to break up the meetin' +and to arrest HIM." + +"Let them come," cried O'Connell. "Show them that the spirit of Irish +manhood is not dead. Show them that we still have the power and the +courage to defy them. Tell them we'll meet when and where we think fit. +That we'll not silence our voices while there's breath in our bodies. +That we'll resist their tyranny while we've strength to shouldher a gun +or handle a pike. I appeal to you, O Irishmen, in the name of yer +broken homes; in the name of all that makes life glorious and death +divine! In the name of yer maimed and yer dead! Of yer brothers in +prison and in exile! By the listenin' earth and the watching sky I +appeal to ye to make yer stand to-day. I implore ye to join yer hearts +and yer lives with mine. Lift yer voices with me: stretch forth yer +hands with mine and by yer hopes of happiness here and peace hereafter +give an oath to heaven never to cease fightin' until freedom and light +come to this unhappy land!" + +"Swear by all ye hold most dear: by the God who gave ye life: by the +memory of all ye hold most sacred: by the sorrow for yer women and +children who have died of hunger and heart-break: stretch forth yer +hands and swear to give yer lives so that the generations to come may +know happiness and peace and freedom. Swear!" + +He stopped at the end of the adjuration, his right hand held high above +his head, his left--palm upward, stretched forward in an attitude of +entreaty. + +It seemed as though the SOUL of the man was pleading with them to take +the oath that would bind THEIR souls to the "Cause." + +Crowding around him, eyes blazing, breasts heaving, as if impelled by +one common thought, the men and women clamoured with outstretched hands: + +"We swear!" + +In that moment of exaltation it seemed as if the old Saint-Martyrs' +halo glowed over each, as they took the oath that pledged them to the +"CAUSE,"--the Cause that meant the lifting of oppression and tyranny: +immunity from "buckshot" and the prison-cell: from famine and murder +and coercion--all the component parts of Ireland's torture in her +struggle for her right to self-government. + +A moment later the crowd was hushed. A tremour ran through it. The +sounds of marching troops: the unintelligible words of command, broke +in on them. + +Father Cahill plunged in amongst them. "The constabulary," he cried. +"Back to your homes." + +"Stay where you are," shouted O'Connell. + +"I beg you, my children! I command you! I entreat you! Don't have +bloodshed here to-day!" Father Cahill turned distractedly to O'Connell, +crying out to him: + +"Tell them to go back! My poor people! Tell them to go back to their +homes while there's time." + +Turning his back on the priest, O'Connell faced the crowd: + +"You have taken your oath. Would you perjure yourselves at this old +man's bidding? See where the soldiers come. Look--and look well at +them. Their uniforms stand for the badge of tyranny. The glint of their +muskets is the message from their illustrious sovereign of her feeling +to this part of her kingdom. We ask for JUSTICE and they send us +BULLETS. We cry for 'LIBERTY' and the answer is 'DEATH' at the hands of +her soldiers. We accept the challenge. Put yer women and childhren +behind you. Let no man move." + +The men hurriedly placed the women and children so that they were +protected from the first onslaught of the soldiery. + +Then the men of St. Kernan's Hill, armed with huge stones and sticks, +turned to meet the troops. + +Mr. Roche, the resident-magistrate, rode at their head. + +"Arrest that man," he cried, pointing to O'Connell. + +An angry growl went up from the mob. + +Father Cahill hurried to him: + +"Don't interfere with them, Mr. Roche. For the love of heaven, don't. +There'll be murder here to-day if ye do." + +"I have my instructions, Father Cahill, and it's sorry I am to have to +act under them to-day." + +"It isn't the people's fault," pleaded the priest; "indeed it isn't." + +"We don't wish to hurt them. We want that man O'Connell." + +"They'll never give him up. Wait till to-night and take him quietly." + +"No, we'll take him here. He's given the police the slip in many parts +of the country. He won't to-day." The magistrate pushed forward on his +horse through the fringe on the front part of the crowd and reined up +at the foot of the mount. + +"Frank Owen O'Connell, I arrest you in the Queen's name for inciting +peaceable citizens to violence," he called up to the agitator. + +"Arrest me yerself, Mr. Magistrate Roche," replied O'Connell. + +Turning to an officer Roche motioned him to seize O'Connell. + +As the officer pressed forward he was felled by a blow from a heavy +stick. + +In a second the fight was on. + +The magistrate read the riot-act. + +He, together with Father Cahill, called to the mob to stop. They +shouted to O'Connell to surrender and disperse the people. + +Too late. + +The soldiers formed into open formation and marched on the mob. + +Maddened and reeling, with no order, no discipline, with only blind +fury and the rushing, pulsing blood--that has won many a battle for +England against a common foe--the men of Ireland hurled themselves upon +the soldiers. They threw their missiles: they struck them with their +gnarled sticks: they beat them with their clenched fists. + +The order to "Fire" was given as the soldiers fell back from the +onslaught. + +When the smoke cleared away the ranks of the mob were broken. Some lay +dead on the turf; some groaned in the agony of shattered limbs. The +women threw themselves moaning on the bodies. Silence fell like a pall +over the mob. Out of the silence a low angry growl went up. O'Connell +had fallen too. + +The soldiers surrounded his prostrate body. + +The mob made a rush forward to rescue him. O'Connell stopped them with +a cry: + +"Enough for to-day, my men." He pointed to the wounded and dying: "Live +to avenge them. Wait until 'The Day'!" His voice failed. He fell back +unconscious. + +Into the midst of the crowd and through the ranks of the soldiers +suddenly rode a young girl, barely twenty years old. Beside her was a +terrified groom. She guided her horse straight to the magistrate. He +raised his hat and muttered a greeting, with a glance of recognition. + +"Have him taken to 'The Gap,'" she said imperatively, pointing to the +motionless body of O'Connell. + +"He is under arrest," replied the magistrate. + +"Do you want another death on your hands? Haven't you done enough in +killing and maiming those unfortunate people?" She looked with pity on +the moaning women: and then with contempt on the officer who gave the +order to fire. + +"You ought to be proud of your work to-day!" she said. + +"I only carried out my orders," replied the man humbly. + +"Have that man taken to my brother's house. He will surrender him or go +bail for him until he has been attended to. First let us SAVE him." The +girl dismounted and made a litter of some fallen branches, assisted by +the groom. + +"Order some of your men to carry him." + +There was a note of command in her tone that awed both the officer and +the magistrate. + +Four men were detailed to carry the body on the litter. The girl +remounted. Turning to the magistrate, she said: + +"Tell your government, Mr. Roche, that their soldiers shot down these +unarmed people." Then she wheeled round to the mob: + +"Go back to your homes." She pointed to the dead and wounded: "THEY +have died or been maimed for their Cause. Do as HE said," pointing to +the unconscious O'Connell, "LIVE for it!" + +She started down through the valley, followed by the litter-bearers and +the magistrate. + +The officer gave the word of command, and, with some of the ringleaders +in their midst, the soldiers marched away. + +Left alone with their dying and their dead, all the ferocity left the +poor, crushed peasants. + +They knelt down sobbing over the motionless bodies. For the time being +the Law and its officers were triumphant. + +This was the act of the representatives of the English government in +the year of civilisation 18--, and in the reign of her late Gracious +Majesty, Queen Victoria, by the grace of God, Empress of India. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NATHANIEL KINGSNORTH VISITS IRELAND + + +While the incidents of the foregoing chapters were taking place, the +gentleman whose ownership shaped the destinies of many of the agitators +of St. Kernan's Hill, was confronting almost as difficult a problem as +O'Connell was facing on the mount. + +Whilst O'Connell was pleading for the right of Ireland to govern +herself, Mr. Nathaniel Kingsnorth was endeavouring to understand how to +manage so unwieldy and so troublesome an estate. + +The death of his father placed a somewhat extensive--and so far +entirely unprofitable--portion of the village in his care. His late +father had complained all his life of the depreciation of values; the +growing reluctance to pay rents; and the general dying-out of the worth +of an estate that had passed into the hands of a Kingsnorth many +generations before in the ordinary course of business, for notes that +had not been taken up, and mortgages that had been foreclosed. + +It was the open boast of the old gentleman that he had never seen the +village, and it was one of his dying gratifications that he would never +have to. + +He had all the racial antipathy of a certain type of Englishmen to +anything IRISH. The word itself was unpleasant to his ears. He never +heard it without a shudder, and his intimates, at his request, +refrained from using it in his presence. The word represented to him +all that was unsavoury, unpatriotic and unprincipled. + +One phrase of his, in speaking of Ireland at a banquet, achieved the +dignity of being printed in all the great London daily papers and was +followed by a splenetic attack in the "Irish Nation." Both incidents +pleased the old gentleman beyond measure. It was an unfailing source of +gratification to him that he had coined the historical utterance. He +quoted it with a grim chuckle on the few occasions when some guest, +unfamiliar with his prejudice, would mention in his presence the hated +word "Ireland." + +It appears that one particularly hard winter, when, for some +unnecessary and wholly unwarrantable reason, the potato crop had +failed, and the little Irish village was in a condition of desperate +distress, it was found impossible to collect more than a tithe of Mr. +Kingsnorth's just dues. No persuasion could make the obstinate tenants +pay their rents. Threats, law-proceedings, evictions--all were useless. +They simply would not pay. His agent finally admitted himself beaten. +Mr. Kingsnorth must wait for better times. + +Furious at his diminished income and hating, with a bitter hatred, the +disloyal and cheating tenantry, he rose at a Guildhall banquet to reply +to the toast of "The Colonies." + +He drew vivid pictures of the splendour of the British possessions: of +India--that golden and loyal Empire; Australia with its hidden mines of +wealth, whose soil had scarce been scratched, peopled by patriotic, +zealous and toiling millions, honestly paying their way through life by +the sweat of their God-and-Queen-fearing brows. What an example to the +world! A country where the wage-earner hurried, with eager footsteps, +to place the honestly earned tolls at the feet of generous and trusting +landlords! + +Then, on the other hand, he pointed to that small portion of the +British Isles, where to pay rent was a crime: where landlords were but +targets for insult and vituperation--yes, and indeed for BULLETS from +the hidden assassin whenever they were indiscreet enough to visit a +country where laws existed but that they might be broken, and crime +stalked fearlessly through the land. Such a condition was a reproach to +the English government. + +"Why," he asked the astonished gathering of dignitaries, "why should +such a condition exist when three hundred and sixty-five men sat in the +House of Commons, sent there by electors to administer the just and +wise laws of a just and wise country? Why?" + +As he paused and glared around the table for the reply that was not +forthcoming, the undying phrase sprang new-born from his lips: + +"Oh," he cried; "oh! that for one brief hour Providence would immerse +that island of discontent beneath the waters of the Atlantic and +destroy a people who seemed bent on destroying themselves and on +disintegrating the majesty and dignity and honour of our great Empire!" + +Feeling that no words of his could follow so marvellous a climax, he +sat down, amid a silence that seemed to him to be fraught with +eloquence, so impressive and significant was--to him--its full meaning. +Some speeches are cheered vulgarly. It was the outward sign of coarse +approval. Others are enjoyed and sympathised with inwardly, and the +outward tribute to which was silence--and that was the tribute of that +particular Guildhall gathering on that great night. + +It seemed to Wilberforce Kingsnorth, hardened after-dinner speaker +though he was, that never had a body of men such as he confronted and +who met his gaze by dropping their eyes modestly to their glasses, been +so genuinely thrilled by so original, so comprehensive and so dramatic +a conclusion to a powerful appeal. + +Kingsnorth felt, as he sat down, that it was indeed a red-letter night +for him--and for England. + +The Times, in reviewing the speeches the following morning, +significantly commented that: + +"Mr. Kingsnorth had solved, in a moment of entreaty, to a hitherto +indifferent Providence, the entire Irish difficulty." + +When Nathaniel Kingsnorth found himself the fortunate possessor of this +tract of land peopled by so lawless a race, he determined to see for +himself what the conditions really were, so for the first time since +they owned a portion of it, a Kingsnorth set foot on Irish soil. + +Accompanied by his two sisters he arrived quietly some few weeks before +and addressed himself at once to the task of understanding the people +and the circumstances in which they lived. + +On this particular afternoon he was occupied with his agent, going +systematically through the details of the management of the estate. + +It was indeed a discouraging prospect. Such a condition of pauperism +seemed incredible in a village within a few hours of his own England. +Except for a few moderately thriving tradesmen, the whole population +seemed to live from hand to mouth. The entire village was in debt. They +owed the landlords, the tradesmen, they even owed each other money and +goods. It seemed to be a community cut off from the rest of the world, +in which nothing from the outside ever entered. No money was ever put +into the village. On the contrary there was a continuous withdrawal. By +present standards a day would come when the last coin would depart and +the favoured spot would be as independent of money as many of the +poorer people were of clothing. + +It came as a shock to Nathaniel Kingsnorth. For the first time it began +to dawn on him that, after all, the agitators might really have some +cause to agitate: that their attitude was not one of merely fighting +for the sake of the fight. Yet a lingering suspicion, borne of his +early training, and his father's doctrines about Ireland, that Pat was +really a scheming, dishonest fellow, obtruded itself on his mind, even +as he became more than half convinced of the little village's desperate +plight. + +Nathaniel loathed injustice. As the magistrate of his county he +punished dishonesty. Was the condition he saw due to English injustice +or Irish dishonesty? That was the problem that he was endeavouring to +solve. + +"There doesn't seem to be a sixpence circulating through the whole +place," he remarked to the agent when that gentleman had concluded his +statement of the position of matters. + +"And there never will be, until some one puts money into the village +instead of taking it out of it," said the agent. + +"You refer to the land-owners?" + +"I do. And it's many's the time I wrote your father them same words." + +"It is surely not unnatural for owners to expect to be paid for the use +of houses and land, is it? We expect it in England," said Kingsnorth +drily. + +"In England the landlord usually lives on his estate and takes some +pride in it." + +"Small pride anyone could take in such an estate as this," Kingsnorth +laughed bitterly. Then he went on: "And as for living on it--," and he +shrugged his shoulders in disgust. "Before the Kingsnorths came into +possession the MacMahons lived on it, and proud the people were of them +and they of the people, sir." + +"I wish to God they'd continued to," said Kingsnorth wrathfully. + +"They beggared themselves for the people--that's what they did, sir. +Improvements here--a road there. A quarry cut to give men work and a +breakwater built to keep the sea from washing away the poor fishermen's +homes. And when famine came not a penny rent asked--and their +women-kind feedin' and nursin' the starvin' and the sick. An' all the +time raisin' money to do it. A mortgage on this and a note of hand for +that--until the whole place was plastered with debt. Then out they were +turned." + +The agent moved away and looked out across the well-trimmed lawn to +conceal his emotion. + +"Ill-timed charity and business principles scarcely go together, my +good Burke," said Kingsnorth, with ill-concealed impatience. He did not +like this man's tone. It suggested a glorification of the former +BANKRUPT landlord and a lack of appreciation of the present SOLVENT one. + +"So the English think," Burke answered. + +Kingsnorth went on: "If we knew the whole truth we would probably find +the very methods these people used were the cause of the sorry +condition this village is in now. No landlord has the right to +pauperise his tenantry by giving them money and their homes rent-free. +It is a man's duty and privilege to WORK. INDEPENDENCE--that is what a +man should aim at. The Irish are always CRYING for it. They never seem +to PRACTISE it." + +"Ye can't draw the water out of a kettle and expect it to boil, sir, +and by the same token independence is a fine thing to tache to men who +are dependent on all." + +"Your sympathies appear to be entirely with the people," said +Kingsnorth, looking shrewdly and suspiciously at the agent. + +"No one could live here man and boy and not give it to them," answered +Burke. + +"You're frank, anyway." + +"Pity there are not more like me, sir." + +"I'll see what it is possible to do in the matter of improving +conditions. Mind--I promise nothing. I put my tenants on probation. It +seems hopeless. I'll start works for the really needy. If they show a +desire to take advantage of my interest in them I'll extend my +operations. If they do NOT I'll stop everything and put the estate on +the market." + +Burke looked at him and smiled a dry, cracked smile. + +He was a thin, active, grizzled man, well past fifty, with keen, shrewd +eyes that twinkled with humour, or sparkled with ferocity, or melted +with sorrow as the mood seized him. As he answered Kingsnorth the eyes +twinkled. + +"I'm sure it's grateful the poor people 'ull be when they hear the good +news of yer honour's interest in them." + +"I hope so. Although history teaches us that gratitude is not a common +quality in Ireland. 'If an Irishman is being roasted you will always +find another Irishman to turn the spit,' a statesman quoted in the +House of Commons a few nights ago." + +"That must be why the same statesman puts them in prison for standin' +by each other, I suppose," said Burke, with a faint smile. + +"You are now speaking of the curses of this country--the agitators. +They are the real cause of this deplorable misery. Who will put money +into a country that is ridden by these scoundrels? Rid Ireland of +agitators and you advance her prosperity a hundred years. They are the +clogs on the wheel of a nation's progress." He picked up a copy of the +local newspaper and read a headline from one of the columns: + +"I see you have agitators even here?" + +"We have, sir." + +"Drive them out of the town. Let the people live their own lives +without such disturbing elements in them. Tell them distinctly that +from the moment they begin to work for me I'll have no 'meetings' on my +property. Any of my tenants or workmen found attending them elsewhere +will be evicted and discharged." + +"I'll tell them, sir." + +"I mean to put that kind of lawlessness down with a firm hand." + +"If ye DO ye'll be the first, Mr. Kingsnorth." + +"There is one I see to-day," glancing again at the paper. + +"There is, sir." + +"Who is this man O'Connell?" + +"A native of the village, sir." + +"What is he--a paid agitator?" + +"Faith there's little pay he gets, I'm thinkin'." + +"Why don't the police arrest him?" + +"Mebbe they will, sir." + +"I'll see that they do." + +Burke smiled. + +"And what do you find so amusing, Mr. Burke?" + +"It's a wondher the English government doesn't get tired of arrestin' +them. As fast as they DO others take their place. It's the persecution +brings fresh converts to the 'Cause.' Put one man in jail and there'll +be a hundred new followers the next day." + +"We'll see," said Kingsnorth firmly. "Here is one district where the +law will be enforced. These meetings and their frequent bloodshed are a +disgrace to a civilised people." + +"Ye may well say that, yer honour," replied Burke. + +"Before I invest one penny to better the condition of the people I must +have their pledge to abandon such disgraceful methods of trying to +enlist sympathy. I'll begin with this man O'Connell. Have him brought +to me to-morrow. I'll manage this estate my own way or I'll wash my +hands of it. My father was often tempted to." + +"He resisted the temptation though, sir." + +"I'm sorry he did. That will do for to-day. Leave these statements. +I'll go over them again. It's hard to make head or tail of the whole +business. Be here tomorrow at ten. Bring that fellow O'Connell with +you. Also give me a list of some of the more intelligent and +trustworthy of the people and I'll sound them as to the prospects of +opening up work here. Drop them a hint that my interest is solely on +the understanding that this senseless agitation stops." + +"I will, sir. To-morrow morning at ten," and Burke started for the door. + +"Oh, and--Burke--I hope you are more discreet with my tenants than you +have been with me?" + +"In what way, Mr. Kingsnorth?" + +"I trust that you confine your sympathy with them to your FEELINGS and +not give expression to them in words." + +"I can't say that I do, Mr. Kingsnorth." + +"It would be wiser to in future, Mr. Burke." + +"Well, ye see, sir, I'm a MAN first and an AGENT afterwards." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, sir. It's many's the ugly thing I've had to do for your father, +and if a kind word of mine hadn't gone with it, it's precious little of +the estate would be fit to look at to-day, Mr. Kingsnorth." + +"And why not?" + +"Do ye remember when Kilkee's Scotch steward evicted two hundred in one +day, sir?" + +"I do not." + +"Rade about it. It's very enlightenin'." + +"What happened?" + +"The poor wretched, evicted people burnt down every dwellin' and tree +on the place, sir." + +"I would know how to handle such ruffians." + +"That's what Kilkee thought. 'Tache them a lesson,' said he. 'Turn them +into the ditches!' And he DID. HE thought he KNEW how to handle them. +He woke up with a jump one mornin' when he found a letter from the +under-steward tellin' him his Scotch master was in the hospital with a +bullet in his spleen, and the beautiful house and grounds were just so +much blackened ashes." + +"It seems to me, my good man, there is a note of agreement with such +methods, in your tone." + +"Manin' the evictin' or the burnin', yer honour?" + +"You know what I mean," and Kingsnorth's voice rose angrily. + +"I think I do," answered Burke quietly. + +"I want an agent who is devoted to my interests and to whom the people +are secondary." + +"Then ye'd betther send to England for one, sir. The men devoted to +landlords and against the people are precious few in this part of +Ireland, sir." + +"Do you intend that I should act on that?" + +"If ye wish. Ye can have my TIME at a price, but ye won't have my +INDEPENDENCE for any sum ye like to offer." + +"Very well. Send me your resignation, to take effect one month from +to-day." + +"It's grateful I am, Mr. Kingsnorth," and he went out. + +In through the open window came the sound of the tramping of many feet +and the whisper of subdued voices. + +Kingsnorth hurried out on to the path and saw a number of men and women +walking slowly down the drive, in the centre of which the soldiers were +carrying a body on some branches. Riding beside them was his sister +Angela with her groom. + +"What new horror is this?" he thought, as he hurried down the path to +meet the procession. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ANGELA + + +Wilberforce Kingsnorth left three children: Nathaniel--whose +acquaintance we have already made, and who in a large measure inherited +much of his father's dominant will and hardheadedness--Monica, the +elder daughter, and Angela the younger. + +Nathaniel was the old man's favourite. + +While still a youth he inculcated into the boy all the tenets of +business, morality and politics that had made Wilberforce prosperous. + +Pride in his name: a sturdy grasp of life: an unbending attitude toward +those beneath him, and an abiding reverence for law and order and +fealty to the throne--these were the foundations on which the father +built Nathaniel's character. + +Next in point of regard came the elder daughter Monica. Patrician of +feature, haughty in manner, exclusive by nature she had the true +Kingsnorth air. She had no disturbing "ideas": no yearning for things +not of her station. She was contented with the world as it had been +made for her and seemed duly proud and grateful to have been born a +Kingsnorth. + +She was an excellent musician: rode fairly to hounds: bestowed prizes +at the local charities with grace and distinction--as became a +Kingsnorth--and looked coldly out at the world from behind the +impenetrable barriers of an old name. + +When she married Frederick Chichester, the rising barrister, connected +with six county families, it was a proud day for old Kingsnorth. + +His family had originally made their money in trade. The Chichesters +had accumulated a fortune by professions. The distinction in England is +marked. + +One hesitates to acknowledge the salutation of the man who provides one +with the necessities of life: a hearty handshake is occasionally +extended to those who minister to one's luxuries. + +In England the law is one of the most expensive of luxuries and its +devotees command the highest regard. + +Frederick Chichester came of a long line of illustrious lawyers--one +had even reached the distinction of being made a judge. He belonged to +an honourable profession. + +Chichesters had made the laws of the country in the House of Commons as +well as administered them in the Courts. + +The old man was overjoyed. + +He made a handsome settlement on his eldest daughter on her marriage +and felt he had done well by her, even as she had by him. + +His son and elder daughter were distinctly a credit to him. + +Five years after Monica's birth Angela unexpectedly was born to the +Kingsnorths. + +A delicate, sickly infant, it seemed as if the splendid blood of the +family had expended its vigour on the elder children. + +Angela needed constant attention to keep her alive. From tremulous +infancy she grew into delicate youth. None of the strict standards +Kingsnorth had used so effectually with his other children applied to +her. She seemed a child apart. + +Not needing her, Kingsnorth did not love her. He gave her a form of +tolerant affection. Too fragile to mix with others, she was brought up +at home. Tutors furnished her education. The winters she passed abroad +with her mother. When her mother died she spent them with relations or +friends. The grim dampness of the English climate was too rigorous for +a life that needed sunshine. + +Angela had nothing in common with either her brother or her sister. She +avoided them and they her. They did not understand her: she understood +them only too well! + +A nature that craved for sympathy and affection--as the frail so often +do--was repulsed by those to whom affection was but a form, and +sympathy a term of reproach. + +She loved all that was beautiful, and, as so frequently happens in such +natures as Angela's, she had an overwhelming pity for all that were +unhappy. To her God made the world beautiful: man was responsible for +its hideousness. From her heart she pitied mankind for abusing the +gifts God had showered on them. + +It was on her first home-coming since her mother's death that her +attention was really drawn to her father's Irish possessions. + +By a curious coincidence she returned home the clay following +Wilberforce Kingsnorth's electrical speech, invoking Providence to +interpose in the settlement of the Irish difficulty. It was the one +topic of conversation throughout dinner. And it was during that dinner +that Angela for the first time really angered her father and raised a +barrier between them that lasted until the day of his death. + +The old man had laughed coarsely at the remembrance of his speech on +the previous night, and licked his lips at the thought of it. + +Monica, who was visiting her father for a few days smiled in agreeable +sympathy. + +Nathaniel nodded cheerfully. + +From her father's side Angela asked quietly: + +"Have you ever been in Ireland, father?" + +"No, I have not," answered the old man sharply: "And, what is more, I +never intend to go there." + +"Do you know anything about, the Irish?" persisted Angela. + +"Do I? More than the English government does. Don't I own land there?" + +"I mean do you know anything about the people?" insisted Angela. + +"I know them to be a lot of thieving, rascally scoundrels, too lazy to +work, and too dishonest to pay their way, even when they have the +money." + +"Is that all you know?" + +"All!" He stopped eating to look angrily at his daughter. The +cross-examination was not to his liking. + +Angela went on + +"Yes, father; is that all you know about the Irish?" + +"Isn't it enough?" His voice rose shrilly. It was the first time for +years anyone had dared use those two hated words "Ireland" and "Irish" +at his table. Angela must be checked and at once. + +Before he could begin to check her, however, Angela answered his +question: + +"It wouldn't be enough for me if I had the responsibilities and duties +of a landlord. To be the owner of an estate should be to act as the +people's friend, their father, their adviser in times of plenty and +their comrade in times of sorrow." + +"Indeed? And pray where did you learn all that, Miss?" asked the +astonished parent. + +Without noticing the interruption or the question, Angela went on: + +"Why deny a country its own government when England is practically +governed by its countrymen? Is there any position of prominence today +in England that isn't filled by Irishmen? Think. Our Commander-in-Chief +is Irish: our Lord High Admiral is Irish: there are the defences of the +English in the hands of two Irishmen and yet you call them thieving and +rascally scoundrels." + +Kingsnorth tried to speak; Angela raised her voice: + +"Turn to your judges--the Lord Chief is an Irishman. Look at the House +of Commons. Our laws are passed or defeated by the Irish vote, and yet +so blindly ignorant and obstinate is our insular prejudice that we +refuse them the favours they do us--governing THEMSELVES as well as +England." + +Kingsnorth looked at his daughter aghast. Treason in his own house! His +child speaking the two most hated of all words at his own dinner table +and in laudatory terms. He could scarcely believe it. He looked at her +a moment and then thundered: + +"How dare you! How dare you!" + +Angela smiled a little amusedly-tolerant smile as she looked frankly at +her father and answered: + +"This is exactly the old-fashioned tone we English take to anything we +don't understand. And that is why other countries are leaving us in the +race. There is a nation living within a few hours' journey from our +doors, yet millions of English people are as ignorant of them as if +they lived in Senegambia." She paused, looked once more straight into +her father's eyes and said: "And you, father, seem to be as ignorant as +the worst of them!" + +"Angela!" cried her sister in horror. + +Nathaniel laughed good-naturedly, leaned across to Angela and said: + +"I see our little sister has been reading the sensational magazines. +Yes?" + +"I've done more than that," replied Angela. "In Nice a month ago were +two English members of Parliament who had taken the trouble to visit +the country they were supposed to assist in governing. They told me +that a condition of misery existed throughout the whole of Ireland that +was incredible under a civilised government." + +"Radicals, eh?" snapped her father. + +"No. Conservatives. One of them had once held the office of Chief +Secretary for Ireland and was Ireland's most bitter persecutor, until +he visited the country. When he saw the wretchedness of her people he +stopped his stringent methods and began casting about for some ways of +lessening the poor people's torment." + +"The more shame to him to talk like that to a girl. And what's more you +had no right to listen to him. A Conservative indeed! A fine one he +must be!" + +"He is. I don't see why the Liberal party should have all the +enlightenment and the Conservative party all the bigotry." + +"Don't anger your father," pleaded Monica. + +"Why, little Angela has come back to us quite a revolutionary," said +Nathaniel. + +"Leave the table," shouted her father. + +Without a word Angela got up quietly and left the room. Her manner was +entirely unmoved. She had spoken from her inmost convictions. The fact +that they were opposed to her father was immaterial. She loathed +tyranny and his method of shutting the mouths of those who disagreed +with him was particularly obnoxious to her. It was also most +ineffectual with her. From childhood she had always spoken as she felt. +No discipline checked her. Freedom of speech as well as freedom of +thought were as natural and essential to her as breathing was. + +From that time she saw but little of her father. When he died he left +her to her brother's care. Kingsnorth made no absolute provision for +her. She was to be dependent on Nathaniel. When the time came that she +seemed to wish to marry, if her brother approved of the match, he +should make a handsome settlement on her. + +In response to her request Nathaniel allowed her to go with him to +Ireland on his tour of inspection. + +Mr. Chichester was actively engaged at the Old Bailey on an important +criminal case, so Monica also joined them. + +Everything Angela saw in Ireland appealed to her quick sympathy and +gentle heart. It was just as she had thought and read and listened to. +On every side she saw a kindly people borne down by the weight of +poverty. Lives ruined by sickness and the lack of nourishment. A +splendid race perishing through misgovernment and intolerant ignorance. + +Angela went about amongst the people and made friends with them. They +were chary at first of taking her to their hearts. She was of the hated +Saxon race. What was she doing there, she, the sister of their, till +now, absentee landlord? She soon won them over by her appealing voice +and kindly interest. + +All this Angela did in direct opposition to her brother's wishes and +her sister's exhortations. + +The morning of the meeting she had ridden some mile to visit a poor. +family. Out of five three were in bed with low fever. She got a doctor +for them, gave them money to buy necessities and, with a promise to +return the next day, she rode away. When within some little distance of +her brother's house she saw a steady, irregular stream of people +climbing a great hill. She rode toward it, and, screened by a clump of +trees, saw and heard the meeting. + +When O'Connell first spoke his voice thrilled her. Gradually the +excitement of the people under the mastery of his power, communicated +itself to her. It pulsed in her blood, and throbbed in her brain. For +the first time she realised what a marvellous force was the Call of the +Patriot. To listen and watch a man risking life and liberty in the +cause of his country. Her heart, and her mind and her soul went out to +him. + +When the soldiers marched on to the scene she was paralysed with fear. +When the order to fire was gives she wanted to ride into their midst +and cry out to them to stop. But she was unable to move hand or foot. + +When the smoke had thinned and she saw the bodies lying motionless on +the ground of men who a moment before had been full of life and +strength: when was added to that the horror of the wounded crying out +with pain, her first impulse was to fly from the sight of the carnage. + +She mastered that moment of fear and plunged forward, calling to the +groom to follow her. + +What immediately followed has already been told. + +The long, slow, tortuous journey home: the men slowly following with +the ghastly mute-body on the rude litter, became a living memory to her +for all the remainder of her life. + +She glanced down every little while at the stone-white face and +shuddered as she found herself wondering if eke would ever hear his +voice again or see those great blue-grey eyes flash with his fierce +courage and devotion. + +Once only did the lips of the wounded man move. In a moment Angela had +dismounted and halted the soldiers. As she bent down over him O'Connell +swooned again from pain. + +The procession went on. + +As they neared her brother's house, stragglers began to follow +curiously. Sad looking men and weary women joined the procession +wonderingly. All guessed it was some fresh outrage of the soldiers. + +Little, ragged, old-young children peered down at the body on the +litter and either ran away crying or joined in listlessly with the +others. + +It was an old story carrying back mutilated men to the village. None +was surprised. It seemed to Angela that an infinity of time had passed +before they entered the grounds attached to the Kingsnorth house. + +She sent a man on ahead to order a room to be prepared and a doctor +sent for. + +As she saw her brother coming forward to meet her with knit brows and +stern eyes she nerved herself to greet him. + +"What is this, Angela?" he asked, looking in amazement at the strange +procession. + +"Another martyr to our ignorant government, Nathaniel," and she pressed +on through the drive to the house. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ANGELA SPEAKS HER MIND FREELY TO NATHANIEL + + +Nathaniel's indignation at his sister's conduct was beyond bounds when +he learnt who the wounded man was. He ordered the soldiers to take the +man and themselves away. + +The magistrate interposed and begged him to at least let O'Connell rest +there until a doctor could patch him up. It might be dangerous to take +him back without medical treatment. He assured Nathaniel that the +moment they could move him he would be lodged in the county-jail. + +Nathaniel went back to his study as the sorry procession passed on to +the front door. + +He sent immediately for his sister. + +The reply came back that she would see him at dinner. + +He commanded her to come to him at once. + +In a few minutes Angela came into the room. She was deathly pale. Her +voice trembled as she spoke: + +"What do you want?" + +"Why did you bring that man here?" + +"Because he is wounded." + +"Such scoundrels are better dead." + +"I don't think so. Nor do I think him a scoundrel." + +"He came here to attack landlords--to attack ME. ME! And YOU bring him +to MY house and with that RABBLE. It's outrageous! Monstrous!" + +"I couldn't leave him with those heartless wretches to die in their +hands." + +"He leaves here the moment a doctor has attended him." + +"Very well. Is that all?" + +"No, it isn't!" Kingsnorth tried to control his anger. After a pause he +continued: + +"I want no more of these foolhardy, quixotic actions of yours. I've +heard of your visiting these wretched people--going into fever dens. Is +that conduct becoming your name? Think a little of your station in life +and what it demands." + +"I wish YOU did a little more." + +"What?" he shouted, all his anger returned. + +"There's no need to raise your voice," Angela answered quietly. "I am +only a few feet away. I repeat that I wish you thought a little more of +your obligations. If you did and others like you in the same position +you are in, there would be no such horrible scenes as I saw to-day; a +man shot down amongst his own people for speaking the truth." + +"You SAW it?" Nathaniel asked in dismay. + +"I did. I not only SAW, but I HEARD. I wish you had, too. I heard a man +lay bare his heart and his brain and his soul that others might knew +the light in them. I saw and heard a man offer up his life that others +might know some gleam of happiness in THEIR lives. It was wonderful! It +was heroic! It was God-like!" + +"If I ever hear of you doing such a thing again, you shall go back to +London the next day." + +"That sounds exactly as though my dead father were speaking." + +"I'll not be made a laughing-stock by you." + +"You make yourself one as your father did before you. A Kingsnorth! +What has your name meant? Because one of our forefathers cheated the +world into giving him a fortune, by buying his goods for more than they +were worth, we have tried to canonise him and put a halo around the +name of Kingsnorth. To me it stands for all that is mean and selfish +and vain and ignorant. The power of money over intellect. How did we +become owners of this miserable piece of land? A Kingsnorth swindled +its rightful owner. Lent him money on usury, bought up his bills and +his mortgages and when he couldn't pay foreclosed on him. No wander +there's a curse on the village and on us!" + +Kingsnorth tried to speak, but she stopped him: + +"Wait a moment. It was a good stroke of business taking this estate +away. Oh yes, it was a good stroke of business. Our name has been built +up on 'good strokes of business.' Well, I tell you it's a BAD stroke of +business when human lives are put into the hands of such creatures as +we Kingsnorths have proved ourselves!" + +"Stop!" cried Nathaniel, outraged to the innermost sanctuary of his +being. "Stop! You don't speak like one of our family. It is like +listening to some heretic--some--" + +"I don't feel like one of your family. YOU are a KINGSNORTH. _I_ am my +MOTHER'S child. My poor, gentle, patient mother, who lived a life of +unselfish resignation: who welcomed death, when it came to her, as a +release from tyranny. Don't call ME a Kingsnorth. I know the family too +well. I know all the name means to the people who have suffered through +YOUR FAMILY." + +"After this--the best thing--the only thing--is to separate," said +Nathaniel. + +"Whenever you wish." + +"I'll make you an allowance." + +"Don't let it be a burden." + +"I've never been so shocked--so stunned--" + +"I am glad. From my cradle I've been shocked and stunned--in my home. +It's some compensation to know you are capable of the feeling, too. +Frankly, I didn't think you were." + +"We'll talk no more of this," and Nathaniel began to pace the room. + +"I am finished," and Angela went to the door. + +"It would be better we didn't meet again--in any event--not often," +added Nathaniel. + +"Thank you," said Angela, opening the door. He motioned her to close +it, that he had something more to say. + +"We'll find you some suitable chaperone. You can spend your winters +abroad, as you have been doing. London for the season--until you're +suitably married. I'll follow out my father's wishes to the letter. You +shall be handsomely provided for the day you marry." + +She closed the door with a snap and came back to him and looked him +steadily in the eyes. + +"The man I marry shall take nothing from you. Even in his 'last will +and testament' my father proved himself a Kingsnorth. It was only a +Kingsnorth could make his youngest daughter dependent on YOU!" + +"My father knew I would respect his wishes." + +"He was equally responsible for me, yet he leaves me to YOUR care. A +Kingsnorth!" + +"The men MASTERS and the women SLAVES!" + +"That is the Kingsnorth doctrine." + +"It is a pity our father didn't live a little longer. There are many +changes coming into this old grey world of ours and one of them is the +real, honourable position of woman. The day will come in England when +we will wring from our fathers and our brothers as our right what is +doled out to us now as though we were beggars." + +"And they are trying to govern the country of Ireland in the same way. +The reign of the despot. Well, THAT is nearly over too--even as woman's +degrading position to-day is almost at an end." + +"Have you finished?" + +Once again Angela went to the door. Nathaniel said in a somewhat +changed tone: + +"As it is your wish this man should be cared for, I'll do it. When he +is well enough to be moved, the magistrate will take him to jail. But, +for the little while we shall be here, I beg you not to do anything so +unseemly again." + +A servant came in to tell Angela the doctor had come. Without a word. +Angela went out to see to the wounded man. + +The servant followed her. + +Left alone, Nathaniel sat down, shocked and stunned, to review the +interview he had just had with his youngest sister. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE WOUNDED PATRIOT + + +When Angela entered the sick-room she found Dr. McGinnis, a cheery, +bright-eyed, rotund little man of fifty, talking freely to the patient +and punctuating each speech with a hearty laugh. His good-humour was +infectious. + +The wounded agitator felt the effect of it and was trying to laugh +feebly himself. + +"Sure it's the fine target ye must have made with yer six feet and one +inch. How could the poor soldiers help hittin' ye? Answer me that?" and +the jovial doctor laughed again as he dexterously wound a bandage +around O'Connell's arm. + +"Aisy now while I tie the bandage, me fine fellow. Ye'll live to see +the inside of an English jail yet." + +He turned as he heard the door open and greeted Angela. + +"Good afternoon to ye, Miss Kingsnorth. Faith, it's a blessin' ye +brought the boy here. There's no tellin' What the prison-surgeon would +have done to him. It is saltpetre, they tell me, the English doctors +rub into the Irish wounds, to kape them smartin'. And, by the like +token, they do the same too in the English House of Commons. Saltpetre +in Ireland's wounds is what they give us." + +"Is he much hurt?" asked Angela. + +"Well, they've broken nothin'. Just blackened his face and made a few +holes in his skin. It's buckshot they used. Buckshot! Thank the +merciful Mr. Forster for that same. 'Buckshot-Forster,' as the Irish +reverently call him." + +Angela flushed with indignation as she looked at the crippled man. + +"What a dastardly thing to do," she cried. + +"Ye may well say that, Miss Kingsnorth," said the merry little doctor. +"But it's betther than a bullet from a Martini-Henry rifle, that's what +it is. And there's many a poor English landlord's got one of 'em in the +back for ridin' about at night on his own land. It's a fatherly +government we have, Miss Kingsnorth. 'Hurt 'em, but don't quite kill +'em,' sez they; 'and then put 'em in jail and feed them on bread and +wather. That'll take the fine talkin' and patriotism out of them,' sez +they." + +"They'll never take it out of me. They may kill me, perhaps, but until +they do they'll never silence me," murmured O'Connell in a voice so +low, yet so bitter, that it startled Angela. + +"Ye'll do that all in good time, me fine boy," said the busy little +doctor. "Here, take a pull at this," and he handed the patient a glass +in which he had dropped a few crystals into some water. + +As O'Connell drank the mixture Dr. McGinnis said in a whisper to Angela: + +"Let him have that every three hours: oftener if he wants to talk. +We've got to get his mind at rest. A good sleep'll make a new man of +him." + +"There's no danger?" asked Angela in the same tone. + +"None in the wurrld. He's got a fine constitution and mebbe the +buckshot was pretty clean. I've washed them out well." + +"To think of men shot down like dogs for speaking of their country. +It's horrible! It's wicked! It's monstrous." + +"Faith, the English don't know what else to do with them, Miss. It's no +use arguin' with the like of him. That man lyin' on that bed 'ud talk +the hind-foot off a heifer. The only way to kape the likes of him quiet +is to shoot him, and begob they have." + +"I heard you, doctor," came from the bed. "If they'd killed me to-day +there would be a thousand voices would rise all over Ireland to take +the place of mine. One martyr makes countless converts." + +"Faith, I'd rather kape me own life than to have a hundred thousand +spakin' for me and me dead. Where's the good that would be doin' me? +Now kape still there all through the beautiful night, and let the +blessed medicine quiet ye, and the coolin' ointment aize yer pain. I'll +come in by-and-by on the way back home. I'm goin' up beyant 'The Gap' +to some poor people with the fever. But I'll be back." + +"Thank you, Dr. McGinnis." + +"Is it long yer stayin' here?" and the little man picked up his hat. + +"I don't know," said Angela. "I hardly think so." + +"Well, it's you they'll miss when ye're gone, Miss Kingsnorth. Faith if +all the English were like you this sort of thing couldn't happen." + +"We don't try to understand the people, doctor. We just govern them +blindly and ignorantly." + +"Faith it's small blame to the English. We're a mighty hard race to +make head nor tail of. And that's a fact. Prayin' at Mass one minnit +and maimin' cattle the next. Cryin' salt tears at the bedside of a sick +child, and lavin' it to shoot a poor man in the ribs for darin' to ask +for his rint." + +"They're not IRISHMEN," came from the sick bed. + +"Faith and they are NOW. And it's small wondher the men who sit in +Whitehall in London trate them like savages." + +"I've seen things since I've been here that would justify almost +anything!" cried Angela. "I've seen suffering no one in England dreamt +of. Misery, that London, with all its poverty and wretchedness, could +not compare with. Were I born in Ireland I should be proud to stake my +liberty and my life to protect my own people from such horrible +brutality." + +The wounded man opened his eyes and looked full at Angela. It was a +look at once of gratitude and reverence and admiration. + +Her heart leaped within her. + +So far no man in the little walled-in zone she had lived in had ever +stirred her to an even momentary enthusiasm. They were all so fatuously +contented with their environment. Sheltered from birth, their anxiety +was chiefly how to make life pass the pleasantest. They occasionally +showed a spasmodic excitement over the progress of a cricket or polo +match. Their achievements were largely those of the stay-at-home +warriors who fought with the quill what others faced death with the +sword for. Their inertia disgusted her. Their self-satisfaction spurred +her to resentment. + +Here was a man in the real heart of life. He was engaged in a struggle +that makes existence worth while--the effort to bring a message to his +people. + +How all the conversations she was forced to listen to in her narrow +world rose up before her in their carping meannesses! Her father's +brutal diatribes against a people, unfortunate enough to be compelled, +from force of circumstance, to live on a portion of land that belonged +to him, yet in whose lives he took no interest whatsoever. His only +anxiety was to be paid his rents. How, and through what misery, his +tenants scraped the money together to do it with, mattered nothing to +him. All that DID matter was that he MUST BE PAID. + +Then arose a picture of her sister Monica, with her puny social +pretensions. Recognition of those in a higher grade bread and meat and +drink to her. Adulation and gross flattery the very breath of her +nostrils. + +Her brother's cheap, narrow platitudes about the rights of rank and +wealth. + +To Angela wealth had no rights except to bring happiness to the world. +It seemed to bring only misery once people acquired it. Grim sorrow +seemed to stalk in the trail of the rich. + +She could not recall one moment of real, unfeigned happiness among her +family. The only time she could remember her father smiling or +chuckling was at some one else's misfortune, or over some cruel thing +he had said himself. + +Her sister's joy over some little social triumph--usually at the cost +of the humiliation of another. + +Her brother's cheeriness over some smart stroke of business in which +another firm was involved to their cost. + +Parasites all! + +The memory of her mother was the only link that bound her to her +childhood. The gentle, uncomplaining spirit of her: the unselfish +abnegation of her: the soul's tragedy of her--giving up her life at the +altar of duty, at the bidding of a hardened despot. + +All Angela's childhood came back in a brief illuminating flash. The +face of her one dear, dead companion--her mother--glowed before her. +How her mother would have cared for and tended, and worshipped a man +even as the one lying riddled on that bed of suffering! All the best in +Angela was from her mother. All the resolute fighting quality was from +her father. She would use both now in defence of the wounded man. She +would tend him and care for him, and see that no harm came to him. + +She was roused from her self-searching thoughts by the doctor's voice +and the touch of his hand. + +"Good-bye for the present, Miss Kingsnorth. Sure it's in good hands I'm +lavin' him. But for you he'd be lyin' in the black jail with old Doctor +Costello glarin' down at him with his gimlet eyes, I wouldn't wish a +dog that. Faith, I've known Costello to open a wound 'just to see if it +was healthy,' sez he, an' the patient screamin' 'Holy murther!' all the +while, and old 'Cos' leerin' down at him and sayin': 'Does it hurt? Go +on now, does it? Well, we'll thry this one and see if that does, too,' +and in 'ud go the lance again. I tell ye it's the Christian he is!" He +stopped abruptly. "How me tongue runs on. 'Talkative McGinnis' is what +the disrespectful ones call me--I'll run in after eight and mebbe I'll +bleed him a little and give him something'll make him slape like a top +till mornin'. Good-bye to yez, for the present," and the kindly, plump +little man hurried out with the faint echo of a tune whistling through +his lips. + +Angela sat down at a little distance from the sickbed and watched the +wounded man. His face was drawn with pain. His eyes were closed. But he +was not sleeping. His fingers locked and unlocked. His lips moved He +opened his eyes and looked at her. + +"You need not stay here," he said. + +"Would you rather I didn't?" asked Angela, rising. + +"Why did you bring me here?" + +"To make sure your wounds were attended to." + +"Your brother is a landlord--'Kingsnorth--the absentee landlord,' we +used to call your father as children. And I'm in his son's house. I'd +betther be in jail than here." + +"You mustn't think that." + +"You've brought me here to humiliate me--to humiliate me!" + +"No. To care for you. To protect you." + +"Protect me?" + +"If I can." + +"That's strange." + +"I heard you speak to-day." + +"You did?" + +"I did." + +"I'm glad of that." + +"So am I." + +"Pity your brother wasn't there too." + +"It was--a great pity." + +"Here's one that Dublin Castle and the English government can't +frighten. I'll serve my time in prisons when I'm well enough--it's the +first time they've caught me and they had to SHOOT me to do it--and +when I come out I'll come straight back here and take up the work just +where I'm leaving it." + +"You mustn't go to prison." + +"It's the lot of every Irishman to-day who says what he thinks." + +"It mustn't be yours! It mustn't!" Angela's voice rose in her distress. +She repeated: "It mustn't! I'll appeal to my brother to stop it." + +"If he's anything like his father it's small heed he'll pay to your +pleading. The poor wretches here appealed to old Kingsnorth in famine +and sickness--not for HELP, mind ye, just for a little time to pay +their rents--and the only answer they ever got from him was 'Pay or +go'!" + +"I know! I know!" Angela replied. "And many a time when I was a child +my mother and I cried over it." + +He looked at her curiously. "You and yer mother cried over US?" + +"We did. Indeed we did." + +"They say the heart of England is in its womenkind. But they have +nothing to do with her laws." + +"They will have some day." + +"It'll be a long time comin', I'm thinkin'. If they take so long to +free a whole country how long do ye suppose it'll take them to free a +whole sex--and the female one at that?" + +"It will come!" she said resolutely. + +He looked at her strangely. + +"And you cried over Ireland's sorrows?" + +"As a child and as a woman," said Angela. + +"And ye've gone about here tryin' to help them too, haven't ye?" + +"I could do very little" + +"Well, the spirit is there--and the heart is there. If they hadn't +liked YOU it's the sorry time maybe your brother would have." + +He paused again, looking at her intently, whilst his fingers clutched +the coverlet convulsively as if to stifle a cry of pain. + +"May I ask ye yer name?" he gasped. + +"Angela," she said, almost in a whisper. + +"Angela," he repeated. "Angela! It's well named ye are. It's the +ministering angel ye've been down here--to the people--and--to me." + +"Don't talk any more now. Rest" + +"REST, is it? With all the throuble in the wurrld beatin' in me brain +and throbbin' in me heart?" + +"Try and sleep until the doctor comes to-night." + +He lay back and closed his eyes. + +Angela sat perfectly still. + +In a few minutes he opened them again. There was a new light in his +eyes and a smile on his lips. + +"Ye heard me speak, did ye?" + +"Yes." + +"Where were ye?" + +"Above you, behind a bank of trees." + +A playful smile played around his lips as he said: "It was a GOOD +speech, wasn't it?" + +"I thought it wonderful," Angela answered. + +"And what were yer feelings listenin' to a man urgin' the people +against yer own country?" + +"I felt I wanted to stand beside you and echo everything you said." + +"DID you?" and his eyes blazed and his voice rose. + +"You spoke as some prophet, speaking in a wilderness of sorrow, trying +to bring them comfort." + +He smiled whimsically, as he said, in a weary voice: + +"I tried to bring them comfort and I got them broken heads and +buck-shot." + +"It's only through suffering every GREAT cause triumphs," said Angela. + +"Then the Irish should triumph some day. They've suffered enough, God +knows." + +"They will," said Angela eagerly. "Oh, how I wish I'd been born a man +to throw in my lot with the weak! to bring comfort to sorrow, freedom +to the oppressed: joy to wretchedness. That is your mission. How I envy +you. I glory in what the future has in store for you, Live for it! Live +for it!" + +"I will!" cried O'Connell. "Some day the yoke will be lifted from us. +God grant that mine will be the hand to help do it. God grant I am +alive to see it done. That day'll be worth living for--to wring +recognition from our enemies--to--to--to" he sank back weakly on the +pillow, his voice fainting to a whisper. + +Angela brought him some water and helped him up while he drank it. She +smoothed back the shining hair--red, shot through gold--from his +forehead. He thanked her with a look. Suddenly he burst into tears. The +strain of the day had snapped his self-control at last. The floodgates +were opened. He sobbed and sobbed like some tired, hurt child. Angela +tried to comfort him. In a moment she was crying, too. He took her hand +and kissed it repeatedly, the tears falling on it as he did so. + +"God bless ye! God bless ye!" he cried. + +In that moment of self-revelation their hearts went out to each other. +Neither had known happiness nor love, nor faith in mankind. + +In that one enlightening moment of emotion their hearts were laid bare +to each other. The great comedy of life between man and woman had begun. + +From that moment their lives were linked together. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ANGELA IN SORE DISTRESS + + +Three days afterwards O'Connell was able to dress and move about his +room. He was weak from loss of blood and the confinement that an active +man resents. But his brain was clear and vivid. They had been three +wonderful days. + +Angela had made them the most amazing in his life. The memory of those +hours spent with her he would carry to his grave. + +She read to him and talked to him and lectured him and comforted him. +There were times when he thanked the Power that shapes our ends for +having given him this one supreme experience. The cadences of her voice +would haunt him through the years to come. + +And in a little while he must leave it all. He must stand his trial +under the "Crimes Act" for speaking at a "Proclaimed" meeting. + +Well, whatever his torture he knew he would come out better equipped +for the struggle. He had learned something of himself he had so far +never dreamed of in his bitter struggle with the handicap of his life. +He had something to live for now besides the call of his country--the +call of the HEART--the cry of beauty and truth and reverence. + +Angela inspired him with all these. In the three days she ministered to +him she had opened up a vista he had hitherto never known. And now he +had to leave it and face his accusers, and be hectored and jeered at in +the mockery they called "trials." From the Court-House he would go to +the prison and from thence he would be sent back into the world with +the brand of the prison-cell upon him. As the thought of all this +passed through his mind, he never wavered. He would face it as he had +faced trouble all his life, with body knit for the struggle, and his +heart strong for the battle. + +And back of it all the yearning that at the end she would be waiting +and watching for his return to the conflict for the great "Cause" to +which he had dedicated his life. + +On the morning of the third day Mr. Roche, the resident magistrate, was +sent for by Nathaniel Kingsnorth. Mr. Roche found him firm and +determined, his back to the fireplace, in which a bright fire was +burning, although the month was July. + +"Even the climate of Ireland rebels against the usual laws of nature!" +thought Kingsnorth, as he shivered and glanced at the steady, drenching +downpour that had lasted, practically, ever since he had set foot in +the wretched country. + +The magistrate came forward and greeted him respectfully. + +"Good morning, Mr. Roche," said Nathaniel, motioning him to sit down by +the fire. + +"I've sent for you to remove this man O'Connell," added Nathaniel, +after a pause. + +"Certainly--if he is well enough to be moved." + +"The doctor, I understand, says that he is." + +"Very well. I'll drive him down to the Court-House. The Court is +sitting now," said Roche, rising. + +Kingsnorth stopped him with a gesture. + +"I want you to understand it was against my express wishes that he was +ever brought into this house." + +"Miss Kingsnorth told me, when I had arrested him, that you would +shelter him and go bail for him, if necessary," said Roche, in some +surprise. + +"My sister does things under impulse that she often regrets afterwards. +This is one. I hope there is no, harm done?" + +"None in the world," replied the magistrate. "On the contrary, the +people seem to have a much higher opinion of you, Mr. Kingsnorth, since +the occurrence," he added. + +"Their opinion--good or bad--is a matter of complete indifference to +me. I am only anxious that the representatives of the government do not +suppose that, because, through mistaken ideas of charity, my sister +brought this man to my house, I in any way sanction his attitude and +his views!" + +"I should not fear that, Mr. Kingsnorth. You have always been regarded +as a most loyal subject, sir," answered Roche. + +"I am glad. What sentence is he likely to get?" + +"It depends largely on his previous record." + +"Will it be settled to-day?" + +"If the jury bring in a verdict. Sometimes they are out all night on +these cases." + +"A jury! Good God! A jury of Irishmen to try, an Irishman?" + +"They're being trained gradually, sir." + +"It should never be left to them in a country like this A judge should +have the power of condemning such bare-faced criminals, without trial." + +"He'll be condemned," said Roche confidently. + +"What jury will convict him if they all sympathise with him? Answer me +that?" + +"That was one difficulty we had to face at first," Roche answered. "It +was hard, indeed, as you say, to get an Irishman convicted by an Irish +jury--especially the agitators. But we've changed that. We've made them +see that loyalty to the Throne is better than loyalty to a Fenian." + +"How have they done it?" + +"A little persuasion and some slight coercion, sir." + +"I am glad of it. It would be a crime against justice for a man who +openly breaks the law not to be punished through being tried before a +jury of sympathisers." + +"Few of them escape, Mr. Kingsnorth. Dublin Castle found the way. One +has to meet craft with craft and opposition with firmness. Under the +present government we've succeeded wonderfully." Roche smiled +pleasantly as he thought of the many convictions he had been +instrumental in procuring himself. + +Kingsnorth seemed delighted also. + +"Good," he said. "The condition of things here is a disgrace--mind you, +I'm not criticising the actions of the officials," he hastened to add. + +The magistrate bowed. + +Kingsnorth went on: + +"But the attitude of the people, their views, their conduct, is +deplorable--opeless. I came here to see what I could do for them. I +even thought of spending a certain portion of each year here. But from +what I've heard it would be a waste of time and money." + +"It is discouraging, at first sight, but we'll have a better state of +affairs presently. We must first stamp out the agitator. He is the +most potent handicap. Next are the priests. They are nearest to the +people. The real solution of the Irish difficulty would be to make the +whole nation Protestants." + +"Could it be done?" + +"It would take time--every big movement takes time." Roche paused, +looked shrewdly, at Kingsnorth and asked him: + +"What do you intend doing with this estate?" + +"I am in a quandary. I'm almost determined to put it in the market. +Sell it. Be rid of it. It has always been a source of annoyance to our +family. However, I'll settle nothing until I return to London. I'll go +in a few days--much sooner than I intended. This man being brought into +my house has annoyed and upset me." + +"I'm sorry," said the magistrate. "Miss Kingsnorth was so insistent and +the fellow seemed in a bad way, otherwise I would never have allowed +it." + +A servant came in response to Kingsnorth's ring and was sent with a +message to have the man O'Connell ready to accompany the magistrate as +quickly as possible. Over a glass of sherry and a cigar the two men +resumed their discussion. + +"I wouldn't decide too hastily about disposing of the land. Although +there's always a good deal of discontent there is really very little +trouble here. In fact, until agitators like O'Connell came amongst us +we had everything pretty peaceful. We'll dispose of him in short order." + +"Do. Do. Make an example of him." + +"Trust us to do that," said Roche. After a moment he added: "To refer +again to selling the estate you would get very little for it. It can't +depreciate much more, and there is always the chance it may improve. +Some of the people are quite willing to work--" + +"ARE they? They've not shown any willingness to me." + +"Oh, no. They wouldn't." + +"What? Not to their landlord?" + +"You'd be the LAST they'd show it to. They're strange people in many +ways until you get to know them. Now there are many natural resources +that might be developed if some capital were put into them." + +"My new steward discouraged me about doing that. He said it might be +ten years before I got a penny out." + +"Your NEW steward?" + +"Andrew McPherson." + +"The lawyer?" + +"Yes" + +"He's a hard man, sir." + +"The estate needs one." + +"Burke understands the people." + +"He sympathises with them. I don't want a man like that working for me. +I want loyalty to my interests The makeshift policy of Burke during my +father's lifetime helped to bring about this pretty state of things. +We'll see what firmness will do. New broom. Sweep the place clean. Rid +it of slovenly, ungrateful tenants. Clear away the tap-room orators. I +have a definite plan in my mind. If I decide NOT to sell I'll perfect +my plan in London and begin operations as soon as I'm satisfied it is +feasible and can be put upon a proper business basis. There's too much +sentiment in Ireland. That's been their ruin. _I_ am going to bring a +little common sense into play." Kingsnorth walked restlessly around the +room as he spoke. He stopped by the windows and beckoned the magistrate. + +"There's your man on the drive. See?" and he pointed to where +O'Connell, with a soldier each side of him, was slowly moving down the +long avenue. + +The door of the room opened and Angela came in hurriedly and went +straight to where the two men stood. There was the catch of a sob in +her voice as she spoke to the magistrate. + +"Are you taking that poor wounded man to prison?" + +"The doctor says he is well enough to be moved," replied Roche. + +"You've not seen the doctor. I've just questioned him. He told me you +had not asked his opinion and that if you move him it will be without +his sanction." + +Kingsnorth interrupted angrily: "Please don't interfere." + +Angela turned on him: "So, it's YOU who are sending him to prison?" + +"I am." + +Angela appealed to the magistrate. + +"Don't do this, I entreat you--don't do it." + +"But I have no choice, Miss Kingsnorth." + +"The man can scarcely walk," she pleaded. + +"He will receive every attention, believe me, Miss Kingsnorth," Roche +replied. + +Angela faced her brother again. + +"If you let that wounded man go from this house to-day you will regret +it to the end of your life." Her face was dead-white; her breath was +coming thickly; her eyes were fastened in hatred on her brother's face. + +"Kindly try and control yourself, Angela," Kingsnorth said sternly. +"You should consider my position a little more--" + +"YOUR position? And what is HIS? You with EVERYTHING you want in +life--that man with NOTHING. He is being hounded to prison for what? +Pleading for his country! Is that a crime? He was shot down by +soldiers--for what? For showing something we English are always +boasting of feeling OURSELVES and resent any other nation feeling +it--patriotism!" + +"Stop!" commanded Kingsnorth. + +"If you take that sick, wretched man out of this house it will be a +crime--" began Angela. + +Kingsnorth stopped her; he turned to the magistrate: "Kindly take the +man away." + +Roche moved to the window. + +Angela's heart sank. All her pleading was in vain. Her voice faltered +and broke: + +"Very well. Then take him. Sentence him for doing something his own +countrymen will one day build a monument to him for doing. The moment +the prison-door closes behind him a thousand voices will cry 'Shame' on +you and your government, and a thousand new patriots will be enrolled. +And when he comes out from his torture he'll carry on the work of +hatred and vengeance against his tyrants. He will fight you to the last +ditch. You may torture his BODY, but you cannot break his HEART or +wither his spirit. They're beyond you. They're--they're--," she stopped +suddenly, as her voice rose to the breaking-point, and left the room. + +The magistrate went down the drive. In a few moments O'Connell was on +his way to the Court-House, a closely guarded prisoner. + +Angela, from her window, watched the men disappear. She buried her face +in her hands and moaned as she had not done since her mother left her +just a few years before. The girlhood in her was dead. She was a woman. +The one great note had come to her, transforming her whole nature--love. + +And the man she loved was being carried away to the misery and +degradation of a convict. + +Gradually the moans died away. The convulsive heaving of her breast +subsided. A little later, when her sister Monica came in search of her, +she found Angela in a dead faint. + +By night she was in a fever. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +TWO LETTERS + + +Dublin, Ireland, Nov. 16th, 18-- + +Dear Lady of Mercy: + +I have served my sentence. I am free. At first the horrible humiliation +of my treatment, of my surroundings, of the depths I had to sink to, +burned into me. Then the thought of you sustained me. Your gentle +voice: your beauty: your pity: your unbounded faith in me strengthened +my soul. All the degradation fell from me. They were but ignoble means +to a noble end. I was tortured that others might never know sorrow. I +was imprisoned that my countrymen might know liberty. And so the load +was lighter. + +The memory of those three WONDERFUL days was so marvellous, so vivid, +that it shone like a star through the blackness of those TERRIBLE days. + +You seem to have taken hold of my heart and my soul and my life. + +Forgive me for writing this to you, but it seems that you are the only +one I've ever known who understands the main-springs of my nature, of +my hopes and my ambitions--indeed, of my very thoughts. + +To-day I met the leader of my party. He greeted me warmly. At last I +have proved myself a worthy follower. They think it best I should leave +Ireland for a while. If I take active part at once I shall be arrested +again and sent for a longer sentence. + +They have offered me the position of one of the speakers In a campaign +in America to raise funds for the "Cause." I must first see the Chief +in London. He sent a message, writing in the highest terms of my work +and expressing a wish to meet me. I wonder if it would be possible to +see you in London? + +If I am sent to America it would speed my going to speak to you again. +If you feel that I ask too much, do not answer this and I will +understand. + +Out of the fulness of my heart, from the depths of my soul, and with +the whole fervour of my being, I ask you to accept all the gratitude of +a heart filled to overflowing. + +God bless and keep you. + +Yours in homage and gratitude, + FRANK OWEN O'CONNELL. + + +London, Nov. 19th, 18-- + +My dear Mr. O'Connell: + +I am glad indeed to have your letter and to know you are free again. I +have often thought of your misery during all these months and longed to +do something to assuage it. It is only when a friend is in need and all +avenues of help are closed to him that a woman realises how helpless +she is. + +That they have not crushed your spirit does not surprise me. I was as +sure of that as I am that the sun is shining to-day. That you do not +work actively in Ireland at once is, I am sure, wise. Foolhardiness is +not courage. + +In a little while the English government may realise how hopeless it is +to try and conquer a people who have liberty in their hearts. Then they +will abate the rigour of their unjust laws. + +When that day comes you must return and take up the mission with +renewed strength and hope and stimulated by the added experience of +bitter suffering. + +I should most certainly like to see you in London. I am staying with a +distant connection of the family. We go to the south of France in a few +weeks. I have been very ill--another reproach to the weakness of woman. +I am almost recovered now but far from strong. I have to lie still all +day. My only companions are my books and my thoughts. + +Let me know when you expect to arrive in London. Come straight here. + +I have so much to tell you, but the words halt as they come to my pen. + +Looking forward to seeing you, + In all sincerity, + ANGELA KINGSNORTH. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +O'CONNELL VISITS ANGELA IN LONDON + + +Nathaniel Kingsnorth stayed only, long enough in Ireland to permit of +Angela's recovery. + +He only went into the sick-room once. + +When Angela saw him come into the room she turned her back on him and +refused to speak to him. + +For a moment a flush of pity for his young sister gave him a pang at +his heart. She looked so frail and worn, so desperately ill. After all +she was his sister, and again, had she not been punished? He was +willing to forget the foolhardy things she had done and the bitter +things she had said. Let bygones be bygones. He realised that he had +neglected her. He would do so no longer. Far from it. When they +returned to London all that would be remedied. He would take care of +her in every possible way. He felt a genuine thrill course through him +as he thought of his generosity. + +To all of this Angela made no answer. + +Stung by her silence, he left the room and sent for his other sister. +When Monica came he told her that whenever Angela wished to recognise +his magnanimity she could send for him. She would not find him +unforgiving. + +To this Angela sent no reply. + +When the fever had passed and she was stronger, arrangements were made +for the journey to London. + +As Angela walked unsteadily to the carriage, leaning on the arm of the +nurse, Nathaniel came forward to assist her. She passed him without a +word. Nor did she speak to him once, nor answer any remark of his, +during the long journey on the train. + +When they reached London she refused to go to the Kingsnorth house, +where her brother lived, but went at once to a distant cousin of her +mother's--Mrs. Wrexford--and made her home with her, as she had often +done before. She refused to hold any further communication with her +brother, despite the ministrations of her sister Monica and Mrs. +Wrexford. + +Mrs. Wrexford was a gentle little white-capped widow whose only +happiness in life seemed to be in worrying over others' misfortunes. +She was on the board of various charitable organisations and was a busy +helper in the field of mercy. She worshipped Angela, as she had her +mother before her. That something serious had occurred between Angela +and her brother Mrs. Wrexford realised, but she could find out nothing +by questioning Angela. Every time she asked her anything relative to +her attitude Angela was silent. + +One day she begged Mrs. Wrexford never to speak of her brother again. +Mrs. Wrexford respected her wishes and watched her and nursed her +through her convalescence with a tender solicitude. + +When O'Connell's letter came, Angela showed it to Mrs. Wrexford, +together with her reply. + +"Do you mind if I see him here?" Angela asked. + +"What kind of man is he?" + +"The kind that heroes are made of." + +"He writes so strangely--may, one say unreservedly? Is he a gentleman?" + +"In the real meaning of the word--yes." + +"Of good family?" + +"Not as we estimate goodness. His family were just simple peasants." + +"Do you think it wise to see him?" + +"I don't consider the wisdom. I only listen to my heart." + +"Do you mean that you care for him?" + +"I do." + +"You--you love him?" + +"So much of love as I can give is his." + +"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Wrexford, thoroughly alarmed. + +"Don't be afraid," said Angela, quietly. "Our ways lie wide apart. He +is working for the biggest thing in life. His work IS his life. I am +nothing." + +"But don't you think it would be indiscreet, dear, to have such a man +come here?" + +"Why--indiscreet?" + +"A man who has been in prison!" and Mrs. Wrexford shuddered at the +thought. She had seen and helped so many poor victims of the cruel +laws, and the memory of their drawn faces and evil eyes, and coarse +speech, flashed across her mind. She could not reconcile one coming +into her little home. + +Angela answered her: + +"Yes, he has been in prison, but the shame was for his persecutors--not +for him. Still, if you would rather I saw him somewhere else--" + +"Oh no, my dear child. If you wish it--" + +"I do. I just want to see him again, as he writes he does me. I want to +hear him speak again. I want to wish him 'God-speed' on his journey." + +"Very, well, Angela," said the old lady. "As you wish." + +A week afterwards O'Connell arrived in London. They met in Mrs. +Wrexford's little drawing-room in Mayfair. + +They looked at each other for some moments without speaking. Both noted +the fresh lines of suffering in each other's faces. They had been +through the long valley of the shadow of sorrow since they had last +met. But O'Connell thought, as he looked at her, that all the suffering +he had gone through passed from him as some hideous dream. It was worth +it--these months of torture--just to be looking at her now. Worth the +long black nights--the labours in the heat of the day, with life's +outcasts around him; the taunts of his gaolers: worth all the infamy of +it--just to stand there looking at her. + +She had taken his life in her two little hands. + +He had bathed his soul all these months in the thought of her. He had +prayed night and day that he might see her standing near him just as +she was then: see the droop of her eye and the silk of her hair and +feel the touch of her hand and hear the exquisite tenderness of her +voice. + +He stood mute before her. + +She held out her hand and said simply + +"Thank you for coming." + +"It was good of you to let me," he answered hoarsely. "They have not +broken your spirit or your courage?" + +"No," he replied tensely; "they are the stronger." + +"I thought they would be," she said proudly. + +All the while he was looking at the pale face and the thin transparency +of her hands. + +"But you have suffered, too. You have been ill. Were you in--danger?" +His voice had a catch of fear in it as he asked the, to him, terrible +question. + +"No. It was just a fever. It is past. I am a little weak--a little +tired. That will pass, too." + +"If anything had happened to you--or ever should happen!" He buried his +face in his hands and moaned "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" + +His body shook with the sobs he tried vainly to check. Angela put her +hand gently on his shoulder. + +"Don't do that," she whispered. + +He controlled himself with an effort. + +"It will be over in a moment. Just a moment. I am sorry." + +He suddenly knelt at her feet, his head bowed in reverence. "God help +me," he cried faintly, "I love you! I love you!" + +She looked down at him, her face transfigured. + +He loved her! + +The beat of her heart spoke it! "He loves you!" the throbbing of her +brain shouted it: "He loves you!" the cry of her soul whispered it: "He +loves you!" + +She stretched out her hands to him: + +"My love is yours, just as yours is mine. Let us join our lives and +give them to the suffering and the oppressed." + +He looked up at her in wonder. + +"I daren't. Think what I am." + +"You are the best that is in me. We are mates." + +"A peasant! A beggar!" + +"You are the noblest of the noble." + +"A convict." + +"Our Saviour was crucified so that His people should be redeemed. You +have given the pain of your body so that your people may be free." + +"It wouldn't be fair to you," he pleaded. + +"If you leave me it will be unfair to us both." + +"Oh, my dear one! My dear one!" + +He folded her in his arms: + +"I'll give the best of my days to guard you and protect you and bring +you happiness." + +"I am happy now," and her voice died to a whisper. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +KINGSNORTH IN DESPAIR + + +Three days afterwards Nathaniel Kingsnorth returned late at night from +a political banquet. + +It had been a great evening. At last it seemed that life was about to +give him what he most wished for. His dearest ambitions were, +apparently, about to be realised. + +He had been called on, as a staunch Conservative, to add his quota to +the already wonderful array of brilliant perorations of seasoned +statesmen and admirable speakers. + +Kingsnorth had excelled himself. + +Never had he spoken so powerfully. + +Being one of the only men at the banquet who had enjoyed even a brief +glimpse of Ireland, he made the solution of the Irish question the main +topic of his speech. Speaking lucidly and earnestly, he placed before +them his panacea for Irish ills. + +His hearers were enthralled. + +When he sat down the cheering was prolonged. The Chancellor of the +Exchequer, an old friend of his late father, spoke most glowingly to +him and of him in his hearing. The junior Whip hinted at his contesting +a heat at a coming bye-election in the North of Ireland. A man with his +knowledge of Ireland--as he had shown that night--would be invaluable +to his party. + +When he left the gathering he was in a condition of ecstasy. Lying +back, amid the cushions, during his long drive home, he closed his eyes +and pictured the future. His imagination ran riot. It took wings and +flew from height to height. He saw himself the leader of a party--"The +Kingsnorth Party!"--controlling his followers with a hand of iron, and +driving them to vote according to his judgment and his decree. + +By the time he reached home he had entered the Cabinet and was being +spoken of as the probable Prime Minister. But for the sudden stopping +of the horses he might have attained that proud distinction. + +The pleasant warmth of the entrance hall on this chill November night, +greeted him as a benignant welcome. He bummed a tune cheerfully as he +climbed the stairs, and was smiling genially when he entered the +massive study. + +He poured out a liqueur and stood sipping it as he turned over the +letters brought by the night's post. One arrested him. It had been +delivered by hand, and was marked "Most Urgent." He lit a cigar and +tore open the envelope. As he read the letter every vestige of colour +left his face. He sank into a chair: the letter slipped from his +fingers. All his dreams had vanished in a moment. His house of cards +had toppled down. His ambitions were surely and positively destroyed at +one stroke. He mechanically picked up the letter and re-read it. Had it +been his death-sentence it could not have affected him more cruelly. + +"Dear Nathaniel: I scarcely know how to write to you about what has +happened. I am afraid I am in some small measure to blame. Ten days ago +your sister showed me a letter from a man named O'Connell--[Kingsnorth +crushed the letter in his hand as he read the hated name--the name of +the man who had caused him so much discomfort during that unfortunate +visit to his estate in Ireland. How he blamed himself now for having +ever gone there. There was indeed a curse on it for the Kingsnorths. He +straightened out the crumpled piece of paper and read on]:--a man named +O'Connell--the man she nursed in your house in Ireland after he had +been shot by the soldiers. He was coming to England and wished to see +her. She asked my permission. I reasoned with her--but she was decided. +If I should not permit her to see him in my house she would meet him +elsewhere. It seemed better the meeting should be under my roof, so I +consented. I bitterly reproach myself now for not acquainting you with +the particulars. You might have succeeded in stopping what has +happened." + +"Your sister and O'Connell were married this morning by special licence +and left this afternoon for Liverpool, en route to America." + +"I cannot begin to tell you how much I deplore the unfortunate affair. +It will always be a lasting sorrow to me. I cannot write any more now. +My head is aching with the thought of what it will mean to you. Try not +to think too hardly of me and believe me." + +"Always your affectionate cousin," + +"Mary Caroline Wrexford." + +Kingsnorth's head sank on to his breast. Every bit of life left him. +Everything about his feet. Ashes. The laughing-stock of his friends. + +Were Angela there at that moment he could have killed her. + +The humiliation of it! The degradation of it! Married to that lawless +Irish agitator. The man now a member of his family! A cry of misery +broke from him, as he realised that the best years of his life were to +come and go fruitlessly. His career was ended. Despair lay heavy on his +soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +LOOKING FORWARD + + +Standing on the main deck of an Atlantic liner stood Angela and +O'Connell. + +They were facing the future together. + +Their faces were turned to the West. + +The sun was sinking in a blaze of colour. + +Their eyes lighted up with the joy of HOPE. + +LOVE was in their hearts. + + + + +BOOK II + +THE END OF THE ROMANCE + + +CHAPTER I + +ANGELA'S CONFESSION + + +A year after the events in the preceding book took place O'Connell and +his young wife were living in a small; apartment in one of the poorer +sections of New York City. + +The first few months in America had been glorious ones for them. Their +characters and natures unfolded to each other as some wonderful +paintings, each taking its own hues from the adoration of the other. + +In company with a noted Irish organiser O'Connell had spoken in many of +the big cities of the United States and was everywhere hailed as a hero +and a martyr to English tyranny. + +But he had one ever-present handicap--a drawback he had never felt +during the years of struggle preceding his marriage. His means were +indeed small. He tried to eke out a little income writing articles for +the newspapers and magazines. But the recompense was pitiful. He could +not bear, without a pang, to see Angela in the dingy surroundings that +he could barely afford to provide for her. + +On her part Angela took nothing with her but a few jewels her mother +had left her, some clothes and very little money. The money soon +disappeared and then one by one the keepsakes of her mother were parted +with. But they never lost heart. Through it all they were happy. All +the poetry of O'Connell's nature came uppermost, leavened, as it was, +by the deep faith and veneration of his wife. + +This strangely assorted fervent man and gentle woman seemed to have +solved the great mystery of happiness between two people. + +But the poverty chafed O'Connell--not for himself, but for the frail, +loving, uncomplaining woman who had given her life into his care. + +His active brain was continually trying to devise new ways of adding to +his meagre income. He multiplied his duties: he worked far into the +night when he could find a demand for his articles. But little by +little his sources of revenue failed him. + +Some fresh and horrible Agrarian crimes in Ireland, for which the Home +Rule party were blamed, for a while turned the tide of sympathy against +his party. The order was sent out to discontinue meetings for the +purpose of collecting funds in America--funds the Irish-Americans had +been so cheerfully and plentifully bestowing on the "Cause." O'Connell +was recalled to Ireland. His work was highly commended. + +Some day they would send him to the United States again as a Special +Pleader. At present he would be of greater value at home. + +He was instructed to apply to the treasurer of the fund and +arrangements would be made for his passage back to Ireland. + +He brought the news to Angela with a strange feeling of fear and +disappointment. He had built so much on making a wonderful career in +the great New World and returning home some day to Ireland with the +means of relieving some of her misery and with his wife guarded, as she +should be, from the possibility of want. And here was he going back to +Ireland as poor as he left it--though richer immeasurably in the love +of Angela. She was sitting perfectly still, her eyes on the floor, when +he entered the room. He came in so softly that she did not hear him. He +lifted her head and looked into her eyes. He noticed with certainty +what had been so far only a vague, ill-defined dread. Her face was +very, very pale and transparent. Her eyes were sunken and had a strange +brilliancy. She was much slighter end far more ethereal than on that +day when they stood the deck of the ship and turned their faces so +hopefully to the New World. + +He felt a knife-like stab startle through his blood to his heart. His +breath caught. + +Angela looked up at him, radiantly. + +He kissed her and with mock cheerfulness he said, laughingly: + +"Such news, me darlin'! Such wondherful news!" + +"Good news, dear?" + +"The best in the wurrld," and he choked a sob. + +"I knew it would come! I knew it would. Tell me, dear." + +"We're to go back--back to--back to Ireland. See--here are the orders," +and he showed her the official letter. + +She took it wonderingly and read it. Her hand dropped to her side. Her +head drooped into the same position he had found her in. In a moment he +was kneeling at her side: + +"What is it, dear?" + +"We can't go, Frank." + +"We can't go? What are ye sayin', dear?" + +"We can't go," she repeated, her body crumpled up limply in the chair. + +"And why not, Angela? I know I can't take ye back as I brought ye here, +dear, if that's what ye mane. The luck's been against me. It's been +cruel hard against me. An' that thought is tearin' at me heart this +minnit." + +"It isn't THAT, Frank," she said, faintly. + +"Then what is it?" + +"Oh," she cried, "I hoped it would be so different--so very different." + +"What did ye think would be so different, dear? Our going back? Is that +what's throublin' ye?" + +"No, Frank. Not that. I don't care how we go back so long as you are +with me." He pressed her hand. In a moment she went on: "But we can't +go. We can't go. Oh, my dear, my dear, can't you guess? Can't you +think?" She looked imploringly into his eyes. + +A new wonder came into his. Could it be true? Could it? He took both +her hands and held them tightly and stood up, towering over her, and +trembling violently. "Is it--is it--?" he cried and stopped as if +afraid to complete the question. + +She smiled a wan smile up at him and nodded her head as she answered: + +"The union of our lives is to be complete. Our love is to be rewarded." + +"A child is coming to us?" he whispered. + +"It is," and her voice was hushed, too. + +"Praise be to God! Praise be to His Holy Name," and O'Connell clasped +his hands in prayer. + +In a little while she went on: "It was the telling you I wanted to be +so different. I wanted you, when you heard it, to be free of +care--happy. And I've waited from day to day hoping for the best--that +some good fortune would come to you." + +He forced one of his old time, hearty laughs, but there was a hollow +ring in it: + +"What is that yer sayin' at all? Wait for good fortune? Is there any +good fortune like what ye've just told me? Sure I'm ten times the +happier man since I came into this room." He put his arm around her and +sitting beside her drew her closely to him. "Listen, dear," he said, +"listen. We'll go back to the old country. Our child shall be born +where we first met. There'll be no danger. No one shall harm us with +that little life trembling in the balance--the little precious life. If +it's a girl-child she'll be the mother of her people; and if it be a +man-child he shall grow up to carry on his father's work. So +there--there--me darlin', we'll go back--we'll go back." + +She shook her head feebly. "I can't," she said. + +"Why not, dear?" + +"I didn't want to tell you. But now you make me. Frank, dear, I am ill." + +His heart almost stopped. "Ill? Oh, my darlin', what is it? Is it +serious? Tell me it isn't serious?" and his voice rang with a note of +agony. + +"Oh, no, I don't think so. I saw the doctor to-day. He said I must be +careful--very careful until--until--our baby is born." + +"An' ye kept it all to yerself, me brave one, me dear one. All right. +We won't go back. We'll stay here. I'll make them find me work. I'm +strong. I'm clever too and crafty, Angela. I'll wring it from this +hustling, city. I'll fight it and beat it. Me darlin' shall have +everything she wants. My little mother--my precious little mother." + +He cradled her in his strong arms and together they sat for hours and +the pall of his poverty fell from them and they pictured the future +rose-white and crowned with gold--a future in which there were +THREE--the trinity one and undivided. + +Presently she fell asleep in his arms. He raised his eyes to heaven and +prayed God to help him in his hour of striving. He prayed that the +little life sleeping so calmly in his arms would be spared him. + +"Oh God! answer my prayer, I beseech you," he cried. Angela smiled +contentedly in her sleep and spoke his same. It seemed to O'Connell as +if his prayer had been heard and answered. He gathered the slight form +up in, his arms and carried her to her room and sat by her until dawn. + +It was the first night for many weeks that she had slept through till +morning without starting out of her sleep in pain. This night she +slumbered like a child and a smile played on her lips as though her +dreams were happy ones. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A COMMUNICATION FROM NATHANIEL KINGSNORTH + + +The months that followed were the hardest in O'Connell's life. Strive +as he would he could find no really remunerative employment. He had no +special training. He knew no trade. His pen, though fluent, was not +cultured and lacked the glow of eloquence he had when speaking. He +worked in shops and in factories. He tried to report on newspapers. But +his lack of experience everywhere handicapped him. What he contrived to +earn during those months of struggle was all too little as the time +approached for the great event. + +Angela was now entirely confined to her bed. She seemed to grow more +spirit-like every day. A terrible dread haunted O'Connell waking and +sleeping. He would start out of some terrible dream at night and listen +to her breathing. When he would hurry back at the close of some long, +disappointing day his heart would be hammering dully with fear for his +loved one. + +As the months wore on his face became lined with care, and the bright +gold of his hair dimmed with streaks of silver. But he never faltered +or lost courage. He always felt he must win the fight now for existence +as he meant to win the greater conflict later--for liberty. + +Angela, lying so still, through the long days, could only hope. She +felt so helpless. It was woman's weakness that brought men like +O'Connell to the edge of despair. And hers was not merely bodily +weakness but the mare poignant one of PRIDE. Was it fair to her +husband? Was it just? In England she had prosperous relatives. They +would not let her die in her misery. They could not let her baby come +into the world with poverty as its only inheritance. Till now she had +been unable to master her feeling of hatred and bitterness for her +brother Nathaniel; her intense dislike and contempt for her sister +Monica. From the time she left England she had not written to either of +them. Could she now? Something decided her. + +One night O'Connell came back disheartened. Try as he would, he could +not conceal it. He was getting to the end of his courage. There was +insufficient work at the shop he had been working in for several weeks. +He had been told he need not come again. + +Angela, lying motionless and white, tried to comfort him and give him +heart. + +She made up her mind that night. The next day she wrote to her brother. + +She could not bring herself to express one regret for what she had done +or said. On the contrary she made many references to her happiness with +the man she loved. She did write of the hardships they were passing +through. But they were only temporary. O'Connell was so clever--so +brilliant--he must win in the end. Only just now she was ill. She +needed help. She asked no gift--a loan--merely. They would pay it back +when the days of plenty came. She would not ask even this were it not +that she was not only ill, but the one great wonderful thing in the +world was to be vouchsafed her--motherhood. In the name of her unborn +baby she begged him to send an immediate response. + +She asked a neighbour to post the letter so that O'Connell would not +know of her sacrifice. She waited anxiously for a reply. + +Some considerable time afterwards--on the eve of her travail and when +things with O'Connell were at their worst--the answer came by cable. + +She was alone when it came. + +Her heart beat furiously as she opened it. Even if he only sent a +little it would be so welcome now when they were almost at the end. If +he had been generous how wonderful it would be for her to help the man +to whom nothing was too much to give her. The fact that her brother had +cabled strengthened the belief that he had hastened to come to her +rescue. She opened the cable and read it. Then she fell back on the +pillow with a low, faint moan. + +When, hours later, O'Connell returned from a vain search for work he +found her senseless, with the cable in her fingers. He tried to recover +her without success. He sent a neighbour for a doctor. As he watched +the worn, patient face, his heart full to bursting, the thought flashed +through him--what could have happened to cause this collapse? He became +conscious of the cable he had found tightly clasped in her hand. He +picked it up and read it. It was very brief: + + +You have made your bed, lie in it. + + Nathaniel Kingsnorth. + + +was all it said. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE BIRTH OF PEG + + +Toward morning the doctor placed a little mite of humanity in +O'Connell's arms. He looked down at it in a stupor. It had really come +to pass. Their child--Angela's and his! A little baby-girl. The tiny +wail from this child, born of love and in sorrow, seemed to waken his +dull senses. He pressed the mite to him as the hot tears flowed down +his cheeks. A woman in one of the adjoining flats who had kindly +offered to help took the child away from him. The doctor led him to the +bedside. He looked down at his loved one. A glaze was over Angela's +eyes as she looked up at him. She tried to smile. All her suffering was +forgotten. She knew only pride and love. She was at peace. She raised +her hand, thin and transparent now, to O'Connell. He pressed it to his +lips. + +She whispered: + +"My baby. Bring me--my baby." + +He took it from the woman and placed it in Angela's weak arms. She +kissed it again and again. The child wailed pitifully. The effort had +been too much for Angela's failing strength. Consciousness left her. + + . . . . . . . + +Just before sunrise she woke. O'Connell was sitting beside her. He had +never moved. The infant was sleeping on some blankets on the couch--the +woman watching her. + +Angela motioned her husband to bend near to her. Her eyes shone with +unearthly brightness. He put his ear near her lips. Her voice was very, +very faint. + +"Take--care--of--our--baby--Frank. I'm--I'm--leaving you. +God--help--you--and--keep--you--and bless you--for--your--love--of me." + +She paused to take breath--then she whispered her leave-taking. The +words never left O'Connell's memory for all the days of all the years +that followed. + +"My--last--words--dear--the--last--I'll--ever--speak--to--you. +I--I--love--you--with--all--my heart--and--my soul--HUSBAND! +Good--good-bye--Frank." She slipped from his arms and lay, lips parted, +eyes open, body still. + +The struggle was over. She had gone where there are no petty +treacheries, no mean brutalities--where all stand alike before the +Throne to render an account of their stewardship. + +The brave, gentle little heart was stilled forever. + + + + +BOOK III + +PEG + + +CHAPTER I + +PEG'S CHILDHOOD + + +And now Peg appears for the first time, and brings her radiant +presence, her roguish smile, her big, frank, soulful, blue eyes, her +dazzling red hair, her direct, honest and outspoken truth: her love of +all that is clean and pure and beautiful--Peg enters our pages and +turns what was a history of romance and drama into a Comedy, of Youth. + +Peg--pure as a mountain lily, sweet as a fragrant rose, haunting as an +old melody--Peg o' our Hearts comes into our story, even as she entered +her father's life, as the Saviour of these pages, even as she was the +means of saving O'Connell. + +And she did save her father. + +It was the presence and the thought of the little motherless baby that +kept O'Connell's hand from destroying himself when his reason almost +left him after his wife's death. The memories of the days immediately +following the passing of Angela are too painful to dwell upon. They are +past. They are sacred in O'Connell's heart. They will be to the +historian. Thanks to some kindly Irishmen who heard of O'Connell's +plight he borrowed enough money to bury his dead wife and place a +tablet to her memory. + +He sent a message to Kingsnorth telling him of his sister's death. He +neither expected nor did he receive an answer. + +As soon as it was possible he returned to Ireland and threw himself +once again heart and soul into working for the "Cause." He realised his +only hope of keeping his balance was to work. He went back to the +little village he was born in and it was Father Cahill's hands that +poured the baptismal waters on O'Connell's and Angela's baby and it was +Father Cahill's voice that read the baptismal service. + +She was christened Margaret. + +Angela, one night, when it was nearing her time, begged him if it were +a girl to christen her Margaret after her mother, since all the best in +Angela came from her mother. + +O'Connell would have liked to have named the mite "Angela." But his +dead wife's wishes were paramount So Margaret the baby was christened. +It was too distinguished a name and too long for such a little bundle +of pink and white humanity. It did not seem to fit her. So, "Peg" she +was named and "Peg" she remained for the rest of her life. + +When she was old enough to go with him O'Connell took Peg everywhere. +He seemed to bear a charmed life when she was with him. + +Peg's earliest memories are of the village where she was baptised and +where her father was born. Her little will was law to everyone who came +in contact with her. She ruled her little court with a hand of iron. + +Many were the dire predictions of the rod O'Connell was making for his +own back in giving the little mite her own way in everything. + +But O'Connell's only happiness was in Peg and he neither heard nor +cared about any criticism that may have been levelled at him for his +fond, and, perhaps, foolish care of her. + +Looming large in Peg's memories in after life are her father showing +her St. Kernan's Hill, and pointing out the mount on which he stood and +spoke that day, whilst her mother, hidden by that dense mass of trees, +saw every movement and heard every word. From there he took her to "The +Gap" and pointed out the windows of the room in which he was nursed for +those three blessed days. + +It eased his mind to talk to the child of Angela and always he pictured +her as the poet writes in verse of the passion of his life: as the +painter puts on canvas the features that make life worth the living for +him. + +Those memories were very clear in little Peg's mind. + +Then somehow her childish thoughts all seemed to run to Home Rule--to +love of Ireland and hatred of England--to thinking all that was good of +Irishmen and all that was bad of Englishmen. + +"Why do yez hate the English so much, father?" she asked O'Connell +once, looking up at him with a puzzled look in her big blue eyes, and +the most adorable brogue coming fresh from her tongue. + +"Why do yez hate them?" she repeated. + +"I've good cause to, Peg me darlin'," he answered, and a deep frown +gathered on his brow. + +"Sure wasn't me mother English?" Peg asked. + +"She was." + +"Then WHY do yez hate the English?" + +"It 'ud take a long time to tell ye that, Peggy. Some day I will. +There's many a reason why the Irish hate the English, and many a good +reason too. But there's one why you and I should hate them, and hate +them with all the bittherness that's in us." + +"And what is it?" said Peg curiously. + +"I'll tell ye. When yer mother and I were almost starvin', and she +lyin' on a bed of sickness, she wrote to an Englishman and asked him to +assist her. An' this is the reply she got: 'Ye've made yer bed; lie in +it.' That was the answer she got the day before you were born, and she +died givin' ye life. And by the same token the man that wrote that +shameful message to a dyin' woman was her own brother." + +"Her own brother, yer tellin' me?" asked Peg wrathfully. + +"I am, Peg. Her own brother, I'm tellin' ye." + +"It's bad luck that man'll have all his life!" said Peg fiercely. "To +write me mother that--and she dyin'! Faith I'd like to see him some +day--just meet him--and tell him--" she stopped, her little fingers +clenched into a miniature fist. The hot colour was in her cheeks and +she stamped her small foot in actual rage. "I'd like to meet him some +day," she muttered. + +"I hope ye never will, Peg," said her father solemnly. "And," he added, +"don't let us ever talk of it again, me darlin'!" + +And she never did. But she often thought of the incident and the memory +of that brutal message was stamped vividly on her little brain. + +The greatest excitements of her young life were going with her father +to hear him speak. She made the most extraordinary collection of scraps +of the speeches she had heard her father make for Home Rule. While he +would be speaking she would listen intently, her lips apart, her little +body tense with excitement, her little heart beating like a trip-hammer. + +When they applauded him she would laugh gleefully and clap her little +hands together: if they interrupted him she would turn savagely upon +them. She became known all over the countryside as "O'Connell's Peg." + +"Sure O'Connell's not the same man at all, at all, since he came back +with that little bit of a red-headed child," said a man to Father +Cahill one day. + +"God is good, Flaherty," replied the priest. "He sent O'Connell a baby +to take him up nearer to Himself. Ye're right. He's NOT the same man. +It's the good Catholic he is again as he was as a boy. An' it's I'm +thankful for that same." + +Father Cahill smiled happily. He was much older, but though the figure +was a little bent and the hair thinner, and the remainder of it +snow-white, the same sturdy spirit was in the old man. + +"They're like boy and girl together, that's what they are," said +Flaherty with a tone of regret in his voice. "He seems as much of a +child as she is when he's with her," he added. + +"Every good man has somethin' of the child left in him, me son. +O'Connell was goin' in the way of darkness until a woman's hand guided +him and gave him that little baby to hold on to his heart strings." + +"Sure Peg's the light o' his life, that's what she is," grumbled +Flaherty. "It's small chance we ever have of broken heads an' soldiers +firin' on us, an' all, through O'Connell, since that child's laid hands +on him." Flaherty sighed. "Them was grand days and all," he said. + +"They were wicked days, Flaherty," said the priest severely; "and it's +surprised I am that a God-fearin' man like yerself should wish them +back." + +"There are times when I do, Father, the Lord forgive me. A fight lets +the bad blood out of ye. Sure it was a pike or a gun O'Connell 'ud +shouldher in the ould days, and no one to say him nay, and we all +following him like the Colonel of a regiment--an' proud to do it, too. +But now it's only the soft words we get from him." + +"A child's hand shall guide," said the priest. Then he added: + +"It has guided him. Whenever ye get them wicked thoughts about +shouldherin' a gun and flashin' a pike, come round to confession, +Flaherty, and it's the good penance I'll give ye to dhrive the devil's +temptation away from ye." + +"I will that, Father Cahill," said Flaherty, hurriedly, and the men +went their different ways. + +O'Connell did everything for Peg since she was an infant. His were the +only hands to tend the little body, to wash her and dress her, and tie +up her little shoe-laces, and sit beside her in her childish +sicknesses. He taught her to read and to write and to pray. As she grew +bigger he taught her the little he knew of music and the great deal he +knew of poetry. He instilled a love of verse into her little mind. He +never tired of reading her Tom Moore and teaching her his melodies. He +would make her learn them and she would stand up solemnly and recite or +sing them, her quaint little brogue giving them an added music. +O'Connell and Peg were inseparable. + +One wonderful year came to Peg when she was about fourteen. + +O'Connell had become recognised as a masterly exponent of the +particular form of Land Act that would most benefit Ireland. + +It was proposed that he should lecture right through the country, +wherever they would let him, and awaken amongst the more violent Irish, +the recognition that legislative means were surer of securing the end +in view, than the more violent ones of fifteen years before. + +The brutality of the Coercion Act had been moderated and already the +agricultural and dairy produce of the country had developed so +remarkably that the terrible misery of by-gone days, when the +potato-crop would fail, had been practically eliminated, or at least in +many districts mitigated. + +O'Connell accepted the proposition. + +Through the country he went speaking in every village he passed +through, and sometimes giving several lectures in the big cities. His +mode of travelling was in a cart. He would speak from the back of it, +Peg sitting at his feet, now watching him, again looking eagerly and +intently at the strange faces before her. + +They were marvellous days, travelling, sometimes, under a golden sun +through the glistening fields: or pushing on at night under a great +green-and-white moon. Peg would sit beside her father as he drove and +he would tell her little folk-stories, or sing wild snatches of songs +of the days of the Rebellion; or quote lines ringing with the great +Irish confidence in the triumph of Justice: + + "Lo the path we tread + By our martyred dead + Has been trodden 'mid bane and blessing, + But unconquered still + Is the steadfast will + And the faith they died confessing." + +Or at night he would croon from Moore: + + "When the drowsy world is dreaming, love, + Then awake--the heavens look bright, my dear, + 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, + And the best of all ways + To lengthen our days + Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!" + + +When storms would come she would cower down in the bottom of the cart +and cry and pray. Storms terrified her. It seemed as if all the anger +of the heavens were levelled at her. She would cry and moan pitifully +whilst O'Connell would try to soothe her and tell her that neither God +nor man would harm her--no one would touch his "Peg o' my Heart." + +After one of those scenes he would sit and brood. Angela had always +been afraid of storms, and in the child's terror his beloved wife would +rise up before him and the big tears would drop silently down his +cheeks. + +Peg crept out once when the storm had cleared and the sky was bright +with stars. Her father did not hear her. His thoughts were bridging +over the years and once more Angela was beside him. + +Peg touched him timidly and peered up into his face. She thought his +cheeks were wet. But that could not be. She had never seen her father +cry. + +"What are ye thinkin' about, father?" she whispered. His voice broke. +He did not want her to see his emotion. He answered with a half-laugh, +half-sob: + +"Thinkin' about, is it? It's ashamed I am of ye to be frightened by a +few little flashes of lightnin' and the beautiful, grand thundher that +always kapes it company. It's ashamed I am of ye--that's what I am!" He +spoke almost roughly to hide his emotion and he furtively wiped the +tears from his face so that she should not see them. + +"It's not the lightnin' I'm afraid of, father," said Peg solemnly. +"It's the thundher. It shrivels me up, that's what it does." + +"The thundher, is it? Sure that's only the bluff the storm puts up when +the rale harm is done by the lightnin's flash. There is no harm in the +thundher at all. And remember, after all, it's the will of God." + +Peg thought a moment: + +"It always sounds just as if He were lookin' down at us and firin' off +cannons at us because He's angry with us." + +O'Connell said nothing. Presently he felt her small hand creep into his: + +"Father," said Peg; "are yez ralely ashamed of me when I'm frightened +like that?" + +O'Connell was afraid to unbend lest he broke down altogether. So he +continued in a voice of mock severity: + +"I am that--when ye cry and moan about what God has been good enough to +send us." + +"Is it a coward I am for bein' afraid, father?" said Peg, her lips +quivering. + +"That's what ye are, Peg," replied O'Connell with Spartan severity. + +"Then I'll never be one again, father! Never again," and her eyes +filled up. + +He suddenly took her in his arms and pressed her to him and rocked her +as though she were still a baby, and his voice trembled and was full of +pity as he said: + +"Ye can't help it, acushla. Ye can't help it. Ye're NOT a coward, my +own brave little Peg. It's yer mother in ye. She could never bear a +thunder-storm without fear, and she was the bravest woman that ever +lived Bad luck to me for sayin' a cross word to ye." + +Suddenly poor little Peg burst out crying and buried her face on her +father's breast and sobbed and sobbed as though her heart would break. + +"Ssh! Ssh! There--there, me darlin'," cried O'Connell, now thoroughly +alarmed at the depth of feeling the child had loosened from her pent-up +emotion, "ye mustn't cry--ye mustn't. See it's laughin' I am! Laughin', +that's what I'm doin'." + +And he laughed loudly while his heart ached, and he told her stories +until she forgot her tears and laughed too. And that night as he +watched her fall off to sleep he knelt down in the straw and prayed: + +"Oh, kape her always like she is now--always just a sweet, innocent, +pure little creature. Kape the mother in her always, dear Lord, so that +she may grow in Your likeness and join my poor, dear Angela in the end. +Amen." + +Those were indeed glorious days for Peg. She never forgot them in after +life. + +Waking in the freshness of the early morning, making their frugal +breakfast, feeding the faithful old horse and then starting off through +the emerald green for another new and wonderful day, to spread the +light of the "Cause." + +O'Connell had changed very much since the days of St. Kernan's Hill. As +was foreshadowed earlier, he no longer urged violence. He had come +under the influence of the more temperate men of the party, and was +content to win by legislative means, what Ireland had failed to +accomplish wholly by conflict. Although no one recognised more +thoroughly than O'Connell what a large part the determined attitude of +the Irish party, in resisting the English laws, depriving them of the +right of free speech, and of meeting to spread light amongst the +ignorant, had played in wringing some measure of recognition and of +tolerance from the bitter narrowness of the English ministers. + +What changed O'Connell more particularly was the action of a band of +so-called "Patriots" who operated in many parts of Ireland--maiming +cattle, ruining crops, injuring peaceable farmers, who did not do their +bidding and shooting at landlords and prominent people connected with +the government. + +Crime is not a means to honourable victory and O'Connell was ashamed of +the miscreants who blackened the fair name of his country by their +ruthless and despicable methods. + +He avoided the possibility of imprisonment again for the sake of Peg. +What would befall her if he were taken from her? + +The continual thought that preyed upon him was that he would have +nothing to leave her when his call came. Do what he would he could make +but little money--and when he had a small surplus he would spend it on +Peg--a shawl to keep her warm, or a ribbon to give a gleam of colour to +the drab little clothes. + +On great occasions he would buy her a new dress, and then Peg was the +proudest little child in the whole of Ireland. + +Every year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, O'Connell had a +Mass said for the repose of Angela's soul, and he would kneel beside +Peg through the service, and be silent for the rest of the day. One +year he had candles, blessed by the Archbishop, lit on our Lady's altar +and he stayed long after the service was over. He sent Peg home. But, +although Peg obeyed him, partially, by leaving the church, she kept +watch outside until her father came out. He was wiping his eyes as he +saw her. He pretended to be very angry. + +"Didn't I tell ye to go home?" + +"Ye did, father." + +"Then why didn't ye obey me?" + +"Sure an' what would I be doin' at home, all alone, without you? Don't +be cross with me, father." + +He took her hand and they walked home in silence. He had been crying +and Peg could not understand it. She had never seen him do such a thing +before and it worried her. It did not seem right that a MAN should cry. +It seemed a weakness--and that her father, of all men, should do it--he +who was not afraid of anything nor anyone--it was wholly unaccountable +to her. + +When they reached home Peg busied herself about her father, trying to +make him comfortable, furtively watching him all the while. When she +had put him in an easy chair, and brought him his slippers, and built +up the fire, she sat down on a little stool by his side. After a long +silence she stroked the back of his hand and then gave him a little +tug. He looked down at her. + +"What is it, Peg?" + +"Was my mother very beautiful, father?" + +"The most beautiful woman that ever lived in all the wurrld, Peg." + +"She looks beautiful in the picture ye have of her." + +From the inside pocket of his coat he drew out a little +beautifully-painted miniature. The frame had long since been worn and +frayed. O'Connell looked at the face and his eyes shone: + +"The man that painted it couldn't put the soul of her into it. That he +couldn't. Not the soul of her." + +"Am I like her, at all, father?" asked Peg wistfully. + +"Sometimes ye are, dear: very like." + +After a little pause Peg said: + +"Ye loved her very much, father, didn't ye?" + +He nodded. "I loved her with all the heart of me and all the strength +of me." + +Peg sat quiet for some minutes: then she asked him a question very +quietly and hung in suspense on his answer: + +"Do ye love me as much as ye loved her, father?" + +"It's different, Peg--quite, quite different." + +"Why is it?" She waited He did not answer. + +"Sure, love is love whether ye feel it for a woman or a child," she +persisted. + +O'Connell remained silent. + +"Did ye love her betther than ye love me, father?" + +Her soul was in her great blue eyes as she waited excitedly for the +answer to that, to her, momentous question. + +"Why do ye ask me that?" said O'Connell. + +"Because I always feel a little sharp pain right through my heart +whenever ye talk about me mother. Ye see, father, I've thought all +these years that I was the one ye really loved--" + +"Ye're the only one I have in the wurrld, Peg." + +"And ye don't love her memory betther than ye do me?" + +O'Connell put both of his arms around her. + +"Yer mother is with the Saints, Peg, and here are you by me side. Sure +there's room in me heart for the memory of her and the love of you." + +She breathed a little sigh of satisfaction and nestled onto her +father's shoulder. The little fit of childish jealousy of her dead +mother's place in her father's heart passed. + +She wanted no one to share her father's affection with her. She gave +him all of hers. She needed all of his. + +When Peg was eighteen years old and they were living in Dublin, +O'Connell was offered quite a good position in New York. It appealed to +him. The additional money would make things easier for Peg. She was +almost a woman now, and he wanted her to get the finishing touches of +education that would prepare her for a position in the world if she met +the man she felt she could marry. Whenever he would speak of marriage +Peg would laugh scornfully: + +"Who would I be of AFTHER marryin' I'd like to know? Where in the +wurrld would I find a man like you?" + +And no coaxing would make her carry on the discussion or consider its +possibility. + +It still harassed him to think he had so little to leave her if +anything happened to him. The offer to go to America seemed +providential. Her mother was buried there. He would take Peg to her +grave. + +Peg grew very thoughtful at the idea of leaving Ireland. All her little +likes and dislikes--her impulsive affections and hot hatreds were all +bound up in that country. She dreaded the prospect of meeting a number +of new people. + +Still it was for her father's good, so she turned a brave face to it +and said: + +"Sure it is the finest thing in the wurrld for both of us." + +But the night before they left Ireland she sat by the little window in +her bed-room until daylight looking back through all the years of her +short life. + +It seemed as if she were cutting off all that beautiful golden period. +She would never again know the free, careless, happy-go-lucky, +living-from-day-to-day existence, that she had loved so much. + +It was a pale, wistful, tired little Peg that joined her father at +breakfast next morning. + +His heart was heavy, too. But he laughed and joked and sang and said +how glad they ought to be--going to that wonderful new country, and by +the way the country Peg was born in, too! And then he laughed again and +said how FINE SHE looked and how WELL HE felt and that it seemed as if +it were God's hand in it all. And Peg pretended to cheer up, and they +acted their parts right to the end--until the last line of land +disappeared and they were headed for America. Then they separated and +went to their little cabins to think of all that had been. And every +day they kept up the little deception with each other until they +reached America. + +They were cheerless days at first for O'Connell. Everything reminded +him of his first landing twenty years before with his young wife--both +so full of hope, with the future stretching out like some wonderful +panorama before them. He returns twenty years older to begin the fight +again--this time for his daughter. + +His wife was buried at a little Catholic cemetery a few miles outside +New York City. There he took Peg one day and they put flowers on the +little mound of earth and knelt awhile in prayer. Beneath that earth +lay not only his wife's remains, but O'Connell's early hopes and +ambitions were buried with her. + +Neither spoke either going to or returning from the cemetery. +O'Connell's heart was too full. Peg knew what was passing through his +mind and sat with her hands folded in her lap--silent. But her little +brain was busy thinking back. + +Peg had much to think of during the early days following her arrival in +New York. At first the city awed her with its huge buildings and +ceaseless whirl of activity and noise. She longed to be back in her own +little green, beautiful country. + +O'Connell was away during those first days until late apt night. + +He found a school for Peg. She did not want to go to it, but just to +please her father she agreed. She lasted in it just one week. They +laughed at her brogue and teased and tormented her for her absolute +lack of knowledge. Peg put up with that just as long as she could. Then +one day she opened out on them and astonished them. They could not have +been more amazed had a bomb exploded in their midst. The little, +timid-looking, open-eyed, Titian-haired girl was a veritable virago. +She attacked and belittled, and mimicked and berated them. They had +talked of her BROGUE! They should listen to their own nasal utterances, +that sounded as if they were speaking with their noses and not with +their tongues! Even the teacher did not go unscathed. She came in for +an onslaught, too. That closed Peg's career as a New York student. + +Her father arranged his work so that he could be with her at certain +periods of the day, and outlined her studies from his own slender stock +of knowledge. He even hired a little piano for her and followed up what +he had begun years before in Ireland--imbuing her with a thorough +acquaintance with Moore and his delightful melodies. + +One wonderful day they had an addition to their small family. A little, +wiry-haired, scrubby, melancholy Irish terrier followed O'Connell for +miles. He tried to drive him away. The dog would turn and run for a few +seconds and the moment O'Connell would take his eyes off him he would +run along and catch him up and wag his over-long tail and look up at +O'Connell with his sad eyes. The dog followed him all the way home and +when O'Connell opened the door he ran in. O'Connell Had not the heart +to turn him out, so he poured out some milk and broke up some dry +biscuits for him and then played with him until Peg came home. She +liked the little dog at once and then and there O'Connell adopted him +and gave him to Peg. He said the dog's face had a look of Michael +Quinlan, the Fenian. So "Michael" he was named and he took his place in +the little home. He became Peg's boon companion. They romped together +like children, and they talked to each other and understood each other. +"Michael" had an eloquent tail, an expressive bark and a pair of eyes +that told more than speech. + +The days flowed quietly on, O'Connell apparently satisfied with his +lot. But to Peg's sharp eye all was not well with him. There was a +settled melancholy about him whenever she surprised him thinking alone. +She thought he was fretting for Ireland and their happy days together +and so said nothing. + +He was really worrying over Peg's future. He had such a small amount of +money put by, and working on a salary it would be long before he could +save enough to leave Peg sufficient to carry her on for a while if +"anything happened." There was always that "if anything happened!" +running in his mind. + +One day the chance of solving the whole difficulty of Peg's future was +placed in his hands. But the means were so distasteful to him that he +hesitated about even telling her. + +He came in unexpectedly in the early afternoon of that day and found a +letter waiting for him with an English postmark. Peg had eyed it +curiously off and on for hours. She had turned it over and over in her +fingers and looked at the curious, angular writing, and felt a little +cold shiver run up and down her as she found herself wondering who +could be writing to her father from England. + +When O'Connell walked in and picked the letter up she watched him +excitedly. She felt, for some strange reason, that they were going to +reach a crisis in their lives when the seal was broken and the contents +disclosed. Superstition was strong--in Peg, and all that day she had +been nervous without reason, and excited without cause. + +O'Connell read the letter through twice--slowly the first time, quickly +the second. A look of bewilderment came across his face as he sat down +and stared at the letter in his hand. + +"Who is it from, at all?" asked Peg very quietly, though she was +trembling all through her body. + +Her father said nothing. + +Presently he read it through again. + +"It's from England, father, isn't it?" queried Peg, pale as a ghost. + +"Yes, Peg," answered her father and his voice sounded hollow and +spiritless. + +"I didn't know ye had friends in England?" said Peg, eyeing the letter. + +"I haven't," replied her father. + +"Then who is it from?" insisted Peg, now all impatience and with a +strange fear tugging at her heart. + +O'Connell looked up at her as she stood there staring down at him, her +big eyes wide open and her lips parted. He took both of her hands in +one of his and held them all crushed together for what seemed to Peg to +be a long, long while. She hardly breathed. She knew something was +going to happen to them both. + +At last O'Connell spoke and his voice trembled and broke: + +"Peg, do ye remember one mornin', years and years ago, when I was goin' +to speak in County Mayo, an' we started in the cart at dawn, an' we +thravelled for miles and miles an' we came to a great big crossing +where the roads divided an' there was no sign post an' we asked each +other which one we should take an' we couldn't make up our minds an' I +left it to you an' ye picked a road an' it brought us out safe and +thrue at the spot we were making for? Do you remember it, Peg?" + +"Faith I do, father. I remember it well. Ye called me yer little guide +and said ye'd follow my road the rest of yer life. An' it's many's the +laugh we had when I'd take ye wrong sometimes afterwards." She paused. +"What makes ye think of that just now, father?" + +He did not answer. + +"Is it on account o' that letther?" she persisted. + +"It is, Peg." He spoke with difficulty as if the words hurt him to +speak. "We've got to a great big crossin'-place again where the roads +branch off an' I don't know which one to take." + +"Are ye goin' to lave it to me again, father?" said Peg. + +"That's what I can't make up me mind about, dear--for it may be that +ye'll go down one road and me down the other." + +"No, father," Peg cried passionately, "that we won't. Whatever the road +we'll thravel it together." + +"I'll think it out by meself, Peg. Lave me for a while--alone. I want +to think it out by meself--alone." + +"If it's separation ye're thinkin' of, make up yer mind to one +thing--that I'LL never lave YOU. Never." + +"Take 'MICHAEL' out for a spell and come back in half an hour and in +the meanwhile I'll bate it all out in me mind." + +She bent down and straightened the furrows in his forehead with the +tips of her fingers, and kissed him and then whistled to the wistful +"MICHAEL" and together they went running down the street toward the +little patch of green where the children played, and amongst whom +"MICHAEL" was a prime favourite. + +Sitting, his head in his hands, his eyes staring into the past, +O'Connell was facing the second great tragedy of his life. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WE MEET AN OLD FRIEND AFTER MANY YEARS + + +While O'Connell sat there in that little room in New York trying to +decide Peg's fate, a man, who had played some considerable part in +O'Connell's life, lay, in a splendidly furnished room in a mansion in +the West End of London--dying. + +Nathaniel Kingsnorth's twenty years of loneliness and desolation were +coming to an end. What an empty, arid stretch of time those years +seemed to him as he feebly looked back on them! + +After the tragedy of his sister's reckless marriage he deserted public +life entirely and shut himself away in his country-house--except for a +few weeks in London occasionally when his presence was required on one +or other of the Boards of which he was a director. + +The Irish estate--which brought about all his misfortunes--he disposed +of at a ridiculously low figure. He said he would accept any bid, +however small, so that he could sever all connection with the hated +village. + +From the day of Angela's elopement he neither saw nor wrote to any +member of his family. + +His other sister, Mrs. Chichester, wrote to him from time to +time--telling him one time of the birth of a boy: two years later of +the advent of a girl. + +Kingsnorth did not answer any of her letters. + +In no way dismayed, Mrs. Chichester continued to write periodically. +She wrote him when her son Alaric went to school and also when he went +to college. Alaric seemed to absorb most of her interest. He was +evidently her favourite child. She wrote more seldom of her daughter +Ethel, and when she did happen to refer to her she dwelt principally on +her beauty and her accomplishments. Five years before, an envelope in +deep mourning came to Kingsnorth, and on opening it he found a letter +from his sister acquainting him with the melancholy news that Mr. +Chichester had ended a life of usefulness at the English bar and had +died, leaving the family quite comfortably off. + +Kingsnorth telegraphed his condolences and left instructions for a +suitable wreath to be sent to the funeral. But he did not attend it. +Nor did he at any time express the slightest wish to see his sister nor +did he encourage any suggestion on her part to visit him. + +When he was stricken with an illness, from which no hope of recovery +was held out to him, he at once began to put his affairs in order, and +his lawyer spent days with him drawing up statements of his last wishes +for the disposition of his fortune. + +With death stretching out its hand to snatch him from a life he had +enjoyed so little, his thoughts, coloured with the fancies of a tired, +sick brain, kept turning constantly, to his dead sister Angela. + +From time to time down through the years he had a softened, gentle +remembrance of her. When the news of her death came, furious and +unrelenting as he had been toward her, her passing softened it. Had he +known in time he would have insisted on her burial in the Kingsnorth +vault. But she had already been interred in New York before the news of +her death reached him. + +The one bitter hatred of his life had been against the man who had +taken his sister in marriage and in so doing had killed all possibility +of Kingsnorth succeeding in his political and social aspirations. + +He heard vaguely of a daughter. + +He took no interest in the news. + +Now, however, the remembrance of his treatment of Angela burnt into +him. He especially repented of that merciless cable: "You have made +your bed; lie in it." It haunted him through the long hours of his slow +and painful illness. Had he helped her she might have been alive +to-day, and those bitter reflections that ate into him night and day +might have been replaced by gentler ones and so make his end the more +peaceful. + +He thought of Angela's child and wondered if she were like his poor +dead sister. The wish to see the child became an obsession with him. + +One morning, after a restless, feverish night, he sent for his lawyer +and told him to at once institute inquiries--find out if the child was +still living, and if so--where. + +This his lawyer did. He located O'Connell in New York, through a friend +of his in the Irish party, and found that the child was living with him +in rather poor circumstances. He communicated the result of his +inquiries to Kingsnorth. That day a letter was sent to O'Connell asking +him to allow his child to visit her dying uncle. O'Connell was to cable +at Kingsnorth's expense and if he would consent the money for the +expenses of the journey would be cabled immediately. The girl was to +start at once, as Mr. Kingsnorth had very little longer to live. + +When the letter had gone Kingsnorth drew a breath of relief. He longed +to see the child. He would have to wait impatiently for the reply. +Perhaps the man whom he had hated all his life would refuse his +request. If he did, well, he would make some provision in his will for +her--in memory of his dead sister. + +The next day he altered his entire will and made Margaret O'Connell a +special legacy. Ten days late a cable came: + +I consent to my daughter's visiting you. + FRANK OWEN O'CONNELL. + +The lawyer cabled at once making all arrangements through their bankers +in New York for Miss O'Connell's journey. + +That night Kingsnorth slept without being disturbed. He awoke refreshed +in the morning. It was the first kindly action he had done for many +years. + +How much had he robbed himself of all his life, if by doing so little +he was repaid so much! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PEG LEAVES HER FATHER FOR THE FIRST TIME + + +O'Connell had a hard struggle with Peg before she would consent to +leave him. She met all his arguments with counter-arguments. Nothing +would move her for hours. + +"Why should I go to a man I have never seen and hate the name of?" + +"He's your uncle, Peg." + +"It's a fine uncle he's been to me all me life. And it was a grand way +he threated me mother when she was starvin'." + +"He wants to do somethin' for ye now, Peg." + +"I'll not go to him." + +"Now listen, dear; it's little I'll have to lave ye when I'm gone," +pleaded O'Connell. + +"I'll not listen to any talk at all about yer goin'. Yer a great strong +healthy man--that's what ye are. What are ye talkin' about? What's got +into yer head about goin'?" + +"The time must come, some day, Peg." + +"All right, we'll know how to face it when it does. But we're not goin' +out all the way to meet it," said Peg, resolutely. + +"It's very few advantages I've been able to give ye, me darlin'," and +O'Connell took up the argument again. + +"Advantages or no advantages, what can anybody be more than be happy? +Answer me that? An' sure it's happy I've been with you. Now, why should +ye want to dhrive it all away from me?" + +To these unanswerable reasons O'Connell would remain silent for a +while, only to take up the cudgels again. He realised what it would +mean to Peg to go to London to have the value of education and of +gentle surroundings. He knew her heart was loyal to him: nothing +strangers might teach her would ever alter that. And he felt he owed it +to her to give her this chance of seeing the great world. HE would +never be able to do it for her. Much as he hated the name of Kingsnorth +he acknowledged the fact that he had made an offer O'Connell had no +real right to refuse. + +He finally persuaded Peg that it was the wise thing: the right thing: +and the thing he wished for the most. + +"I don't care whether it's wise or right," said poor Peg, beaten at +last, "but if you wish it--" and she broke off. + +"I do wish it, Peg." + +"Ye'll turn me away from ye, eh?" + +"No, Peg. Ye'll come back to me a fine lady." + +"I'd like to see anybody thry THAT with me. A lady, indeed! Ye love me +as I am. I don't want to be any different." + +"But ye'll go?" + +"If ye say so." + +"Then it's all settled?" + +"I suppose it is." + +"Good, me darlin'. Ye'll never regret it" O'Connell said this with a +cheery laugh, though his heart was aching at the thought of being +separated from her. + +Peg looked at him reproachfully. Then she said: + +"It's surprised I am at ye turnin' me away from ye to go into a +stuck-up old man's house that threated me mother the way he did." + +And so the discussion ended. + +For the next few days Peg was busy preparing herself for the journey +and buying little things for her scanty equipment. Then the cable came +to the effect that a passage was reserved for her and money was waiting +at a banker's for her expenses. This Peg obstinately refused to touch. +She didn't want anything except what her father gave her. + +When the morning of her departure came, poor Peg woke with a heavy +heart. It was their first parting, and she was miserable. + +O'Connell, on the contrary, seemed full of life and high spirits. He +laughed at her and joked with her and made a little bundle of some +things that would not go in her bag--and that he had kept for her to +the last minute. They were a rosary that had been his mother's, a +prayer-book Father Cahill gave him the day he was confirmed, and lastly +the little miniature of Angela. It wrung his heart to part with it, but +he wanted Peg to have it near her, especially as she was going amongst +the relations of the dead woman. All through this O'Connell showed not +a trace of emotion before Peg. He kept telling her there was nothing to +be sad about. It was all going to be for her good. + +When the time came to go, the strange pair made their way down to the +ship--the tall, erect, splendid-looking man and the little red-haired +girl in her simple black suit and her little black hat, with red +flowers to brighten it. + +O'Connell went aboard with her, and an odd couple they looked on the +saloon-deck, with Peg holding on to "Michael"--much to the amusement of +the passengers, the visitors and the stewards. + +Poor, staunch, loyal, honest, true little Peg, going alone to--what? +Leaving the one human being she cared for and worshipped--her playmate, +counsellor, friend and father--all in one! + +O'Connell never dropped his high spirits all the time they were +together on board the ship. He went aboard with a laugh and when the +bell rang for all visitors to go ashore he said good-bye to Peg with a +laugh--while poor Peg's heart felt like a stone in her breast. She +stood sobbing up against the rail of the saloon deck as the ship swung +clear. She was looking for her father through the mists of tears that +blinded her. + +Just as the boat slowly swept past the end of the dock she saw him +right at the last post so that he could watch the boat uninterruptedly +until it was out of sight. He was crying himself now--crying like a +child, and as the boat swung away he called up, "My little Peg! Peg o' +my Heart!" How she longed to get off that ship and go back to him! They +stood waving to each other as long as they remained in sight. + +While the ship ploughed her way toward England with little Peg on +board, the man whom she was crossing the Atlantic to meet died quietly +one morning with no one near him. + +The nurse found Mr. Kingsnorth smiling peacefully as though asleep. He +had been dead several hours. + +Near him on the table was a cable despatch from New York: + +My daughter sailed on the Mauretania to-day at ten o'clock. + FRANK OWEN O'CONNELL. + + + + +BOOK IV + +PEG IN ENGLAND + + +CHAPTER I + +THE CHICHESTER FAMILY + + +Mrs. Chichester--whom we last saw under extremely distressing +circumstances in Ireland--now enters prominently into the story. She +was leading a secluded and charming existence in an old and picturesque +villa at Scarboro, in the north of England. Although her husband had +been dead for several years, she still clung to the outward symbols of +mourning. It added a softness to the patrician line of her features and +a touch of distinction to her manner and poise. She had an illustrious +example of a life-long sorrow, and, being ever loyal, Mrs. Chichester +retained the weeds of widowhood and the crepe of affliction ever +present. + +She was proud indeed of her two children--about whom she had written so +glowingly to her brother Nathaniel. + +Alaric was the elder. In him Mrs. Chichester took the greater pride. He +was so nearly being great--even from infancy--that he continually kept +his mother in a condition of expectant wonder. He was NEARLY brilliant +at school: at college he ALMOST got his degree. He JUST MISSED his +"blue" at cricket, and but for an unfortunate ball dribbling over the +net at a critical moment in the semi-final of the tennis championships, +he MIGHT have won the cup. He was quite philosophic about it, though, +and never appeared to reproach fate for treating him so shabbily. + +He was always NEARLY doing something, and kept Mrs. Chichester in a +lively condition of trusting hope and occasional disappointment. She +knew he would "ARRIVE" some day--come into his own: then all these +half-rewarded efforts would be invaluable in the building of his +character. + +Her daughter, Ethel, on the other hand, was the exact antithesis to +Alaric. She had never shown the slightest interest in anything since +she had first looked up at the man of medicine who ushered her into the +world. She regarded everything about her with the greatest complacency. +She was never surprised or angry, or pleased, or depressed. Sorrow +never seemed to affect her--nor joy make her smile. She looked on life +as a gentle brook down whose current she was perfectly content to drift +undisturbed. At least, that was the effect created in Mrs. Chichester's +mind. She never thought it possible there might be latent possibilities +in her impassive daughter. + +While her mother admired Ethel's lofty attitude of indifference toward +the world--a manner that bespoke the aristocrat--she secretly chafed at +her daughter's lack of enthusiasm. + +How different to Alaric--always full of nearly new ideas: always about +to do something. Alaric kept those around him on the alert--no one ever +really knew what he would do next. On the other hand, Ethel depressed +by her stolid content with everything about her. Every one knew what +she would do--or thought they did. + +Mrs. Chichester had long since abandoned any further attempt to +interest her brother Nathaniel in the children. + +Angela's wretched marriage had upset everything,--driven Nathaniel to +be a recluse and to close his doors on near and distant relatives. + +Angela's death the following year did not relieve the situation. If +anything, it intensified it, since she left a baby that, naturally, +none of the family could possibly take the slightest notice of--nor +interest in. + +It was tacitly agreed never to speak of the unfortunate incident, +especially before the children. It was such a terrible example for +Ethel, and so discouraging to the eager and ambitious Alaric. + +Consequently Angela's name was never spoken inside of Regal Villa. + +And so the Chichester family pursued an even course, only varied by +Alaric's sudden and DEFINITE decisions to enter either public life, or +athletics, or the army, or the world of art--it was really extremely +hard for so well-equipped a young man to decide to limit himself to any +one particular pursuit. Consequently he put off the final choice from +day to day. + +Suddenly a most untoward incident happened. Alaric, returning from a +long walk, alone--during which he had ALMOST decided to become a +doctor--walked in through the windows from the garden into the +living-room and found his mother in tears, an open letter in her hand. + +This was most unusual. Mrs. Chichester was not wont to give vent to +open emotion. It shows a lack of breeding. So she always suppressed it. +It seemed to grow inwards. To find her weeping--and almost +audibly--impressed Alaric that something of more than usual importance +had occurred. + +"Hello, Mater!" he cried cheerfully, though his looks belied the +buoyancy of his tone. "Hullo! what's the matter? What's up?" + +At the same moment Ethel came in through the door. + +It was 11:30, and at precisely that time every morning Ethel practised +for half an hour on the piano. Not that she had the slightest interest +in music, but it helped the morning so much. She would look forward to +it for an hour before, and think of it for an hour afterwards--and then +it was lunch-time. It practically filled out the entire morning. + +Mrs. Chichester looked up as her beloved children came toward her--and +REAL tears were in her eyes, and a REAL note of alarm was in her voice: + +"Oh Ethel! Oh Alaric!" + +Alaric was at her side in a moment. He was genuinely alarmed. + +Ethel moved slowly across, thinking, vaguely, that something must have +disagreed with her mother. + +"What is it, mater?" cried Alaric. + +"Mother!" said Ethel, with as nearly a tone of emotion as she could +feel. + +"We're ruined!" sobbed Mrs. Chichester. + +"Nonsense!" said the bewildered son. + +"Really?" asked the placid daughter. + +"Our bank has failed! Every penny your poor father left me was in it," +wailed Mrs. Chichester. "We've nothing. Nothing. We're beggars." + +A horrible fear for a moment gripped Alaric--the dread of poverty. He +shivered! Suppose such a thing should really happen? Then he dismissed +it with a shrug of his shoulders. How perfectly absurd! Poverty, +indeed! The Chichesters beggars? Such nonsense! He turned to his mother +and found her holding out a letter and a newspaper. He took them both +and read them with mingled amazement and disgust. First the headline of +the newspaper caught his eye: + +"Failure of Gifford's Bank." + +Then he looked at the letter: + +"Gifford's Bank suspended business yesterday!" Back his eye travelled +to the paper: "Gifford's Bank has closed its doors!" He was quite +unable, at first, to grasp the full significance of the contents of +that letter and newspaper. He turned to Ethel: + +"Eh?" he gasped. + +"Pity," she murmured, trying to find a particular piece of music +amongst the mass on the piano. + +"We're ruined!" reiterated Mrs. Chichester. + +Then the real meaning of those cryptic headlines and the business-like +letter broke in on Alaric. All the Chichester blood was roused in him. + +"Now that's what I call a downright, rotten, blackguardly shame--a +BLACKGUARDLY SHAME!" His voice rose in tones as it increased in +intensity until it almost reached a shriek. + +Something was expected of him. At any rate indignation. Well, he was +certainly indignant. + +"Closed its doors, indeed!" he went on. "Why should it close its doors? +That's what I want to know! Why--should--it?" and he glared at the +unoffending letter and the non-committal newspaper. + +He looked at Ethel, who was surreptitiously concealing a yawn, and was +apparently quite undisturbed by the appalling news. + +He found no inspiration there. + +Back he went to his mother for support. + +"What RIGHT have banks to fail? There should be a law against it. They +should be made to open their doors and keep 'em open. That's what we +give 'em our money for--so that we can take it out again when we want +it." + +Poor Mrs. Chichester shook her head sadly. + +"Everything gone," she moaned. "Ruined! and at my age!" + +"Nice kettle of fish," was all Alaric could think of. He was +momentarily stunned. He turned once more to Ethel. He never relied on +her very much, but at this particular crisis he would like to have some +expression of opinion, however slight--from her. + +"I say, Ethel, it's a nice kettle of fish all o-boilin', eh?" + +"Shame!" she said quietly, as she found the particular movement of +Grieg she had been looking for. She loved Grieg. He fitted into all her +moods. She played everything he composed exactly the same. She seemed +to think it soothed her. She would play some now and soothe her mother +and Alaric. + +She began an impassioned movement which she played evenly and +correctly, and without any unseemly force. Alaric cried out +distractedly: "For goodness' sake stop that, Ethel! Haven't you got any +feelings? Can't you see how upset the mater is? And I am? Stop it. +There's a dear! Let's put our backs into this thing and thrash it all +out. Have a little family meetin', as it were." + +Poor Mrs. Chichester repeated, as though it were some refrain: "Ruined! +At my age!" + +Alaric sat on the edge of her chair and put his arm around her shoulder +and tried to comfort her. + +"Don't you worry, mater," he said. "Don't worry. I'll go down and tell +'em what I think of 'em--exactly what I think of 'em. They can't play +the fool with me. I should think NOT, indeed. Listen, mater. You've got +a SON, thank God, and one no BANK can take any liberties with. What we +put in there we've got to have out. That's all I can say. We've simply +got to have it out. There! I've said it!" + +Alaric rose, and drawing himself up to his full five feet six inches of +manhood glared malignantly at some imaginary bank officials. His whole +nature was roused. The future of the family depended on him. They would +not depend in vain. He looked at Ethel, who was trying to make the best +of the business by smiling agreeably on them both. + +"It's bankrupt!" wailed Mrs. Chichester. + +"Failed!" suggested Ethel, cheerfully. + +"We're beggars," continued the mother. "I must live on charity for the +rest of my life. The guest of relations I've hated the sight of and who +have hated me. It's dreadful! Dreadful!" + +All Alaric's first glow of manly enthusiasm began to cool. + +"Don't you think we'll get anything?" By accident he turned to Ethel. +She smiled meaninglessly and said for the first time with any real note +of conviction: + +"Nothing!" + +Alaric sat down gloomily beside his mother. + +"I always thought bank directors were BLIGHTERS. Good Lord, what a +mess!" He looked the picture of misery. "What's to become of Ethel, +mater?" + +"Whoever shelters me must shelter Ethel as well," replied the mother +sadly. "But it's hard--at my age--to be--sheltered." + +Alaric looked at Ethel, and a feeling of pity came over him. It was +distinctly to his credit--since his own wrongs occupied most of his +attention. But after all HE could buffet the world and wring a living +out of it. All he had to do was to make up his mind which walk in life +to choose. He was fortunate. + +But Ethel, reared from infancy in the environment of independence: it +would come very hard and bitter on her. + +Alaric just touched Ethel's hand, and with as much feeling as he could +muster, he said: "Shockin' tough, old girl." + +Ethel shook her head almost determinedly and said, somewhat +enigmatically, and FOR HER, heatedly: + +"NO!" + +"No?" asked Alaric. "No--what?" + +"Charity!" said Ethel. + +"Cold-blooded word," and Alaric shuddered. "What will you do, Ethel?" + +"Work." + +"At what?" + +"Teach." + +"TEACH? Who in the wide world can YOU teach?" + +"Children." + +Alaric laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, come, that's rich! Eh, mater? Fancy +Ethel teachin' grubby little brats their A B C's! Tush!" + +"Must!" said Ethel, quite unmoved. + +"A CHICHESTER TEACH?" said Alaric, in disgust. + +"Settled!" from Ethel, and she swept her finger slowly across the piano. + +"Very well," said Alaric, determinedly: "I'll work, too." Mrs. +Chichester looked up pleadingly. + +Alaric went on: "I'll put my hand to the plough. The more I think of it +the keener I am to begin. From to-day I'll be a workin' man." + +At this Ethel laughed a queer, little, odd, supercilious note, summed +up in a single word: "Ha!" There was nothing mirthful in it. There was +no reproach in it. It was just an expression of her honest feeling at +the bare suggestion of her brother WORKING. + +Alaric turned quickly to her: + +"And may I ask WHY that 'Ha!'? WHY, I ask you? There's nothing I +couldn't do if I were really put to it--not a single thing. Is there, +mater?" + +His mother looked up proudly at him. + +"I know that, dear. But it's dreadful to think of YOU--WORKING." + +"Not at all," said Alaric, "I'm just tingling all over at the thought +of it. The only reason I haven't so far is because I've never had to. +But now that I have, I'll just buckle on my armour, so to speak, and +astonish you all." + +Again came that deadly, cold, unsympathetic "Ha!" from Ethel. + +"Please don't laugh in that cheerless way, Ethel. It goes all down my +spine. Jerry's always tellin' me I ought to do something--that the +world is for the worker--and all that. He's right, and I'm goin' to +show him." He suddenly picked up the paper and looked at the date. +"What's to-day? The FIRST? Yes, so it is. June the first. Jerry's +comin' to-day--all his family, too. They've taken 'Noel's Folly' on the +hill. He's sure to look in here. Couldn't be better. He's the cove to +turn to in a case like this." + +Jarvis, a white-haired, dignified butler who had served the family man +and boy, came in at this juncture with a visiting card on a salver. + +Alaric picked it up and glanced at it. He gave an expression of disgust +and flung the card back on the salver. + +"Christian Brent." + +For the first time Ethel showed more than a passing gleam of interest. +She stopped strumming the piano and stood up, very erect and very still. + +Mrs. Chichester rose too: "I can't see any one," she said imperatively. +"Nor I," added Alaric. "I'm all strung up." He turned to Jarvis. "Tell +Mr. Brent we're very sorry, but--" + +"I'LL see him," interrupted Ethel, almost animatedly. "Bring Mr. Brent +here, Jarvis." + +As Jarvis went in search of Mr. Brent, Mrs. Chichester went up the +great stairs: "My head is throbbing. I'll go to my room." + +"Don't you worry, mater," consoled Alaric. "Leave everything to me. +I'll thrash the whole thing out--absolutely thrash it out." + +As Mrs. Chichester disappeared, Alaric turned to his calm sister, who, +strangely enough, was showing some signs of life and interest. + +"Awful business, Ethel, eh?" + +"Pretty bad." + +"Really goin' to teach?" + +"Yes." + +"Right! I'll find somethin', too. Very likely a doctor. We'll pull +through somehow." + +Ethel made a motion toward the door as though to stop any further +conversation. + +"Mr. Brent's coming," she said, almost impatiently. + +Alaric started for the windows leading into the garden. + +"Jolly good of you to let him bore you. I hate the sight of the beggar, +myself. Always looks to me like the first conspirator at a play." + +The door opened, and Jarvis entered and ushered in "Mr. Brent." Alaric +hurried into the garden. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CHRISTIAN BRENT + + +A few words of description of Christian Brent might be of interest, +since he represents a type that society always has with it. + +They begin by deceiving others: they end by deceiving themselves. + +Christian Brent was a dark, tense, eager, scholarly-looking man of +twenty-eight years of age. His career as a diplomatist was halted at +its outset by an early marriage with the only daughter of a prosperous +manufacturer. Brent was moderately independent in his own right, but +the addition of his wife's dowry seemed to destroy all ambition. He no +longer found interest in carrying messages to the various legations or +embassies of Europe, or in filling a routine position as some one's +secretary. From being an intensely eager man of affairs he drifted into +a social lounger--the lapdog of the drawing-room--where the close +breath of some rare perfume meant more than the clash of interests, and +the conquest of a woman greater than that of a nation. + +Just at this period Ethel Chichester was the especial object of his +adoration. + +Her beauty appealed to him. + +Her absolute indifference to him stung him as a lash. It seemed to +belittle his powers of attraction. Consequently he redoubled his +efforts. + +Ethel showed neither like nor dislike--just a form of toleration. Brent +accepted this as a dog a crumb, in the hope of something more +substantial to follow. He had come that morning with a fixed resolve. +His manner was determined. His voice wooed as a caress. He went +tenderly to Ethel the moment the door closed on Jarvis. + +"How are you?" he asked, and there was a note of subdued passion in his +tone. + +"Fair," replied Ethel, without even looking at him. "Where is your +mother?" suggesting that much depended on the answer. + +"Lying down," answered Ethel, truthfully and without any feeling. + +"And Alaric?" + +"In the garden." + +"Then we have a moment or two--alone?" Brent put a world of meaning +into the suggestion. + +"Very likely," said Ethel, picking up a score of Boheme and looking at +it as if she saw it for the first time: all the while watching him +through her half-closed eyes. + +Brent went to her. "Glad to see me?" he asked. + +"Why not?" + +"I am glad to see you." He bent over her. "More than glad." + +"Really?" + +He sat beside her: "Ethel," he whispered intensely: "I am at the +Cross-roads." + +"Oh?" commented Ethel, without any interest. + +"It came last night." + +"Did it?" + +"This is the end--between Sybil and myself." + +"Is it?" + +"Yes--the end. It's been horrible from the first--horrible. There's not +a word of mine--not an action--she doesn't misunderstand." + +"How boring," said Ethel blandly. + +"She would see harm even in THIS!" + +"Why?" + +"She'd think I was here to--to--" he stopped. + +"What?" innocently inquired Ethel. + +"Make love to you," and he looked earnestly into her eyes. + +She met his look quite frankly and astonished him with the question: +"Well? Aren't you?" + +He rose anxiously: "Ethel!" + +"Don't you always?" persisted Ethel. + +"Has it seemed like that to you?" + +"Yes," she answered candidly. "By insinuation: never straightforwardly." + +"Has it offended you?" + +"Then you admit it?" + +"Oh," he cried passionately, "I wish I had the right to--to--" again he +wavered. + +"Yes?" and Ethel looked straight at him. + +"Make love to you straightforwardly." He felt the supreme moment had +almost arrived. Now, he thought, he would be rewarded for the long +waiting; the endless siege to this marvellous woman who concealed her +real nature beneath that marble casing of an assumed indifference. + +He waited eagerly for her answer. When it came it shocked and revolted +him. + +Ethel dropped her gaze from his face and said, with the suspicion of a +smile playing around her lips: + +"If you had the right to make love to me straightforwardly--you +wouldn't do it." + +He looked at her in amazement. + +"What do you mean?" he gasped. "It's only because you haven't the right +that you do it--by suggestion," Ethel pursued. + +"How can you say that?" And he put all the heart he was capable of into +the question. + +"You don't deny it," she said quietly. + +He breathed hard and then said bitterly: + +"What a contemptible opinion you must have of me." + +"Then we're quits, aren't we?" + +"How?" he asked. + +"Haven't YOU one of ME?" + +"Of YOU? Why, Ethel--" + +"Surely every married man MUST have a contemptible opinion of the woman +he covertly makes love to. If he hadn't he couldn't do it, could he?" +Once again she levelled her cold, impassive eyes on Brent's flushed +face. + +"I don't follow you," was all Brent said. + +"Haven't you had time to think of an answer?" + +"I don't now what you're driving at," he added. + +Ethel smiled her most enigmatical smile: + +"No? I think you do." She waited a moment. Brent said nothing. This was +a new mood of Ethel's. It baffled him. + +Presently she relieved the silence by asking him: + +"What happened last night?" + +He hesitated. Then he answered: + +"I'd rather not say. I'd sound like a cad blaming a woman." + +"Never mind how it sounds. Tell it. It must have been amusing." + +"Amusing? Good God!" He bent over her again. "Oh, the more I look at +you and listen to you, the more I realise I should never have married." + +"Why DID you?" came the cool question. + +Brent answered with all the power at his command. Here was the moment +to lay his heart bare that Ethel might see. + +"Have you ever seen a young hare, fresh from its kind, run headlong +into a snare? Have you ever seen a young man free of the trammels of +college, dash into a NET? _I_ did! I wasn't trap-wise!" + +He paced the room restlessly, all the self-pity rising in him. He went +on: "Good God! what nurslings we are when we first feel our feet! We're +like children just loose from the leading-strings. Anything that +glitters catches us. Every trap that is set for our unwary feet we drop +into. I did. Dropped in. Caught hand and foot--mind and soul." + +"Soul?" queried Ethel, with a note of doubt. + +"Yes," he answered. + +"Don't you mean BODY?" she suggested. + +"Body, mind AND soul!" he said, with an air of finality. + +"Well, BODY anyway," summed up Ethel. + +"And for what?" he went on. "For WHAT? Love! Companionship! That is +what we build on in marriage. And what did _I_ realise? Hate and +wrangling! Wrangling--just as the common herd, with no advantages, +wrangle, and make it a part of their lives--the zest to their union. +It's been my curse." + +"Why wrangling?" drawled Ethel. + +"She didn't understand." + +"You?" asked Ethel, in surprise. + +"My thoughts! My actions!" + +"How curious." + +"You mean you would?" + +"Probably." + +"I'm sure of it." He tried to take her hand. She drew it away, and +settled herself comfortably to listen again: + +"Tell me more about your wife." + +"The slightest attention shown to any other woman meant a ridiculous--a +humiliating scene." + +"Humiliating?" + +"Isn't doubt and suspicion humiliating?" + +"It would be a compliment in some cases." + +"How?" + +"It would put a fictitious value on some men." + +"You couldn't humiliate in that way," he ventured, slowly. + +"No. I don't think I could. If a man showed a preference for any other +woman she would be quite welcome to him." + +"No man could!" said Brent, insinuatingly. + +She looked at him coldly a moment. + +"Let me see--where were you? Just married, weren't you? Go on." + +"Then came the baby!" He said that with a significant meaning and +paused to see the effect on Ethel. If it had any, Ethel effectually +concealed it. Her only comment was: + +"Ah!" + +Brent went on: + +"One would think THAT would change things. But no. Neither of us wanted +her. Neither of us love her. Children should come of love--not hate. +And she is a child of hate." He paused, looking intently at Ethel. She +looked understandingly at him, then dropped her eyes. + +Brent went on as if following up an advantage: "She sits in her little +chair, her small, wrinkled, old disillusioned face turned to us, with +the eyes watching us accusingly. She submits to caresses as though they +were distasteful: as if she knew they were lies. At times she pushes +the nearing face away with her little baby fingers." He stopped, +watching her eagerly. Her eyes were down. + +"I shouldn't tell you this. It's terrible. I see it in your face. What +are you thinking?" + +"I'm sorry," replied Ethel simply. + +"For me?" + +"For your wife." + +"MY WIFE?" he repeated, aghast. + +"Yes," said Ethel. "Aren't you? No? Are you just sorry for yourself?" + +Brent turned impatiently away. So this laying-open the wound in his +life was nothing to Ethel. Instead of pity for him all it engendered in +her was sorrow for his wife. + +How little women understood him. + +There was a pathetic catch in his voice as he turned to Ethel and said +reproachfully: + +"You think me purely selfish?" + +"Naturally," she answered quickly. "_I_ AM. Why, not be truthful about +ourselves sometimes? Eh?" + +"We quarrelled last night--about you!" he said, desperately. + +"Really?" + +"Gossip has linked us together. My wife has heard and put the worst +construction on it." + +"Well?" + +"We said things to each other last night that can never be forgiven or +forgotten. I left the house and walked the streets--hours! I looked my +whole life back and through as though it were some stranger's" He +turned abruptly away to the windows and stayed a moment, looking down +the drive. + +Ethel said nothing. + +He came back to her in a few moments. "I tell you we ought to be +taught--we ought to be taught, when we are young, what marriage really +means, just as we are taught not to steal, nor lie, nor sin. In, +marriage we do all three--when we're ill-mated. We steal affection from +some one else, we lie in our lives and we sin in our relationship." + +Ethel asked him very quietly: + +"Do you mean that you are a sinner, a thief, and a liar?" + +Brent looked at her in horror. + +"Oh, take some of the blame," said Ethel; "don't put it all on the +woman." + +"You've never spoken to me like this before." + +"I've often wanted to," replied Ethel. Then she asked him: "What do you +intend doing?" + +"Separate," he answered, eagerly. "You don't doctor a poisoned limb +when your life depends on it; you cut it off. When two lives generate a +deadly poison, face the problem as a surgeon would. Amputate." + +"And after the operation? What then?" asked Ethel. + +"That is why I am here facing you. Do you understand what I mean?" + +"Oh, dear, yes. Perfectly. I have been waiting for you to get to the +point." + +"Ethel!" and he impulsively stretched out his arms as though to embrace +her. + +She drew back slightly, just out of his reach. + +"Wait." She looked up at him, quizzically: "Suppose we generate poison? +What would you do? Amputate me?" + +"You are different from all other women." + +"Didn't you tell your wife that when you asked her to marry you?" + +He turned away impatiently: "Don't say those things, Ethel, they hurt." + +"I'm afraid, Christian, I'm too frank, aren't I?" + +"You stand alone, Ethel. You seem to look into the hearts of people and +know why and how they beat." + +"I do--sometimes. It's an awkward faculty." + +He looked at her glowingly: "How marvellously different two women can +be! You--my wife." + +Ethel shook her head and smiled her calm, dead smile "We're not really +very different, Christian. Only some natures like change. Yours does. +And the new have all the virtues. Why, I might not last as long as your +wife did." + +"Don't say that. We lave a common bond--UNDERSTANDING." + +"Think so?" + +"I understand you." + +"I wonder." + +"You do me." + +"Yes--that is just the difficulty." + +"I tell you I am at the cross-roads. The fingerboard points the way to +me distinctly." + +"Does it?" + +"It does." He leaned across to her: "Would you risk it?" + +"What?" she asked. + +"I'll hide nothing. I'll put it all before you. The snubs of your +friends. The whisper of a scandal that would grow into a roar. Afraid +to open a newspaper, fearing what might be printed in it. Life, at +first, in some little Continental village--dreading the passers +through--keeping out of sight lest they would recognise one. No. It +wouldn't be fair to you." + +Ethel thought a moment, then answered slowly: + +"No, Chris, I don't think it would." + +"You see I AM a cad--just a selfish cad!" + +"Aren't you?" and she smiled up at him. + +"I'll never speak of this again. I wouldn't have NOW--only--I'm +distracted to-day--completely distracted. Will you forgive me for +speaking as I did?" + +"Certainly," said Ethel. "I'm not offended. On the contrary. Anyway, +I'll think it over and let you know." + +"You will, REALLY?" he asked greedily, grasping at the straw of a hope. +"You will really think it over?" + +"I will, really." + +"And when she sets me free," he went on, "we could, we could--" He +suddenly stopped. + +She looked coolly at him as he hesitated and said: "It IS a difficult +little word at times, isn't it?" + +"WOULD you marry me?" he asked, with a supreme effort. + +"I never cross my bridges until I come to them," said Ethel, languidly. +"And we're such a long way from THAT one, aren't we?" + +"Then I am to wait?" + +"Yes. Do," she replied. "When the time comes to accept the charity of +relations, or do something useful for tuppence a week, Bohemian France +or Italy--but then the runaways always go to France or Italy, don't +they?--Suppose we say Hungary? Shall we?" + +He did not answer. + +She went on: "Very well. When I have to choose between charity and +labour, Bohemian Hungary may beckon me." + +He looked at her in a puzzled way. What new mood was this? + +"Charity?" he asked. "Labour?" + +"Yes. It has come to that. A tiresome bank has failed with all our +sixpences locked up in it. Isn't it stupid?" + +"Is ALL your money gone?" + +"I think so." + +"Good God!" + +"Dear mamma knows as little about business as she does about me. Until +this morning she has always had a rooted belief in her bank and her +daughter. If I bolt with you, her last cherished illusion will be +destroyed." + +"Let me help you," he said eagerly. + +"How?" and she looked at him again with that cold, hard scrutiny. "Lend +us money, do you mean?" + +He fell into the trap. + +"Yes," he said. "I'd do that if you'd let me." + +She gave just the suggestion of a sneer and turned deliberately away. + +He felt the force of the unspoken reproof: + +"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. + +She went on as if she had not heard the offensive suggestion: "So you +see we're both, in a way, at the crossroads." + +He seized her hand fiercely: "Let me take you away out of it all!" he +cried. + +She withdrew her hand slowly. + +"No," she said, "not just now. I'm not in a bolting mood to-day." + +He moved away. She watched him. Then she called him to her. Something +in the man attracted this strange nature. She could not analyse or +define the attraction. But the impelling force was there. + +He went to her. + +Ethel spoke to him for the first time softly, languorously, almost +caressingly: + +"Chris! Sometime--perhaps in the dead of night--something will snap in +me--the slack, selfish, luxurious ME, that hates to be roused into +action, and the craving for adventure will come. Then I'll send for +you." + +He took her hand again and this time she did not draw it away. He said +in a whisper: + +"And you'll go with me?" + +Ethel stretched lazily, and smiled at him through her half-closed eyes. + +"I suppose so. Then Heaven help you!" + +"Why should we wait?" he cried. + +"It will give us the suspense of expectation." + +"I want you! I need you!" he pleaded. + +"Until the time comes for AMPUTATION?" + +"Don't! Don't!" and he dropped her hand suddenly. + +"Well, I don't want you to have any illusions about me, Chris. I have +none about you. Let us begin fair anyway. It will be so much easier +when the end comes." + +"There will be no end," he said passionately. "I love you--love you +with every breath of my body, every thought in my mind, every throb of +my nerves. I love you!" He kissed her hand repeatedly. "I love you!" He +took her in his arms and pressed her to him. + +She struggled with him without any anger, or disgust, or fear. As she +put him away from her she just said simply: + +"Please don't. It's so hot this morning." + +As she turned away from him she was struck dumb. Sitting beside the +table in the middle of the room, her back turned to them, was the +strangest, oddest little figure Ethel had ever seen. + +Who was she? How long had she been in the room? + +Ethel turned to Brent. He was quite pale now and was nervously stroking +his slight moustache. + +Ethel was furious! It was incredible that Brent could have been so +indiscreet! + +How on earth did that creature get there without their hearing or +seeing her? + +Ethel went straight to the demure little figure sitting on the chair. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PEG ARRIVES IN ENGLAND + + +Peg's journey to England was one of the unhappiest memories of her +life. She undertook the voyage deliberately to please her father, +because he told her it would please him. But beneath this feeling of +pleasing him was one of sullen resentment at being made to separate +from him. + +She planned all kinds of reprisals upon the unfortunate people she was +going amongst. She would be so rude to them and so unbearable that they +would be glad to send her back on the next boat. She schemed out her +whole plan of action. She would contradict and disobey and berate and +belittle. Nothing they would do would be right to her and nothing she +would do or say would be right to them. She took infinite pleasure in +her plan of campaign. Then when she was enjoying the pleasure of such +resentful dreams she would think of her father waiting for news of her: +of his pride in her: of how much he wanted her to succeed. She would +realise how much the parting meant to HIM, and all her little plots +would tumble down and she would resolve to try and please her +relations, learn all she could, succeed beyond all expression and +either go back to America prosperous, or send for her father to join +her in England. All her dreams had her father, either centrifugally or +centripetally, beating through them. + +She refused all advances of friendship aboard ship. No one dared speak +to her. She wanted to be alone in her sorrow. She and "MICHAEL" would +romp on the lower deck, by favour of one of the seamen, who would keep +a sharp look-out for officers. + +This seaman--O'Farrell by name--took quite a liking to Peg and the dog +and did many little kindly, gracious acts to minister to the comfort of +both of them. + +He warned her that they would not let "Michael" go with her from the +dock until he had first been quarantined. This hurt Peg more than +anything could. She burst into tears. To have "Michael" taken from her +would be the last misfortune. She would indeed be alone in that strange +country. She was inconsolable. + +O'Farrell, at last, took it on himself to get the dog ashore. He would +wrap him up in some sail cloths, and then he would carry "Michael" +outside the gates when the Customs' authorities had examined her few +belongings. + +When they reached Liverpool O'Farrell was as good as his word, though +many were the anxious moments they had as one or other of the Customs' +officers would eye the suspicious package O'Farrell carried so +carelessly under his arm. + +At the dock a distinguished-looking gentleman came on board and after +some considerable difficulty succeeded in locating Peg. He was a +well-dressed, soft-speaking, vigorous man of forty-five. He inspired +Peg with an instant dislike by his somewhat authoritative and pompous +manner. He introduced himself as Mr. Montgomery Hawkes, the legal +adviser for the Kingsnorth estate, and at once proceeded to take charge +of Peg as a matter of course. + +Poor Peg felt ashamed of her poor little bag, containing just a few +changes of apparel, and her little paper bundle. She was mortified when +she walked down the gangway with the prosperous-looking lawyer whilst +extravagantly dressed people with piles of luggage dashed here and +there endeavouring to get it examined. + +But Mr. Hawkes did not appear to notice Peg's shabbiness. On the +contrary he treated her and her belongings as though she were the most +fashionable of fine ladies and her wardrobe the most complete. + +Outside the gates she found O'Farrell waiting for her, with the +precious "Michael" struggling to free himself from his coverings. +Hawkes soon had a cab alongside. He helped Peg into it: then she +stretched out her arms and O'Farrell opened the sail-cloths and out +sprang "Michael," dusty and dirty and blear-eyed, but oh! such a happy, +fussy, affectionate, relieved little canine when he saw his beloved +owner waiting for him. He made one spring at her, much to the lawyer's +dignified amazement, and began to bark at her, and lick her face and +hands, and jump on and roll over and over upon Peg in an excess of joy +at his release. + +Peg offered O'Farrell an American dollar. She had very little left. + +O'Farrell indignantly refused to take it. + +"Oh, but ye must, indade ye must," cried Peg in distress. "Sure I won't +lie aisy to-night if ye don't. But for you poor 'Michael' here might +have been on that place ye spoke of--that Quarantine, whatever it is. +Ye saved him from that. And don't despise it because it's an American +dollar. Sure it has a value all over the wurrld. An' besides I have no +English money." Poor Peg pleaded that O'Farrell should take it. He had +been so nice to her all the way over. + +Hawkes interposed skilfully, gave 'O'Farrell five shillings; thanked +him warmly for his kindness to Peg and her dog; returned the dollar to +Peg; let her say good-bye to the kindly sailor: told the cabman to +drive to a certain railway station, and in a few seconds they were +bowling along and Peg had entered a new country and a new life. They +reached the railway station and Hawkes procured tickets and in half an +hour they were on a train bound for the north of England. + +During the journey Hawkes volunteered no information. He bought her +papers and magazines and offered her lunch. This Peg refused. She said +the ship had not agreed with her. She did not think she would want food +for a long time to come. + +After a while, tired out with the rush and excitement of the ship's +arrival, Peg fell asleep. + +In a few hours they reached their destination. Hawkes woke her and told +her she was at her journey's end. He again hailed a cab, told the +driver where to go and got in with Peg, "MICHAEL" and her luggage. In +the cab he handed Peg a card and told her to go to the address written +on it and ask the people there to allow her to wait until he joined +her. He had a business call to make in the town. He would be as short a +time as possible. She was just to tell the people that she had been +asked to call there and wait. + +After the cab had gone through a few streets it stopped before a big +building; Hawkes got out, told the cabman where to take Peg, paid him, +and with some final admonitions to Peg, disappeared through the +swing-doors of the Town Hall. + +The cabman took the wondering Peg along until he drove up to a very +handsome Elizabethan house. There he stopped. Peg looked at the name on +the gate-posts and then at the name on the card Mr. Hawkes had given +her. They were the same. Once more she gathered up her belongings and +her dog and passed in through the gateposts and wandered up the long +drive on a tour of inspection. She walked through paths dividing +rosebeds until she came to some open windows. The main entrance-hall of +the house seemed to be hidden away somewhere amid the tall old trees. + +Peg made straight for the open windows and walked into the most +wonderful looking room she had ever seen. Everything in it was old and +massive; it bespoke centuries gone by in every detail. Peg held her +breath as she looked around her. Pictures and tapestries stared at her +from the walls. Beautiful old vases were arranged in cabinets. The +carpet was deep and soft and stifled all sound. Peg almost gave an +ejaculation of surprise at the wonders of the room when she suddenly +became conscious that she was not alone in the room: that others were +there and that they were talking. + +She looked in the direction the sounds came from and saw to her +astonishment, a man with a woman in his arms. He was speaking to her in +a most ardent manner. They were partially concealed by some statuary. + +Peg concluded at once that she had intruded on some marital scene at +which she was not desired, so she instantly sat down with her back to +them. + +She tried not to listen, but some of the words came distinctly to her. +Just as she was becoming very uncomfortable and had half made up her +mind to leave the room and find somewhere else to wait, she suddenly +heard herself addressed, and in no uncertain tone of voice. There was +indignation, surprise and anger in Ethel's question: + +"How long have you been here?" + +Peg turned round and saw a strikingly handsome, beautifully dressed +young lady glaring down at her. Her manner was haughty in the extreme. +Peg felt most unhappy as she looked at her and did not answer +immediately. + +A little distance away was a dark, handsome young man who was looking +at Peg with a certain languid interest. + +"How long have you been here?" again asked Ethel. + +"Sure I only came in this minnit," said Peg innocently and with a +little note of fear. She was not accustomed to fine-looking, +splendidly-dressed young ladies like Ethel. + +"What do you want?" demanded the young lady. + +"Nothin'," said Peg reassuringly. + +"NOTHING?" echoed Ethel, growing angrier every moment. + +"Not a thing. I was just told to wait," said Peg. + +"Who told you?" + +"A gentleman," replied Peg. + +"WHAT gentleman?" asked Ethel sharply and suspiciously. + +"Just a gentleman." Peg, after fumbling nervously in her pocket, +produced the card Mr. Hawkes had given her, which "MICHAEL" immediately +attempted to take possession of. Peg snatched it away from the dog and +handed it to the young lady. + +"He told me to wait THERE." + +Ethel took the card irritably and read: + +"'Mrs. Chichester, Regal Villa.' And what do you want with Mrs. +Chichester?" she asked Peg, at the same time looking at the shabby +clothes, the hungry-looking dog, and the soiled parcel. + +"I don't want anythin' with her. I was just told to wait!" + +"Who are you?" Peg was now getting angry too. There was no mistaking +the manner of the proud young lady. Peg chafed under it. She looked up +sullenly into Ethel's face and said: + +"I was not to say a wurrd, I'm tellin' ye. I was just to wait." Peg +settled back in the chair and stroked "MICHAEL." This questioning was +not at all to her liking. She wished Mr. Hawkes would come and get her +out of a most embarrassing position. But until he DID she was not going +to disobey his instructions. He told her to say nothing, so nothing +would she say. + +Ethel turned abruptly to Brent and found that gentleman looking at the +odd little stranger somewhat admiringly. She gave an impatient +ejaculation and turned back to Peg quickly: + +"You say you have only been here a minute?" + +"That's all," replied Peg. "Just a minnit." + +"Were we talking when you came in?" + +"Ye were." + +Ethel could scarcely conceal her rage. + +"Did you hear what we said?" + +"Some of it. Not much," said Peg. + +"WHAT did you hear?" + +"Please don't--it's so hot this mornin'," said Peg with no attempt at +imitation--just as if she were stating a simple, ordinary occurrence. + +Ethel flushed scarlet. Brent smiled. + +"You refuse to say why you're here or who you are?" Ethel again asked. + +"It isn't ME that's refusin'. All the gentleman said to me was, 'Ye go +to the place that's written down on the card and ye sit down there an' +wait. And that's all ye do.'" Ethel again turned to the perplexed +Brent: "Eh?" + +"Extraordinary!" and Brent shook his head. + +The position was unbearable. Ethel decided instantly how to relieve it. +She looked freezingly down at the forlorn-looking little intruder and +said: + +"The servants' quarters are at the back of the house." + +"ARE they?" asked Peg, without moving, and not in any way taking the +statement to refer to her. + +"And I may save you the trouble of WAITING by telling you we are quite +provided with servants. We do not need any further assistance." + +Peg just looked at Ethel and then bent down over "MICHAEL." Ethel's +last shot had struck home. Poor Peg was cut through to her soul. How +she longed at that moment to be back home with her father in New York. +Before she could say anything Ethel continued: + +"If you insist on waiting kindly do so there." + +Peg took "MICHAEL" up in her arms, collected once more her packages and +walked to the windows. Again she heard the cold hard tones of Ethel's +voice speaking to her: + +"Follow the path to your right until you come to a door. Knock and ask +permission to wait there, and for your future guidance go to the BACK +door of a house and ring, don't walk unannounced into a private room." + +Peg tried to explain: + +"Ye see, ma'am, I didn't know. All the gentleman said was 'Go there and +wait'--" + +"That will do." + +"I'm sorry I disturbed yez." And she glanced at the embarrassed Brent. + +"THAT WILL DO!" said Ethel finally. + +Poor Peg nodded and wandered off through the windows sore at heart. She +went down the path until she reached the door Ethel mentioned. She +knocked at it. While she is waiting for admission we will return to the +fortunes of the rudely-disturbed LOVERS(?). + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE CHICHESTER FAMILY RECEIVES A SECOND SHOCK + + +Ethel turned indignantly to Brent, as the little figure went off down +the path. + +"Outrageous!" she cried. + +"Poor little wretch." Brent walked to the windows and looked after her. +"She's quite pretty." + +Ethel looked understandingly at him: "IS she?" + +"In a shabby sort of way. Didn't you think so?" + +Ethel glared coldly at him. + +"I never notice the lower orders. You apparently do." + +"Oh, yes--often. They're very interesting--at times." He strained to +get a last glimpse of the intruder: + +"Do you know, she's the strangest little apparition--" + +"She's only a few yards away if you care to follow her!" + +Her tone brought Brent up sharply. He turned away from the window and +found Ethel--arms folded, eyes flashing--waiting for him. Something in +her manner alarmed him. He had gone too far. + +"Why, Ethel,"--he said, as he came toward her. + +"Suppose my mother had walked in here--or Alaric--instead of that +creature? Never do such a thing again." + +"I was carried away," he hastened to explain. + +"Kindly exercise a little more restraint. You had better go now." There +was a finality of dismissal in her tone as she passed him and crossed +to the great staircase. He followed her: + +"May I call to-morrow?" + +"No," she answered decidedly. "Not to-morrow." + +"The following day, then," he urged. + +"Perhaps." + +"Remember--I build on you." + +She looked searchingly at him: + +"I suppose we ARE worthy of each other." + +Through the open windows came the sound of voices. + +"Go!" she said imperatively and she passed on up the stairs. Brent went +rapidly to the door. Before either he could open it or Ethel go out of +sight Alaric burst in through the windows. + +"Hello, Brent," he cried cheerfully. "Disturbin' ye?" And he caught +Ethel as she was about to disappear: "Or you, Ethel?" + +Ethel turned and answered coolly: + +"You've not disturbed me." + +"I'm just going," said Brent. + +"Well, wait a moment," and Alaric turned to the window and beckoned to +someone on the path and in from the garden came Mr. Montgomery Hawkes. + +"Come in," said the energetic Alaric. "Come in. Ethel, I want you to +meet Mr. Hawkes--Mr. Hawkes--my sister. Mr. Brent--Mr. Hawkes." Having +satisfactorily introduced everyone he said to Ethel: "See if the +mater's well enough to come down, like a dear, will ye? This gentleman +has come from London to see her. D'ye mind? And come back yourself, +too, like an angel. He says he has some business that concerns the +whole family." + +Ethel disappeared without a word. + +Alaric bustled Hawkes into a chair and then seized the somewhat +uncomfortable Brent by an unwilling hand and shook it warmly as he +asked: + +"MUST you go?" + +"Yes," replied Brent with a sigh of relief. + +Alaric dashed to the door and opened it as though to speed the visitor +on his way. + +"So sorry I was out when you called," lied Alaric nimbly. "Run in any +time. Always delighted to see you. Delighted. Is the angel wife all +well?" + +Brent bowed: "Thank you." + +"And the darling child?" + +Brent frowned. He crossed to the door and turned in the frame and +admonished Alaric: + +"Please give my remembrances to your mother." Then he passed out. As he +disappeared the irrepressible Alaric called after him: + +"Certainly. She'll be so disappointed not to have seen you. Run in any +time--any time at all." Alaric closed the door and saw his mother and +Ethel coming down the stairs. + +All traces of emotion had disappeared from Ethel's face and manner. She +was once again in perfect command of herself. She carried a beautiful +little French poodle in her arms and was feeding her with sugar. + +Alaric fussily brought his mother forward. + +"Mater, dear," he said; "I found this gentleman in a rose-bed enquiring +the way to our lodge. He's come all the way from dear old London just +to see you. Mr. Hawkes--my mother." + +Mrs. Chichester looked at Hawkes anxiously. + +"You have come to see me?" + +"On a very important and a very private family matter," replied Hawkes, +gravely. "IMPORTANT? PRIVATE?" asked Mrs. Chichester in surprise. + +"We're the family, Mr. Hawkes," ventured Alaric, helpfully. + +Mrs. Chichester's forebodings came uppermost. After the news of the +bank's failure nothing would surprise her now in the way of calamity. +What could this grave, dignified-looking man want with them? Her eyes +filled. + +"Is it BAD news?" she faltered. + +"Oh, dear, no," answered Mr. Hawkes, genially. + +"Well--is it GOOD news?" queried Alaric. + +"In a measure," said the lawyer. + +"Then for heaven's sake get at it. You've got me all clammy. We could +do with a little good news. Wait a minute! Is it by any chance about +the BANK?" + +"No," replied Mr. Hawkes. He cleared his throat and said solemnly and +impressively to Mrs. Chichester: + +"It is about your LATE brother--Nathaniel Kingsnorth." + +"Late!" cried Mrs. Chichester. "Is Nathaniel DEAD?" + +"Yes, madam," said Hawkes gravely. "He died ten days ago." + +Mrs. Chichester sat down and silently wept. Nathaniel to have died +without her being with him to comfort him and arrange things with him! +It was most unfortunate. + +Alaric tried to feel sorry, but inasmuch as his uncle had always +refused to see him he could not help thinking it may have been +retribution. However, he tried to show a fair and decent measure of +regret. + +"Poor old Nat," he cried. "Eh, Ethel?" + +"Never saw him," answered Ethel, her face and voice totally without +emotion. "You say he died ten days ago?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +Mr. Hawkes bowed. + +"Why was I not informed? The funeral--?" + +"There was no funeral," replied Mr. Hawkes. + +"No funeral?" said Alaric in astonishment. + +"No," replied the lawyer. "In obedience to his written wishes he was +cremated and no one was present except the chief executor and myself. +If I may use Mr. Kingsnorth's words without giving pain, he said he so +little regretted not having seen any of his relations for the last +twenty years of his life-time he was sure THEY would regret equally +little his death. On no account was anyone to wear mourning for him, +nor were they to express any open sorrow. 'They wouldn't FEEL it, so +why lie about it?' I use his own words," added Mr. Hawkes, as if +disclaiming all responsibility for such a remarkable point of view. + +"What a rum old bird!" remarked Alaric, contemplatively. + +Mrs. Chichester wept as she said: + +"He was always the most unfeeling, the most heartless--the most--" + +"Now in his will--" interrupted the lawyer, producing a leather +pocket-book filled with important-looking papers: "In his will--" he +repeated-- + +Mrs. Chichester stopped crying: + +"Eh? A will?" + +"What?" said Alaric, beaming; "did the dear old gentleman leave a will?" + +Even Ethel stopped playing with "Pet" and listened languidly to the +conversation. + +Mr. Hawkes, realising he had their complete interest, went on +importantly: "As Mr. Kingsnorth's legal adviser up to the time of his +untimely death I have come here to make you acquainted with some of its +contents." + +He spread a formidable-looking document wide-open on the table, +adjusted his pince-nez and prepared to read. "Dear old Nat!" said +Alaric reflectively. "Do you remember, mater, we met him at Victoria +Station once when I was little more than a baby? Yet I can see him now +as plainly as if it were yesterday. A portly, sandy-haired old buck, +with three jolly chins." + +"He was white toward the end, and very, very thin," said Mr. Hawkes +softly. + +"Was he?" from Alaric. "Fancy that. It just shows, mater, doesn't it?" +He bent eagerly over the table as Hawkes traced some figures with a +pencil on one of the pages of the will. + +"How much did he leave?" And Alaric's voice rose to a pitch of +well-defined interest. + +"His estate is valued, approximately, at some two hundred thousand +pounds," replied the lawyer. + +Alaric gave a long, low whistle, and smiled a broad, comprehensive +smile. + +Ethel for the first time showed a gleam of genuine interest. + +Mrs. Chichester began to cry again. "Perhaps it was my fault I didn't +see him oftener," she said. + +Alaric, unable to curb his curiosity, burst out with: "How did the old +boy split it up?" + +"To his immediate relations he left" Mr. Hawkes looked up from the will +and found three pairs of eyes fixed on him. He stopped. It may be that +constant association with the law courts destroys faith in human +nature--but whatever the cause, it seemed to Mr. Hawkes in each of +those eyes was reflected the one dominant feeling--GREED. The +expression in the family's combined eyes was astonishing in its +directness, its barefacedness. It struck the dignified gentleman +suddenly dumb. + +"Well? Well?" Cried Alaric. "How much? Don't stop right in the middle +of an important thing like that. You make me as nervous as a chicken." + +Mr. Hawkes returned to the will and after looking at it a moment +without reading said: + +"To his immediate relations Mr. Kingsnorth left, I regret to +say--NOTHING." + +A momentary silence fell like a pall over the stricken Chichester +family. + +Mrs. Chichester rose, indignation flashing from the eyes that a moment +since showed a healthy hope. + +"Nothing?" she cried incredulously. + +"Not a penny-piece to anyone?" ventured Alaric. + +The faintest suspicion of a smile flitted across Ethel's face. + +Hawkes looked keenly at them and answered: + +"I deeply regret to say--nothing." + +Mrs. Chichester turned to Ethel, who had begun to stroke "Pet" again. + +"His own flesh and blood!" cried the poor lady. + +"What a shabby old beggar!" commented Alaric, indignantly. + +"He was always the most selfish, the most--" began Mrs. Chichester, +when Mr. Hawkes, who bad been turning over the pages of the document +before him, gave an ejaculation of relief. + +"Ah! Here we have it. This, Mrs. Chichester, is how Mr. Kingsnorth +expressed his attitude toward his relations in his last will and +testament." + +"'I am the only member of the Kingsnorth family who ever made any +money. All my precious relations either inherited it or married to get +it.'--" + +"I assure you--" began Mrs. Chichester. + +Alaric checked her: "Half a moment, mater. Let us hear it out to the +bitter end. He must have been an amusin' old gentleman!" + +Mr. Hawkes resumed: "--'consequently I am not going to leave one penny +to relations who are already, well-provided for.'" + +Mrs. Chichester protested vehemently: + +"But we are NOT provided for." + +"No," added Alaric. "Our bank's bust." + +"We're ruined," sobbed Mrs. Chichester. + +"Broke!" said Alaric. + +"We've nothing!" wailed the old lady. + +"Not thruppence," from the son. + +"Dear, dear," said the lawyer. "How extremely painful." + +"PAINFUL? That's not the word. Disgustin' I call it," corrected Alaric. + +Mr. Hawkes thought a moment. Then he said: "Under those circumstances, +perhaps a clause in the will may have a certain interest and an element +of relief." + +As two drowning people clinging to the proverbial straws the mother and +son waited breathlessly for Mr. Hawkes to go on. + +Ethel showed no interest whatever. + +"When Mr. Kingsnorth realised that he had not very much longer to live +he spoke constantly of his other sister--Angela," resumed Mr. Hawkes. + +"Angela?" cried Mrs. Chichester in surprise; "why, she is dead." + +"That was why he spoke of her," said Hawkes gravely. "And not a word of +me?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +"We will come to that a little later," and Mr. Hawkes again referred to +the will. "It appears that this sister Angela married at the age of +twenty, a certain Irishman by name O'Connell, and was cut off by her +family--" + +"The man was an agitator--a Fenian agitator. He hadn't a penny. It was +a disgrace--" + +Alaric checked his mother again. + +Hawkes resumed: "--was cut off by her family--went to the United States +of America with her husband, where a daughter was born. After going +through many, conditions of misery with her husband, who never seemed +to prosper, she died shortly after giving birth to the child." He +looked up: "Mr. Kingsnorth elsewhere expresses his lasting regret that +in one of his sister's acute stages of distress she wrote to him asking +him, for the first time, to assist her. He replied: 'You have made your +bed; lie in it.'" + +"She had disgraced the family. He was justified," broke in Mrs. +Chichester. + +"With death approaching," resumed Hawkes, "Mr. Kingsnorth's conscience +began to trouble him and the remembrance of his treatment of his +unfortunate sister distressed him. If the child were alive he wanted to +see her. I made inquiries and found that the girl was living with her +father in very poor circumstances in the City of New York. We sent +sufficient funds for the journey, together with a request to the father +to allow her to visit Mr. Kingsnorth in England. The father consented. +However, before the young girl sailed Mr. Kingsnorth died." + +"Oh!" cried Alaric, who had been listening intently. "Died, eh? That +was too bad. Died before seeing her. Did you let her sail, Mr. Hawkes?" + +"Yes. We thought it best to bring her over here and acquaint her with +the sad news after her arrival. Had she known before sailing she might +not have taken the journey." + +"But what was the use of bringing her over when Mr. Kingsnorth was +dead?" asked Alaric. + +"For this reason," replied Hawkes: "Realising that he might never see +her, Mr. Kingsnorth made the most remarkable provision for her in his +will." + +"Provided for HER and not for--?" began Mrs. Chichester. + +"Here is the provision," continued Mr. Hawkes, again reading from the +will: "'I hereby direct that the sum of one thousand pounds a year be +paid to any respectable well-connected woman of breeding and family, +who will undertake the education and up-bringing of my niece, Margaret +O'Connell, in accordance with the dignity and tradition of the +Kingsnorths'--" + +"He remembers a niece he never saw and his own sister--" and Mrs. +Chichester once more burst into tears. + +"It beats cock-fighting, that's all I can say," cried Alaric. "It +simply beats cock-fighting." + +Mr. Hawkes went on reading: "'If at the expiration of one year my niece +is found to be, in the judgment of my executors, unworthy of further +interest, she is to be returned to her father and the sum of two +hundred and fifty pounds a year paid her to provide her with the +necessities of life. If, on the other hand, she proves herself worthy +of the best traditions of the Kingsnorth family, the course of training +is to be continued until she reaches the age of twenty-one, when I +hereby bequeath to her the sum of five thousand pounds a year, to be +paid to her annually out of my estate during her life-time and to be +continued after her death to any male issue she may have--by marriage.'" + +Mr. Hawkes stopped, and once again looked at the strange family. Mrs. +Chichester was sobbing: "And me--his own sister--" + +Alaric was moving restlessly about: "Beats any thing I've heard of. +Positively anything." + +Ethel was looking intently at "Pet's" coat. + +Hawkes continued: "'On no account is her father to be permitted to +visit her, and should the course of training be continued after the +first year, she must not on any account visit her father. After she +reaches the age of twenty-one she can do as she pleases.'" Mr. Hawkes +folded up the will with the air of a man who had finished an important +duty. + +Alaric burst out with: + +"I don't see how that clause interests us in the least, Mr. Hawkes." + +The lawyer removed his pince-nez and looking steadily at Mrs. +Chichester said: + +"Now, my dear Mrs. Chichester, it was Mr. Kingsnorth's wish that the +first lady to be approached on the matter of undertaking the training +of the young lady should be--YOU!" + +Mrs. Chichester rose in astonishment: "I?" + +Alaric arose in anger: "My mother?" + +Ethel quietly pulled "Pet's" ear and waited. + +Mr. Hawkes went on quietly: + +"Mr. Kingsnorth said, 'he would be sure at least of his niece having a +strict up-bringing in the best traditions of the Kingsnorths, and that +though his sister Monica was somewhat narrow and conventional in +ideas'--I use his own words--'still he felt sure she was eminently +fitted to undertake such a charge.' There--you have the whole object of +my visit. Now--will you undertake the training of the young lady?" + +"I never heard of such a thing!" cried Mrs. Chichester furiously. + +"Ridiculous!" said Ethel calmly. + +"Tush and nonsense," with which Alaric dismissed the whole matter. + +"Then I may take it you refuse?" queried the astonished lawyer. + +"Absolutely!" from Mrs. Chichester. + +"Entirely!" from Ethel. + +"I should say so!" and Alaric brought up the rear. + +Mr. Hawkes gathered up his papers and in a tone of regret ventured: +"Then there is nothing more to be said. I was only carrying out the +dead man's wishes by coming here and making the facts known to you. Mr. +Kingsnorth was of the opinion that you were well provided for and, +that, outside of the sentimental reason that the girl was your own +niece, the additional thousand pounds a year might be welcome as, say, +pin-money for your daughter." + +Ethel laughed her dry, cheerless little laugh. "Ha! Pin-money!" + +Alaric grew suddenly grave and drew his mother and sister out of Mr. +Hawkes' vicinity. + +"Listen, mater--Ethel. It's a cool thousand, you know? Thousands don't +grow on raspberry bushes when your bank's gone up. What do ye think, +eh?" + +Mrs. Chichester brightened: + +"It would keep things together," she said. + +"The wolf from the door," urged Alaric. + +"No charity," chimed in Ethel. + +Mrs. Chichester looked from daughter to son. "Well? What do you think?" + +"Whatever you say, mater," from Alaric. + +"You decide, mamma," from Ethel. + +"We might try it for a while, at least," said Mrs. Chichester. + +"Until we can look around," agreed Alaric. + +"Something may be saved from the wreck," reasoned Mrs. Chichester more +hopefully. + +"Until _I_ get really started," said Alaric with a sense of climax. + +Mrs. Chichester turned to her daughter: "Ethel?" + +"Whatever you decide, mamma." + +Mrs. Chichester thought a moment--then decided "I'll do it," she said +determinedly. "It will be hard, but I'll do it." She went slowly and +deliberately to Mr. Hawkes, who by this time had disposed of all his +documents and was preparing to go. A look in Mrs. Chichester's face +stopped him. He smiled at her. "Well?" he asked. + +"For the sake of the memory of my dead sister, I will do as Nathaniel +wished," said Mrs. Chichester with great dignity and self-abnegation. + +Mr. Hawkes breathed a sigh of relief. + +"Good!" he said. "I'm delighted. It is splendid. Now that you have +decided so happily there is one thing more I must tell you. The young +lady is not to be told the conditions of the will, unless at the +discretion of the executors should, some crisis arise. She will be to +all intents and purposes--your GUEST. In that way we may be able to +arrive at a more exact knowledge of her character. Is that understood?" + +The family signified severally and collectively that it was. + +"And now," beamed the lawyer, happy at the fortunate outcome of a +situation that a few moments before seemed so strained, "where is your +bell?" + +Alaric indicated the bell. + +"May I ring?" asked the lawyer. + +"Certainly," replied Alaric. + +Mr. Hawkes rang. + +Alaric watched him curiously: "Want a sandwich or something?" + +Hawkes smiled benignly on the unfortunate family and rubbed his hands +together self-satisfiedly: + +"Now I would like to send for the young lady,--the heiress." + +"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +"She arrived from New York this morning and I brought her straight +here. I had to call on a client, so I gave her your address and told +her to come here and wait." + +At the word "wait" an uneasy feeling took possession of Ethel. That was +the word used by that wretched-looking little creature who had so +rudely intruded upon her and Brent. Could it be possible--? + +The footman entered at that moment. + +The lawyer questioned him. + +"Is there a young lady waiting for Mr. Hawkes?" + +"A YOUNG LADY, sir? No, sir." answered Jarvis. Mr. Hawkes was puzzled. +What in the world had become of her? He told the cabman distinctly +where to go. + +Jarvis opened the door to go out, when a thought suddenly occurred to +him. He turned back and spoke to the lawyer: + +"There's a young person sitting in the kitchen: came up and knocked at +the door and said she had to wait until a gentleman called. Can't get +nothin' out of her." Hawkes brightened up. + +"That must be Miss O'Connell," he said. He turned to Mrs. Chichester +and asked her if he might bring the young lady in there. + +"My niece in the kitchen!" said Mrs. Chichester to the unfortunate +footman. "Surely you should know the difference between my niece and a +servant!" + +"I am truly sorry, madam," replied Jarvis in distress, "but there was +nothing to tell." + +"Another such mistake and you can leave my employment," Mrs. Chichester +added severely. + +Jarvis pleaded piteously: + +"Upon my word, madam, no one could tell." + +"That will do," thundered Mrs. Chichester. "Bring my niece here--at +once." + +The wretched Jarvis departed on his errand muttering to himself: "Wait +until they see her. Who in the world could tell she was their relation." + +Mrs. Chichester was very angry. + +"It's monstrous!" she exclaimed. + +"Stoopid!" agreed Alaric. "Doocid stoopid." + +Ethel said nothing. The one thought that was passing through her mind +was: "How much did that girl hear Brent say and how much did she see +Mr. Brent do?" + +Hawkes tried to smooth the misunderstanding out. + +"I am afraid it was all my fault," he explained. "I told her not to +talk. To just say that she was to wait. I wanted to have an opportunity +to explain matters before introducing her." + +"She should have been brought straight to me," complained Mrs. +Chichester. "The poor thing." Then with a feeling of outraged pride she +said: "My niece in kitchen. A Kingsnorth mistaken for a servant!" + +The door opened and Jarvis came into the room. There was a look of +half-triumph on his face as much as to say: "Now who would not make a +mistake like that? Who could tell this girl was your niece?" + +He beckoned Peg to come into the room. + +Then the Chichester family received the second shock they had +experienced that day--one compared with which the failure of the bank +paled into insignificance. When they saw the strange, shabby, +red-haired girl slouch into the room, with her parcels and that +disgraceful-looking dog, they felt the hand of misfortune had indeed +fallen upon them. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PEGS MEETS HER AUNT + + +As Peg wandered into the room Mrs. Chichester and Alaric looked at her +in horrified amazement. + +Ethel took one swift glance at her and then turned her attention to +"Pet." + +Jarvis looked reproachfully at Mrs. Chichester as much as to say: "What +did I tell you?" and went out. + +Alaric whispered to his mother: + +"Oh, I say, really, you know--it isn't true! It CAN'T be." + +"Pet" suddenly saw "Michael" and began to bark furiously at him. +"Michael" responded vigorously until Peg quieted him. + +At this juncture Mr. Hawkes came forward and, taking Peg gently by the +arm, reassured her by saying: + +"Come here, my dear. Come here. Don't be frightened. We're all your +friends." + +He brought Peg over to Mrs. Chichester, who was staring at her with +tears of mortification in her eyes. When Peg's eyes met her aunt's she +bobbed a little curtsey she used to do as a child whenever she met a +priest or some of the gentle folk. + +Mrs. Chichester went cold when she saw the gauche act. Was it possible +that this creature was her sister Angela's child? It seemed incredible. + +"What is your name?" she asked sternly. + +"Peg, ma'am." + +"What?" + +"Sure me name's Peg, ma'am," and she bobbed another little curtsey. + +Mrs. Chichester closed her eyes and shivered. She asked Alaric to ring. +As that young gentleman passed Ethel on his way to the bell he said: +"It can't really be true! Eh, Ethel?" + +"Quaint," was all his sister replied. + +Hawkes genially drew Peg's attention to her aunt by introducing her: + +"This lady is Mrs. Chichester--your aunt." Peg looked at her doubtfully +a moment then turned to Hawkes and asked him: + +"Where's me uncle?" + +"Alas! my dear child, your uncle is dead." + +"Dead!" exclaimed Peg in surprise. "Afther sendin' for me?" + +"He died just before you sailed," added Hawkes. + +"God rest his soul," said Peg piously. "Sure if I'd known that I'd +never have come at all. I'm too late, then. Good day to yez," and she +started for the door. + +Mr. Hawkes stopped her. + +"Where are you going?" + +"Back to me father." + +"Oh, nonsense." + +"But I must go back to me father if me uncle's dead." + +"It was Mr. Kingsnorth's last wish that you should stay here under your +aunt's care. So she has kindly consented to give you a home." + +Peg gazed at Mrs. Chichester curiously. + +"Have yez?" she asked. + +Mrs. Chichester, with despair in every tone, replied: "I have!" + +"Thank yez," said Peg, bobbing another little curtsey, at which Mrs. +Chichester covered her eyes with her hand as if to shut out some +painful sight. + +Peg looked at Mrs. Chichester and at the significant action. There was +no mistaking its significance. It conveyed dislike and contempt so +plainly that Peg felt it through her whole nature. She turned to Alaric +and found him regarding her as though she were some strange animal. +Ethel did not deign to notice her. And this was the family her father +had sent her over to England to be put in amongst. She whispered to +Hawkes: + +"I can't stay here." + +"Why not?" asked the lawyer. + +"I'd be happier with me father," said Peg. + +"Nonsense. You'll be quite happy here. Quite." + +"They don't seem enthusiastic about us, do they?" and she looked down +at "Michael" and up at Hawkes and indicated the Chichester family, who +had by this time all turned their backs on her. She smiled a wan, +lonely smile, and with a little pressure on "Michael's" back, murmured: +"We're not wanted here, 'Michael!'" + +The terrier looked up at her and then buried his head under her arm as +though ashamed. + +Jarvis came in response to the ring at that moment, bearing a pained, +martyr-like expression on his face. + +Mrs. Chichester directed him to take away Peg's parcels and the dog. + +Peg frightenedly clutched the terrier. + +"Oh, no, ma'am," she pleaded. "Plaze lave 'Michael' with me. Don't take +him away from me." + +"Take it away," commanded Mrs. Chichester severely, "and never let it +INSIDE the house again." + +"Well, if ye don't want HIM inside yer house ye don't want ME inside +yer house," Peg snapped back. + +Hawkes interposed. "Oh, come, come, Miss O'Connell, you can see the +little dog whenever you want to," and he tried to take "Michael" out of +her arms. "Come, let me have him." + +But Peg resisted. She was positive when she said: + +"No, I won't give him up. I won't. I had a hard enough time gettin' him +ashore, I did." + +Hawkes pleaded again. + +"No," said Peg firmly. "I WILL NOT GIVE HIM UP. And that's all there is +about it." + +The lawyer tried again to take the dog from her: "Come, Miss O'Connell, +you really must be reasonable." + +"I don't care about being reasonable," replied Peg. "'Michael' was +given to me by me father an' he's not very big and he's not a watchdog, +he's a pet dog--and look--" She caught sight of Ethel's little poodle +and with a cry of self-justification, she said: + +"See, she has a dog in the house--right here in the house. Look at it!" +and she pointed to where the little ball of white wool lay sleeping on +Ethel's lap. Then Peg laughed heartily: "I didn't know what it was +until it MOVED." + +Peg finally weakened under Mr. Hawkes' powers of persuasion and on the +understanding that she could see him whenever she wanted to, permitted +the lawyer to take "Michael" out of her arms and give him to the +disgusted footman, who held him at arm's length in mingled fear and +disgust. + +Then Hawkes took the bag and the parcels and handed them also to +Jarvis. One of them burst open, disclosing her father's parting gifts. +She kept the rosary and the miniature, and wrapping up the others +carefully she placed them on the top of the other articles in the +outraged Jarvis's arms, and then gave him her final injunctions. +Patting "Michael" on the head she said to the footman: + +"Ye won't hurt him, will ye?" + +"Michael" at that stage licked her hand and whined as though he knew +they were to be separated. Peg comforted him and went on: "And I'd be +much obliged to ye if ye'd give him some wather and a bone. He loves +mutton bones." + +Jarvis, with as much dignity as he could assume, considering that he +had one armful of shabby parcels and the other hand holding at arm's +length a disgraceful looking mongrel, went out, almost on the verge of +tears. + +Peg looked down and found Alaric sitting at a desk near the door +staring at her in disgust. + +He was such a funny looking little fellow to Peg that she could not +feel any resentment toward him. His sleek well-brushed hair; his +carefully creased and admirably-cut clothes; his self-sufficiency; and +above all his absolute assurance that whatever he did was right, amused +Peg immensely. He was an entirely new type of young man to her and she +was interested. She smiled at him now in a friendly way and said: "Ye +must know 'Michael' is simply crazy about mutton. He LOVES mutton." + +Alaric turned indignantly away from her. Peg followed him up. He had +begun to fascinate her. She looked at his baby-collar with a well-tied +bow gleaming from the centre; at his pointed shoes; his curious, +little, querulous look. He was going to be good fun for Peg. She wanted +to begin at once. And she would have too, not the icy accents of Mrs. +Chichester interrupted Peg's plans for the moment. + +"Come here," called Mrs. Chichester. + +Peg walked over to her and when she got almost beside the old lady she +turned to have another glimpse at Alaric and gave him a little, +chuckling, good-natured laugh. + +"Look at ME!" commanded Mrs. Chichester sternly. + +"Yes, ma'am," replied Peg, with a little curtsey. Mrs. Chichester +closed her eyes for a moment. What was to be done with this barbarian? +Why should this affliction be thrust upon her? Then she thought of the +thousand pounds a year. She opened her eyes and looked severely at Peg. + +"Don't call me 'ma'am'!" she said. + +"No, ma'am," replied Peg nervously, then instantly corrected herself: +"No, ANT! No, ANT!" + +"AUNT!" said Mrs. Chichester haughtily. "AUNT. Not ANT." + +Alaric commented to Ethel: + +"ANT! Like some little crawly insect." + +Peg heard him, looked at him and laughed. He certainly was odd. Then +she looked at Ethel, then at Mr. Hawkes, then all round the room as if +she missed someone. Finally she faced Mrs. Chichester again. + +"Are you me Uncle Nat's widdy?" + +"No, I am not," contradicted the old lady sharply. + +"Then how are you me--AUNT?" demanded Peg. + +"I am your mother's sister," replied Mrs. Chichester. + +"Oh!" cried Peg. "Then your name's Monica?" + +"It is." + +"What do ye think of that?" said Peg under her breath. She +surreptitiously opened out the miniature and looked at it, then she +scrutinised her aunt. She shook her head. + +"Ye don't look a bit like me poor mother did." + +"What have you there?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +"Me poor mother's picture," replied Peg softly. + +"Let me see it!" and Mrs. Chichester held out her hand for it. Peg +showed it to Mrs. Chichester, all the while keeping a jealous hold on a +corner of the frame. No one would ever take it away from her. The old +lady looked at it intently. Finally she said: + +"She had changed very much since I last saw her--and in one year." + +"Sorrow and poverty did that, Aunt Monica," and the tears sprang +unbidden into Peg's eyes. + +"AUNT will be quite sufficient. Put it away," and Mrs. Chichester +released the miniature. + +Peg hid it immediately in her bosom. + +"Sit down," directed the old lady in the manner of a judge preparing to +condemn a felon. + +Peg sprawled into a chair with a great sigh of relief. + +"Thank ye, ant--AUNT," she said. Then she looked at them all +alternately and laughed heartily: + +"Sure I had no idea in the wurrld I had such fine relations. Although +of course my father often said to me, 'Now, Peg,' he would say, 'now, +Peg, ye've got some grand folks on yer mother's side'--" + +"Folks! Really--Ethel!" cried Alaric disgustedly. + +"Yes, that's what he said. Grand FOLKS on me mother's side." + +Mrs. Chichester silenced Peg. + +"That will do. Don't sprawl in that way. Sit up. Try and remember where +you are. Look at your cousin," and the mother indicated Ethel. Peg sat +up demurely and looked at Ethel. She chuckled to herself as she turned +back to Mrs. Chichester: + +"Is she me cousin?" + +"She is," replied the mother. + +"And I am too," said Alaric. "Cousin Alaric." + +Peg looked him all over and laughed openly. Then she turned to Ethel +again, and then looked all around the room and appeared quite puzzled. +Finally she asked Mrs. Chichester the following amazing question: + +"Where's her husband?" + +Ethel sprang to her feet. The blow was going to fall. She was to be +disgraced before her family by that beggar-brat. It was unbearable. + +Mrs. Chichester said in astonishment: "Her HUSBAND?" + +"Yes," replied Peg insistently. "I saw her husband when I came in here +first. I've been in this room before, ye know. I came in through those +windows and I saw, her and her husband, she was--" + +"What in heaven's name does she mean?" cried Alaric. + +Peg persisted: "I tell ye it was SHE sent me to the kitchen--she and +HIM." + +"Him? Who in the world does she mean?" from Alaric. + +"To whom does she refer, Ethel?" from Mrs. Chichester. + +"Mr. Brent," said Ethel with admirable self-control. She was on thin +ice, but she must keep calm. Nothing may come out yet if only she can +silence that little chatterbox. + +Alaric burst out laughing. + +Mrs. Chichester looked relieved. + +Peg went on: + +"Sure, she thought I was a servant looking for a place and Mr. Hawkes +told me not to say a word until he came--and I didn't say a word--" Mr. +Hawkes now broke in and glancing at his watch said: + +"My time, is short. Miss O'Connell, it was your uncle's wish that you +should make your home here with Mrs. Chichester. She will give you +every possible advantage to make you a happy, well-cared for, charming +young lady." + +Peg laughed. + +"LADY? ME? Sure now--" + +The lawyer went on: + +"You must do everything she tells you. Try and please her in all +things. On the first day of every month I will call and find out what +progress you're making." + +He handed Mrs. Chichester a card: + +"This is my business address should you wish to communicate with me. +And now I must take my leave." He picked up his hat and cane from the +table. + +Peg sprang up breathlessly and frightenedly. Now that Mr. Hawkes was +going she felt deserted. He had at least been gentle and considerate to +her. She tugged at his sleeve and looked straight up into his face with +her big blue eyes wide open and pleaded: + +"Plaze, sir, take me with ye and send me back to New York. I'd rather +go home. Indade I would. I don't want to be a lady. I want me father. +Plaze take me with you." + +"Oh--come--come" Mr. Hawkes began. + +"I want to go back to me father. Indade I do." Her eyes filled with +tears. "He mightn't like me to stay here now that me uncle's dead." + +"Why, it was your uncle's last wish that you should come here. Your +father will be delighted at your good fortune." He gently pressed her +back into the chair and smiled pleasantly and reassuringly down at her. + +Just when he had negotiated everything most satisfactorily to have Peg +endeavour to upset it all was most disturbing. He went on again: "Your +aunt will do everything in her power to make you feel at home. Won't +you, Mrs. Chichester?" + +"Everything!" said Mrs. Chichester, as if she were walking over her own +grave. + +Peg looked at her aunt ruefully: her expression was most forbidding: at +Ethel's expressive back; lastly at Alaric fitting a cigarette into a +gold mounted holder. Her whole nature cried out against them. She made +one last appeal to Mr. Hawkes: + +"DO send me back to me father!" + +"Nonsense, my dear Miss O'Connell. You would not disappoint your father +in that way, would you? Wait for a month. I'll call on the first and I +expect to hear only the most charming things about you. Now, good-bye," +and he took her hand. + +She looked wistfully up at him: + +"Good-bye, sir. And thank ye very much for bein' so kind to me." + +Hawkes bowed to Mrs. Chichester and Ethel and went to the door. + +"Have a cab?" asked Alaric. + +"No, thank you," replied the lawyer. "I have no luggage. Like the walk. +Good-day," and Peg's only friend in England passed out and left her to +face this terrible English family alone. + +"Your name is Margaret," said Mrs. Chichester, as the door closed on +Mr. Hawkes. + +"No, ma'am--" Peg began, but immediately corrected herself; "no, +aunt--I beg your pardon--no aunt--my name is Peg," cried she earnestly. + +"That is only a CORRUPTION. We will call you Margaret," insisted Mrs. +Chichester, dismissing the subject once and for all. But Peg was not to +be turned so lightly aside. She stuck to her point. + +"I wouldn't know myself as Margaret--indade I wouldn't. I might forget +to answer to the name of Margaret." She stopped her pleading tone and +said determinedly: "My name IS Peg." Then a little softer and more +plaintively she added: "Me father always calls me Peg. It would put me +in mind of me father if you'd let me be called Peg, aunt." She ended +her plea with a little yearning cry. + +"Kindly leave your father out of the conversation," snapped the old +lady severely. + +"Then it's all I will LAVE him out of!" cried Peg, springing up and +confronting the stately lady of the house. + +Mrs. Chichester regarded her in astonishment and anger. + +"No TEMPER, if you please," and she motioned Peg to resume her seat. + +Poor Peg sat down, breathing hard, her fingers locking and unlocking, +her staunch little heart aching for the one human being she was told +not to refer to. + +This house was not going to hold her a prisoner if her father's name +was to be slighted or ignored; on that point she was determined. Back +to America she would go if her father's name was ever insulted before +her. Mrs. Chichester's voice broke the silence: + +"You must take my daughter as your model in all things." + +Peg looked at Ethel and all her anger vanished temporarily. The idea of +taking that young lady as a model appealed to her as being irresistibly +amusing. She smiled broadly at Ethel. Mrs. Chichester went on: + +"Everything my daughter does you must try and imitate. You could not +have a better example. Mould yourself on her." + +"Imitate her, is it?" asked Peg innocently with a twinkle in her eye +and the suggestion of impishness in her manner. + +"So far as lies in your power," replied Mrs. Chichester. + +A picture of Ethel struggling in Brent's arms suddenly flashed across +Peg, and before she could restrain herself she had said in exact +imitation of her cousin: + +"Please don't! It is so hot this morning!" + +Then Peg laughed loudly to Ethel's horror and Mrs. Chichester's disgust. + +"How dare you!" cried her aunt. + +Peg looked at her a moment, all the mirth died away. + +"Mustn't I laugh in this house?" she asked. + +"You have a great deal to learn." + +"Yes, aunt." + +"Your education will begin to-morrow." + +"Sure that will be foine," and she chuckled. + +"No levity, if you please," said her aunt severely. + +"No, aunt." + +"Until some decent clothes can be procured for you we will find some +from my daughter's wardrobe." + +"Sure I've a beautiful dhress in me satchel I go to Mass in on Sundays. +It's all silk, and--" + +Mrs. Chichester stopped her: + +"That will do. Ring, Alaric, please." + +As Alaric walked over to press the electric button he looked at Peg in +absolute disgust and entire disapproval. Peg caught the look and +watched him go slowly across the room. He had the same morbid +fascination for her that some uncanny elfish creature might have. If +only her father could see him! She mentally decided to sketch Alaric +and send it out to her father with a full description of him. + +Mrs. Chichester again demanded her attention. + +"You must try and realise that you have an opportunity few girls in +your position are ever given. I only hope you will try and repay our +interest and your late uncle's wishes by obedience, good conduct and +hard study." + +"Yes, aunt," said Peg demurely. Then she added quickly: "I hope ye +don't mind me not having worn me silk dress, but ye see I couldn't wear +it on the steamer--it 'ud have got all wet. Ye have to wear yer +thravellin' clothes when ye're thravellin'." + +"That will do," said Mrs. Chichester sharply. + +"Well, but I don't want ye to think me father doesn't buy me pretty +clothes. He's very proud of me, an' I am of him--an'--" + +"That will do," commanded Mrs. Chichester as Jarvis came in reply to +the bell. + +"Tell Bennett to show my niece to the Mauve Room and to attend her," +said Mrs. Chichester to the footman. Then turning to Peg she dismissed +her. + +"Go with him." + +"Yes, aunt," replied Peg. "An' I am goin' to thry and do everythin' ye +want me to. I will, indade I will." + +Her little heart was craving for some show of kindness. If she was +going to stay there she would make the best of it. She would make some +friendly advances to them. She held her hand out to Mrs. Chichester: + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful to you for taking me to live with yez here. +An' me father will be too. But ye see it's all so strange to me here, +an' I'm so far away--an' I miss me father so much." + +Mrs. Chichester, ignoring the outstretched hand, stopped her +peremptorily: + +"Go with him!" and she pointed up the stairs, on the first landing of +which stood the portly Jarvis waiting to conduct Peg out of the +family's sight. + +Peg dropped a little curtsey to Mrs. Chichester, smiled at Ethel, +looked loftily at Alaric, then ran up the stairs and, following the +footman's index finger pointing the way, she disappeared from Mrs. +Chichester's unhappy gaze. + +The three tortured people looked at each other in dismay. + +"Awful!" said Alaric. + +"Terrible!" agreed Mrs. Chichester. + +"Dreadful!" nodded Ethel. + +"It's our unlucky day, mater!" added Alaric. "One thing is absolutely +necessary," Mrs. Chichester went on to say, "she must be kept away from +every one for the present." + +"I should say so!" cried Alaric energetically. Suddenly he ejaculated: +"Good Lord! Jerry! HE mustn't see her. He'd laugh his head off at the +idea of my having a relation like her. He'll probably run in to lunch." + +"Then she must remain in her room until he's gone," said Mrs. +Chichester, determinedly. "I'll go into town now and order some things +for her and see about tutors. She must be taught and at once." + +"Why put up with this annoyance at all?" asked Ethel, for the first +time showing any real interest. + +Mrs. Chichester put her arm around Ethel and a gentle look came into +her eyes as she said: + +"One thousand pounds a year--that is the reason--and rather than you or +Alaric should have to make any sacrifice, dear, or have any discomfort, +I would put up with worse than that." + +Ethel thought a moment before she replied reflectively: + +"Yes, I suppose you would. I wouldn't," and she went up the stairs. +When she was little more than half way up Alaric, who had been watching +her nervously, called to her: + +"Where are you off to, Ethel?" + +She looked down at him and a glow, all unsuspected, came into her eyes +and a line of colour ran through her cheeks, and there was an unusual +tremor in her voice, as she replied: + +"To try to make up my mind, if I can, about something. The coming of +PEG may do it for me." + +She went on out of sight. + +Alaric was half-inclined to follow her. He knew she was taking their +bad luck to heart withal she said so little. He was really quite fond +of Ethel in a selfish, brotherly way. But for the moment he decided to +let Ethel worry it out alone while he would go to the railway station +and meet his friend's train. He called to his mother as she passed +through the door: + +"Wait a minute, mater, and I'll go with you as far as the station-road +and see if I can head Jerry off. His train is almost due if it's +punctual." + +He was genuinely concerned that his old chum should not meet that +impossible little red-headed Irish heathen whom an unkind fate had +dropped down in their midst. + +At the hall-door Mrs. Chichester told Jarvis that her niece was not to +leave her room without permission. + +As Mrs. Chichester and Alaric passed out they little dreamt that the +same relentless fate was planning still further humiliations for the +unfortunate family and through the new and unwelcome addition to it. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +JERRY + + +Peg was shown by the maid, Bennett, into a charming old-world room +overlooking the rose garden. Everything about it was in the most +exquisite taste. The furniture was of white and gold, the vases of +Sevres, a few admirable prints on the walls and roses everywhere. + +Left to her reflections, poor Peg found herself wondering how people, +with so much that was beautiful around them, could live and act as the +Chichester family apparently did. They seemed to borrow nothing from +their once illustrious and prosperous dead. They were, it would appear, +only concerned with a particularly near present. + +The splendour of the house awed--the narrowness of the people irritated +her. What an unequal condition of things where such people were endowed +with so much of the world's goods, while her father had to struggle all +his life for the bare necessities! + +She had heard her father say once that the only value money had, +outside of one's immediate requirements, was to be able to relieve +other people's misery: and that if we just spent it on ourselves money +became a monster that stripped life of all happiness, all illusion, all +love--and made it just a selfish mockery of a world! + +How wonderfully true her father's diagnosis was! + +Here was a family with everything to make them happy--yet none of them +seemed to breathe a happy breath, think a happy thought, or know a +happy hour. + +The maid had placed Peg's scanty assortment of articles on the +dressing-table. They looked so sadly out of place amid the satin-lined +boxes and perfumed drawers that Peg felt another momentary feeling of +shame. Since her coming into the house she had experienced a series of +awakenings. She sturdily overcame the feeling and changed her cheap +little travelling suit for one of the silk dresses her father had +bought her in New York. By the time she had arranged her hair with a +big pink ribbon and put on the precious brown silk garment she began to +feel more at ease. After all, who were they to intimidate her? If she +did not like the house and the people, after giving them a fair trial, +she would go back to New York. Very much comforted by the reflection +and having exhausted all the curious things in the little Mauve-Room +she determined to see the rest of the house. + +At the top of the stairs she met the maid Bennett. + +"Mrs. Chichester left word that you were not to leave your room without +permission. I was just going to tell you," said Bennett. + +All Peg's independent Irish blood flared up. What would she be doing +shut up in a little white-and-gold room all day? She answered the maid +excitedly: + +"Tell Mrs. CHI-STER I am not goin' to do anythin' of the kind. As long +as I stay in this house I'll see every bit of it!" and she swept past +the maid down the stairs into the same room for the third time. + +"You'll only get me into trouble," cried the maid. + +"No, I won't. I wouldn't get you into trouble for the wurrld. I'll get +all the trouble and I'll get it now." Peg ran across, opened the door +connecting with the hall and called out at the top of her voice: + +"Aunt! Cousins! Aunt! Come here, I want to tell ye about myself!" + +"They've all gone out," said the maid quickly. + +"Then what are ye makin' such a fuss about? You go out too." + +She watched the disappointed Bennett leave the room and then began a +tour of inspection. She had never seen so many strange things outside +of a museum. + +Fierce men in armour glared at her out of massive frames: old gentlemen +in powdered wigs smiled pleasantly at her; haughty ladies in +breath-bereaving coiffures stared superciliously right through her. She +felt most uncomfortable in such strange company. + +She turned from the gallery and entered the living room. Everything +about it was of the solid Tudor days and bespoke, even as the +portraits, a period when the family must have been of some considerable +importance. She wandered about the room touching some things +timidly--others boldly. For example--on the piano she found a perfectly +carved bronze statuette of Cupid. She gave a little elfish cry of +delight, took the statuette in her arms and kissed it. + +"Cupid! me darlin'. Faith, it's you that causes all the mischief in the +wurrld, ye divil ye!" she cried. + +All her depression vanished. She was like a child again. She sat down +at the piano and played the simple refrain and sang in her little +girlish tremulous voice, one of her father's favourite songs, her eyes +on Cupid: + + "Oh! the days are gone when Beauty bright + My heart's charm wove! + When my dream of life, from morn till night, + Was love, still love! + New hope may bloom, + And days may come, + Of milder, calmer beam, + But there's nothing half so sweet in life + As Love's young dream! + No, there's nothing half so sweet in life + As Love's young dream." + +As she let the last bars die away and gave Cupid a little caress, and +was about to commence the neat verse a vivid flash of lightning played +around the room, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. + +Peg cowered down into a deep chair. + +All the laughter died from her face and the joy in her heart. She made +the sign of the cross, knelt down and prayed to Our Lady of Sorrows. + +By this time the sky was completely leaden in hue and rain was pouring +down. + +Again the darkening room was lit up by a vivid forked flash and the +crash of the thunder came instantly. The storm was immediately +overhead. Peg closed her eyes, as she did when a child, while her lips +moved in prayer. + +Into the room through the window came a young man, his coat-collar +turned up, rain pouring from his hat; inside his coat was a +terrified-looking dog. The man came well into the room, turning down +the collar of his coat; and shaking the moisture from his clothes, when +he suddenly saw the kneeling figure of Peg. He looked down at her in +surprise. She was intent on her prayers. + +"Hello!" cried the young man. "Frightened, eh?" + +Peg looked up and saw him staring down at her with a smile on his lips. +Inside his coat was her precious little dog, trembling with fear. The +terrier barked loudly when he saw his mistress. Peg sprang up, clutched +"Michael" away from the stranger, just as another blinding flash played +around the room followed by a deafening report. + +Peg ran across to the door shouting: "Shut it out! Shut it out!" She +stood there trembling, covering her eyes with one hand, with the other +she held on to the overjoyed "MICHAEL," who was whining with glee at +seeing her again. + +The amazed and amused young man closed the windows and the curtains. +Then he moved down toward Peg. + +"Don't come near the dog, sir. Don't come near it!" She opened a door +and found it led into a little reception room. She fastened "MICHAEL" +with a piece of string to a chair in the room and came back to look +again at the stranger, who had evidently rescued her dog from the +storm. He was a tall, bronzed, athletic-looking, broad shouldered young +man of about twenty-six, with a pleasant, genial, magnetic manner and a +playful humour lurking in his eyes. + +As Peg looked him all over she found that he was smiling down at her. + +"Does the dog belong to you?" he queried. + +"What were you doin' with him?" she asked in reply. + +"I found him barking at a very high-spirited mare." + +"MARE?" cried Peg. "WHERE?" + +"Tied to the stable-door." + +"The stable-door? Is that where they put 'MICHAEL'?" Once again the +lightning flashed vividly and the thunder echoed dully through the room. + +Peg shivered. + +The stranger reassured her. + +"Don't be frightened. It's only a summer storm." + +"Summer or winter, they shrivel me up," gasped Peg. + +The young man walked to the windows and drew back the curtains. "Come +and look at it," he said encouragingly. "They're beautiful in this part +of the country. Come and watch it." + +"I'll not watch it!" cried Peg. "Shut it out!" + +Once more the young man closed the curtains. + +Peg looked at him and said in an awe-struck voice: + +"They say if ye look at the sky when the lightnin' comes ye can see the +Kingdom of Heaven. An' the sight of it blinds some and kills +others--accordin' to the state of grace ye're in." + +"You're a Catholic?" said the stranger. + +"What else would I be?" asked Peg in surprise. + +Again the lightning lit the room and, after some seconds, came the deep +rolling of the now distant thunder. + +Peg closed her eyes again and shivered. + +"Doesn't it seem He is angry with us for our sins?" she cried. + +"With ME, perhaps--not with you," answered the stranger. + +"What do ye mane by that?" asked Peg. + +"You don't know what sin is," replied the young man. + +"And who may you be to talk to me like that?" demanded Peg. + +"My name is Jerry," said the stranger. + +"JERRY?" and Peg looked at him curiously. + +"Yes. What is yours?" + +"Peg!" and there was a sullen note of fixed determination in her tone. + +"Peg, eh?" and the stranger smiled. + +She nodded and looked at him curiously. What a strange name he +had--JERRY! She had never heard such a name before associated with such +a distinguished-looking man. She asked him again slowly to make certain +she had heard aright. + +"Jerry, did ye say?" + +"Just plain Jerry," he answered cheerfully. "And you're Peg." + +She nodded again with a quick little smile: "Just plain Peg." + +"I don't agree with you," said the young man. "I think you are very +charming." + +"Ye mustn't say things like that with the thunder and lightnin' +outside," answered Peg, frowning. + +"I mean it," from the man who called himself "Jerry." + +"No, ye don't mane it," said Peg positively. "The man who MANES them +things never sez them. My father always told me to be careful of the +fellow that sez flattherin' things right to yer face. 'He's no good, +Peg,' my father sez; 'He's no good.'" + +Jerry laughed heartily. + +"Your father is right, only his doctrine hardly applies in this +instance. I didn't mean it as flattery. Just a plain statement of fact." + +After a pause he went on: "Who are you?" + +"I'm me aunt's niece," replied Peg, looking at him furtively. + +Jerry laughed again. + +"And who is your aunt?" + +"Mrs. Chi-ster." + +"Whom?" + +Poor Peg tried again at the absurd tongue-tying name. + +"My aunt is Mrs. Chi-sister." + +"Mrs. Chichester?" asked Jerry in surprise. + +"That's it," said Peg. + +"How extraordinary!" + +"Isn't it? Ye wouldn't expect a fine lady like her to have a niece like +me, would ye?" + +"That isn't what I meant," corrected Jerry. + +"Yes, it is what ye meant. Don't tell untruths with the storm ragin' +outside," replied Peg. + +"I was thinking that I don't remember Alaric ever telling me that he +had such a charming cousin." + +"Oh, do you know Alaric?" asked Peg with a quick smile. + +"Very well," answered Jerry. + +Peg's smile developed into a long laugh. + +"And why that laugh?" queried Jerry. + +"I'd like me father to see Alaric. I'd like him just to see Alaric for +one minnit." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, indade. Ye know ALARIC, do ye?--isn't it funny how the name suits +him?--ALARIC! there are very few people a name like that would get +along with--but fits HIM all right--doesn't it? Well, he didn't know I +was alive until I dropped down from the clouds this mornin'." + +"Where did you drop from?" + +"New York." + +"Really? How odd." + +"Not at all. It's nearly as big as London and there's nothin' odd about +New York." + +"Were you born there?" asked Jerry. + +"I was," answered Peg. + +"By way of old Ireland, eh?" + +"How did ye guess that?" queried Peg, not quite certain whether to be +pleased or angry. + +"Your slight--but DELIGHTFUL accent," replied Jerry. + +"ACCENT is it?" and Peg looked at him in astonishment. "Sure I'VE no +accent. I just speak naturally. It's YOU have the accent to my way of +thinkin'." + +"Really?" asked the amused Jerry. Peg imitated the young man's +well-bred, polished tone: + +"Wah ye bawn theah?" + +Jerry laughed immoderately. Who was this extraordinary little person? +was the one thought that was in his mind. + +"How would you say it?" he asked. + +"I'd say it naturally. I would say: 'Were ye borrn there?' I wouldn't +twist the poor English language any worse than it already is." + +Peg had enough of the discussion and started off on another expedition +of discovery by standing on a chair and examining some china in a +cabinet. + +Jerry turned up to the windows and drew back the curtains, threw the +windows wide open and looked up at the sky. It was once more a crystal +blue and the sun was shining vividly. + +He called to Peg: "The storm is over. The air is clear of electricity. +All the anger has gone from the heavens. See?" + +Peg said reverently: "Praise be to God for that." + +Then she went haphazardly around the room examining everything, sitting +in various kinds of chairs, on the sofa, smelling the flowers and +wherever she went Jerry followed her, at a little distance. + +"Are you going to stay here?" he reopened the conversation with. + +"Mebbe I will and mebbe I won't," was Peg's somewhat unsatisfactory +answer. + +"Did your aunt send for you?" + +"No--me uncle." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, indade; me Uncle Nat." + +"NAT?" + +"Nathaniel Kingsnorth--rest his soul." + +"Nathaniel Kingsnorth!" cried Jerry in amazement + +Peg nodded. + +"Sleepin' in his grave, poor man." + +"Why, then you're Miss Margaret O'Connell?" + +"I am. How did ye know THAT?" + +"I was with your uncle when he died." + +"WERE ye?" + +"He told me all about you." + +"Did he? Well, I wish the poor man 'ud ha' lived. An' I wish he'd a' +thought o' us sooner. He with all his money an' me father with none, +an' me his sister's only child." + +"What does your father do?" Peg took a deep breath and answered +eagerly. She was on the one subject about which she could talk +freely--all she needed was a good listener. This strange man, unlike +her aunt, seemed to be the very person to talk to on the one really +vital subject to Peg. She said breathlessly: + +"Sure me father can do anythin' at all--except make money. An' when he +does MAKE it he can't kape it. He doesn't like it enough. Nayther do I. +We've never had very much to like, but we've seen others around us with +plent an' faith we've been the happiest--that we have." + +She only stopped to take breath before on she went again: + +"There have been times when we've been most starvin', but me father +never lost his pluck or his spirits. Nayther did I. When times have +been the hardest I've never heard a word of complaint from me father, +nor seen a frown on his face. An' he's never used a harsh word to me in +me life. Sure we're more like boy and girl together than father and +daughther." Her eyes began to fill and her voice to break. + +"An' I'm sick for the sight of him. An' I'm sure he is for me--for his +'Peg o' my Heart,' as he always calls me." + +She covered her eyes as the tears trickled down through her fingers. +Under her breath Jerry heard her saying: + +"I wish I was back home--so I do." + +He was all compassion in a moment. Something in the loneliness and +staunchness of the little girl appealed to him. + +"Don't do that," he said softly, as he felt the moisture start into his +own eyes. + +Peg unpinned her little handkerchief and carefully wiped away her tears +and just as carefully folded the handkerchief up again and pinned it +back by her side. + +"I don't cry often," she said. "Me father never made me do it. I never +saw HIM cry but twice in his life--once when he made a little money and +we had a Mass said for me mother's soul, an' we had the most beautiful +candles on Our Lady's altar. He cried then, he did. And when I left him +to come here on the ship. And then only at the last minnit. He laughed +and joked with me all the time we were together--but when the ship +swung away from the dock he just broke down and cried like a little +child. 'My Peg!' he kep' sayin'; 'My little Peg!' I tell ye I wanted to +jump off that ship an' go back to him--but we'd started--an' I don't +know how to swim." + +How it relieved her pent-up feelings to talk to some one about her +father! Already she felt she had known Jerry for years. In a moment she +went on again: + +"I cried meself to sleep THAT night, I did. An' many a night, too, on +that steamer." + +"I didn't want to come here--that I didn't. I only did it to please me +father. He thought it 'ud be for me good." + +"An' I wish I hadn't come--that I do. He's missin' me every minnit--an' +I'm missin' him. An' I'm not goin' to be happy here, ayther." + +"I don't want to be a lady. An' they won't make me one ayther if I can +help it. 'Ye can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,' that's what +me father always said. An' that's what I am. I'm a sow's ear." + +She stopped,--her eyes fixed on the ground. + +Jerry was more than moved at this entirely human and natural outbreak. +It was even as looking into some one's heart and brain and hearing +thoughts spoken aloud and seeing the nervous workings of the heart. +When she described herself in such derogatory terms, a smile of relief +played on Jerry's face as he leaned over to her and said: + +"I'm afraid I cannot agree with you." + +She looked up at him and said indifferently: "It doesn't make the +slightest bit of difference to me whether ye do or not. That's what I +am. I'm a sow's ear." + +He reasoned with her: + +"When the strangeness wears off you'll be very happy." + +"Do yez know the people here--the Chi-sters?" + +"Oh, yes. Very well." + +"Then what makes ye think I'll be happy among them?" + +"Because you'll know that you're pleasing your father." + +"But I'm all alone." + +"You're among friends." + +Peg shook her head and said bitterly: "No, I'm not. They may be me +RELATIONS, but they're not me FRIENDS. They're ashamed of me." + +"Oh, no!" interrupted Jerry. + +"Oh, yes," contradicted Peg. "I tell ye they are ashamed of me. They +sent me to the kitchen when I first came here. And now they put +'MICHAEL' to slape in the stable. I want ye to understand 'MICHAEL' is +not used to that. He always sleeps with me father." + +She was so unexpected that Jerry found himself on the verge of tears +one moment, and the next something she would say, some odd look or +quaint inflection would compel his laughter again. He had a mental +picture of "MICHAEL," the pet of Peg's home, submitting to the +indignity of companionship with mere horses. Small wonder he was +snapping at Ethel's mare, when Jerry, discovered him. + +He turned again to Peg and said: + +"When they really get to know you, Miss O'Connell, they will be just as +proud of you as your father is--as--I would be." + +Peg looked at him in whimsical astonishment: "You'd be? Why should YOU +be proud of ME?" + +"I'd be more than proud if you'd look on me as your friend." + +"A FRIEND is it?" cried Peg warily. "Sure I don't know who you are at +all," and she drew away from him. She was on her guard. Peg made few +friends. Friendship to her was not a thing to be lightly given or +accepted. Why, this man, calling himself by the outlandish name of +"Jerry," should walk in out of nowhere, and offer her his friendship, +and expect her to jump at it, puzzled her. It also irritated her. Who +WAS he? + +Jerry explained: + +"Oh, I can give you some very good references. For instance, I went to +the same college as your cousin Alaric." + +Peg looked at him in absolute disdain. + +"Did ye?" she said. "Well, I'd mention that to very few people if I +were you," and she walked away from him. He followed her. + +"Don't you want me to be your friend?" + +"Sure I don't know," Peg answered quickly. "I'm like the widdy's pig +that was put into a rale bed to sleep. It nayther wanted it, nor it +didn't want it. The pig had done without beds all its life, and it +wasn't cryin' its heart out for the loss of somethin' it had never had +and couldn't miss." + +Jerry laughed heartily at the evident sincerity of the analogy. + +Peg looked straight at him: "I want to tell ye that's one thing that's +in yer favour," she said. + +"What is?" asked Jerry. + +"Sure, laughter is not dead in you, as it is in every one else in this +house." + +Whilst Jerry was still laughing, Peg suddenly joined in with him and +giving him a playful slap with the back of her hand, asked him: + +"Who are ye at all?" + +"No one in particular," answered Jerry between gasps. + +"I can see that," said Peg candidly. "I mean what do ye do?" + +"Everything a little and nothing really well," Jerry replied. "I was a +soldier for a while: then I took a splash at doctoring: read law: +civil-engineered in South America for a year: now I'm farming." + +"Farming?" asked Peg incredulously. + +"Yes. I'm a farmer." + +Peg laughed as she looked at the well-cut clothes, the languid manner +and easy poise. + +"It must be mighty hard on the land and cattle to have YOU farmin' +them," she said. + +"It is," and he too laughed again. "They resent my methods. I'm a new +farmer." + +"Faith ye must be." + +"To sum up my career I can do a whole lot of things fairly well and +none of them well enough to brag about." + +"Just like me father," she said interestedly. + +"You flatter me," he replied courteously. + +Peg thought she detected a note of sarcasm. She turned on him fiercely: + +"I know I do. There isn't a man in the whole wurrld like me father. Not +a man in the wurrld. But he says he's a rollin' stone and they don't +amount to much in a hard-hearted wurrld that's all for makin' dollars." + +"Your father is right," agreed Jerry. "Money is the standard to-day and +we're all valued by it." + +"And he's got none," cried Peg. Thoughts were coming thick and fast +through her little brain. To speak of her father was to want to be near +him. And she wanted him there now for that polished, well-bred +gentleman to see what a wonderful man he was. She suddenly said: + +"Well, he's got me. I've had enough of this place. I'm goin' home now." +She started up the staircase leading to the Mauve Room. + +Jerry called after her anxiously: + +"No, no! Miss O'Connell. Don't go like that." + +"I must," said Peg from the top of the stairs. "What will I get here +but to be laughed at and jeered at by a lot of people that are not fit +to even look at me father. Who are they I'd like to know that I mustn't +speak his name in their presence? I love me father and sure it's easier +to suffer for the want of food than the want of love!" + +Suddenly she raised one hand above her head and in the manner and tone +of a public-speaker she astounded Jerry with the following outburst: + +"An' that's what the Irish are doin' all over the wurrld. They're +driven out of their own country by the English and become wandherers on +the face of the earth and nothin' they ever EARN'LL make up to them for +the separation from their homes and their loved ones!" She finished the +peroration on a high note and with a forced manner such as she had +frequently heard on the platform. + +She smiled at the astonished Jerry and asked him: + +"Do ye know what that is?" + +"I haven't the least idea," he answered truthfully. + +"That's out of one of me father's speeches. Me father makes grand +speeches. He makes them in the Cause of Ireland." + +"Oh, really! In the Cause of Ireland, eh?" said Jerry. + +"Yes. He's been strugglin' all his life to make Ireland free--to get +her Home Rule, ye know. But the English are so ignorant. They think +they know more than me father. If they'd do what me father tells them +sure there'd be no more throuble in Ireland at all." + +"Really?" said Jerry, quite interestedly. + +"Not a bit of throuble. I wish me father was here to explain it to ye. +He could tell ye the whole thing in a couple of hours. I wish he were +here now just to give you an example of what fine speakin' really is. +Do you like speeches?" + +"Very much--sometimes," replied Jerry, guardedly. + +"Me father is wondherful on a platform with a lot o' people in front of +him. He's wondherful. I've seen him take two or three hundred people +who didn't know they had a grievance in the wurrld--the poor +cratures--they were just contented to go on bein' ground down and +trampled on and they not knowing a thing about it--I've seen me father +take that crowd and in five minutes, afther he had started spakin' to +them ye wouldn't know they were the same people. They were all shoutin' +at once, and they had murther in their eye and it was blood they were +afther. They wanted to reform somethin'--they weren't sure what--but +they wanted to do it--an' at the cost of life. Me father could have led +them anywhere. It's a wondherful POWER he was. And magnetism. He just +looks at the wake wuns an' they wilt. He turns to the brave wuns and +they're ready to face cannon-balls for him. He's a born leader--that's +what he is, a born leader!" She warmed to her subject: she was on her +hobby-horse and she would ride it as far as this quiet stranger would +let her. She went on again: + +"Ye know the English government are very much frightened of me father. +They are indade. They put him in prison once--before I was born. They +were so afraid of him they put him in prison. I wish ye could see him!" +she said regretfully. + +"I am sure I wish I could--with all my heart. You have really aroused +my keenest interest," said Jerry gravely. "He must be a very remarkable +man," he added. + +"That's what he is," agreed Peg warmly. "An' a very wondherful lookin' +man, too. He's a big, upstandin' man, with gold hair goin' grey, an' a +flashin' eye an' a great magnetic voice. Everybody sez 't's the +MAGNETISM in him that makes him so dangerous. An' he's as bold as a +lion. He isn't frightened of anybody. He'll say anything right to your +face. Oh, I wish ye could just meet him. He's not afraid to make any +kind of a speech--whether it's right or not, so long as it's for the +'Cause.' Do yez like hearin' about me father?" she asked Jerry +suddenly, in case she was tiring him--although how any one COULD be +tired listening to the description of her Hero she could not imagine. + +Jerry hastened to assure her that he was really most interested. + +"I am not botherin' ye listenin', am I?" + +"Not in the least," Jerry assured her again. + +"Well, so long as yer not tired I'll tell ye some more. Ye know I went +all through Ireland when I was a child with me father in a cart. An' +the police and the constabulary used to follow us about. They were very +frightened of me father, they were. They were grand days for me. Ye +know he used to thry his speeches on me first. Then I'd listen to him +make them in public. I used to learn them when I'd heard them often +enough. I know about fifty. I'll tell ye some of them if I ever see ye +again. Would ye like to hear some of them?" + +"Very much indeed," answered Jerry. + +"Well, if I STAY here ye must come some time an' I'll tell ye them. But +it is not the same hearin' me that it is hearin' me father. Ye've got +to see the flash of his eye hear the big sob in his voice, when he +spakes of his counthry, to ralely get the full power o' them. I'll do +me best for ye, of course." + +"Ye're English, mebbe?" she asked him suddenly. + +"I am," said Jerry. He almost felt inclined to apologise. + +"Well, sure that's not your fault. Ye couldn't help it. No one should +hold that against ye. We can't all be born Irish." + +"I'm glad you look at it so broad-mindedly," said Jerry. + +"Do ye know much about Ireland?" asked Peg. + +"Very little, I'm ashamed to say," answered Jerry. "Well, it would be +worth yer while to learn somethin' about it," said Peg. + +"I'll make it my business to," he assured her. "It's God country, is +Ireland. And it's many a tear He must have shed at the way England +mismanages it. But He is very lenient and patient with the English. +They're so slow to take notice of how things really are. And some day +He will punish them and it will be through the Irish that punishment +will be meted out to them." She had unconsciously dropped again into +her father's method of oratory, climaxing the speech with all the +vigour of the rising inflection. She looked at Jerry, her face aglow +with enthusiasm. + +"That's from another of me father's speeches. Did ye notice the way he +ended it?--'through the Irish that punishment will be meted out to +them!' I think 'meted out' is grand. I tell you me father has the most +wondherful command of language." + +She stood restlessly a moment, her hands beating each other alternately. + +"I get so lonesome for him," she said. + +Suddenly with a tone of definite resolve in her voice she started up +the stairs, calling over her shoulder: + +"I'm goin' back to him now. Good-bye!" and she ran all the way upstairs. + +Jerry followed her--pleading insistently: + +"Wait! Please wait!" She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked +down at him. + +"Give us one month's trial--one month!" he urged. "It will be very +little, out of your life and I promise you your father will not suffer +through it except in losing you for that one little month. Will you? +Just a month?" + +He spoke so earnestly and seemed so sincerely pained and so really +concerned at-her going, that she came down a few steps and looked at +him irresolutely: + +"Why do you want me to stay?" she asked him. + +"Because--because your late uncle was my friend. It was his last wish +to do something for you. Will you? Just a month?" + +She struggled, with the desire to go away from all that was so foreign +and distasteful to her. Then she looked at Jerry and realised, with +something akin to a feeling of pleasure, that he was pleading with her +to stay, and doing it in such a way as to suggest that it mattered to +him. She had to admit to herself that she rather liked the look of him. +He seemed honest, and even though he were English he did show an +interest whenever she spoke of her father and he had promised to try +and learn something about Ireland. That certainly was in his +favour--just as the fact that he could laugh was, too. Quickly the +thoughts ran hot-foot through Peg's brain: After all to run away now +would look cowardly. Her father would be ashamed of her. This stuck-up +family would laugh at her. That thought was too much. The very +suggestion of Alaric laughing at her caused a sudden rush of blood to +her head. Her temples throbbed. Instantly she made up her mind. + +She would stay. Turning to Jerry, she said: "All right, then. I'll +stay--a month. But not any more than a month, though!" + +"Not unless you wish it." + +"I won't wish it--I promise ye that. One month'll be enough in this +house. It's goin' to seem like a life-time." + +"I'm glad," said Jerry, smiling. + +"Ye're glad it's goin' to seem like a life-time?" + +"No, no!" he corrected her hastily; "I am glad you're going to stay." + +"Well, that's a comfort anyway. Some one'll be pleased at me stayin'." +And she came down the stairs and walked over to the piano again. + +Jerry followed her: + +"I am--immensely." + +"All right Ye've said it!" replied Peg, looking up and finding him +standing beside her. She moved away from him. Again he followed her: + +"And will you look on me as your friend?" + +This time she turned away abruptly. She did not like being followed +about by a man she had only just met. + +"There's time enough for that," she said, and went across to the +windows. + +"Is it so hard?" pleaded Jerry, again following her.. + +"I don't know whether it's hard or aisy until I thry it." + +"Then try," urged Jerry, going quite close to her: She faced him: "I +never had anyone makin' such a fuss about havin' me for a friend +before. I don't understand you at all." + +"Yet I'm very simple," said Jerry. + +"I don't doubt ye," Peg answered drily. "From what I've heard of them +most of the English are--simple." + +He laughed and held out his hand. "What's that for?" she asked +suspiciously. + +"To our friendship." + +"I never saw the likes of you in all me life." + +"Come--Peg." + +"I don't think it's necessary." + +"Come!" + +She looked into his eyes: They were fixed upon her. Without quite +knowing why she found herself giving him her hand. + +He grasped it firmly. + +"Friends, Peg?" + +"Not yet now," she answered half defiantly, half frightenedly. + +"I'll wager we will be." + +"Don't put much on it, ye might lose." + +"I'll stake my life on it." + +"Ye don't value it much, then." + +"More than I did. May you be very happy amongst us, Peg." + +A door slammed loudly in the distance. Peg distinctly heard her aunt's +voice and Alaric's. In a moment she became panic-stricken. She made one +bound for the stairs and sprang up them three at a time. At the top she +turned and warned him: + +"Don't tell any one ye saw me." + +"I won't," promised the astonished young man. + +But their secret was to be short-lived. + +As Peg turned, Ethel appeared at the top of the stairs and as she +descended, glaring at Peg, the unfortunate girl went down backwards +before her. At the same moment Mrs. Chichester and Alaric came in +through the door. + +They all greeted Jerry warmly. + +Mrs. Chichester was particularly gracious. "So sorry we were out. You +will stay to lunch?" + +"It is what I came for," replied Jerry heartily. He slipped his arm +through Alaric's and led him up to the windows: + +"Why, Al, your cousin is adorable!" he said enthusiastically. + +"What?" Alaric gasped in horror. "You've met her?" + +"Indeed I have. And we had the most delightful time together. I want to +see a great deal of her while she's here." + +"You're joking?" remarked Alaric cautiously. + +"Not at all. She has the frank honest grip on life that I like better +than anything in mankind or womankind. She has made me a convert to +Home Rule already." + +The luncheon-gong sounded in the distance. Alaric hurried to the door: + +"Come along, every one! Lunch!" + +"Thank goodness," cried Jerry, joining him. "I'm starving." + +Peg came quietly from behind the newell post, where she had been +practically hidden, and went straight to Jerry and smiling up at him, +her eyes dancing with amusement, said: + +"So am I starvin' too. I've not had a bite since six." + +"Allow me," and Jerry offered her his arm. + +Mrs. Chichester quickly interposed. + +"My niece is tired after her journey. She will lunch in her room." + +"Oh, but I'm not a bit tired," ejaculated Peg anxiously. "I'm not tired +at all, and I'd much rather have lunch down here with Mr. Jerry." + +The whole family were aghast. + +Ethel looked indignantly at Peg. + +Mrs. Chichester ejaculated: "What?" + +Alaric, almost struck dumb, fell back upon: "Well, I mean to say!" + +"And you SHALL go in with Mr. Jerry," said that young gentleman, +slipping Peg's arm through his own. Turning to Mrs. Chichester he asked +her: "With your permission we will lead the way. Come--Peg," and he led +her to the door and opened it. + +Peg looked up at him, a roguish light dancing in her big expressive +eyes. + +"Thanks. I'm not so sure about that wager of yours. I think yer life is +safe. I want to tell ye ye've saved mine." She put one hand gently on +her little stomach and cried: "I am so hungry me soul is hangin' by a +thread." + +Laughing gaily, the two new-found friends went in search of the +dining-room. + +The Chichester family looked at each other. + +It seemed that the fatal first day of June was to be a day of shocks. + +"Disgraceful!" ventured Ethel. + +"Awful!" said the stunned Alaric. + +"She must be taken in hand and at once!" came in firm tones from Mrs. +Chichester. "She must never be left alone again. Come quickly before +she can disgrace us any further to-day." + +The unfortunate family, following in the wake of Peg and Jerry, found +them in the dining-room chattering together like old friends. He was +endeavouring to persuade Peg to try an olive. She yielded just as the +family arrived. She withdrew the olive in great haste and turning to +Jerry said: "Faith, there's nothin' good about it but it's colour!" In +a few moments she sat down to the first formal meal is the bosom of the +Chichester family. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PASSING OF THE FIRST MONTH + + +The days that followed were never-to-be-forgotten ones for Peg. Her +nature was in continual revolt. The teaching of her whole lifetime she +was told to correct. Everything she SAID, everything she LOOKED, +everything she DID was wrong. + +Tutors were engaged to prepare her for the position she might one day +enjoy through her dead uncle's will. They did not remain long. She +showed either marked incapacity to acquire the slightest veneer of +culture--else it was pure wilfulness. + +The only gleams of relief she had were on the occasions when Jerry +visited the family. Whenever they could avoid Mrs. Chichester's +watchful eyes they would chat and laugh and play like children. She +could not understand him--he was always discovering new traits in her. +They became great friends. + +Her letters to her father were, at first, very bitter, regarding her +treatment by the family. Indeed so resentful did they become that her +father wrote to her in reply urging her, if she was so unhappy, to at +once return to him on the next steamer. But she did NOT. Little by +little the letters softened. Occasionally, toward the end of that first +month they seemed almost contented. Her father marvelled at the cause. + +The month she had promised to stay was drawing to an end. But one more +day remained. It was to be a memorable one for Peg. + +Jerry had endeavoured at various times to encourage her to study. He +would question her, and chide her and try to stimulate her. One day he +gave her a large, handsomely-bound volume and asked her to read it at +odd times and he would examine her in it when she had mastered its +contents. She opened it wonderingly and found it to be "Love Stories of +the World." + +It became Peg's treasure. She kept it hidden from every one in the +house. She made a cover for it out of a piece of cloth so that no one +could see the ornate binding. She would read it at night in her room, +by day out in the fields or by the sea. But her favourite time and +place was in the living-room, every evening after dinner. She would +surround herself with books--a geography, a history of England, a huge +atlas, a treatise on simple arithmetic and put the great book in the +centre; making of it an island--the fount of knowledge. Then she would +devour it intently until some one disturbed her. The moment she heard +anyone coming she would cover it up quickly with the other books and +pretend to be studying. + +The book was a revelation to her. It gave all her imagination full +play. Through its pages treaded a stately procession of Kings and +Queens--Wagnerian heroes and heroines: Shakespearian creations, +melodious in verse; and countless others. It was indeed a +treasure-house. It took her back to the lives and loves of the +illustrious and passionate dead, and it brought her for the first time +to the great fount of poetry and genius. + +Life began to take on a different aspect to her. + +All her rebellious spirit would soften under the spell of her +imagination; and again all her dauntless spirit would assert itself +under the petty humiliations the Chichester family frequently inflicted +upon her. + +Next to Mrs. Chichester she saw Alaric the most. + +Although she could not actively dislike the little man her first +feeling of amusement wore off. He simply bored her now. He was no +longer funny. He seemed of so little account in the world. + +She saw but little of Ethel. They hardly spoke when they met. + +All through the month Christian Brent was a frequent visitor. + +If Peg only despised the Chichesters she positively loathed Brent, and +with a loathing she took no pains to conceal. + +On his part, Brent would openly and covertly show his admiration for +her. Peg was waiting for a really good chance to find out Mr. Brent's +real character. The opportunity came. + +On the night of the last day of the trial-month, Peg was in her +favourite position, lying face downward on a sofa, reading her +treasure, when she became conscious of dome one being in the room +watching her. She started up in a panic instinctively hiding the book +behind her. She found Brent staring down at her in open admiration. +Something in the intentness of his gaze caused her to spring to her +feet. He smiled a sickly smile. + +"The book must be absorbing. What is it?" he asked. + +Peg faced him, the book clasped in both of her hands behind her back; +her eyes flashing and her heart throbbing. Brent looked at her with +marked appreciation. "You mustn't be angry, child. What is it? Eh? +Something forbidden?" and he leered knowingly at her. Then he made a +quick snatch at the book, saying: + +"Show it me!" + +Peg ran across the room and turning up a corner of the carpet, put the +book under it, turned back the carpet, put her foot determinedly on it +and turned again to face her tormentor. + +Brent went rapidly across to her. The instinct of the chase was quick +in his blood. + +"A hiding-place, eh? NOW you make me really curious. Let me see." He +again made a movement toward the hidden book. + +Peg clenched both of her hands into little fists and glared at Brent, +while her breath came in quick, sharp gasps. She was prepared to defend +the identity of the book at any cost. + +"I love spirit!" cried Brent. + +Then he looked at her charming dress; at her stylish coiffure; at the +simple spray of flowers at her breast. He gave an ejaculation of +pleasure. + +"What a wonderful change in a month. You most certainly would not be +sent to the kitchen now. Do you know you have grown into a most +attractive young lady? You are really delightful angry. And you are +angry, aren't you? And with me, eh? I'm so sorry if I've offended you. +Let us kiss and be friends." He made an impulsive movement toward her +and tried to take her in his arms. Peg gave him a resounding box on the +ear. With a muffled ejaculation of anger and of pain he attempted to +seize her by the wrists, when the door opened and Ethel came into the +room. + +Peg, panting with fury, glared at them both for a moment and then +hurried out through the windows. + +Brent, gaining complete control of himself, turned to Ethel and, +advancing with outstretched hands, murmured: + +"My dear!" + +Ethel looked coldly at him, ignored the extended hands and asked: + +"Why did she run away?" Brent smiled easily and confidently: + +"I'd surprised one of her secrets and she flew into a temper. Did you +see her strike me?" He waited anxiously for her reply. + +"Secrets?" was all Ethel said. + +"Yes. See." He walked across to the corner and turned back the carpet +and kneeling down searched for the book, found it and held it up +triumphantly: + +"Here!" He stood up, and opened the book and read the title-page: + +"'Love Stories o f the World.' 'To Peg from Jerry.' Oho!" cried Mr. +Brent. "Jerry! Eh? No wonder she didn't want me to see it." + +He put the book back into its hiding-place and advanced to Ethel: + +"Jerry! So that's how the land lies. Romantic little child!" + +Ethel looked steadily at him as he came toward her. Something in her +look stopped him within a few feet of her. + +"Why don't you go after her?" and she nodded in the direction. Peg had +gone. + +"Ethel!" he cried, aghast. + +"She is new and has all the virtues." + +"I assure you" he began-- + +"You needn't. If there is one thing I am convinced of, it's your +assurance." + +"Really--Ethel--" + +"Were you 'carried away' again?" she sneered. + +"Do you think for one moment--" he stopped. + +"Yes, I do," answered Ethel positively. + +Brent hunted through his mind for an explanation. Finally he said +helplessly: + +"I--I--don't know what to say." + +"Then you'd better say nothing." + +"Surely you're not jealous--of a--a--child?" + +"No. I don't think it's JEALOUSY," said Ethel slowly. + +"Then what is it?" he asked eagerly. + +She looked scornfully at him: + +"Disgust!" She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously as he tried in +vain to find something to say. Then she went on: + +"Now I understand why the SCULLERY is sometimes the rival of the +DRAWING-ROOM. The love of change!" + +He turned away from her. He was hurt. Cut to the quick. + +"This is not worthy of you!" was all he said. + +"That is what rankles," replied Ethel. "It isn't. YOU'RE not." + +"Ethel!" he cried desperately. + +"If that ever happened again I should have to AMPUTATE YOU." + +Brent walked over to the window-seat where he had left his automobile +coat and cap and picked them up. + +Ethel watched him quietly. + +"Chris! Come here!" + +He turned to her. + +"There! It's over! I suppose I HAVE been a little hard on you. All +forgotten?" She held out her hand. He bent over it. + +"My nerves have been rather severely tried this past month," Ethel went +on. "Put a mongrel into a kennel of thoroughbreds, and they will either +destroy the intruder or be in a continual condition of unsettled, +irritated intolerance. That is exactly MY condition. I'm unsettled, +irritable and intolerant." + +Brent sat beside her and said softly: + +"Then I've come in time?" + +Ethel smiled as she looked right through him: + +"So did I, didn't I?" and she indicated the window through which Peg +ran after assaulting Brent. + +The young man sprang up reproachfully: + +"Don't! Please don't!" he pleaded. + +"Very well," replied Ethel complacently, "I won't." + +Brent was standing, head down, his manner was crestfallen. He looked +the realisation of misery and self-pity. + +"I'm sorry, Chris," remarked Ethel finally, after some moments had +passed. "A month ago it wouldn't have mattered so much. Just now--it +does. I'd rather looked forward to seeing you. It's been horrible here." + +"A month of misery for me, too," replied Brent, passionately. + +"I'm going away--out of it. To-morrow!" he added. + +"Are you?" she asked languidly. "Where?" + +"Petersburg--Moscow--Siberia--" + +"Oh! The COLD places" She paused, then asked "Going alone?" He knelt on +the sofa she was sitting on and whispered almost into her ear: + +"Unless someone--goes with me!" + +"Naturally," replied Ethel, quite unmoved. + +"Will--you--go?" And he waited breathlessly. + +She thought a moment, looked at him again, and said quietly: "Chris! I +wish I'd been here when you called--instead of that--BRAT." + +He turned away up again to the window-seat crying: + +"Oh! This is unbearable." + +Ethel said quite calmly: "Is it? Your wife all over again, eh?" + +He came back to her: "No. I place you far above her, far above all +petty suspicions and carping narrownesses. I value you as a woman of +understanding." + +"I am," she said frankly. "From what you've told me of your wife, SHE +must be too." + +"Don't treat me like this!" he pleaded distractedly. "What shall I do?" +asked Ethel with wide open eyes, "apologise? That's odd. I've been +waiting for YOU to." + +Brent turned away again with an impatient ejaculation. As he moved up +toward the windows Alaric came in behind him through the door. "Hello, +Brent," he called out heartily. "H'are ye?" + +"Very well, thank you, Alaric," he said, controlling his surprise. + +"Good. The dear wife well too?" + +"Very." + +"And the sweet child?" + +"Yes." + +"You must bring 'em along sometime. The mater would love to see them +and so would Ethel. Ethel loves babies, don't you, dear?" Without +waiting for Ethel to reply he hurried on: "And talkin' of BABIES, have +you seen MARGARET anywhere?" + +Ethel nodded in the direction of the garden: "Out there!" + +"Splendid. The mater wants her. We've got to have a family meetin' +about her and at once. Mater'll be here in a minute. Don't run away, +Brent," and Alaric hurried out through the windows into the garden. + +Brent hurried over to Ethel: + +"I'm at the hotel. I'll be there until morning. Send me a message, will +you? I'll wait up all night for one." He paused: "Will you?" + +"Perhaps," replied Ethel. "I'm sorry if anything I've said or done has +hurt you. Believe me it is absolutely and entirely unnecessary." + +"Don't say any more." + +"Oh, if only--" he made an impulsive movement toward her. She checked +him just as her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. At the same +moment Bennett, the maid, came in through the door. + +Mrs. Chichester greeted Brent courteously: + +"How do you do, Mr. Brent? You will excuse me?" She turned to the maid: + +"When did you see my niece last?" + +"Not this hour, madam." + +"Tell Jarvis to search the gardens--the stables--to look up and down +the road." + +"Yes, madam," and the maid hurried away in search of Jarvis. + +Mrs. Chichester turned again to her guest: + +"Pardon me--Mr. Brent." + +"I'm just leaving, Mrs. Chichester." + +"Oh, but you needn't--" expostulated that lady. + +"I'm going abroad to-morrow. I just called to say good-bye." + +"Indeed?" said Mrs. Chichester. "Well, I hope you and Mrs. Brent have a +very pleasant trip. You must both call the moment you return." + +"Thank you," replied Brent. "Good-bye, Mrs. Chichester--and--Ethel--" +He looked meaningly and significantly at Ethel as he stood in the +doorway. The next moment he was gone. + +Ethel was facing the problem of her future with no one to turn to and +ask for guidance. Her mother least of all. Mrs. Chichester had never +encouraged confidence between her children and herself, consequently, +any crisis they reached they had to either decide for themselves or +appeal to others. Ethel had to decide for herself between now and +to-morrow morning. Next day it would be too late. What was she to do? +Always loath to make up her mind until forced to, she decided to wait +until night. + +It might be that the something she was always expecting to snap in her +nature would do so that evening and save her the supreme effort of +taking the final step on her own initiative, and consequently having to +bear the full responsibility. Whilst these thoughts were passing +rapidly through her mind, Alaric hurried in through the windows from +the garden. + +"Not a sign of Margaret anywhere," he said furiously, throwing himself +into a chair and fanning himself vigorously. + +"This cannot go on," cried Mrs. Chichester. + +"I should think not indeed. Running about all over, the place." + +Mrs. Chichester held up an open telegram: + +"Mr. Hawkes telegraphs he will call to-morrow for his first report. +What can I tell him?" + +"What WILL you?" asked Alaric. + +"Am I to tell him that every tutor I've engaged for her resigned? Not +one stays more than a week. Can I tell him THAT?" + +"You could, mater dear: but would it be wise?" + +Mrs. Chichester went on: + +"Am I to tell him that no maid will stay with her? That she shows no +desire to improve? That she mimics and angers her teachers, refuses to +study and plays impish tricks like some mischievous little elf? Am I to +tell him THAT?" + +"Serve her jolly well right if you did. Eh, Ethel?" said Alaric. "It +would," replied Ethel. + +At that moment the footman and the maid both entered from the garden +very much out of breath. "I've searched everywhere, madam. Not a sign +of her," said Bennett. + +"Not in the stables, nor up or down the road. And the DOG'S missin', +madam," added Jarvis. + +Ethel sprang up. "'PET'?" + +"No, miss. SHE'S gnawin' a bone on the lawn. The OTHER." + +"That will do," and Mrs. Chichester dismissed them. + +As they disappeared through the door, the old lady said appealingly to +her children: + +"Where IS she?" + +"Heaven knows," said Alaric. + +"Oh, if I could only throw the whole business up." + +"Wish to goodness we COULD. But the monthly cheque will be useful +to-morrow, mater." + +"That's it! That's it!" cried the unhappy woman. + +"No one seems particularly anxious to snatch at MY services as yet," +said Alaric. "Course it's a dull time, Jerry tells me. But there we +are. Not tuppence comin' in and the butcher's to be paid--likewise the +other mouth-fillers. See where I'm comin'?" + +"Have I not lain awake at night struggling with it?" replied the poor +lady, almost on the verge of tears. + +"Well, I'll tell you what," said the hope of the family; "I'll tell you +what we'll do. Let's give the little beggar another month of it. Let +her off lightly THIS time, and the moment the lawyer-bird's gone, read +her the riot-act. Pull her up with a jerk. Ride her on the curb and NO +ROT!" + +"We could try," and Mrs. Chichester wiped her eyes: "Of course she HAS +improved in her manner. For THAT we have to thank Ethel." She looked +affectionately at her daughter and choked back a sob. "Who could live +near dear Ethel and NOT improve?" + +"Ah! There we have it!" agreed Alaric. + +"But I don't know how much of the improvement is genuine and how much +pretended," gasped his mother. + +"There we go again. She's got us fairly gravelled," said Alaric +despondently. + +"Of course I can truthfully tell him that, at times, she is very +tractable and obedient." + +"AT TIMES! About two minutes a week! When Jerry's around. How on earth +he puts up with her I can't understand. She follows him about like a +little dog. Listens to him. Behaves herself. But the moment he's +gone--Poof! back she goes to her old tricks. I tell you she's a freak!" +and Alaric dismissed the matter, and sat back fanning himself. + +"Can I tell Mr. Hawkes that?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +"No," replied Alaric. "But I WOULD say that the thousand a year is very +hardly earned. Nat ought to have made it ten thousand. Dirt cheap at +THAT. Tell him that out of respect for the dead man's wishes, we shall +continue the job and that on the whole we have HOPES. +SLIGHT--BUT--HOPES!" + +In through the open windows came the sound of dogs barking furiously. +Ethel sprang up crying: + +"'Pet!'" and hurried out into the garden. + +Mrs. Chichester and Alaric went to the windows and looked out. + +"Margaret!" cried Mrs. Chichester. + +"And the mongrel! She's urgin' him on. The terrier's got 'Pet' now." +Alaric called out to the little poodle: "Fight him, old girl! Maul him! +Woa there! 'Pet's' down. There is Ethel on the scene," he cried as +Ethel ran across the lawn and picked up the badly treated poodle. + +"Go and separate them," urged Mrs. Chichester. + +"Not me," replied Alaric. "Ethel can handle 'em. I hate the little +brutes. All hair and teeth. I cannot understand women coddling those +little messes of snarling, smelly wool." + +Ethel came indignantly into the room soothing the excited and ruffled +"Pet." She was flushed and very angry. How dare that brat let her +mongrel touch the aristocratic poodle? + +A moment later Peg entered with the victorious "Michael" cradled in her +arms. She had a roguish look of triumph in her eyes. Down the front of +her charming new dress were the marks of "Michael's" muddy paws. Peg +was also breathing quickly, and evidently more than a little excited. + +"Take that animal out of the room!" cried Mrs. Chichester indignantly +the moment Peg appeared. + +Peg turned and walked straight out into the garden and began playing +with "Michael" on the grass. + +Mrs. Chichester waited for a few moments, then called out to her: + +"Margaret!" Then more sharply: "Margaret! Come here! Do you hear me?" + +Peg went on playing with "Michael" and just answered: "I hear ye." + +"Come here at once!" + +"Can 'Michael' come in too?" came from the garden. + +"You come in and leave that brute outside." + +"If 'Michael' can't come in, I don't want to," obstinately insisted Peg. + +"Do as I tell you. Come here," commanded her aunt. Peg tied "Michael" +to one of the French windows and then went slowly into the room and +stood facing her aunt. + +"Where have you been?" asked that lady. + +"Down to the say-shore," replied Peg indifferently. + +"Haven't I told you NEVER to go out ALONE?" + +"Ye have." + +"How dare you disobey me?" + +"Sure I had to." + +"You HAD to?" + +"I did." + +"And WHY?" + +"'Michael' needed a bath, so I took him down to the say-shore an' gave +him one. He loves the wather, he does." + +"Are there no SERVANTS?" + +"There ARE sure." + +"Isn't that THEIR province?" + +"Mebbe. But they hate 'Michael' and I hate THEM. I wouldn't let them +touch him." + +"In other words you WILFULLY disobeyed me?" + +"I did." + +"Is this the way MY NIECE should behave?" + +"Mebbe not. It's the way _I_ behave though." + +"So my wishes count for nothing?" + +The old lady looked so hurt as well as so angry that Peg softened and +hastened to try and make it up with her aunt: + +"Sure yer wishes DO count with me, aunt. Indade they do." + +"Don't say INDADE. There is no such word. Indeed!" corrected Mrs. +Chichester. + +"I beg your pardon, aunt. INDEED they do." + +"Look at your dress!" suddenly cried Mrs. Chichester as she caught +sight of the marks of "MICHAEL'S" playfulness. + +Peg looked at the stains demurely and said cheerfully "'MICHAEL' did +that. Sure they'll come off." + +Mrs. Chichester looked at the flushed face of the young girl, at the +mass of curly hair that had been carefully dressed by Bennett for +dinner and was now hovering around her eyes untidily. The old lady +straightened it: + +"Can you not keep your hair out of your eyes? What do you think will +become of you?" + +"I hope to go to Heaven, like all good Catholics," said Peg. + +Mrs. Chichester turned away with a gesture of despair. + +"I give it up! I give it up!" she said, half-crying. + +"I should say so," agreed Alaric. "Such rubbish!" + +Peg shook her head the moment Mrs. Chichester turned her back, and the +little red curls once more danced in front of her eyes. + +"I do everything I can, everything," complained Mrs. Chichester, "but +you--you--" she broke off. "I don't understand you! I don't understand +you!" + +"Me father always said that," cried Peg eagerly; "and if HE couldn't +sure how could any one else?" + +"Never mind your father," said Mrs. Chichester severely. Peg turned +away. + +"What IS it?" continued the old lady. "I say WHAT IS IT?" + +"What is WHAT?" asked Peg. + +"Is it that you don't wish to improve? Is it THAT?" + +"I'll tell ye what I think it is," began Peg helpfully, as if anxious +to reach some satisfactory explanation: "I think there's a little divil +in me lyin' there and every now and again he jumps out." + +"A devil?" cried Mrs. Chichester, horrified. + +"Yes, aunt," said Peg demurely. + +"How dare you use such a word to ME?" + +"I didn't. I used it about MESELF. I don't know whether you have a +divil in ye or not. I think I have." + +Mrs. Chichester silenced her with a gesture: + +"To-morrow I am to give Mr. Hawkes my first report on you." + +Peg laughed suddenly and then checked herself quickly. + +"And why did you do that?" asked her aunt severely. + +"I had a picture of what ye're goin' to tell him." + +"Your manners are abominable." + +"Yes, aunt." + +"What am I to tell Mr. Hawkes?" + +"Tell him the truth, aunt, and shame the divil." + +"Margaret!" and the old lady glared at her in horror. + +"I beg yer pardon," said Peg meekly. + +"Don't you wish to remain here?" continued Mrs. Chichester. + +"Sometimes I do, an' sometimes I don't." + +"Don't I do everything that is possible for you?" + +"Yes, ye do everything possible TO me--" + +"What?" + +"I mean--FOR ME. I should have said FOR me, aunt!" and Peg's blue eyes +twinkled mischievously. + +"Then why do you constantly disobey me?" pursued the old lady. + +"I suppose it is the original sin in me," replied Peg thoughtfully. + +"WHAT?" cried Mrs. Chichester again taken completely aback. + +"Oh, I say, you know! that's good! Ha!" and Alaric laughed heartily. +Peg joined in and laughed heartily with him. Alaric immediately stopped. + +Ethel took absolutely no notice of any one. + +Peg sat down beside her aunt and explained to her: + +"Whenever I did anythin' wilful or disturbin' as a child me father +always said it was the 'original sin' in me an' that I wasn't to be +punished for it because I couldn't help it. Then he used to punish +himself for MY fault. An' when I saw it hurt him I usen't to do it +again--for a while--at least. I think that was a grand way to bring up +a daughter. I've been wonderin' since I've been here if an aunt could +bring a niece up the same way." And she looked quizzically at Mrs. +Chichester. + +"Supposin', for instance, YOU were to punish yerself for everythin' +wrong that I'd do, I might be so sorry I'd never do it again--but of +course I might NOT. I am not sure about meself. I think me father knows +me betther than I do meself." + +"Your father must have been a very bad influence on you," said Mrs. +Chichester sternly. + +"No, he wasn't," contradicted Peg, hotly. "Me father's the best man--" + +Mrs. Chichester interrupted her: "Margaret!" + +Peg looked down sullenly and said: "Well, he was." + +"Haven't I TOLD you never to CONTRADICT me?" + +"Well, YOU contradict ME all the time." + +"Stop!" + +"Well, there's nothin' fair about your conthradictin' ME and ME not +being able to--" + +"Will you stop?" + +"Well, now, aunt, ye will do me a favour if you will stop spakin' about +me father the way you do. It hurts me, it does. I love my father +and--I--I--" + +"WILL--YOU--STOP?" + +"I have stopped." And Peg sank back in her chair, breathing hard and +her little fists punching against each other. + +Her aunt then made the following proposition: "If I consent to take +charge of you for a further period, will you promise me you will do +your best to show some advancement during the next month?" + +"Yes, aunt," said Peg readily. + +"And if I get fresh tutors for you, will you try to keep them?" + +"Yes, aunt." + +Mrs. Chichester questioned Alaric. "What do you think?" + +"We might risk it," replied Alaric, turning to his sister: "Eh, Ethel?" + +"Don't ask me," was Ethel's reply. + +"Very well," said Mrs. Chichester determinedly, "Begin to-night." + +"Begin what" queried Peg, full of curiosity. + +"To show that you mean to keep your promise. Work for a while." + +"What at?" asked Peg, all eagerness to begin something. + +"Get your books," said her aunt. + +"Sure an' I will." And Peg turned to different parts of the room, +finding an atlas here, a book of literature on the piano, an English +history under the table. Finally she got them complete and sat down at +the big table and prepared to study. + +Jarvis came in with a letter on a salver. + +"Well?" asked the old lady. + +"For Miss Chichester, madam," and he handed Ethel the letter. "By hand, +miss." + +Ethel took the letter quite unconsciously and opened it. Whilst she was +reading it, Peg called the footman over to her. + +"Jarvis," she said, "me dog 'MICHAEL' is outside there, tied up to the +door. He's had a fight an' he's tired. Will ye put him to bed for me +like a good boy?" + +Jarvis went out disgustedly, untied the dog and put him in the kennel +that had been specially made for him. + +Poor Jarvis's life this last month had been most unhappy. The smooth +and peaceful order of things in the house had departed. The coming of +the "niece" had disturbed everything. Many were the comments below +stairs on the intruder. The following is an example of the manner in +which Peg was regarded by the footman and Mrs. Chichester's own maid, +Bennett. + +"A NIECE!" cried Bennett, sarcastically, just after Peg's arrival. + +"So they SAY!" retorted Jarvis, mysteriously. + +"What do you make of her?" + +"Well, every family I've served and my mother before me, had a family +skeleton. SHE is OURS." + +"Why, she hadn't a rag to her back when she came here. I'd be ashamed +to be dressed as she was. You should have seen the one she goes to Mass +in!" + +"I did," said Jarvis indignantly. "All wrapped up in the 'Irish Times.' +Then I got ragged for putting her in the kitchen. Looked too good for +her. And that dog! Can't go near it without it trying to bite me. I +don't approve of either of 'em comin' into a quiet family like ours." + +Just then the bell called him to the drawing-room and further +discussion of Peg and "MICHAEL" was deferred to a more suitable +opportunity. + +To return--Ethel read her letter and went to the writing-desk to reply +to it. "Who is it from?" asked Mrs. Chichester. + +"Mr. Brent," replied Ethel, indifferently. + +"Brent?" cried Alaric. "What on earth does he write to YOU for?" + +"He wants me to do something for him," and she tore the letter up into +the smallest pieces and placed them in a receptacle on the desk. + +"Do something?" questioned Alaric. + +"Yes. Nothing very much. I'll answer it here," and she proceeded quite +imperturbably to write an answer. + +Mrs. Chichester had seen that Peg had commenced to study--which +meant--with Peg--roaming through her books until she found something +that interested her. Then she would read it over and over again until +she thought she knew it. + +"Come, Alaric," and Mrs. Chichester left the room after admonishing Peg +that an hour would be sufficient to sit up. Alaric watched his mother +go out of the room and then he slouched over to Peg and grinned +chaffingly down at her. + +"ORIGINAL-SIN, eh? That's a good 'un." + +Peg looked up at him and a dangerous gleam came into her eyes. Alaric +was not going to mock at her and get away unscathed. All unconscious of +his danger, Alaric went on: + +"Study all the pretty maps and things." + +Peg closed the book with a slam and took it up and held it in a +threatening manner as she glared at Alaric. + +"Little devil!" and Alaric laughed at her. + +"He's tuggin' at me now!" replied Peg. "The devil must hate knowledge. +He always tries to keep ME from gettin' any." + +Alaric laughed again maliciously. "Watch your cousin! Model yourself on +Ethel! Eh? What?" + +Peg hurled the book at him; he dodged it and it just escaped hitting +Ethel, who turned at the disturbance. + +Alaric hurried out to avoid any further conflict--calling back over his +shoulder: + +"Little devil." + +Peg picked up the book, looked at Ethel, who had finished the letter +and had put it into an unaddressed envelope. She took a cigarette out +of her case and lit it neatly. + +Peg took one out of the box on the table and lit it clumsily, though in +exact imitation of Ethel. + +When Ethel had addressed the envelope she turned and saw Peg smoking, +sitting on the edge of the table, watching Ethel with a mischievous +twinkle in her eye. + +Ethel impatiently threw her cigarette on to the ash tray on the desk. + +Peg did the same action identically into a tray on the table. + +Ethel rose indignantly and faced Peg. + +"Why do you watch me?" + +"Aunt told me to. Aren't ye me model? I'm to mould meself on you, sure!" + +Ethel turned away furiously and began to ascend the stairs. + +Peg followed her and called up to her: + +"May I talk to ye?" + +"You were told to study," replied Ethel, angrily. + +"Won't ye let me talk to ye? Please, do!" urged Peg. Then she went on: +"Ye haven't said a kind wurrd to me since I've been here." She stopped +a moment. Ethel said nothing. Peg continued: "Sure, we're both girls, +in the same house, of the same family, an' pretty much the same age, +and yet ye never look at me except as if ye hated me. Why, ye like yer +dog betther than you do ME, don't ye?" + +Ethel looked down at "Pet" and fondled her and kissed her. + +"I'm sorry 'Michael' hurt him. It was a cowardly thing of 'Michael' to +do to snap at a little bit of a thing like that is. But it wasn't +'Michael's' fault. _I_ set him on to it, an' he always obeys me. He'd +bite a lion or THAT"--and she pointed to the poor little poodle--"if I +set him onto it." + +"You made him attack 'Pet'?" cried Ethel. + +"I did. I hate it. It's so sleek and fat and well-bred. I hate fat, +well-bred things. I like them thin and common, like 'Michael' and +meself. A dog should be made to look like a dog if it is a dog. No one +could mistake 'Michael' for anything else BUT a dog, but THAT thing--" + +Ethel gave an indignant ejaculation and again started to go upstairs. + +Peg entreated her: + +"Don't go for a minnit. Won't ye make friends with me?" + +"We've nothing in common," replied Ethel. + +"Sure, that doesn't prevent us bein' dacent to each other, does it?" + +"DECENT?" cried Ethel in disgust. + +"I'll meet ye three quarthers o' the way if ye'll show just one little +generous feelin' toward me." She paused as she looked pleadingly at +Ethel: "Ye would if ye knew what was in me mind." + +Ethel came down to the last step of the stairs and stood there looking +down searchingly at Peg. Finally she said: + +"You're a strange creature." + +"Not at all. It's you people here who are strange--I'm just what I am. +I don't pretend or want to be anythin' else. But you--all of you--seem +to be trying to be somethin' different to what ye are." + +"What do you mean?" asked Ethel suspiciously. + +"Oh, I watch ye and listen to ye," went on Peg eagerly. "Ye turn yer +face to the wurrld as much as to say, 'Look at me! aren't I the +beautiful, quiet, well-bred, aisy-goin', sweet-tempered young lady?' +An' yer nothin' o' the kind, are ye?" + +Ethel went slowly over to Peg and looked into her eyes: + +"What am I?" + +"Sure ye've got the breedin' all right, an' the nice-looks, an' the +beautiful manners--but down in yer heart an' up in yer brain ye're +worryin' yer little soul all the time, aren't ye?" And Peg paused. +Ethel looked down. Peg after a moment continued: "An' ye've got a +temper just as bad as mine. It's a beautiful temper ye have, Ethel. +It's a shame not to let a temper like that out in the daylight now and +again. But ye kape it out o' sight because it isn't good form to show +it. An' with all yer fine advantages ye're not a bit happy, are ye? Are +ye, Ethel?" + +Ethel, moved in spite of herself, admitted involuntarily: "No. I'm not!" + +Peg went on quietly: "Nor am I--in this house. Couldn't we try and +comfort each other?" There was a look of genuine sympathy with Ethel in +Peg's big blue eyes and a note of tender entreaty in her tone. + +"Comfort? YOU--comfort ME?" cried Ethel, in disdain. + +"Yes, Ethel dear, ME comfort YOU, They say 'a beautiful thought makes a +beautiful face'; an' by the same token, sure a kind action gives ye a +warm feelin' around the heart. An' ye might have that if ye'd only be a +little kind to me--sometime." + +Peg's honest sincerity and depth of feeling had suddenly a marked +effect on the, apparently, callous Ethel. She turned to Peg and there +was a different expression entirely in her look and tone as she said: + +"I'm afraid I have been a little inconsiderate." + +"Ye have, sure," said Peg. + +"What would you like me to do?" + +"I'd like ye to spake to me sometimes as though I were a human bein' +an' not a clod o' earth." + +"Very well, Margaret, I will. Good night." And feeling the matter was +closed, Ethel again turned away to leave the room. + +"Will ye give me another minnit--NOW--PLEASE," called Peg, after her, +excitedly. + +Ethel looked at the letter in her hand, hesitated, then re-entered the +room and went down to Peg and said gently: + +"All right" + +"Only just a minnit," repeated Peg, breathlessly. + +"What do you want, Margaret?" + +"I want ye to tell me somethin'." + +"What is it?" + +Peg paused--looked at Ethel bashfully--dropped her eyes to the +ground--took a deep breath--then said as fast as she could speak: + +"Do ye know anything about--about LOVE?" + +"Love?" echoed Ethel, very much astonished. + +"Yes," said Peg. "Have ye ever been in love?" and she wanted +expectantly for Ethel's answer. + +Ethel put the letter she had just written to Mr. Brent slowly behind +her back and answered coldly: + +"No. I have not." + +"Have ye ever THOUGHT about it?" + +"Yes." + +"WHAT do ye think about it?" questioned Peg eagerly. + +"Rot!" replied Ethel, decidedly. + +"ROT? ROT?" cried Peg, unable to believe her ears. + +"Sentimental nonsense that only exists in novels." + +"Ye're wrong!" insisted the anxious Peg; "ye're wrong. It's the most +wondherful thing in the wurrld!" + +Ethel brought the letter up to her eyes and read the superscription. +"Think so?" she asked calmly. + +"I do," cried Peg hotly. "I do. It's the most wondherful thing in the +whole wurrld. To love a good man, who loves you. A man that made ye hot +and cold by turns: burnin' like fire one minnit an' freezin' like ice +the next. Who made yer heart leap with happiness when he came near ye, +an' ache with sorrow when he went away from ye. Haven't ye ever felt +like that, Ethel?" + +"Never!" replied Ethel, positively. + +Peg went on: "Oh! it's mighty disturbin', I'm tellin' ye. Sometimes ye +walk on air, an' at others yer feet are like lead. An' at one time the +wurrld's all beautiful flowers and sweet music and grand poetry--an' at +another it's all coffins, an' corpses, an' shrouds." She shook her head +seriously: "Oh! I tell ye it's mighty disturbin'." + +Ethel looked at her inquiringly: + +"How do you know this?" + +Peg grew confused, then answered hurriedly: + +"I've been readin' about it--in a book. It's wondherful--that's what it +is." + +"When you're a little older you will think differently," corrected +Ethel, severely. "You will realise then that it is all very primitive." + +"PRIMITIVE?" asked Peg, disappointedly. + +"Of the earth--earthy," answered Ethel. + +Peg thought a moment: "Sure I suppose _I_ am then." She looked +half-shyly at Ethel and asked her quietly: "Don't you like men?" + +"Not much," answered Ethel, indifferently. + +"Just dogs?" persisted Peg. + +"You can trust THEM," and Ethel caressed "PET'S" little pink snout. + +"That's thrue," agreed Peg. "I like dogs, too. But I like children +betther. Wouldn't ye like to have a child of yer own, Ethel?" + +That young lady looked at her horrifiedly: "MARGARET!" + +"Well, _I_ would," said Peg. "That's the rale woman in us. Ye know ye +only fondle that animal because ye haven't got a child of yer own to +take in yer arms. Sure that's the reason all the selfish women have pet +dogs. They're afraid to have childhren. I've watched them! O' course a +dog's all very well, but he can't talk to ye, an' comfort ye, an' cry +to ye, an' laugh to ye like a child can." + +Peg paused, then pointed to "PET" and launched the following wonderful +statement: + +"Sure THAT thing could never be President of the United States. But if +ye had a baby he might grow up to it." + +"That's very IRISH," sneered Ethel. + +"Faith I think it's very human," answered Peg. "I wish ye had some more +of it, Ethel, acushla." Ethel walked away as though to dismiss the +whole subject. It was most distasteful to her: + +"It is not customary for girls to talk about such things." + +"I know it isn't," said Peg. "An' the more's the pity. Why shouldn't we +discuss events of national importance? We THINK about them--very well! +why shouldn't we TALK about them. Why shouldn't girls be taught to be +honest with each other? I tell ye if there was more honesty in this +wurrld there wouldn't be half the sin in it, that there wouldn't." + +"Really--" began Ethel-- + +"Let US be honest with each other, Ethel," and Peg went right over to +her and looked at her compassionately. + +"What do ye mean?" said Ethel with a sudden contraction of her breath. + +"You like Mr. Brent, don't ye?" + +So! the moment had come. The little spy had been watching her. Well, +she would fight this common little Irish nobody to the bitter end. All +the anger in her nature surged uppermost as Ethel answered Peg--but she +kept her voice under complete control and once more put the letter +behind her back. + +"Certainly I like Mr. Brent. He is a very old friend of the family!" + +"He's got a wife?" + +"He has!" + +"An' a baby?" + +"Yes--and a baby." Ethel was not going to betray herself. She would +just wait and see what course this creature was going to take with her. + +Peg went on: + +"Of course I've never seen the wife or the baby because he never seems +to have them with him when he calls here. But I've often heard Alaric +ask afther them." + +"Well?" asked Ethel coldly. + +"Is it usual for English husbands with babies to kiss other women's +hands?" and Peg looked swiftly at her cousin. + +Ethel checked an outburst and said quite calmly: + +"It is a very old and a very respected custom." + +"The devil doubt it but it's OLD. I'm not so sure about the RESPECT. +Why doesn't he kiss me AUNT'S hand as well?" + +Ethel went quickly to the staircase. She could not control herself much +longer. It was becoming unbearable. As she crossed the room she said +with as little heat as possible: + +"You don't understand." + +"Well, but I'm thryin' to," persisted Peg. "That's why I watch YE all +the time." + +Ethel turned: she was now at bay: + +"YOU WATCH ME?" + +"Aren't ye me model?" + +"It's contemptible!" cried Ethel. + +"Sure I only saw the 'OLD and RESPECTED CUSTOM' by, accident--when I +came in through THERE a month ago--an' once since when I came in again +by accident--a few days aftherwards. I couldn't help seein' it both +times. And as for bein' CONTEMPTIBLE I'm not so sure the CUSTOM doesn't +deserve all the CONTEMPT." + +Ethel was now thoroughly aroused: + +"I suppose it is too much to expect that a child of the COMMON people +should understand the customs of DECENT people." + +"Mebbe it is," replied Peg. "But I don't see why the COMMON PEOPLE +should have ALL the decency and the aristocracy NONE." + +"It is impossible to talk to you. I was foolish to have stayed here. +You don't understand: you never could understand--" + +Peg interrupted: + +"Why, I never saw ye excited before:--not a bit of colour in yer cheeks +till now--except TWICE. Ye look just as ye did when Mr. Brent followed +that OLD and RESPECTED custom on yer hand," cried Peg. + +Ethel answered, this time, excitedly and indignantly, giving full and +free vent to her just anger: + +"Be good enough never to speak to me again as long as you're in this +house. If I had MY way you'd leave it this moment. As it is--as it +is--" her voice rose almost to a scream: her rage was unbridled. + +What more she might have said was checked by the door opening and +Jarvis showing in Jerry. + +Jerry walked cheerfully and smilingly into the roam and was amazed to +find the two young ladies glaring at each other and apparently in the +midst of a conflict. + +All power of speech left him as he stood looking in amazement at the +combatants. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP + + +Ethel was the first to recover her equanimity. + +She came down the steps, greeted Jerry with a genial handshake, asked +to be excused for a moment, and after halting the departing Jarvis she +went over to the writing-desk, opened the envelope, added a postscript, +addressed a new envelope, put the augmented epistle inside it, sealed +it, handed it to Jarvis, saying: + +"Send that at once. No answer." + +As Jarvis left the room, Ethel turned to speak to Jerry. Meanwhile, +that young gentleman had greeted Peg: + +"And how is Miss Peg this evening?" + +"I'm fine, Mr. Jerry, thank ye." She looked at him admiringly. He was +in evening dress, a light overcoat was thrown across his arm and a +Homburg hat in his hand. + +"Let me take your hat and coat?" she suggested. + +"No, thank you," said Jerry, "I'm not going to stay." + +"Aren't ye?" she asked disappointedly. + +"Is your aunt in?" + +"Yes, she's in. Is it HER ye've come to see?" + +"Yes," replied Jerry. + +At that moment Ethel joined them. + +"I came over to ask Mrs. Chichester's permission for you two young +ladies to go to a dance to-night. It's just across from here at the +assembly rooms." + +Peg beamed joyfully. It was just what she wanted to do. Ethel viewed +the suggestion differently: "It's very kind of you," she said; "but +it's quite impossible." + +"Oh!" ejaculated Peg. + +"Impossible?" exclaimed Jerry. + +"I'm sorry," and Ethel went to the door. + +"So am I," replied Jerry regretfully. "I would have given you longer +notice only it was made up on the spur of the moment. Don't you think +you could?" + +"I don't care for dancing. Besides,--my head aches." + +"What a pity," exclaimed the disappointed young man. Then he said +eagerly: "Do you suppose your mother would allow Miss Margaret to go?" + +"I'll ask her," and Ethel left the room. + +Peg ran across, stopped the door from closing and called after Ethel: + +"I didn't mean to hurt ye--indade I didn't. I wanted to talk to ye, +that was all--an' ye made me angry--" Ethel disappeared without even +turning her head. + +Peg came into the room ruefully, and sat down on the sofa. She was +thoroughly unhappy. + +Jerry looked at her a moment, walked over to her and asked her: "What's +the matter?" + +"One of us girls has been brought-up all wrong. I tried to make friends +with her just now and only made her angry, as I do every one in this +house whenever I open my mouth." + +"Aren't you friends?" + +"Indade--INDEED--INDEED--we're NOT. None of them are with me." + +"What a shame!" + +"Wait until ye hear what me aunt says when ye ask her about the dance!" + +"Don't you think she'll let you go?" + +"No. I do NOT." She looked at him quizzically for a moment. Then she +burst out laughing. He was glad to see her spirits had returned and +wondered as to the cause. She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with +mischief: + +"Misther Jerry, will ye take me all the same if me aunt doesn't +consent?" + +"Why, Peg--" he began, astonishedly. + +"But I haven't got an evenin' dress. Does it matter?" + +"Not in the least, but--" + +"Will this one do?" + +"It's very charming--still--" + +"Stains and all?" + +"My dear Peg--" + +"Perhaps they'll rub out. It's the prettiest one me aunt gave me--an' I +put it on to-night--because--I thought you--that is, SOMEONE might come +here to-night. At least, I HOPED he would, an' ye've come!" Suddenly +she broke out passionately: "Oh, ye must take me! Ye must! I haven't +had a bit of pleasure since I've been here. It will be wondherful. +Besides I wouldn't rest all night with you dancin' over there an' me a +prisoner over here." + +"Now, Peg--" he tried to begin-- + +"It's no use, I tell ye. Ye've GOT to take me. An' if it goes against +yer conscience to do it, I'LL take YOU. Stop, now! Listen! The moment +they're all in bed, an' the lights are all out I'll creep down here an' +out through those windows an' you'll meet me at the foot o' the path. +An' it's no use ye sayin' anythin' because I'm just goin' to that +dance. So make up yer mind to it." Jerry laughed uncomfortably. She was +quite capable of doing such a thing and getting herself into a great +deal of unnecessary trouble. So he tried to dissuade her. He laughed +cheerfully. + +"There may not be any occasion to do such a wild, foolish thing. Why, +your aunt may be delighted." + +"ME aunt has never been DELIGHTED since she was born!" + +"Have you been annoying her again?" + +"Faith, I'm always doin' that." + +He looked at the litter of books on the table and picked up one. + +"How are your studies progressing?" + +"Just the way they always have," replied Peg. "Not at all." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't like studying," answered Peg earnestly. + +"And are you going through life doing only the things you LIKE?" + +"Sure, that's all life's for." + +"Oh, no, it isn't. As you grow older you'll find the only real +happiness in life is in doing things for others." + +"Oh!" she said quickly: "I like doin' them NOW for others." She looked +up at him a moment, then down at a book and finished under, her breath: +"When I LIKE the OTHERS." + +He looked at her intently a moment and was just going to speak when she +broke in quickly: + +"What's the use of learnin' the heights of mountains whose names I +can't pronounce and I'm never goin' to climb? And I'm very much +surprised at me aunt allowin' me to read about the doin's of a lot of +dead kings who did things we ought to thry and forget." + +"They made history," said Jerry. "Well, they ought to have been ashamed +of themselves. I don't care how high Mont Blanc is nor when William the +Conqueror landed in England." + +"Oh, nonsense!" reasoned Jerry-- + +"I tell ye I HATE English history. It makes all me Irish blood boil." +Suddenly she burst into a reproduction of the far-off father, suiting +action to word and climaxing at the end, as she had so often heard him +finish: + +"'What IS England? What is it, I say. I'll tell ye! A mane little bit +of counthry thramplin' down a fine race like OURS!' That's what me +father sez, and that's the way he sez it. An' when he brings his fist +down like that--" and she showed Jerry exactly how her father did +it--"when he brings his fist down like THAT, it doesn't matther how +many people are listenin' to him, there isn't one dares to conthradict +him. Me father feels very strongly about English History. An' I don't +want to learn it." + +"Is it fair to your aunt?" asked Jerry. + +Peg grew sullen and gloomy. She liked to be praised, but all she ever +got in that house was blame. And now he was following the way of the +others. It was hard. No one understood her. + +"Is it fair to your aunt?" he repeated. + +"No. I don't suppose it is." + +"Is it fair to yourself?" + +"That's right--scold me, lecture me! You sound just like me aunt, ye +do." + +"But you'll be at such a disadvantage by-and-by with other young ladies +without half your intelligence just because they know things you refuse +to learn. Then you'll be ashamed." + +She looked at him pleadingly. "Are YOU ashamed of me? Because I'm +ignorant? Are ye?" + +"Not a bit," replied Jerry heartily. "I was just the same at your age. +I used to scamp at school and shirk at college until I found myself so +far behind fellows I despised that _I_ was ashamed. Then I went after +them tooth and nail until I caught them up and passed them." + +"Did ye?" cried Peg eagerly. + +"I did." + +"I will, too," she said. + +"WILL you?" + +She nodded vigorously: + +"I will--INDEED I will. From now on I'll do everythin' they tell me an' +learn everythin' they teach me, if it kills me!" + +"I wish you would," he said seriously. + +"An' when I pass everybody else, an' know more than anyone EVER +knew--will ye be very proud of me?" + +"Yes, Peg. Even more than I am now." + +"Are ye NOW?" + +"I am. Proud to think you are my friend." + +"Ye'd ha' won yer wager. We ARE friends, aren't we?" + +"I am YOURS." + +"Sure, I'm YOURS ALL RIGHT." + +She looked at him, laughed shyly and pressed her cheeks. He was +watching her closely. + +"What are you laughing at?" he asked. + +"Do ye know what Tom Moore wrote about Friendship?" + +"No." + +"Shall I tell ye?" excitedly. + +"Do." + +"See if anywan's comin' first." As he looked around the room and +outside the door to detect the advent of an intruder Peg sat at the +piano and played very softly the prelude to an old Irish song. + +As Jerry walked back he said surprisedly: "Oh! so you play?" + +Peg nodded laughingly. + +"Afther a fashion. Me father taught me. Me aunt can't bear it. An' the +teacher in the house said it was DREADFUL and that I must play scales +for two years more before I thry a tune. She said I had no ear." + +Jerry laughed as he replied: "I think they're very pretty." + +"DO ye? Well watch THEM an' mebbe ye won't mind me singin' so much. An' +afther all ye're only a farmer, aren't ye?" + +"Hardly that," and Jerry laughed again. + +Her fingers played lightly over the keys for a moment. + +"This is called 'A Temple to Friendship,'" she explained. + +"Indeed?" + +"And it's about a girl who built a shrine and she thought she wanted to +put 'Friendship' into it. She THOUGHT she wanted 'Friendship.' Afther a +while she found out her mistake. Listen:" And Peg sang, in a pure, +tremulous little voice that vibrated with feeling the following: + + "'A temple to Friendship,' said Laura enchanted, + 'I'll build in this garden: the thought is divine!' + Her temple was built and she now only wanted + An Image of Friendship to place on the shrine. + + She flew to a sculptor who set down before her + A Friendship the fairest his art could invent! + But so cold and so dull that the Youthful adorer + Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. + + 'Oh! never,' she cried, 'could I think of enshrining + An image whose looks are so joyless and dim-- + But yon little god (Cupid) upon roses reclining, + We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him.' + + So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden + She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: + 'Farewell,' said the sculptor, 'you're not the first maiden + Who came but for Friendship and took away--Love.'" + +She played the refrain softly after she had finished the song. +Gradually the last note died away. + +Jerry looked at her in amazement. + +"Where in the world did you learn that?" + +"Me father taught it to me," replied Peg simply. "Tom Moore's one of me +father's prayer-books." + +Jerry repeated as though to himself: + +"'Who came but for FRIENDSHIP and took away LOVE!'" + +"Isn't that beautiful?" And Peg's face had a rapt expression as she +looked up at Jerry. + +"Do you believe it?" he asked. + +"Didn't Tom Moore write it?" she answered. + +"Is there anything BETTER than Friendship between man and woman?" + +She nodded: + +"Indeed there is. Me father felt it for me mother or I wouldn't be here +now. Me father loved me mother with all his strength and all his soul." + +"Could YOU ever feel it?" he asked, and there was an anxious look in +his eyes as he waited for her to answer. + +She nodded. + +"HAVE you ever felt it?" he went on. + +"All me life," answered Peg in a whisper. + +"As a child, perhaps," remarked Jerry. "Some DAY it will come to you as +a woman and then the whole world will change for you." + +"I know," replied Peg softly. "I've felt it comin'." + +"Since when?" and once again suspense was in his voice. + +"Ever since--ever since--" suddenly she broke off breathlessly and +throwing her arms above her head as though in appeal she cried: + +"Oh, I do want to improve meself. NOW I wish I HAD been born a lady. +I'd be more worthy of--" + +"WHAT? WHOM?" asked Jerry urgently and waiting anxiously for her answer. + +Peg regained control of herself, and cowering down again on to the +piano-stool she went on hurriedly. + +"I want knowledge now. I know what you mean by bein' at a disadvantage. +I used to despise learnin'. I've laughed at it. I never will again. Why +I can't even talk yer language. Every wurrd I use is wrong. This book +ye gave me--the 'LOVE STORIES OF THE WORLD,' I've never seen anythin' +like it. I never knew of such people. I didn't dhream what a wondherful +power in the wurrld was the power of love. I used to think it somethin' +to kape to yerself and never spake of out in the open. Now I know it's +the one great big wondherful power in the wurrld. It's me love for me +father has kept faith and hope alive in me heart. I was happy with him. +I never wanted to lave him. Now I see there is another happiness, too +an' it's beyond me. I'm no one's equal. I'm just a little Irish +nothin'--" + +"Don't say that," Jerry interrupted. "There's an obstinate bad +something in me that holds me back every time I want to go forward. +Sometimes the good little somethin' tries so hard to win, but the bad +bates it. It just bates it, it does." + +"What you call the bad is the cry of youth that resents being curbed: +and the GOOD is the WOMAN in you struggling for an outlet," explained +Jerry. + +"Will you help me to give it an outlet, Mr. Jerry?" + +"In any way in my power, Peg." + +As they stood looking at each other the momentary something was +trembling on both their lips and beating in both of their hearts. The +something--old as time, yet new as birth--that great transmuter of +affection into love, of hope into faith. It had come to them--yet +neither dared speak. + +Peg read his silence wrongly. She blushed to the roots of her hair and +her heart beat fast with shame. She laughed a deliberately misleading +laugh and, looking up roguishly at him, said, her eyes dancing with +apparent mischief, though the tear lurked behind the lid: + +"Thank ye for promisin' to help me, Misther Jerry. But would ye mind +very much if the BAD little somethin' had one more SPURT before I +killed it altogether? Would ye?" + +"Why, how do you mean?" + +"Take me to that dance tonight--even without me aunt's permission, will +ye? I'll never forget ye for it if ye will. An' it'll be the last wrong +thing I'll ever do. I'm just burnin' all over at the thought of it. My +heart's burstin' for it." She suddenly hummed a waltz refrain and +whirled around the room, the incarnation of childish abandonment. + +Mrs. Chichester came slowly down the stairs, gazing in horror at the +little bouncing figure. As Peg whirled past the newel post she caught +sight of her aunt. She stopped dead. + +"What does this mean?" asked Mrs. Chichester angrily. + +Peg crept away and sank down into a chair: + +Jerry came to the rescue. He shook hands with Mrs. Chichester and said: + +"I want you to do something that will make the child very happy. Will +you allow her to go to a dance at the Assembly Rooms tonight?" + +"Certainly not," replied Mrs. Chichester severely. "I am surprised at +you for asking such a thing." + +"I could have told ye what she'd say wurrd for wurrd!" muttered Peg. + +"I beg your pardon," said Jerry, straightening up, hurt at the old +lady's tone. "The invitation was also extended to your daughter, but +she declined. I thought you might be pleased to give your niece a +little pleasure." + +"Go to a dance--unchaperoned?" + +"My mother and sisters will be there." + +"A child of her age?" said Mrs. Chichester. + +"CHILD is it?" cried Peg vehemently. "I'd have ye know my father lets +me go anywhere--" + +"MARGARET!" and the old lady attempted to silence Peg with a gesture. +Peg changed her tone and pleaded: + +"Plaze let me go. I'll study me head off tomorrow, if ye'll only let me +dance me feet off a bit tonight. Plaze let me!" + +The old lady raised her band commanding Peg to stop. Then turning to +Jerry she said in a much softer tone: + +"It was most kind of you to trouble to come over. You must pardon me if +I seem ungracious--but it is quite out of the question." + +Peg sprang up, eager to argue it out. + +Jerry looked at her as if imploring her not to anger her aunt any +further. He shook Mrs. Chichester's hand and said: + +"I'm sorry. Good night." He picked up his hat and coat and went to the +door. + +"Kindly remember me to your mother and sisters," added Mrs. Chichester +gently. + +"With pleasure," and Jerry opened the door. + +"Good night, Misther Jerry," called Peg. + +He turned and saw Peg deliberately pointing to the pathway and +indicating that he was to meet her there. + +Mrs. Chichester happened to look around just in time to catch her. Peg +reddened and stood trapped. + +Jerry went out. + +The old lady looked at her for several moments without speaking. +Finally she asked: + +"What did you mean by dancing in that disgraceful way? And what did you +mean by those signs you were making?" + +Peg said nothing. + +"Are you always going to be a disgrace to us? Are you ever going to +learn how to behave?" + +"Yes, aunt," said Peg, and the words came out in a torrent. "I'm never +goin' to do anythin' agen to annoy ye--AFTHER TONIGHT. I'm goin' to +wurrk hard too--AFTHER TONIGHT. Don't ye see what a disadvantage I'd be +at with girls without half me intelligence if I don't? Don't ye see it? +_I_ do. I'd be ashamed--that's what I'd be. Well--I'm goin' afther them +tooth and nail an' I'm goin' to catch them up an' pass them an' then +he'll--YE'LL--YE'LL--be proud of me--that ye will." + +"What is all this?" asked the amazed old lady. + +"It's what I'm goin' to do--AFTHER TO-NIGHT." + +"I'm very glad to hear it." + +"I knew ye would be. An' I'll never be any more throuble to ye--afther +to-night." + +"I hope you will be of the same mind in the morning." + +"So do I, aunt. D'ye mind if I stay up for another hour? I'd like to +begin now." + +"Begin what?" + +"Tryin' to pass people--tooth an' nail. May I study for just one more +hour?" + +"Very well. Just an hour." + +"Sure that'll be fine" She went to the table and began eagerly to +arrange her books once again. + +"Turn off the lights when you've finished," said Mrs. Chichester. + +"Yes, aunt. Are you goin' to bed now?" + +"I am" + +"Everybody in the house goin' to bed--except me?" + +"Everybody." + +"That's good," said Peg, with a sigh of relief. + +"Don't make any noise," admonished the old lady. + +"Not a sound, aunt," agreed Peg. + +"Good night," and Mrs. Chichester went to the stairs. + +"Good night, aunt! Oh! there's somethin' else. I thought perhaps I +would have to be gettin' back home to me father but I had a letther +from him this mornin' an'. it was quite cheerful--so I think--if ye +don't mind--I'd like to stay another month. Can I?" + +"We'll talk it over with Mr. Hawkes in the morning," Mrs. Chichester +said coldly and went on up the stairs. + +Peg watched her out of sight then jumped up all excitement and danced +around the room. She stopped by the table, locked at the open books in +disgust--with a quick movement swept them off the table. Then she +listened panic-stricken and hurriedly knelt down and picked them all up +again. Then she hurried over to the windows and looked out into the +night. The moonlight was streaming full down the path through the +trees. In a few moments Peg went to the foot of the stairs and +listened. Not hearing anything she crept upstairs into her own little +Mauve-Room, found a cloak and some slippers and a hat and just as +quietly crept down again into the living-room. + +She just had time to hide the cloak and hat and slippers on the immense +window-seat when the door opened and Ethel came into the room. She +walked straight to the staircase without looking at Peg, and began to +mount the stairs. + +"Hello, Ethel!" called out Peg, all remembrance of the violent +discussion gone in the excitement of the present. "I'm studyin' for an +hour. Are yez still angry with me? Won't ye say I 'good night'? Well, +then, I will. Good night, Ethel, an' God bless you." + +Ethel disappeared in the bend of the stairs. + +Peg listened again until all was still, then she crept across the room, +turned back the carpet and picked up her treasure--her marvellous book +of "Love-Stories." + +She took it to the table, made an island of it as was her wont--and +began to read--the precious book concealed by histories and atlases, et +cetera. + +Her little heart beat excitedly. + +The one thought that beat through her quick brain was: + +"Will Jerry come back for me?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE DANCE AND ITS SEQUEL + + +Mrs. Chichester's uncompromising attitude had a great deal to do with +what followed. Had she shown the slightest suggestion of fairness or +kindness toward Peg things might have resulted differently. + +But her adamantine attitude decided Jerry. + +He resolved to fly in the face of the proprieties. + +He would take the little child to the Assembly Rooms, put her in the +care of his mother and sisters and safeguard at least one evening's +pleasure for her. + +And this he did. + +He met her at the foot of the path when he saw all the lights disappear +in the house. + +They walked across the lawns and meadows on that beautiful July night +with the moon shining down on them. + +Once at the great hall his mother put the gauche little Peg at her +ease, introduced her to the most charming of partners, and saw that +everything was done to minister, to her enjoyment. + +It was a wonderful night for Peg. + +She danced every dance: she had the supper one with Jerry: she laughed +and sang and romped and was the centre of all the attention. What might +have appeared boldness in another with Peg was just her innocent, +wilful, child-like nature. She made a wonderful impression that night +and became a general favourite. She wanted it to go on and on and to +never stop. When the last waltz was played, and encored, and the ball +was really ended, Peg felt a pang of regret such as she had not felt +for a long, long time. + +It was the first real note of pleasure she had experienced in England +and now it was ended and tomorrow had to be faced and the truth told. +What would happen? What course would Mrs. Chichester take? Send her +away? Perhaps--and then--? Peg brushed the thought away. At all events +she had enjoyed that ones wonderful evening. + +"Oh, I am so happy! So happy!" she cried, as Jerry led her back to her +seat at the conclusion of the last dance. "Sure the whole wurrld seems +to be goin' round and round and round in one grand waltz. It's the +first time I've been ralely happy since I came here. And it's been +through you! Through you! Thank ye, Jerry." + +"I'm glad it has been through me, Peg," said Jerry quietly. + +"Faith these are the only moments in life that count--the happy ones. +Why can't it always be like this? Why shouldn't we just laugh and dance +our way through it all?" went on Peg excitedly. The rhythm of the +movement of the dance was in her blood: the lights were dancing before +her eyes: the music beat in on her brain. + +"I wish I could make the world one great ball-room for you," said Jerry +earnestly. + +"Do ye?" asked Peg tremulously. + +"I do." + +"With you as me partner?" + +"Yes" + +"Dancin' every dance with me?" + +"Every one" + +"Wouldn't that be beautiful? An' no creepin' back afther it all like a +thief in the night?" + +"No," replied Jerry. "Your own mistress, free to do whatever you +wished." + +"Oh," she cried impulsively; "wouldn't that be wondherful!" Suddenly +she gave a little elfish chuckle and whispered: + +"But half the fun to-night has been that I'm supposed to be sleepin' +across beyant there and HERE I am stalin' time" She crooned softly: + + "'Sure the best of all WAYS to lengthen our DAYS, + Is to stale a few hours from the NIGHT, me dear.'" + +"You've stolen them!" said Jerry softly. + +"I'm a thief, sure!" replied Peg with a little laugh. + +"You're the--the sweetest--dearest--" he suddenly checked himself. + +His mother had come across to say "Good night" to Peg. In a few moments +his sisters joined them. They all pressed invitations on Peg to call on +them at "Noel's Folly" and with Mrs. Chichester's permission, to stay +some days. + +Jerry got her cloak and just as they were leaving the hall the band +struck up again, by special request, and began to play a new French +waltz. Peg wanted to go back but Jerry suggested it would be wiser now +for her to go home since his mother had driven away. + +Back across the meadows and through the lanes, under that marvellous +moon and with the wild beat of the Continental Walse echoing from the +ball-room, walked Peg and Jerry, side by side, in silence. Both were +busy with their thoughts. After a little while Peg whispered: + +"Jerry?" + +"Peg?" + +"What were you goin' to say to me when yer mother came up to us just +now?" + +"Something it would be better to say in the daylight, Peg." + +"Sure, why the daylight? Look at the moon so high in the heavens." + +"Wait until to-morrow." + +"I'll not slape a wink thinkin' of all the wondherful things that +happened this night. Tell me--Jerry--yer mother and yer sisters--they +weren't ashamed o' me, were they?" + +"Why of course not. They were charmed with you." + +"Were they? Ralely?" + +"Really, Peg." + +"Shall I ever see them again?" + +"I hope some day you'll see a great deal of them." + +They reached the windows leading into the now famous--to +Peg--living-room. He held out his hand: + +"Good night, Peg." + +"What a hurry ye are in to get rid o' me. An' a night like this may +never come again." + +Suddenly a quick flash of jealousy startled through her: + +"Are ye goin' back to the dance? Are ye goin' to dance the extra ones +ye wouldn't take me back for?" + +"Not if you don't wish me to." + +"Plaze don't," she pleaded earnestly. "I wouldn't rest aisy if I +thought of you with yer arm around one of those fine ladies' waists, as +it was around mine such a little while ago--an' me all alone here. Ye +won't, will ye?" + +"No, Peg; I will not." + +"An' will ye think o' me?" + +"Yes, Peg, I will." + +"All the time?" + +"All the time." + +"An' I will o' you. An' I'll pray for ye that no harm may come to ye, +an' that HE will bless ye for makin' me happy." + +"Thank you, Peg." + +He motioned her to go in. He was getting anxious. Their voices might be +heard. + +"Must I go in NOW?" asked Peg. "NOW?" she repeated. + +"You must." + +"With the moon so high in the heavens?" + +"Someone might come." + +"An' the music comin' across the lawn?" + +"I don't want you to get into trouble," he urged. + +"All right," said Peg, half resignedly. "I suppose you know best. Good +night, Jerry, and thank ye." + +"Good night, Peg." + +He bent down and kissed her hand reverently. + +At the same moment the sound of a high power automobile was heard in +the near distance. The brakes were put on and the car came to a +stand-still. Then the sound of footsteps was heard distinctly coming +toward the windows. + +"Take care," cried Jerry. "Go in. Someone is coming." + +Peg hurried in and hid just inside the windows and heard every word +that followed. + +As Peg disappeared Jerry walked down the path to meet the visitor. He +came face to face with Christian Brent. + +"Hello, Brent," he said in surprise. + +"Why, what in the world--?" cried that astonished gentleman. + +"The house is asleep," said Jerry, explanatorily. + +"So I see," and Brent glanced up at the darkened windows. There was a +moment's pause. Then out of the embarrassing silence Jerry remarked: + +"Just coming from the dance? I didn't see you there." + +"No," replied the uncomfortable Brent. "I was restless and just +strolled here." + +"Oh! Let us go on to the road." + +"Right," said the other man, and they walked on. + +Before they had gone a few steps Jerry stopped abruptly. Right in front +of him at the gate was a forty-horse-power "Mercedes" automobile. + +"Strolled here? Why, you have your car!" said Jerry. + +"Yes," replied Brent hurriedly. "It's a bright night for a spin." + +The two men went on out of hearing. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Peg Intervenes + + +Peg listened until she heard the faint sounds in the distance of the +automobile being started--then silence. + +She crept softly upstairs. Just as she reached the top Ethel appeared +from behind the curtains on her way down to the room. She was fully +dressed and carried a small travelling bag. + +Peg looked at her in amazement. + +"Ethel!" she said in a hoarse whisper. + +"You!" cried Ethel, under her breath and glaring at Peg furiously. + +"Please don't tell anyone ye've seen me!" begged Peg. + +"Go down into the room!" Ethel ordered. + +Peg went down the stairs into the dark room, lit only by the stream of +moonlight coming in through the windows at the back. Ethel followed her: + +"What are you doing here?" + +"I've been to the dance. Oh, ye won't tell me aunt, will ye? She'd send +me away an' I don't want to go now, indade I don't." + +"To the dance?" repeated Ethel, incredulously. Try as she would she +could not rid herself of the feeling that Peg was there to watch her. + +"To the DANCE?" she asked again. + +"Yes. Mr. Jerry took me." + +"JERRY took you?" + +"Yer mother wouldn't let me go. So Jerry came back for me when ye were +all in bed and he took me himself. And I enjoyed it so much. An' I +don't want yer mother to know about it. Ye won't tell her, will ye?" + +"I shall most certainly see that my mother knows of it." + +"Ye will?" cried poor, broken-hearted Peg. + +"I shall. You had no right to go." + +"Why are ye so hard on me, Ethel?" + +"Because I detest you." + +"I'm sorry," said Peg simply. "Ye've spoiled all me pleasure now. Good +night, Ethel." + +Sore at heart and thoroughly unhappy, poor Peg turned away from Ethel +and began to climb the stairs. When she was about half-way up a thought +flashed across her. She came back quickly into the room and went +straight across to Ethel. + +"And what are YOU doin' here--at this time o' night? An' dressed like +THAT? An' with that BAG? What does it mane? Where are ye goin'?" + +"Go to your room!" said Ethel, livid with anger, and trying to keep her +voice down and to hush Peg in case her family were awakened. + +"Do you mean to say you were going with--" + +Ethel covered Peg's mouth with her hand. + +"Keep down your voice, you little fool!" + +Peg freed herself. HER temper was up, too. The thought of WHY Ethel was +there was uppermost in her mind as she cried: + +"HE was here a minnit ago an' Mr. Jerry took him away." + +"HE?" said Ethel, frightenedly. "Mr. BRENT," answered Peg. + +Ethel went quickly to the windows. Peg sprang in front of her and +caught her by the wrists. "Were ye goin' away with him? Were ye?" + +"Take your hands off me." + +"Were ye goin' away with him? Answer me?" insisted Peg. + +"Yes," replied Ethel vehemently. "And I AM." + +"No ye're not," said the indomitable Peg holding her firmly by the +wrist. + +"Let me go!" whispered Ethel, struggling to release herself. + +"Ye're not goin' out o' this house to-night if I have to wake everyone +in it." + +"Wake them!" cried Ethel. "Wake them. They couldn't stop me. Nothing +can stop me now. I'm sick of this living on CHARITY; sick of meeting +YOU day by day, an implied insult in your every look and word, as much +as to say: 'I'M giving you your daily bread; I'M keeping the roof over +you!' I'm sick of it. And I end it to-night. Let me go or I'll--I'll--" +and she tried in vain to release herself from Peg's grip. + +Peg held her resolutely: + +"What d'ye mane by INSULT? An' yer DAILY BREAD? An' kapin' the roof +over ye? What are ye ravin' about at all?" + +"I'm at the end--to-night. I'm going!" and she struggled with Peg up to +the windows. But Peg did not loose her hold. It was firmer than before. + +"You're not goin' away with him, I tell ye. Ye're NOT. What d'ye +suppose ye'd be goin' to? I'll tell ye. A wakin' an' sleepin' +HELL--that's what it would be." + +"I'm going," said the distracted girl. + +"Ye'd take him from his wife an' her baby?" + +"He hates THEM! and I hate THIS! I tell you I'm going--" + +"So ye'd break yer mother's heart an' his wife's just to satisfy yer +own selfish pleasure? Well I'm glad _I_ sinned to-night in doin' what I +wanted to do since it's given me the chance to save YOU from doin' the +most shameful thing a woman ever did!" + +"Will you--" and Ethel again struggled to get free. + +"YOU'LL stay here and HE'LL go back to his home if I have to tell +everyone and disgrace yez both." + +Ethel cowered down frightenedly. + +"No! No! You must not do that! You must not do that!" she cried, +terror-stricken. + +"Ye just told me yer own mother couldn't stop ye?" said Peg. + +"My mother mustn't know. She mustn't know. Let me go. He is +waiting--and it is past the time--" + +"Let him wait!" replied Peg firmly. "He gave his name an' life to a +woman an' it's yer duty to protect her an' the child she brought him." + +"I'd kill myself first!" answered Ethel through her clenched teeth. + +"No, ye won't. Ye won't kill yerself at all. Ye might have if ye'd gone +with him. Why that's the kind of man that tires of ye in an hour and +laves ye to sorrow alone. Doesn't he want to lave the woman now that he +swore to cherish at the altar of God? What do ye suppose he'd do to one +he took no oath with at all? Now have some sense about it. I know him +and his kind very well. Especially HIM. An' sure it's no compliment +he's payin' ye ayther. Faith, he'd ha' made love to ME if I'd LET him." + +"What? To YOU?" cried Ethel in astonishment. + +"Yes, to ME. Here in this room to-day. If ye hadn't come in when ye +did, I'd ha' taught him a lesson he'd ha' carried to his grave, so I +would!" + +"He tried to make love to you?" repeated Ethel incredulously, though a +chill came at her heart as she half realised the truth of Peg's +accusation. + +"Ever since I've been in this house," replied Peg. "An' to-day he comes +toward me with his arms stretched out. 'Kiss an' be friends!' sez +he--an' in YOU walked." + +"Is that true?" asked Ethel. + +"On me poor mother's memory it is, Ethel!" replied Peg. + +Ethel sank down into a chair and covered her eyes. + +"The wretch!" she wailed, "the wretch!" + +"That's what he is," said Peg. "An' ye'd give yer life into his kapin' +to blacken so that no dacent man or woman would ever look at ye or +spake to ye again." + +"No! That is over! That is over!" + +All the self-abasement of consenting to, or even considering going +with, such a creature as Brent now came uppermost. She was disgusted +through and through to her soul. Suddenly she broke down and tears for +the first time within her remembrance came to her. She sobbed and +sobbed as she had not done since she was a child. + +"I hate myself," she cried between her sobs. "Oh, how I hate myself" + +Peg was all pity in a moment. She took the little travelling bag away +from Ethel and put it on the table. Then with her own hands she +staunched Ethel's tears and tried to quiet her. + +"Ethel acushla! Don't do that! Darlin'! Don't! He's not worth it. Kape +yer life an' yer heart clane until the one man in all the wurrld comes +to ye with HIS heart pure too, and then ye'll know what rale happiness +means." + +She knelt down beside the sobbing girl and took Ethel in her arms, and +tried to comfort her. + +"Sure, then, cry dear, and wash away all the sins of this night. It's +the salt of yer tears that'll cleanse yer heart an' fall like Holy +Wather on yer sowl. Ssh! There! There! That's enough now. Stop now an' +go back to yer room, an' slape until mornin', an' with the sunlight the +last thought of all this will go from ye. Ssh! There now! Don't! An' +not a wurrd o' what's happened here to-night will cross my lips." + +She helped her cousin up and supported her. Ethel was on the point of +fainting, and her body was trembling with the convulsive force of her +half-suppressed sobs. + +"Come to MY room," said Peg in a whisper, as she helped Ethel over to +the stairs. "I'll watch by yer side till mornin'. Lane on me. That's +right. Put yer weight on me." + +She picked up the travelling-bag and together the two girls began to +ascend the stairs. + +Ethel gave a low choking moan. + +"Don't, dear, ye'll wake up the house," cried Peg anxiously. "We've +only a little way to go. Aisy now. Not a sound! Ssh, dear! Not a morsel +o' noise." + +Just as the two girls reached the landing, Peg in her anxiety stepped +short, missed the top step, lost her footing and fell the entire length +of the staircase into the room, smashing a tall china flower-vase that +was reposing on the post at the foot of the stairs. + +The two girls were too stunned for a moment to move. + +The worst thing that could possibly have happened was just what DID +happen. + +There would be all kinds of questions and explanations. Peg instantly +made up her mind that they were not going to know why Ethel was there. + +Ethel must be saved and at any cost. + +She sprang to her feet. "Holy Mother!" she cried, "the whole house'll +be awake! Give me yer hat! Quick! An' yer cloak! An' yer bag!" Peg +began quickly to put on Ethel's hat and cloak. Her own she flung out of +sight beneath the great oak table. + +"Now remember," she dictated, "ye came here because ye heard me. Ye +weren't goin' out o' the house at all. Ye just heard me movin' about in +here. Stick to that." + +The sound of voices in the distance broke in on them. + +"They're comin'," said Peg, anxiously. "Remember ye're here because ye +heard ME. An' ye were talkin--an'--I'll do the rest. Though what in the +wurrld I am GOIN' to say and do I don't know at all. Only YOU were not +goin' out o' this house! That's one thing we've got to stick to. Give +me the bag." + +Wearing Ethel's hat and cloak and with Ethel's travelling-bag in her +hand, staunch little Peg turned to meet the disturbed family, with no +thought of herself, what the one abiding resolution to, at any and at +all costs, save her cousin Ethel from disgrace. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +"THE REBELLION OF PEG" + + +"Take care, mater--keep back. Let me deal with them." And Alaric with +an electric flash-light appeared at the head of the stairs, followed by +his mother holding a night-lamp high over her head, and peering down +into the dark room. "It was from here that the sound came, dear," she +said to Alaric. + +"Stay up there," replied the valiant youth: "I'll soon find out what's +up." + +As Alaric reached the bottom of the stairs, the door just by the +staircase opened noiselessly and a large body protruded into the room +covered in an equally gigantic bath robe. As the face came stealthily +through the doorway, Alaric made one leap and caught the invader by the +throat. + +A small, frightened voice cried out: + +"Please don't do that, sir. It's only me!" + +Alaric flashed the electric-light in the man's face and found it was +the unfortunate Jarvis. + +"What are you doing here?" asked Alaric. + +"I heard a disturbance of some kind and came down after it, sir," +replied Jarvis, nervously. + +"Guard that door then! and let no one pass. If there is any one +trespassing in here I want to find 'em." + +He began a systematic search of the room until suddenly the reflector +from the flash-light shone full on the two girls. + +Ethel was sitting back fainting in a chair, clinging to Peg, who was +standing beside her trembling. + +"ETHEL!" cried Alaric in amazement. + +"MARGARET!" said Mrs. Chichester in anger. + +"Well, I mean to say," ejaculated the astounded young man as he walked +across to the switch and flooded the room with light. + +"That will do," ordered Mrs. Chichester, dismissing the equally +astonished footman, who passed out, curiosity in every feature. + +"What are you two girls playin' at?" demanded Alaric. + +"What does this mean?" asked Mrs. Chichester severely. + +"Sure, Ethel heard me here," answered Peg, "an' she came in, an'--" + +"What were you doing here?" + +"I was goin' out an' Ethel heard me an' came in an' stopped me--an'--" + +"Where were you going?" persisted the old lady. + +"Just out--out there--" and Peg pointed to the open windows. + +Mrs. Chichester had been examining Peg minutely. She suddenly exclaimed: + +"Why, that is Ethel's cloak." + +"Sure it is," replied Peg, "and this is her hat I've got an' here's her +bag--" Peg was striving her utmost to divert Mrs. Chichester's +attention from Ethel, who was in so tense and nervous a condition that +it seemed as if she might faint at any moment. She thrust the +dressing-bag into the old lady's hand. Mrs. Chichester opened it +immediately and found just inside it Ethel's jewel-box. She took it out +and held it up accusingly before Peg's eyes: "Her jewel-box! Where did +you get this?" + +"I took it," said Peg promptly. + +"Took it?" + +"Yes, aunt, I took it!" + +Mrs. Chichester opened the box: it was full. Every jewel that Ethel +owned was in it. + +"Her jewels! Ethel's jewels?" + +"Yes--I took them too." + +"You were STEALING them?" + +"No. I wasn't STEALING them,--I just TOOK 'em!" + +"Why did you take them?" + +"I wanted--to WEAR them," answered Peg readily. + +"WEAR them?" + +"Yes--wear them." Suddenly Peg saw a way of escape, and she jumped +quickly at it. "I wanted to wear them at the DANCE." + +"WHAT dance?" demanded Mrs. Chichester, growing more suspicious every +moment. + +"Over there--in the Assembly Rooms. To-night. I went over there, an' I +danced. An' when I came back I made a noise, an' Ethel heard me, an' +she threw on some clothes, an' she came in here to see who it was, an' +it was ME, an' were both goin' up to bed when I slipped an' fell down +the stairs, an' some noisy thing fell down with me--an' that's all." + +Peg paused for want of breath. Ethel clung to her. Mrs. Chichester, not +by any means satisfied with the explanation, was about to prosecute her +inquiries further, when Alaric called out from the window: + +"There's some one prowling in the garden. He's on the path! He's coming +here. Don't be frightened, mater. I'll deal with him." And he boldly +went up the steps leading into the alcove to meet the marauder. Ethel +half rose from the chair and whispered: "Mr. Brent!" Peg pressed her +back into the chair and turned toward the windows. + +On came the footsteps nearer and nearer until they were heard to be +mounting the steps from the garden into the alcove. + +Alaric pushed his electric light full into the visitors face, and fell +back. + +"Good Lord! Jerry!" he ejaculated, completely astonished. "I say, ye +know," he went on, "what is happening in this house to-night?" + +Jerry came straight down to Mrs. Chichester. + +"I saw your lights go up and I came here on the run. I guessed +something like this had happened. Don't be hard on your niece, Mrs. +Chichester. The whole thing was entirely my fault. I asked her to go." + +Mrs. Chichester looked at him stonily. + +"You took my niece to a dance in spite of my absolute refusal to allow +her to go?" + +"He had nothin' to do with it;" said Peg, "I took him to that dance." +She wasn't going to allow Jerry to be abused without lodging a protest. +After all it was her fault. She made him take her. Very, well--she +would take the blame. Mrs. Chichester looked steadily at Jerry for a +few moments before she spoke. When she did speak her voice was cold and +hard and accusatory. + +"Surely, Sir Gerald Adair knows better than to take a girl of eighteen +to a public ball without her relations' sanction?" + +"I thought only of the pleasure it would give her," he answered. +"Please accept my sincerest apologies." + +Peg looked at him in wonder: + +"Sir Gerald Adair! Are YOU Sir Gerald Adair?" + +"Yes, Peg." + +"So ye have a title, have yez?" + +He did not answer. + +Peg felt somehow that she had been cheated. Why had he not told her? +Why did he let her play and romp and joke and banter with him as though +they had been children and equals? It wasn't fair! He was just +laughing, at her! Just laughing at her! All her spirit was in quick +revolt. + +"Do you realise what you have done?" broke in Mrs. Chichester. + +"I'm just beginning to," replied Peg bitterly. + +"I am ashamed of you! You have disgraced us all!" cried Mrs. Chichester. + +"Have I?" screamed Peg fiercely. "Well, if I HAVE then I am goin' back +to some one who'd never be ashamed o' me, no matter what I did. Here +I've never been allowed to do one thing I've wanted to. He lets me do +EVERYTHING I want because he loves and trusts me an' whatever I do is +RIGHT because _I_ do it. I've disgraced ye, have I? Well, none of you +can tell me the truth. I'm goin' back to me father." + +"Go back to your father and glad we are to be rid of you!" answered +Mrs. Chichester furiously. + +"I am goin' back to him--" + +Before she could say anything further, Ethel suddenly rose unsteadily +and cried out: + +"Wait, mother! She mustn't go. We have all been grossly unfair to her. +It is _I_ should go. To-night she saved me from--she saved me from--" +suddenly Ethel reached the breaking-point; she slipped from Peg's arms +to the chair and on to the floor and lay quite still. + +Peg knelt down beside her: + +"She's fainted. Stand back--give her air--get some water, some +smelling-salts--quick--don't stand there lookin' at her: do somethin'!" + +Peg loosened Ethel's dress and talked to her all the while, and Jerry +and Alaric hurried out in different directions in quest of restoratives. + +Mrs. Chichester came toward Ethel, thoroughly alarmed and upset. + +But Peg would not let her touch the inanimate girl. + +"Go away from her!" cried Peg hysterically. + +"What good do ye think ye can do her? What do you know about her? You +don't know anything about yer children--ye don't know how to raise +them. Ye don't know a thought in yer child's mind. Why don't ye sit +down beside her sometimes and find out what she, thinks and who she +sees? Take her hand in yer own and get her to open her soul to ye! Be a +mother to her! A lot you know about motherhood! I want to tell ye me +father knows more about motherhood than any man in the wurrld." + +Poor Mrs. Chichester fell back, crushed and humiliated from Peg's +onslaught. + +In a few moments the two men returned with water and salts. After a +while Ethel opened her eyes and looked up at Peg. Peg, fearful lest she +should begin to accuse herself again, helped her up the stairs to her +own room and there she sat beside the unstrung, hysterical girl until +she slept, her hand locked in both of Peg's. + +Promising to call in the morning, Jerry left. + +The mother and son returned to their rooms. + +The house was still again. + +But how much had happened that night that went to shaping the +characters and lives of these two young girls, who were first looking +out at life with the eyes and minds of swiftly advancing womanhood! One +thing Peg had resolved: she would not spend another night in the +Chichester home. + +Her little heart was bruised and sore. The night had begun so happily: +it had ended so wretchedly. + +And to think the one person in whom she trusted had been just amusing +himself with her, leading her to believe he was a farmer--"less than +that" he had once said, and all the time he was a man of breeding and +of birth and of title. + +Poor Peg felt so humiliated that she made up her mind she would never +see him again. + +In the morning she would go back to the one real affection of her +life--to the min who never hurt or disappointed her--her father. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A ROOM IN NEW YORK + + +We will now leave Peg for a while and return to one who claimed so much +of the reader's attention in the early pages of this history--O'Connell. + +It had not been a happy month for him. + +He felt the separation from Peg keenly. At first he was almost +inconsolable. He lived in constant dread of hearing that some untoward +accident had befallen her. + +All the days and nights of that journey of Peg's to England, O'Connell +had the ever-present premonition of danger. When a cable came, signed +Montgomery Hawkes, acquainting O'Connell with the news of Peg's safe +arrival, he drew a long breath of relief. + +Then the days passed slowly until Peg's first letter came. It contained +the news of Kingsnorth's death--Peg's entrance into the Chichester +family, her discontent--her longing to be back once more in New York. +This was followed by more letters all more or less in the same key. +Finally he wrote urging her to give it all up and come back to him. He +would not have his little daughter tortured for all the advantages +those people could give her. Then her letters took on a different +aspect. They contained a curious half-note of happiness in them. No +more mention of returning. On the contrary, Peg appeared to be making +the best of the conditions in which she was placed. + +These later letters set O'Connell wondering. Had the great Message of +Life come to his little Peg? + +Although he always felt it WOULD come some day, now that it seemed +almost a very real possibility, he dreaded it. There were so few +natures would understand her. + +Beneath all her resolute and warlike exterior, it would take a keenly +observing eye to find the real, gentle, affectionate nature that +flourished in the sunshine of affection, and would fret and pine amid +unsympathetic surroundings. + +That Peg was developing her character and her nature during those few +weeks was clear to O'Connell. The whole tone of her letters had +changed. But no word of hers gave him any clue to the real state of her +feelings, until one day he received a letter almost entirely composed +of descriptions of the appearance, mode of speech, method of thought +and expression of one "Jerry." The description of the man appealed to +him, he apparently having so many things in common with the mysterious +person who had so vividly impressed himself on Peg. + +Apparently Peg was half trying to improve herself. + +There was a distinct note of seriousness about the last letter. It was +drawing near the end of the month and she was going to ask her aunt to +let her stay on for another month if her father did not mind. She did +not want him to be unhappy, and if he was miserable without her, why +she would sail back to New York on the very first steamer. He wrote her +a long affectionate letter, telling her that whatever made her happy +would make HIM, too, and that she must not, on any account, think of +returning to New York if she found that she was helping her future by +staying with her aunt. All through the letter he kept up apparent high +spirits, and ended it with a cheery exhortation to stay away from him +just as long as she could; not to think of returning until it was +absolutely necessary. + +It was with a heavy heart he posted that letter. Back of his brain he +had hoped all through that month that Peg would refuse to stay any +longer in England. + +Her determination to stay was a severe blow to him. + +He lived entirely alone in the same rooms he had with Peg when she was +summoned abroad. + +He was preparing, in his spare time, a history, of the Irish movement +from twenty years before down to the present day. It was fascinating +work for him, embodying as it did all he had ever felt and thought or +done for the "Great Cause." + +In addition to this work--that occupied so many of his free hours--he +would give an occasional lecture on Irish conditions or take part as +adviser in some Irish pageant. He became rapidly one of the best liked +and most respected of the thoughtful, active, executive Irishmen in New +York City. + +The night of the day following the incidents in the preceding +chapter--incidents that determined Peg's future--O'Connell was sitting +in his little work room, surrounded by books of reference, and loose +sheets of manuscript, developing his great work--the real work of his +life--because in it he would incorporate everything that would further +the march of advancement in Ireland--to work and thought and government +by her people. + +A ring at the bell caused O'Connell to look up frowningly. He was not +in the habit of receiving calls. Few people ever dared to intrude on +his privacy. He preferred to be alone with his work. It passed the time +of separation from Peg quicker than in any other way. + +He opened the door and looked in amazement at his visitor. He saw a +little, round, merry-looking, bald-headed gentleman with gold-rimmed +spectacles, an enormous silk-hat, broad cloth frock-coat suit, patent +boots with grey spats on them, and a general air of prosperity and good +nature that impressed itself on even the most casual observer. + +"Is that Frank O'Connell?" cried the little man. + +"It is," said O'Connell, trying in vain to see the man's features +distinctly in the dim light. There was a familiar ring in his voice +that seemed to take O'Connell back many years. + +"You're not tellin' me ye've forgotten me?" asked the little man, +reproachfully. + +"Come into the light and let me see the face of ye. Yer voice sounds +familiar to me, I'm thinkin'," replied O'Connell. + +The little man came into the room, took of his heavy silk-hat and +looked up at O'Connell with a quizzing look in his laughing eyes. + +"McGinnis!" was all the astonished agitator could say. + +"That's who it is! 'Talkative McGinnis,' come all the way from ould +Ireland to take ye by the hand." + +The two men shook hands warmly and in a few moments O'Connell had the +little doctor in the most comfortable seat in the room, a cigar between +his lips and a glass of whiskey--and--water at his elbow. + +"An' what in the wurrld brings ye here, docthor?" asked O'Connell. + +"Didn't ye hear?" + +"I've heard nothin', I'm tellin' ye." + +"Ye didn't hear of me old grand-uncle, McNamara of County Sligo +dyin'--after a useless life--and doin' the only thing that made me +proud of him now that he's gone--may he slape in peace--lavin' the +money he'd kept such a close fist on all his life to his God-fearin' +nephew so that he can spind the rest of his days in comfort? Didn't ye +hear that?" + +"I did not. And who was the nephew that came into it?" + +"Meself, Frank O'Connell!" + +"You! Is it the truth ye're tellin' me?" + +"May I nivver spake another wurrd if I'm not." + +O'Connell took the little man's hand and shook it until the doctor +screamed out to him to let it go. + +"What are ye doin' at all--crushin' the feelin' out of me? Sure that's +no way to show yer appreciation," and McGinnis held the crushed hand to +the side of his face in pain. + +"It's sorry I am if I hurt ye and it's glad I am at the cause. So it's +a wealthy man ye are now, docthor, eh?" + +"Middlin' wealthy." + +"And what are ye doin' in New York?" + +"Sure this is the counthry to take money to. It doubles itself out here +over night, they tell me." + +"Yer takin' it away from the land of yer birth?" + +"That's what I'm doin' until I make it into enough where I can go back +and do some good. It's tired I am of blood-lettin', and patchin' up the +sick and ailin', fevers an' all. I've got a few years left to enjoy +meself--an' I'm seventy come November--an' I mane to do it." + +"How did ye find me?" + +"Who should I meet in the sthreet this mornin'--an' me here a week--but +Patrick Kinsella, big as a house and his face all covered in +whiskers--him that I took into me own home the night they cracked his +skull up beyant the hill when O'Brien came to talk to us." + +"'What are yer doin' here at all?' sez I. 'Faith, it's the foine thing +I'm in,' sez he. 'An' what is it?' sez I. 'Politics!' sez he, with a +knowin' grin. 'Politics is it?' I asks, all innocent as a baby. 'That's +what I'm doin',' sez he. 'An' I want to tell ye the Irish are wastin' +their time worryin their heads over their own country when here's a +great foine beautiful rich one over here just ripe, an' waitin' to be +plucked. What wud we be doin' tryin' to run Ireland when we can run +America. Answer me that,' sez he. 'Run America?' sez I, all dazed. +'That's what the Irish are doin' this minnit. Ye'd betther get on in +while the goin's good. It's a wondherful melon the Irish are goin' to +cut out here one o' these fine days,' an' he gave me a knowin' grin, +shouted to me where he was to be found and away he wint." + +"There's many a backslider from the 'Cause' out here, I'm thinkin'," +continued the doctor. + +"If it's me ye mane, ye're wrong. I'm no backslider." + +"Kinsella towld me where to find ye. Sure it's many's the long day +since ye lay on yer back in 'The Gap' with yer hide full o' lead, and +ye cursin' the English government. Ye think different now maybe to what +ye did then?" + +"Sure I think different. Other times, other ways. But if it hadn't been +for the methods of twenty years ago we wouldn't be doin' things so +peaceably now. It was the attitude of Irishmen in Ireland that made +them legislate for us. It wasn't the Irish members in Westminster that +did it." + +"That's thrue for ye." + +"It was the pluck--and determination--and statesmanship--and +unflinchin' not-to-be-quieted-or-deterred attitude of them days that's +brought the goal we've all been aimin' at in sight. An' it's a happier +an' more contented an' healthier an' cleaner Ireland we're seein' +to-day than the wun we had to face as childhren." + +"Thrue for ye agen. I see ye've not lost the gift o' the gab. Ye've got +it with ye still, Frank O'Connell." + +"Faith an' while I'm talkin' of the one thing in the wurrld that's near +our hearts--the future of Ireland--I want to prophesy--" + +"Prophesy is it?" + +"That's what I want to do." + +"An' what's it ye'd be after prophesying?" + +"This: that ten years from now, with her own Government, with her own +language back again--Gaelic--an' what language in the wurrld yields +greater music than the old Gaelic?--with Ireland united and Ireland's +land in the care of IRISHMEN: with Ireland's people self-respectin' an' +sober an' healthy an' educated: with Irishmen employed on Irish +industries, exportin' them all over the wurrld: with Ireland's heart +beatin' with hope an' faith in the future--do ye know what will happen?" + +"Go on, Frank O'Connell. I love to listen to ye. Don't stop." + +"I'll tell ye what will happen! Back will go the Irishmen in tens o' +thousands from all the other counthries they were dhriven to in the +days o' famine an' oppression an' coercion an' buck-shot--back they +will go to their mother counthry. An' can ye see far enough into the +future to realise what THAT will do? Ye can't. Well, I'll tell ye that, +too. The exiled Irish, who have lived their lives abroad--takin' their +wives, like as not, from the people o' the counthry they lived in an' +not from their own stock--when they go back to Ireland with different +outlooks, with different manners an' with different tastes, so long as +they've kept the hearts o' them thrue an' loyal--just so long as +they've done that--an' kept the Faith o 'their forefathers--they'll +form a new NATION, an' a NATION with all the best o' the old--the great +big Faith an' Hope o' the old--added to the prosperity an' education +an' business-like principles an' statesmanship o' the NEW--an' it's the +BLOOD o' the great OLD an' the POWER o' the great NEW that'll make the +Ireland o' the future one o' the greatest NATIONS in PEACE as she has +always been in WAR." + +O'Connell's voice died away as he looked out across the years to come. +And the light of prophecy shone in his eyes, and the eerie tone of the +seer was in his voice. + +It was the Ireland he had dreamed of! Ireland free, prosperous, +contented--happy. Ireland speaking and writing in her national tongue! +Ireland with all the depth of the poetic nature of the peasant equal to +the peer! Ireland handling her own resources, developing her own +national character, responsible before the WORLD and not to an alien +nation for her acts--an Ireland triumphant. + +Even if he would not live to see the golden harvest ripen he felt proud +to be one of those who helped, in the days of stress that were gone, +her people, to the benefiting of the future generations, who would have +a legacy of development by PACIFIC measures, what he and his +forefathers strove to accomplish by the loss of their liberty and the +shedding of their blood. + +"Sure it's the big position they should give you on College Green when +they get their own government again, Frank O'Connell," the little +doctor said, shaking his head knowingly. + +"The race has been everythin' to me: the prize--if there's one--'ud be +nothin'. A roof to me head and a bite to eat is all I need by day--so +long as the little girl is cared for." + +"An' where is the little blue-eyed maiden? Peg o' your heart? Where is +she at all?" + +"It's in London she is." + +"London!" + +"Aye. She's with an aunt o' hers bein' educated an' the like" + +"Is it English ye're goin' to bring her up?" cried the doctor in horror +and disgust. "No, it's not, Docthor McGinnis--an' ye ought to know me +betther than to sit there an' ask me such a question. Bring her up +English? when the one regret o' me life is I never knew enough Gaelic +to tache her the language so that we'd be free of the English speech +anyway. Bring her up English! I never heard the like o' that in me +life." + +"Then what is she doin' there at all?" + +"Now listen, McGinnis, and listen well--an' then we'll never ask such a +question again. When the good Lord calls me to Himself it's little +enough I'll have to lave little Peg. An' that thought has been +throublin' me these years past. I'm not the kind that makes money +easily or that kapes the little I earn. An' the chance came to give Peg +advantages I could never give her. Her mother's people offered to take +her and it's with them she has been this last month. But with all their +breedin' an' their fine manners and soft speech they've not changed +Peg--not changed her in the least. Her letthers to me are just as sweet +an' simple as if she were standin' there talkin' to me. An' I wish she +were standin' here--now--this minnit," and his eyes filled up and he +turned away. + +McGinnis jumped up quickly and turned the tall, bronzed man around with +a hand on each shoulder--though he had to stand tip-toe to do it, and +poured forth his feelings as follows: + +"Send for her! Bring her back to ye! Why man, yer heart is heavy +without her; aye, just as yer HAIR is goin' grey, so is yer LIFE +without the one thing in it that kapes it warm and bright. Send for +her! Don't let the Saxons get hold of her with their flattherin' ways +and their insincerities, an' all. Bring her back to ye and kape her +with ye until the right man comes along--an' he must be an +Irishman--straight of limb an' of character--with the joy of livin' in +his heart and the love of yer little girl first to him in the wurrld, +an' then ye'll know ye've done the right thing by her; for it's the +only happiness yer Peg'll ever know--to be an Irish wife an' an Irish +mother as well as an Irish daughther. Send for her--I'm tellin' ye, +Frank O'Connell, or it's the sore rod ye'll be makin' for yer own back." + +McGinnis's words sank in. + +When they parted for the night with many promises to meet again ere +long, McConnell sat down and wrote Peg a long letter, leaving the +choice in her hands, but telling her how much he would like to have her +back with him. He wrote the letter again and again and each time +destroyed it. It seemed so clumsy. + +It was so hard to express just what he felt. He decided to leave it +until morning. + +All that night he tossed about in feverish unrest. He could not sleep. +He had a feeling of impending calamity. + +Toward dawn he woke, and lighting a lamp wrote out a cable message: + + Miss Margaret O'Connell + c/o Mrs. Chichester + Regal Villa, Scarboro, England + + Please come back to me. I want you. + Love from + Your Affectionate Father + +Relieved in his mind, he put the message on the table, intending to +send it on his way to business. Then he slept until breakfast-time +without a dream. + +His Peg would get the message and she would come to him. + +At breakfast a cable was brought to him. + +He opened it and looked in bewilderment at the contents: + +"Sailing to-day for New York on White Star boat Celtic. Love. Peg." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MORNING AFTER + + +The morning after the incident following Peg's disobedience in going to +the dance, and her subsequent rebellion and declaration of +independence, found all the inmates of Regal Villa in a most unsettled +condition. Peg had, as was indicated in a preceding chapter remained by +Ethel's side until morning, when, seeing that her cousin was sleeping +peacefully, she had gone to her own room to prepare for her leaving. + +One thing she was positive about--she would take nothing out of that +house she did not bring into it--even to a heartache. + +She entered the family a month before Gore at heart--well, she was +leaving it in a like condition. + +Whilst she was making her few little preparations, Mrs. Chichester was +reviewing the whole situation in her room. She was compelled to admit, +however outraged her feelings may have been the previous night, that +should Peg carry out her intention to desert them, the family would be +in a parlous condition. The income from Mr. Kingsnorth's will was +indeed the one note of relief to the distressed household. She had +passed a wretched night, and after a cup of tea in her room, and a good +long period of reflection, she decided to seek the aid of the head of +the family--her son. + +She found him in the morning-room lying full length on a lounge reading +the "Post." He jumped up directly he saw her, led her over to the +lounge, kissed her, put her down gently beside him and asked her how +she was feeling. + +"I didn't close my eyes all night," answered the unhappy old lady. + +"Isn't that rotten?" said Alaric sympathetically. "I was a bit plungy +myself--first one side and then the other." And he yawned and stretched +languidly. "Hate to have one's night's rest broken," he concluded. Mrs. +Chichester looked at him sadly. + +"What is to be done?" she asked, despair in every note. + +"We must get in forty winks during the day some time," he replied, +encouragingly. + +"No, no, Alaric. I mean about Margaret?" + +"Oh! The imp? Nothin' that I can see. She's got it into her stubborn +little head that she's had enough of us, and that's the end of it!" + +"And the end of our income," summed up Mrs. Chichester, pathetically. + +"Well, you were a bit rough on her, mater. Now, I come to think of it +we've all been a bit rough on her--except ME. I've made her laugh once +or twice--poor little soul. After all, suppose she did want to dance? +What's the use of fussing? LET her, I say. LET her. Better SHE should +dance and STAY, than for US to starve if she GOES." + +"Don't reproach me, dear. I did my duty. How could I consent to her +going? A girl of her age!" + +"Girl! Why, they're grown women with families in America at her age." + +"Thank God they're not in England." + +"They will be some day, mater. They're kickin' over the traces more and +more every day. Watch 'em in a year or two, I say, watch 'em. One time +women kept on the pavement. Now they're out in the middle of the +road--and in thousands! Mark me! What ho!" + +"They are not women!" ejaculated Mrs. Chichester severely. + +"Oh, bless me, yes. They're women all right. I've met 'em. Listened to +'em talk. Some of 'em were rippers. Why, there was one girl I really +have rather a fash on. Great big girl she is with a deep voice. She had +me all quivery for a while." And his mind ran back over his "Militant" +past and present. + +"Just when I had begun to have some hope of her!" Alaric started. + +"I didn't know you met her. Do you know Marjory Fairbanks?" + +"No," replied Mrs. Chichester, almost sharply: "I mean Margaret." + +"Oh! The little devil? Did ye? I never did. Not a hope! I've always +felt she ought to have the inscription on dear old Shakespeare's grave +waving in front of her all the time 'Good friend, for Heaven's sake +forbear.' There's no hope for her, mater. Believe ME." + +"I thought that perhaps under our influence--in time--" + +"Don't you think it. She will always be a Peter Pan. Never grow up. +She'd play elfish tricks if she had a nursery full of infants." + +"But," persisted the old lady, "some GOOD man--one day might change +that." + +"Ah! But where is he? Good men who'd take a girl like that in hand are +very scarce, mater--very scarce indeed. Oh, no. Back she goes to +America to-day, and off I go to-morrow to work. Must hold the roof up, +mater, and pacify the tradesmen. I've given up the doctor idea--takes +too long to make anything. And it's not altogether a nice way to earn +your living. No; on the whole, I think--Canada. . ." + +Mrs. Chichester rose in alarm + +"Canada! my boy!" + +"Nice big place--plenty of room. We're all so crowded together here in +England. All the professions are chock-full with people waitin' to +squeeze in somewhere. Give me the new big countries! England is too old +and small. A fellow with my temperament can hardly turn round and take +a full breath in an island our size. Out there, with millions of acres +to choose from, I'll just squat down on a thousand or so, raise cattle, +and in a year or two I'll be quite independent. Then back I'll come +here and invest it. See?" + +"Don't go away, from me, Alaric. I couldn't bear that." + +"All right--if you say so, mater. But it does seem a shame to let all +that good land go to waste when it can be had for the asking." + +"Well, I'll wander round the fields for a bit, and thrash it all out. +'Stonishing how clear a fellow's head gets in the open air. Don't you +worry, mater--I'll beat the whole thing out by myself." + +He patted the old lady gently on the shoulder, and humming a music-hall +ballad cheerfully, started off into the garden. He had only gone a few +steps when his mother called to him. He stopped. She joined him +excitedly. + +"Oh, Alaric! There is a way--one way that would save us." And she +trembled as she paused, as if afraid to tell him what the alternative +was. + +"Is there, mater? What is it?" + +"It rests with you, dear." + +"Does it? Very good. I'll do it." + +"Will you?" + +"Honour bright, I will." + +"Whatever it is?" + +"To save you and Ethel and the roof, 'course I will. Now you've got me +all strung up. Let me hear it." + +She drew him into a little arbour in the rose-garden out of sight and +hearing of the open windows. + +"Alaric?" she asked, in a tone that suggested their fate hung on his +answer: "Alaric! Do you LIKE her?" + +"Like whom?" + +"Margaret! Do you?" + +"Here and there. She amuses me like anything at times. She drew a map +of Europe once that I think was the most fearful and wonderful thing I +have ever seen. She said it was the way her father would like to see +Europe. She had England, Scotland and Wales in GERMANY, and the rest of +the map was IRELAND. Made me laugh like anything." And he chuckled at +the remembrance. + +Suddenly Mrs. Chichester placed both of her hands on his shoulders and +with tears in her eyes exclaimed: + +"Oh! my boy! Alaric! My son!" + +"Hello!" cried the astonished youth. "What is it? You're not goin' to +cry, are ye?" + +She was already weeping copiously as she gasped between her sobs: + +"Oh! If you only COULD." + +"COULD? WHAT?" + +"Take that little wayward child into your life and mould her." + +"Here, one moment, mater: let me get the full force of your idea. You +want ME to MOULD Margaret?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Ha!" he laughed uneasily. Then said decidedly: "No, mater, no. I can +do most things, but as a moulder--oh, no. Let Ethel do it--if she'll +stay, that is." + +"Alaric, my dear--I mean to take her really into your life 'to have and +to hold.'" And she looked pleadingly at him through her tear-dimmed +eyes. + +"But, I don't want to hold her, mater!" reasoned her son. + +"It would be the saving of her," urged the old lady. "That's all very +well, but what about me?" + +"It would be the saving of us all!" she insisted significantly. But +Alaric was still obtuse. "Now, how would my holding and moulding +Margaret save us?" The old lady placed her cards deliberately, on the +table as she said sententiously: "She would stay with us here--if you +were--engaged to her!" The shock had cone. His mother's terrible +alternative was now before him in all its naked horror. A shiver ran +through him. The thought of a man, with a future as brilliant as his, +being blighted at the outset by such a misalliance. He felt the colour +leave his face. He knew he was ghastly pale. The little arbour seemed +to close in on him and stifle him. He could scarcely breathe. He +murmured, his eyes half closed, as if picturing some vivid nightmare: +"Engaged! Don't, mother, please." He trembled again: "Good lord! +Engaged to that tomboy!" The thought seemed to strike him to the very +core of his being. He who might ally himself with anyone sacrificing +his hopes of happiness and advancement with a child of the earth. + +"Don't, mother!" he repeated in a cry of entreaty. + +"She has the blood of the Kingsnorths!" reminded, Mrs. Chichester. "It +is pretty well covered up in O'Connell Irish," replied Alaric bitterly. +"Please don't say any more, mater. You have upset me for the day. +Really, you have for the whole day." But his mother was not to be +shaken so easily in her determination. She went on: + +"She has the breeding of my sister Angela, dear." + +"You wouldn't think it to watch her and listen to her. Now, once and +for all" and he tried to pass his mother and go into the garden. + +There was no escape. Mrs. Chichester held him firmly: + +"She will have five thousand pounds a year when she is twenty-one!" + +She looked the alarmed youth straight in the eyes. She was fighting for +her own. She could not bear to think of parting with this home where +she had lived so happily with her husband, and where her two children +were born and reared. Even though Peg was not of the same caste, much +could be done with her. Once accept her into the family and the rest +would be easy. + +As she looked piercingly into Alaric's eyes, he caught the full +significance of the suggestion. His lips pursed to whistle--but no +sound came through them. He muttered hoarsely, as though he were +signing away his right to happiness. + +"Five thousand pounds a year! Five thousand of the very best!" Mrs. +Chichester took the slowly articulated words in token of acceptance. He +would do it! She knew he would! Always ready to rise to a point of +honour and to face a duty or confront a danger, he was indeed her son. + +She took him in her arms and pressed his reluctant and shrinking body +to her breast. + +"Oh, my boy!" she wailed joyfully. "My dear, dear boy!" + +Alaric disengaged himself alertly. + +"Here, half a minute, mater. Half a minute, please: One can't burn all +one's boats like that, without a cry for help." + +"Think what it would mean, dear! Your family preserved, and a brand +snatched from the burning!" + +"That's just it. It's all right savin' the family. Any cove'll do that +at a pinch. But I do not see myself as a 'brand-snatcher' Besides, I am +not ALTOGETHER at liberty." + +"What?" cried his mother. + +"Oh, I've not COMMITTED myself to anything. But I've been three times +to hear that wonderful woman speak--once on the PLATFORM! And people +are beginning to talk. She thinks no end of me. Sent me a whole lot of +stuff last week--'ADVANCED LITERATURE' she calls it. I've got 'em all +upstairs. Wrote every word of 'em herself. Never saw a woman who can +TALK and WRITE as she can. And OUTSIDE of all that I'm afraid I've more +or less ENCOURAGED her. And there you are--the whole thing in a +nutshell." + +"It would unite our blood, Alaric," the fond mother insisted. + +"Oh, hang our blood! I beg your pardon, mater, but really I can't make +our blood the FIRST thing." + +"It would settle you for life, dear," she suggested after a pause. + +"I'd certainly be settled all right," in a despairing tone. + +"Think what it would mean, Alaric." + +"I am, mater. I'm thinking--and thinking awfully hard. Now, just a +moment. Don't let either of us talk. Just let us think. I know how much +is at stake for the family, and YOU realise how much is at stake for +ME, don't you?" + +"Indeed I do. And if I didn't think you would be happy I would not +allow it--indeed I wouldn't." + +Alaric thought for a few moments. + +The result of this mental activity took form and substance as follows: + +"She is not half-bad-lookin'--at times--when she's properly dressed." + +"I've seen her look almost beautiful!" cried Mrs. Chichester. + +Alaric suddenly grew depressed. + +"Shockin' temper, mater!" and he shook his head despondently. + +"That would soften under the restraining hand of affection!" reasoned +his mother. + +"She would have to dress her hair and drop DOGS. I will not have a dog +all over the place, and I do like tidiness in women. Especially their +hair. In that I would have to be obeyed." + +"The woman who LOVES always OBEYS!" cried his mother. + +"Ah! There we have it!" And Alaric sprang up and faced the old lady. +"There we have it! DOES she LOVE me?" + +Mrs. Chichester looked fondly at her only son and answered: + +"How could she be NEAR you for the last month and NOT love you?" + +Alaric nodded: + +"Of course there is that. Now, let me see--just get a solid grip on the +whole thing. IF she LOVES me--and taking all things into +consideration--for YOUR sake and darling ETHEL'S and for my--that is--" + +He suddenly broke off, took his mother's hand between both of his and +pressed it encouragingly, and with the courage of hopefulness, he said: + +"Anyway, mater, it's a go! I'll do it. It will take a bit of doin', but +I'll do it." + +"Bless you, my boy," said the overjoyed mother, "Bless you." + +As they came out of the little arbour it seemed as if Fate had changed +the whole horizon for the Chichester family. + +Mrs. Chichester was happy in the consciousness that her home and her +family would lie free from the biting grip of debt. + +Alaric, on the other hand, seemed to have all the sunlight suddenly +stricken out of his life. Still, it was his DUTY, and duty was in the +Chichester motto. + +As mother and son walked slowly toward the house, they looked up, and +gazing through a tiny casement of the little Mauve-Room was Peg, her +face white and drawn. + +Alaric shivered again as he thought of his sacrifice. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +ALARIC TO THE RESCUE + + +Mrs. Chichester went up to the Mauve-Room a little later and found Peg +in the same attitude, looking out of the window--thinking. + +"Good morning, Margaret," she began, and her tone was most +conciliatory, not to say almost kindly. + +"Good mornin'," replied Peg dully. + +"I am afraid I was a little harsh with you last night," the old lady +added. It was the nearest suggestion of an apology Mrs. Chichester had +ever made. + +"Ye'll never be again," flashed back Peg sharply. + +"That is exactly what I was saying to Alaric. I shall never be harsh +with you again. Never!" + +If Mrs. Chichester thought the extraordinary unbending would produce an +equally, Christian-like spirit in Peg, she was unhappily mistaken. Peg +did not vary her tone or hear attitude. Both were absolutely +uncompromising. + +"Ye'll have to go to New York if ye ever want to be harsh with me +again. That is where ye'll have to go. To New York." + +"You are surely not going to leave us just on account of a few words of +correction?" reasoned Mrs. Chichester. + +"I am," replied Peg, obstinately. "An' ye've done all the correctin' +ye'll ever do with me." + +"Have you thought of all you are giving up?" + +"I thought all through the night of what I am going back to. And I am +going back to it as soon as Mr. Hawkes comes. And now, if ye don't +mind, I'd rather be left alone. I have a whole lot to think about, an' +they're not very happy thoughts, ayther--an' I'd rather be by +meself--if ye plaze." + +There was a final air of dismissal about Peg that astonished and +grieved the old lady. How their places had changed in a few hours! +Yesterday it was Mrs. Chichester who commanded and Peg who +obeyed--SOMETIMES. + +Now, she was being sent out of a room in her own house, and by her poor +little niece. + +As she left the room Mrs. Chichester thought sadly of the condition +misfortune had placed her in. She brightened as she realised that they +had still one chance--through Alaric--of recouping, even slightly, the +family fortunes. The thought flashed through Mrs. Chichester's mind of +how little Margaret guessed what an honour was about to be conferred +upon her through the nobility of her son in sacrificing himself on the +altar of duty. The family were indeed repaying good for evil--extending +the olive branch--in tendering their idol as a peace-offering at the +feet of the victorious Peg. + +Meanwhile, that young lady had suddenly remembered two +things--firstly--that she must not return to her father in anything +Mrs. Chichester had given her. Out of one of the drawers she took the +little old black jacket and skirt and the flat low shoes and the +red-flowered hat. Secondly, it darted through her mind that she had +left Jerry's present to her in its familiar hiding-place beneath a +corner of the carpet. Not waiting to change into the shabby little +dress, she hurried downstairs into the empty living-room, ran across, +and there, sure enough, was her treasure undisturbed. She took it up +and a pang went through her heart as it beat in on her that never again +would its donor discuss its contents with her. This gentleman of title, +masquerading as a farmer, who had led her on to talk of herself, of her +country and of her father, just to amuse himself. The blood surged up +to her temples as she thought how he must have laughed at her when he +was away from her: though always when with her he showed her the +gravest attention, and consideration, and courtesy. It was with mingled +feelings she walked across the room, the book open in her hand, her +eyes scanning some of the familiar and well-remembered lines. + +As she reached the foot of the stairs, Alaric came in quickly through +the windows. + +"Hello! Margaret!" he cried cheerfully, though his heart was beating +nervously at the thought of what he was about to do--and across his +features there was a sickly pallor. + +Peg turned and looked at him, at the same moment hiding the book behind +her back. + +"What have you got there, all tucked away?" he ventured as the opening +question that was to lead to the all-important one. + +Peg held it up for him to see: "The only thing I'm takin' away that I +didn't bring with me." + +"A book, eh?" + +"That's what it is--a book;" and she began to go upstairs. + +"Taking it AWAY?" he called up to her. + +"That's what I'm doin'," and she still went on up two more steps. + +Alaric made a supreme effort and followed her. + +"You're not really goin' away--cousin?" he gasped. + +"I am," replied Peg. "An' ye can forget the relationship the minnit the +cab drives me away from yer door!" + +"Oh, I say, you know," faltered Alaric. "Don't be cruel!" + +"Cruel, is it?" queried Peg in amazement. "Sure, what's there cruel in +THAT, will ye tell me?" + +She looked at him curiously. + +For once all Alaric's confidence left him. His tongue was dry and clove +to the roof of his mouth. Instead of conferring a distinction on the +poor little creature he felt almost as if he were about to ask her a +favour. + +He tried to throw a world of tenderness into his voice as he spoke +insinuatingly: + +"I thought we were goin' to be such good little friends," and he looked +almost languishingly at her. + +For the first time Peg began to feel some interest. Her eyes winked as +she said: + +"DID ye? Look at that, now. I didn't." + +"I say, you know," and he went up on the same step with her: "I +say--really ye mustn't let what the mater said last night upset ye! +Really, ye mustn't!" + +"Mustn't I, now? Well, let me tell ye it did upset me--an' I'm still +upset--an' I'm goin' to kape on bein' upset until I get into the cab +that dhrives me from yer door." + +"Oh, come, now--what nonsense! Of course the mater was a teeny bit +disappointed--that's all. Just a teeny bit. But now it's all over." + +"Well, _I_ was a WHOLE LOT disappointed--an' it's all over with me, +too." She started again to get away from him, but he stepped in front +of her. + +"Don't go for a minute. Why not forget the whole thing and let's all +settle down into nice, cosy, jolly little pals, eh?" + +He was really beginning to warm to his work the more she made +difficulties. It was for Alaric to overcome them. The family roof was +at stake. He had gone chivalrously to the rescue. He was feeling a +gleam of real enthusiasm. Peg's reply threw a damper again on his +progress. + +"Forget it, is it? No--I'll not forget it. My memory is not so +convaynient. You're not goin' to be disgraced again through me!" She +passed him and went on to the landing. He followed her eagerly. + +"Just a moment," he cried, stopping her just by an a oriel window. She +paused in the centre of the glow that radiated from its panes. + +"What is it, now?" she asked impatiently. She wanted to go back to her +room and make her final preparations. + +Alaric looked at her with what he meant to be adoration in his eyes. + +"Do you know, I've grown really awfully fond of you?" His voice +quivered and broke. He had reached one of the crises of his life. + +Peg looked at him and a smile broadened across her face. + +"No, I didn't know it. When did ye find it out?" + +"Just now--down in that room--when the thought flashed through me that +perhaps you really meant to leave us. It went all through me. 'Pon my +honour, it did. The idea positively hurt me. Really HURT me." + +"Did it, now?" laughed Peg. "Sure, an' I'm glad of it." + +"Glad! GLAD?" he asked in astonishment. + +"I am. I didn't think anythin' could hurt ye unless it disturbed yer +comfort. An' I don't see how my goin' will do that." + +"Oh, but it will," persisted Alaric. "Really, it will." + +"Sure, now?" Peg was growing really curious. What was this odd little +fellow trying to tell her? He looked so tremendously in earnest about +something What in the world was it? + +Alaric answered her without daring to look at her. + +He fixed his eye on his pointed shoe and said quaveringly: + +"You know, meetin' a girl round the house for a whole month, as I've +met you, has an awful effect on a fellow. AWFUL Really!" + +"AWFUL?" cried Peg. + +"Yes, indeed it has. It grows part of one's life, as it were. Not to +see you running up and down those stairs: sittin' about all over the +place: studyin' all your jolly books and everything--you know the +thought bruises me--really it BRUISES." + +Peg laughed heartily. Her good humour was coming back to her. + +"Sure, ye'll get over it, Alaric," she said encouragingly. + +"That's just it," he protested anxiously. "I'm afraid I WON'T get over +it. Do you know, I'm quite ACHE-Y NOW. Indeed I am." + +"Ache-y?" repeated Peg, growing more and more amused. + +Alaric touched his heart tenderly: + +"Yes, really. All round HERE!" + +"Perhaps it's because I disturbed yer night's rest, Alaric?" + +"You've disturbed ALL my rest. If you GO I'll never have ANY rest." +Once again he spurred on his flagging spirits and threw all his ardour +into the appeal. "I've really begun to care for you very much. Oh, +very, very much. It all came to me in a flash--down in the room." +And--for the moment--he really meant it. He began to see qualities in +his little cousin which he had never noticed before. And the fact that +she was not apparently a willing victim, added zest to the attack. + +Peg looked at him with unfeigned interest: + +"Sure, that does ye a great dale of credit. I've been thinkin' all the +time I've known ye that ye only cared for YERSELF--like all Englishmen." + +"Oh, no," protested Alaric. "Oh, DEAR, no. We care a great deal at +times--oh, a GREAT deal--and never say a word about it--not a single +word. You know we hate to wear our hearts on our sleeves." + +"I don't blame ye. Ye'd wear them out too soon, maybe." + +Alaric felt that the moment had now really come. + +"Cousin," he said, and his voice dropped to the caressing note of a +wooer: "Cousin! Do you know I am going to do something now I've never +done before?" + +He paused to let the full force of what was to come have its real value. + +"What is it, Alaric?" Peg asked, all unconscious of the drama that was +taking place in her cousin's heart! "Sure, what is it? Ye're not goin' +to do somethin' USEFUL, are ye?" + +He braced himself and went on: "I am going to ask a very charming young +lady to marry me. Eh?" + +"ARE ye?" + +"I am." + +"What do ye think o' that, now!" + +"And--WHO--DO--YOU--THINK--IT--IS?" + +He waited, wondering if she would guess correctly. It would be so +helpful if only she could. + +But she was so unexpected. + +"I couldn't guess it in a hundred years, Alaric. Ralely, I couldn't." + +"Oh, TRY! Do. TRY!" he urged. "I couldn't think who'd marry YOU--indade +I couldn't. Mebbe the poor girl's BLIND. Is THAT it?" + +"Can't you guess? No? Really?" + +"NO, I'm tellin' ye. Who is it?" + +"YOU!" + +The moment had come. The die was cast. His life was in the hands of +Fate--and of Peg. He waited breathlessly for the effect. + +Peg looked at him in blank astonishment. + +All expression had left her face. + +Then she leaned back against the balustrade and laughed long and +unrestrainedly. She laughed until the tears came coursing down her +cheeks. + +Alaric was at first nonplussed. Then he grasped the situation in its +full significance. It was just a touch of hysteria. He joined her and +laughed heartily as well. + +"Aha!" he cried, between laughs: "That's a splendid sign. Splendid! +I've always been told that girls CRY when they're proposed to." + +"Sure, that's what I'm doin'," gasped Peg. "I'm cryin'--laughin'." + +Alaric suddenly checked his mirth and said seriously: + +"'Course ye must know, cousin, that I've nothin' to offer you except a +life-long devotion: a decent old name--and--my career--when once I get +it goin'. I only need an incentive to make no end of a splash in the +world. YOU would be my incentive." Peg could hardly believe her ears. +She looked at Alaric while her eyes danced mischievously. + +"Go on!" she said. "Go on. Sure, ye're doin' fine!" + +"Then it's all right?" he asked fervently. + +"Faith! I think it's wondherful." + +"Good. Excellent. But--there are one or two little things to be settled +first." + +Even as the victorious general, with the capitulated citadel, it was +time to dictate terms. Delays in such matters, Alaric had often been +told, were unwise. A clear understanding at the beginning saved endless +complications afterwards. + +"Just a few little things," he went on, "such as a little +OBEDIENCE--that's most essential. A modicum of care about ORDINARY +things,--for instance, about dress, speech, hair, et ectera--and NO +'Michael.'" + +"Oh!" cried Peg dejectedly, while her eyes beamed playfully: + +"Sure, couldn't I have 'Michael'?" + +"No," he said firmly. It was well she should understand that once and +for all. He had never in a long experience, seen a dog he disliked more. + +"Oh!" ejaculated Peg, plaintively. + +Prepared to, at any rate, compromise, rather than have an open rupture, +he hastened to modify his attitude: + +"At least NOT in the HOUSE." + +"In the STABLES?" queried Peg. + +"We'd give him a jolly little kennel somewhere, if you really wanted +him, and you could see him--say TWICE a day." + +He felt a thrill of generosity as he thus unbent from his former rigid +attitude. + +"Then it wouldn't be 'love me love my dog'?" quizzed Peg. + +"Well, really, you know, one cannot regulate one's life by proverbs, +cousin. Can one?" he reasoned. + +"But 'Michael' is all I have in the wurrld, except me father. Now, what +could ye give me instead of him?" + +Here was where a little humour would save the whole situation. Things +were becoming strained--and over a dog. + +Alaric would use his SUBTLER humour--keen as bright steel--and turn the +edge of the discussion. + +"What can I give you instead of 'Michael'?" + +He paused, laughed cheerfully and bent tenderly aver her and whispered: + +"MYSELF, dear cousin! MYSELF!" and he leaned back and watched the +effect. A quick joke at the right moment had so often saved the day. It +would again, he was sure. After a moment he whispered softly: + +"What do you say--dear cousin?" + +Peg looked up at him, innocently, and answered: + +"Sure, I think I'd rather have 'Michael'--if ye don't mind." + +He started forward: "Oh, come, I say! You don't MEAN that?" + +"I do," she answered decidedly. + +"But think--just for one moment--of the ADVANTAGES?" + +"For you, or for me?" asked Peg. + +"For YOU--of course," replied the disappointed Alaric. + +"I'm thryin' to--but I can only think of 'Michael. Sure, I get more +affection out of his bark of greetin' than I've ever got from a human +bein' in England. But then he's IRISH. No, thank ye, all the same. If +it makes no difference to ye, I'd rather have 'Michael.'" + +"You don't mean to say that you REFUSE me?" he asked blankly. + +"If ye don't mind," replied Peg meekly. + +"You actually decline my HAND and--er--HEART?" + +"That's what I do." + +"Really?" He was still unable to believe it. He wanted to hear her +refusal distinctly. + +"Ralely," replied Peg, gravely. + +"Is that FINAL?" + +"It's the most final thing there is in the wurrld," replied Peg, on the +brink of an outburst of laughter. + +Alaric looked so anxious and crestfallen now--in sharp contrast to his +attitude of triumph a few moments before. + +To her amazement the gloom lifted from her cousin's countenance. He +took a deep breath, looked at her in genuine relief, and cried out +heartily: + +"I say! You're a BRICK!" + +"Am I?" asked Peg. + +"It's really awfully good of you. Some girls in your position would +have jumped at me. Positively JUMPED!" + +"WOULD they--poor things!" + +"But YOU--why, you're a genuine, little, hall-marked 'A number one +brick'! I'm extremely obliged to you." + +He took her little hand and shook it warmly. + +"You're a plucky little girl, that's what you are--a +PLUCKY--LITTLE--GIRL. I'll never forget it--NEVER. If there is anythin' +I can do--at any time--anywhere--call on me. I'll be there--right on +the spot." + +He heard his mother's voice, speaking to Jarvis, in the room below. At +the same moment he saw Ethel walking toward them along the corridor. + +He said hurriedly and fervently to Peg: + +"Bless you, cousin. You've taken an awful load off my mind. I was +really worried. I HAD to ask you. Promised to. See you before you go! +Hello! Ethel! All right? Good!" Without waiting for an answer, the +impulsive young gentleman went on up to his own room to rejoice over +his escape. + +Peg walked over and took Ethel by both hands and looked into the tired, +anxious eyes. + +"Come into my room," she whispered. + +Without a word, Ethel followed her into the Mauve Room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MONTGOMERY HAWKES + + +On the 30th day of June, Mr. Montgomery Hawkes glanced at his +appointments for the following day and found the entry: "Mrs. +Chichester, Scarboro--in re Margaret O'Connell." + +He accordingly sent a telegram to Mrs. Chichester, acquainting her with +the pleasant news that she might expect that distinguished lawyer on +July 1, to render an account of her stewardship of the Irish agitator's +child. + +As he entered a first-class carriage on the Great Northern Railway at +King's Cross station next day, bound for Scarboro, he found himself +wondering how the experiment, dictated by Kingsnorth on his death-bed, +had progressed. It was a most interesting case. He had handled several, +during his career as a solicitor, in which bequests were made to the +younger branches of a family that had been torn by dissension during +the testator's lifetime, and were now remembered for the purpose of +making tardy amends. + +But in those cases the families were all practically of the same caste. +It would be merely benefiting them by money or land. Their education +had already been taken care of. Once the bequest was arranged all +responsibility ended. + +The O'Connell-Kingsnorth arrangement was an entirely different +condition of things altogether. There were so many provisions each +contingent on something in the character of the beneficiary. He did not +regard the case with the same equanimity he had handled the others. It +opened up so many possibilities of difficulty, and the object of Mr. +Kingsnorth's bequest was such an amazing young lady to endeavour to do +anything with. He had no preconceived methods to employ in the matter. +It was an experiment where his experience was of no use. He had only to +wait developments, and, should any real crisis arise, consult with the +Chief Executor. + +By the time he reached Scarboro he had arranged everything in his mind. +It was to be a short and exceedingly satisfactory interview and he +would be able to catch the afternoon express back to London. + +He pictured Miss O'Connell as being marvellously improved by her gentle +surroundings and eager to continue in them. He was sure he would have a +most satisfactory report to make to the Chief Executor. + +As he walked up the beach-walk he was humming gaily an air from +"Girofle-Girofla." He was entirely free from care and annoyance. He was +thinking what a fortunate young lady Miss O'Connell was to live amid +such delightful surroundings. It would be many a long day before she +would ever think of leaving her aunt. + +All of which points to the obvious fact that even gentlemen with +perfectly-balanced legal brains, occasionally mis-read the result of +force of character over circumstances. + +He was shown into the music-room and was admiring a genuine Greuze when +Mrs. Chichester came in. + +She greeted him tragically and motioned him to a seat beside her. + +"Well?" he smiled cheerfully. "And how is our little protegee?" + +"Sit down," replied Mrs. Chichester, sombrely. + +"Thank you." + +He sat beside her, waited a moment, then, with some sense of misgiving, +asked: "Everything going well, I hope?" + +"Far from it." And Mrs. Chichester shook her head sadly. + +"Indeed?" His misgivings deepened. + +"I want you to understand one thing, Mr. Hawkes," and tears welled up +into the old lady's eyes: "I have done my best." + +"I am sure of that, Mrs. Chichester," assured the lawyer, growing more +and more apprehensive. + +"But she wants to leave us to-day. She has ordered cab. She is packing +now." + +"Dear, dear!" ejaculated the bewildered solicitor. "Where is she going?" + +"Back to her father." + +"How perfectly ridiculous. WHY?" + +"I had occasion to speak to her severely--last night. She grew very +angry and indignant--and--now she has ordered a cab." + +"Oh!" and Hawkes laughed easily. "A little childish temper. Leave her +to me. I have a method with the young. Now--tell me--what is her +character? How has she behaved?" + +"At times ADMIRABLY. At others--" Mrs. Chichester raised her hands and +her eyes in shocked disapproval. + +"Not quite--?" suggested Mr. Hawkes. + +"Not AT ALL!" concluded Mrs. Chichester. + +"How are her studies?" + +"Backward." + +"Well, we must not expect too much," said the lawyer reassuringly. +"Remember everything is foreign to her." + +"Then you are not disappointed, Mr. Hawkes?" + +"Not in the least. We can't expect to form a character in a month. Does +she see many people?" + +"Very few. We try to keep her entirely amongst ourselves." + +"I wouldn't do that. Let her mix with people. The more the better. The +value of contrast. Take her visiting with you. Let her talk to +others--listen to them--exchange opinions with them. Nothing is better +for sharp-minded, intelligent and IGNORANT people than to meet others +cleverer than themselves. The moment they recognise their own +inferiority, they feel the desire for improvement." + +Mrs. Chichester listened indignantly to this, somewhat platitudinous, +sermon on how to develop character. And indignation was in her tone +when she replied: + +"Surely, she has sufficient example here, sir?" + +Hawkes was on one of his dearest hobbies--"Characters and +Dispositions." He had once read a lecture on the subject. He smiled +almost pityingly at Mrs. Chichester, as he shook his head and answered +her. + +"No, Mrs. Chichester, pardon me--but NO! She has NOT sufficient example +here. Much as I appreciate a HOME atmosphere, it is only when the young +get AWAY from it that they really develop. It is the contact with the +world, and its huge and marvellous interests, that strengthens +character and solidifies disposition. It is only--" he stopped. + +Mrs. Chichester was evidently either not listening, or was entirely +unimpressed. She was tapping her left hand with a lorgnette she held in +her right, and was waiting for an opportunity to speak. Consequently, +Mr. Hawkes stopped politely. + +"If you can persuade her to remain with us, I will do anything you wish +in regard to her character and its development." + +"Don't be uneasy," he replied easily, "she will stay. May I see her?" + +Mrs. Chichester, rose crossed over to the bell and rang it. She wanted +to prepare the solicitor for the possibility of a match between her son +and her niece. She would do it NOW and do it tactfully. + +"There is one thing you must know, Mr. Hawkes. My son is in love with +her," she said, as though in a burst of confidence. + +Hawkes rose, visibly perturbed. + +"What? Your son?" + +"Yes," she sighed. "Of course she is hardly a suitable match for +Alaric--as YET. But by the time she is of age--" + +"Of age?" + +"By that time, much may be done." + +Jarvis came in noiselessly and was despatched by Mrs. Chichester to +bring her niece to her. + +Hawkes was moving restlessly about the room. He stopped in front of +Mrs. Chichester as Jarvis disappeared. + +"I am afraid, madam, that such a marriage would be out of the question." + +"What do you mean?" demanded the old lady. "As one of the executors of +the late Mr. Kingsnorth's will, in my opinion, it would be defeating +the object of the dead man's legacy." + +Mrs. Chichester retorted, heatedly: "He desires her to be TRAINED. What +training is better than MARRIAGE?" + +"Almost any," replied Mr. Hawkes. "Marriage should be the union of two +formed characters. Marriage between the young is one of my pet +objections. It is a condition of life essentially for those who have +reached maturity in nature and in character. I am preparing a paper on +it for the Croydon Ethical Society and--" + +Whatever else Mr. Hawkes might have said in continuation of another of +his pet subjects was cut abruptly short by the appearance of Peg. She +was still dressed in one of Mrs. Chichester's gifts. She had not had an +opportunity to change into her little travelling suit. + +Hawkes looked at her in delighted surprise. She had completely changed. +What a metamorphosis from the forlorn little creature of a month ago! +He took her by the hand and pressed it warmly, at the same time saying +heartily: + +"Well, well! WHAT an improvement." + +Peg gazed at him with real pleasure. She was genuinely glad to see him. +She returned the pressure of his hand and welcomed him: + +"I'm glad you've come, Mr. Hawkes." + +"Why, you're a young lady!" cried the astonished solicitor. + +"Am I? Ask me aunt about that!" replied Peg, somewhat bitterly. + +"Mr. Hawkes wishes to talk to you, dear," broke in Mrs. Chichester, and +there was a melancholy pathos in her voice and, in her eyes. + +If neither Alaric nor Mr. Hawkes could deter her, what would become of +them? + +"And I want to talk to Mr. Hawkes, too," replied Peg. "But ye must +hurry," she went on. "I've only, a few minutes." + +Mrs. Chichester went pathetically to the door, and, telling Mr. Hawkes +she would see him again when he had interviewed her niece, she left +them. + +"Now, my dear Miss Margaret O'Connell--" began the lawyer. + +"Will ye let me have twenty pounds?" suddenly asked Peg. + +"Certainly. NOW?" and he took out his pocket-book. + +"This minnit," replied Peg positively. + +"With pleasure," said Mr. Hawkes, as he began to count the bank-notes. + +"And I want ye to get a passage on the first ship to America. This +afternoon if there's one," cried Peg, earnestly. + +"Oh, come, come--" remonstrated the lawyer. + +"The twenty pounds I want to buy something for me father--just to +remember England by. If ye think me uncle wouldn't like me to have it +because I'm lavin', why then me father'll pay ye back. It may take him +a long time, but he'll pay it." + +"Now listen--" interrupted Mr. Hawkes. + +"Mebbe it'll only be a few dollars a week, but father always pays his +debts--in time. That's all he ever needs--TIME." + +"What's all this nonsense about going away?" + +"It isn't nonsense. I'm goin' to me father," answered Peg resolutely. + +"Just when everything is opening out for you?" asked the lawyer. + +"Everything has closed up on me," said Peg. "I'm goin' back." + +"Why, you've improved out of all knowledge." + +"Don't think that. Me clothes have changed--that's all. When I put me +thravellin' suit back on agen, ye won't notice any IMPROVEMENT." + +"But think what you're giving up." + +"I'll have me father. I'm only sorry I gave HIM up--for a month." + +"The upbringing of a young lady!" + +"I don't want it. I want me father." + +"The advantages of gentle surroundings." + +"New York is good enough for me--with me father." + +"Education!" + +"I can get that in America--with me father." + +"Position!" + +"I don't want it. I want me father." + +"Why this rebellion? This sudden craving for your father?" + +"It isn't sudden," she turned on him fiercely. "I've wanted him all the +time I've been here. I only promised to stay a month anyway. Well, I've +stayed a month. Now, I've disgraced them all here an' I'm goin' back +home." + +"DISGRACED them?" + +"Yes, disgraced them. Give me that twenty pounds, please," and she held +out her hand for the notes. + +"How have you disgraced them?" demanded the astonished lawyer. + +"Ask me aunt. She knows. Give me the money, please." + +Hawkes hunted through his mind for the cause of this upheaval in the +Chichester home. He remembered Mrs. Chichester's statement about +Alaric's affection for his young cousin. Could the trouble have arisen +from THAT? It gave him a clue to work on. He grasped it. + +"Answer me one question truthfully, Miss O'Connell." + +"What is it? Hurry. I've a lot to do before I go." + +"Is there an affair of the heart?" + +"D'ye mean LOVE?" + +"Yes." + +"Why d'ye ask me that?" + +"Answer me," insisted Mr. Hawkes. + +Peg looked down on the ground mournfully and replied: + +"Me heart is in New York--with me father." + +"Has anyone made love to you since you have been here?" + +Peg looked up at him sadly and shook her head. A moment later, a +mischievous look came into her eyes, and she said, with a roguish laugh: + +"Sure one man wanted to kiss me an' I boxed his ears. And +another--ALMOST man--asked me to marry him." + +"Oh!" ejaculated the lawyer. + +"Me cousin Alaric." + +"And what did you say?" questioned Hawkes. + +"I towld him I'd rather have 'Michael.'" + +He looked at her in open bewilderment and repeated: + +"Michael?" + +"Me dog," explained Peg, and her eyes danced with merriment. + +Hawkes laughed heartily and relievedly. + +"Then you refused him?" + +"Of course I refused him. ME marry HIM! What for, I'd like to know?" + +"Is he too young?" + +"He's too selfish, an' too silly too, an' too everything I don't like +in a man!" replied Peg. + +"And what DO you like in a man?" + +"Precious little from what I've seen of them in England." + +As Hawkes looked at her, radiant in her spring-like beauty, her clear, +healthy complexion, her dazzling teeth, her red-gold hair, he felt a +sudden thrill go through him. His life had been so full, so +concentrated on the development of his career, that he had never +permitted the feminine note to obtrude itself on his life. His effort +had been rewarded by an unusually large circle of influential clients +who yielded him an exceedingly handsome revenue. He had heard whispers +of a magistracy. His PUBLIC future was assured. + +But his PRIVATE life was arid. The handsome villa in Pelham Crescent +had no one to grace the head of the table, save on the occasional +visits of his aged mother, or the still rarer ones of a married sister. + +And here was he in the full prime of life. + +It is remarkable how, at times, in one's passage through life, the +throb in a voice, the breath of a perfume, the chord of an old song, +will arouse some hidden note that had so far lain dormant in one's +nature, and which, when awakened into life, has influences that reach +through generations. + +It was even so with Hawkes, as he looked at the little Irish girl, born +of an aristocratic English mother, looking up at him, hand +outstretched, expectant, in all her girlish pudicity. + +Yielding to some uncontrollable impulse, he took the little hand in +both of his own. He smiled nervously, and there was a suspicious tremor +in his voice: + +"You would like a man of position in life to give you what you most +need. Of years to bring you dignity, and strength to protect you." + +"I've got HIM," stated Peg unexpectedly, withdrawing her hand and +eyeing the bank-notes that seemed as far from her as when she first +asked for them. + +"You've got him?" ejaculated the man-of-law, aghast. + +"I have. Me father. Let ME count that money. The cab will be here an' I +won't be ready--" Hawkes was not to be denied now. He went on in his +softest and most persuasive accents: + +"I know one who would give you all these--a man who has reached the +years of discretion! one in whom the follies of youth have merged into +the knowledge and reserve of early middle-age. A man of position and of +means. A man who can protect you, care for you, admire you--and be +proud to marry you." + +He felt a real glow of eloquent pleasure, as he paused for her reply to +so dignified and ardent an appeal. + +If Peg had been listening, she certainly could not have understood the +meaning of his fervid words, since she answered him by asking a +question: + +"Are ye goin' to let me have the money?" + +"Do not speak of MONEY at a moment like this!" cried the mortified +lawyer. + +"But ye said ye would let me have it!" persisted Peg. + +"Don't you wish to know who the man is, whom I have just described, my +dear Miss O'Connell?" + +"No, I don't. Why should I? With me father waitin' in New York for +me--an' I'm waitin' for that--" and again she pointed to his +pocket-book. + +"Miss O'Connell--may I say--Margaret, I was your uncle's adviser--his +warm personal friend. We spoke freely of you for many weeks before he +died. It was his desire to do something for you that would change your +whole life and make it full and happy and contented. Were your uncle +alive, I know of nothing that would give him greater pleasure than for +his old friend to take you, your young life--into his care. Miss +O'Connell--I am the man!" + +It was the first time this dignified gentleman had ever invited a lady +to share his busy existence, and he felt the warm flush of youthful +nervousness rush to his cheeks, as it might have done had he made just +such a proposal, as a boy. It really seemed to him that he WAS a boy as +he stood before Peg waiting for her reply. + +Again she did not say exactly what he had thought and hoped she would +have said. + +"Stop it!" she cried. "What's the matther with you men this morning? +Ye'd think I was some great lady, the way ye're all offerin' me yer +hands an' yer names an' yer influences an' yer dignities. Stop it! Give +me that money and let me go." + +Hawkes did not despair. He paused. + +"Don't give your answer too hastily. I know it must seem abrupt--one +might almost say BRUTAL. But _I_ am alone in the world--YOU are alone. +Neither of us have contracted a regard for anyone else. And in addition +to that--there would be no occasion to marry until you are twenty-one. +There!" + +And he gazed at her with what he fondly hoped were eyes of sincere +adoration. + +"Not until I'm twenty-one! Look at that now!" replied Peg--it seemed to +Mr. Hawkes, somewhat flippantly. + +"Well! What do you say?" he asked vibrantly. + +"What do I say, to WHAT?" + +"Will you consent to an engagement?" + +"With YOU?" + +"Yes, Miss O'Connell, with me." + +Peg suddenly burst into a paroxysm of laughter. + +Hawkes' face clouded and hardened. + +The gloomier he looked, the more hearty were Peg's ebullitions of +merriment. + +Finally, when the hysterical outburst had somewhat abated, he asked +coldly: + +"Am I to consider that a refusal?" + +"Ye may. What would _I_ be doin', marryin' the likes of you? Answer me +that?" + +His passion began to dwindle, his ardour to lessen. + +"That is final?" he queried. + +"Absolutely, completely and entirely final." + +Not only did all HOPE die in Mr. Hawkes, but seemingly all REGARD as +well. + +Ridicule is the certain death-blow to a great and disinterested +affection. + +Peg's laugh still rang in his ears and as he looked at her now, with a +new intelligence, unblinded by illusion, he realised what a mistake it +would have been for a man, of his temperament, leanings and +achievements to have linked his life with hers. Even his first feeling +of resentment passed. He felt now a warm tinge of gratitude. Her +refusal--bitter though its method had been--was a sane and wise +decision. It was better for both of them. + +He looked at her gratefully and said: + +"Very well. I think your determination to return to your father, a very +wise one. I shall advise the Chief Executor to that effect. And I shall +also see that a cabin is reserved for you on the first out-going +steamer, and I'll personally take you on board." + +"Thank ye very much, sir. An' may I have the twenty pounds?" + +"Certainly. Here it is," and he handed her the money. + +"I'm much obliged to ye. An' I'm sorry if I hurt ye by laughin' just +now. But I thought ye were jokin', I did." + +"Please never refer to it again." + +"I won't--indade I won't. I am sure it was very nice of ye to want to +marry me--" + +"I beg you--" he interrupted, stopping her with a gesture. + +"Are you goin' back to London to-day?" + +"By the afternoon express." + +"May I go with you?" + +"Certainly." + +"Thank ye," cried Peg. "I won't kape ye long. I've not much to take +with me. Just what I brought here--that's all." + +She hurried across the room to the staircase. When, she was halfway up +the stairs, Jarvis entered and was immediately followed by Jerry. + +Peg stopped when she saw him come into the room. + +As Jarvis went out, Jerry turned and saw Peg looking down at him. The +expression on her face was at once stern and wistful and angry and +yearning. + +He went forward eagerly. + +"Peg!" he said gently, looking up at her. + +"I'm goin' back to me father in half an hour!" and she went on up the +stairs. + +"In half an hour?" he called after her. + +"In thirty minutes!" she replied and disappeared. + +As Jerry moved slowly away from the staircase, he met Montgomery Hawkes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE CHIEF EXECUTOR, APPEARS UPON THE SCENE + + +"Why, how do you do, Sir Gerald?" and Hawkes went across quickly with +outstretched hand. + +"Hello, Hawkes," replied Jerry, too preoccupied to return the act of +salutation. Instead, he nodded in the direction Peg had gone and +questioned: + +"What does she mean--going in a few minutes?" + +"She is returning to America. Our term of guardianship is over." + +"How's that?" + +"She absolutely refuses to stay here any longer. My duties in regard to +her, outside of the annual payment provided by her late uncle, end +to-day," replied the lawyer. + +"I think not, Hawkes." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"As the Chief Executor of the late Mr. Kingsnorth's will, _I_ must be +satisfied that its conditions are complied with in the SPIRIT as well +as to the LETTER," said Jerry, authoritatively. + +"Exactly," was the solicitor's reply. "And--?" + +"Mr. Kingsnorth expressly stipulated that a year was to elapse before +any definite conclusion was arrived at. So far only a month has passed." + +"But she insists on returning to her father!" protested Mr. Hawkes. + +"Have you told her the conditions of the will?" + +"Certainly not. Mr. Kingsnorth distinctly stated she was not to know +them." + +"Except under exceptional circumstances. I consider the circumstances +most exceptional." + +"I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Sir Gerald." + +"That is a pity. But it doesn't alter my intention." + +"And may I ask what that intention is?" + +"To carry out the spirit of Mr. Kingsnorth's bequest." + +"And what do you consider the spirit?" + +"I think we will best carry out Mr. Kingsnorth's last wishes by making +known the conditions of his bequest to Miss O'Connell and then let her +decide whether she wishes to abide by them or not." + +"As the late Mr. Kingsnorth's legal adviser, I must strongly object to +such a course," protested the indignant lawyer. + +"All the same, Mr. Hawkes, I feel compelled to take it, and I must ask +you to act under my instructions." + +"Really," exclaimed Mr. Hawkes; "I should much prefer to resign from my +executorship." + +"Nonsense. In the interests of all parties, we must act together and +endeavour to carry out the dead man's wishes." + +The lawyer considered a moment and then in a somewhat mollified tone, +said: + +"Very well, Sir Gerald. If you think it is necessary, why then by all +means, I shall concur in your views." + +"Thank you," replied the Chief Executor. + +Mrs. Chichester came into the room and went straight to Jerry. At the +same time, Alaric burst in through the garden and greeted Jerry and +Hawkes. + +"I heard you were here--" began Mrs. Chichester. + +Jerry interrupted her anxiously: "Mrs. Chichester, I was entirely to +blame for last night's unfortunate business. Don't visit your +displeasure on the poor little child. Please don't." + +"I've tried to tell her that I'll overlook it. But she seems determined +to go. Can you suggest anything that might make her stay? She seems to +like you--and after all--as you so generously admit--it was--to a +certain extent your fault." + +Before Jerry could reply, Jarvis came down the stairs with a +pained--not to say mortified--expression on his face. Underneath his +left arm he held tightly a shabby little bag and a freshly wrapped up +parcel: in his right hand, held far away from his body, was the +melancholy and picturesque terrier--"Michael." + +Mrs. Chichester looked at him in horror. + +"Where are you going with those--THINGS?" she gasped. + +"To put them in a cab, madam," answered the humiliated footman. "Your +niece's orders." + +"Put those articles in a travelling-bag--use one of my daughter's," +ordered the old lady. + +"Your niece objects, madam. She sez she'll take nothing away she didn't +bring with her." + +The grief-stricken woman turned away as Jarvis passed out. Alaric tried +to comfort her. But the strain of the morning had been too great. Mrs. +Chichester burst into tears. + +"Don't weep, mater. Please don't. It can't be helped. We've all done +our best. I know _I_ have!" and Alaric put his mother carefully down on +the lounge and sat beside her on the arm. He looked cheerfully at Jerry +and smiled as he said: + +"I even offered to marry her if she'd stay. Couldn't do more than that, +could I?" + +Hawkes listened intently. + +Jerry returned Alaric's smile as he asked: "YOU offered to marry her?" + +Alaric nodded: + +"Poor little wretch. Still I'd have gone through with it." + +"And what did she say?" queried Jerry. + +"First of all she laughed in my face--right in my face--the little +beggar!" + +Hawkes frowned gloomily as though at some painful remembrance. + +"And after she had concluded her cachinnatory outburst, she coolly told +me she would rather have 'MICHAEL.' She is certainly a remarkable +little person and outside of the inconvenience of having her here, we +should all be delighted to go on taking care of her. And if dancing is +the rock we are going to split on, let us get one up every week for +her. Eh, Jerry? You'd come, wouldn't you?" + +Down the stairs came Peg and Ethel. Peg was holding one of Ethel's +hands tightly. There seemed to be a thorough understanding between +them. Peg was dressed in the same little black suit she wore when she +first entered the Chichester family and the same little hat. + +They all looked at her in amazement, amusement, interrogation and +disgust respectively. + +When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ethel stopped Peg and +entreated: + +"Don't go!" + +"I must. There's nothin' in the wurrld 'ud kape me here now. Nothin'!" + +"I'll drive with you to the station. May I?" asked Ethel. + +"All right, dear." Peg crossed over to Mrs. Chichester: + +"Good-bye, aunt. I'm sorry I've been such a throuble to ye." + +The poor lady looked at Peg through misty eyes and said reproachfully: + +"WHY that dress? Why not one of the dresses I gave you?" + +"This is the way I left me father, an' this is the way I'm goin' back +to him!" replied Peg sturdily. "Goodbye, Cousin Alaric," and she +laughed good-naturedly at the odd little man. In spite of everything he +did, he had a spice of originality about him that compelled Peg to +overlook what might have seemed to others unpardonable priggishness. + +"Good-bye--little devil!" cried Alaric, cheerfully taking the offered +hand. "Good luck to ye. And take care of yerself," added Alaric, +generously. + +As Peg turned away from him, she came face to face with Jerry--or as +she kept calling him in her brain by his new name--to her--Sir Gerald +Adair. She dropped her eyes and timidly held out her hand: + +"Good-bye!" was all she said. + +"You're not going, Peg," said Jerry, quietly and positively. + +"Who's goin' to stop me?" + +"The Chief Executor of the late Mr. Kingsnorth's will." + +"An' who is THAT?" + +"'Mr. Jerry,' Peg!" + +"YOU an executor?" + +"I am. Sit down--here in our midst--and know why you have been here all +the past month." + +As he forced Peg gently into a chair, Mrs. Chichester and Alaric turned +indignantly on him. Mr. Hawkes moved down to listen, and, if necessary, +advise. + +There was pleasure showing on one face only--on Ethel's. + +She alone wanted Peg to understand her position in that house. + +Since the previous night the real womanly note awakened in Ethel. + +Her heart went out to Peg. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +PEG LEARNS OF HER UNCLE'S LEGACY + + +Peg looked up wonderingly from the chair. + +"Me cab's at the door!" she said, warningly to Jerry. + +"I am sorry to insist, but you must give me a few, moments," said the +Chief Executor. + +"MUST?" cried Peg. + +"It is urgent," replied Jerry quietly. + +"Well, then--hurry;" and Peg sat on the edge of the chair, nervously +watching "Jerry." + +"Have you ever wondered at the real reason you were brought here to +this house and the extraordinary interest taken in you by relations +who, until a month ago, had never even bothered about your existence?" + +"I have, indeed," Peg answered. "But whenever I've asked any one, I've +always been told it was me uncle's wish." + +"And it was. Indeed, his keenest desire, just before his death, was to +atone in some way for his unkindness to your mother." + +"Nothin' could do that," and Peg's lips tightened. + +"That was why he sent for you." + +"Sendin' for me won't bring me poor mother back to life, will it?" + +"At least we must respect his intentions. He desired that you should be +given the advantages your mother had when she was a girl." + +"'Ye've made yer bed; lie in it'! That was the message he sent me +mother when she was starvin'. And why? Because she loved me father. +Well, I love me father an' if he thought his money could separate us he +might just as well have let me alone. No one will ever separate us." + +"In justice to yourself," proceeded Jerry, "you must know that he set +aside the sum of one thousand pounds a year to be paid to the lady who +would undertake your training." + +Mrs. Chichester covered her eyes to hide the tears of mortification +that sprang readily into them. + +Alaric looked at Jerry in absolute disgust. + +Hawkes frowned his disapproval. + +Peg sprang up and walked across to her aunt and looked down at her. + +"A thousand pounds a year!" She turned to Jerry and asked: "Does she +get a thousand a year for abusin' me?" + +"For taking care of you," corrected Jerry. + +"Well, what do ye think of that?" cried Peg, gazing curiously at Mrs. +Chichester. "A thousand pounds a year for makin' me miserable, an' the +poor dead man thinkin' he was doin' me a favour!" + +"I tell you this," went on Jerry, "because I don't want you to feel +that you have been living on charity. You have not." + +Peg suddenly blazed up: + +"Well, I've been made to feel it," and she glared passionately at her +aunt. "Why wasn't I told this before? If I'd known it I'd never have +stayed with ye a minnit Who are YOU, I'd like to know, to bring me up +any betther than me father? He's just as much a gentleman as any of +yez. He never hurt a poor girl's feelin's just because she was poor. +Suppose he hasn't any money? Nor ME? What of it? Is it a crime? What +has yer money an' yer breedin' done for you? It's dried up the very +blood in yer veins, that's what it has! Yer frightened to show one +real, human, kindly impulse. Ye don't know what happiness an' freedom +mean. An' if that is what money does, I don't want it. Give me what +I've been used to--POVERTY. At least I can laugh sometimes from me +heart, an' get some pleasure out o' life without disgracin' people!" + +Peg's anger gave place to just as sudden a twinge of regret as she +caught sight of Ethel, white-faced, and staring at her compassionately. +She went across to Ethel and buried her face on her shoulder and wept +as she wailed. + +"Why WASN'T I told! I'd never have stayed! Why wasn't I told?" + +And Ethel comforted her: + +"Don't cry, dear," she whispered. "Don't. The day you came here we were +beggars. You have literally, fed and housed us for the last month." + +Peg looked up at Ethel in astonishment. + +She forgot her own sorrow. + +"Ye were beggars?" + +"Yes. We have nothing but the provision made for your training." + +Poor Mrs. Chichester looked at her daughter reproachfully. + +Alaric had never seen his sister even INTERESTED much less EXCITED +before. He turned to his mother, shrugged his shoulders and said: + +"I give it up! That's all I can say! I simply give it up!" + +Peg grasped the full meaning of Ethel's words: + +"And will ye have nothin' if I go away?" + +Peg paused: Ethel did not speak. + +Peg persisted: "Tell me--are ye ralely dependin' on ME? Spake to me. +Because if ye are, I won't go. I'll stay with ye. I wouldn't see ye +beggars for the wurrld. I've been brought up amongst them, an' I know +what it is." + +Suddenly she took Ethel by the shoulders and asked in a voice so low +that none of the others heard her: + +"Was that the reason ye were goin' last night?" + +Ethel tried to stop her. + +The truth illumined Ethel's face and Peg saw it and knew. + +"Holy Mary!" she cried, "and it was I was drivin' ye to it. Ye felt the +insult of it every time ye met me--as ye said last night. Sure, if I'd +known, dear, I'd never have hurt ye, I wouldn't! Indade, I wouldn't!" + +She turned to the others: + +"There! It's all settled. I'll stay with ye, aunt, an' ye can tache me +anythin' ye like. Will some one ask Jarvis to bring back me bundles an' +'Michael.' I'm goin' to stay!" + +Jerry smiled approvingly at her. Then he said: + +"That is just what I would have expected you to do. But, my dear Peg, +there's no need for such a sacrifice." + +"Sure, why not?" cried Peg, excitedly. "Let me, sacrifice meself. I +feel like it this minnit." + +"There is no occasion." + +He walked over to Mrs. Chichester and addressed her: + +"I came here this morning with some very good news for you. I happen to +be one of the directors of Gifford's bank and I am happy to say that it +will shortly reopen its doors and all the depositors' money will be +available for them in a little while." + +Mrs. Chichester gave a cry of joy as she looked proudly at her two +children: + +"Oh, Alaric!" she exclaimed: "My darling Ethel!" + +"REOPEN its doors?" Alaric commented contemptuously. "So it jolly well +ought to. What right had it to CLOSE 'em? That's what _I_ want to know. +What right?" + +"A panic in American securities, in which we were heavily interested, +caused the suspension of business," explained Jerry. "The panic is +over. The securities are RISING every day. We'll soon be on easy street +again." + +"See here, mater," remarked Alaric firmly, "every ha'penny of ours goes +out of Gifford's bank and into something that has a bottom to it. In +future, I'LL manage the business of this family." + +The Chichester family, reunited in prosperity, had apparently forgotten +the forlorn little girl sitting on the chair, who a moment before had +offered to take up the load of making things easier for them by making +them harder for herself. All their backs were turned to her. + +Jerry looked at her. She caught his eye and smiled, but it had a sad +wistfulness behind it. + +"Sure, they don't want me now. I'd better take me cab. Good day to +yez." And she started quickly for the door. + +Jerry stopped her. + +"There is just one more condition of Mr. Kingsnorth's will that you +must know. Should you go through your course of training satisfactorily +to the age of twenty-one, you will inherit the sum of five thousand +pounds a year." + +"When I'm twenty-one, I get five thousand pounds year?" gasped Peg. + +"If you carry out certain conditions." + +"An' what are they?" + +"Satisfy the executors that you are worthy of the legacy." + +"Satisfy you?" + +"And Mr. Hawkes." + +Peg looked at the somewhat uncomfortable lawyer, who reddened and +endeavoured to appear at ease. + +"Mr. Hawkes! Oho! Indade!" She turned back to Jerry: "Did he know about +the five thousand? When I'm twenty-one?" + +"He drew the will at Mr. Kingsnorth's dictation," replied Jerry. + +"Was that why ye wanted me to be engaged to ye until I was twenty-one?" +she asked the unhappy lawyer. + +Hawkes tried to laugh it off. + +"Come, come, Miss O'Connell," he said, "what nonsense!" + +"Did YOU propose to Miss Margaret?" queried Jerry. + +"Well--" hesitated the embarrassed lawyer--"in a measure--yes." + +"That's what it was," cried Peg, with a laugh. "It was very measured. +No wondher the men were crazy to kape me here and to marry me." + +She caught sight of Alaric and smiled at him. He creased his face into +a sickly imitation of a smile and murmured: + +"Well, of course, I mean to say!" with which clear and well-defined +expression of opinion, he stopped. + +"I could have forgiven you, Alaric," said Peg, "but Mr. Hawkes, I'm +ashamed of ye." + +"It was surely a little irregular, Hawkes," suggested Jerry. + +"I hardly agree with you, Sir Gerald. There can be nothing irregular in +a simple statement of affection." + +"Affection is it?" cried Peg. + +"Certainly. We are both alone in the world. Miss O'Connell seemed to be +unhappy: the late Mr. Kingsnorth desired that she should be trained--it +seemed to me be an admirable solution of the whole difficulty." + +Peg laughed openly and turning to Jerry, said "He calls himself a +'solution.' Misther Hawkes--go on with ye--I am ashamed of ye." + +"Well, there is no harm done," replied Mr. Hawkes, endeavouring to +regain his lost dignity. + +"No!" retorted Peg. "It didn't go through, did it?" + +Hawkes smiled at that, and taking Peg's hand, protested: + +"However--always your friend and well-wisher." + +"But nivver me husband!" insisted Peg. + +"Good-bye." + +"Where are ye goin' without me?" + +"You surely are not returning to America now?" said Hawkes, in surprise. + +"Why, of course, I'm goin' to me father now. Where else would I go?" + +Hawkes hastened to explain: + +"If you return to America to your father, you will violate one of the +most important clauses in the will." + +"If I go back to me father?" + +"Or if he visits you--until you are twenty-one," added Jerry. + +"Is that so?" And the blood rushed up to Peg's temples. "Well, then, +that settles it. No man is goin' to dictate to me about me father. No +dead man--nor no livin' one nayther." + +"It will make you a rich young lady in three years, remember. You will +be secure from any possibility of poverty." + +"I don't care. I wouldn't stay over here for three years with" she +caught Mrs. Chichester's eyes fastened on her and she checked herself. + +"I wouldn't stay away from me father for three years for all the money +in the wurrld," she concluded, with marked finality. + +"Very well," agreed Jerry. Then he spoke to the others: "Now, may I +have a few moments alone with my ward?" + +The family expressed surprise. + +Hawkes suggested a feeling of strong displeasure. + +"I shall wait to escort you down to the boat, Miss O'Connell." + +Bowing to every one, the man of law left the room. + +Peg stared at Jerry incredulously. + +"WARD? Is that ME?" + +"Yes, Peg. I am your legal guardian--appointed by Mr. Kingsnorth!" + +"You're the director of a bank, the executor of an estate, an' now +ye're me guardian. What do ye do with yer spare time?" + +Jerry smiled and appealed to the others: + +"Just a few seconds--alone." + +Mrs. Chichester went to Peg and said coldly "Good-bye, Margaret. It is +unlikely we'll meet again. I hope you have a safe and pleasant journey." + +"I thank ye, Aunt Monica." Poor Peg longed for at least one little sign +of affection from her aunt. She leaned forward to kiss her. The old +lady either did not see the advance or did not reciprocate what it +implied. She went on upstairs out of sight. + +Mingled with her feeling of relief that she would never again be +slighted and belittled by Mrs. Chichester, she was hurt to the heart by +the attitude of cold indifference with which her aunt treated her. + +She was indeed overjoyed to think now it was the last she would ever +see of the old lady. + +Alaric held out his hand frankly: + +"Jolly decent of ye to offer to stay here--just to keep us +goin'--awfully decent. You are certainly a little wonder. I'll miss you +terribly--really I will." + +Peg whispered: + +"Did ye know about that five thousand pounds when I'm twenty-one?" + +"'Course I did. That was why I proposed. To save the roof." Alaric was +nothing if not honest. + +"Ye'd have sacrificed yeself by marryin' ME?" quizzed Peg. + +"Like a shot." + +"There's somethin' of the hero about you, Alaric!" + +"Oh, I mustn't boast," he replied modestly. "It's all in the family." + +"Well, I'm glad ye didn't have to do it," Peg remarked positively. + +"So am I. Jolly good of you to say 'No.' All the luck in the world to +you. Drop me a line or a picture-card from New York. Look you up on my +way to Canada--if I ever really go. 'Bye!" The young man walked over to +the door calling over his shoulder to Jerry: "See ye lurchin' about +somewhere, old dear!" and he too went out of Peg's life. + +She looked at Ethel and half entreated, half commanded Jerry: + +"Plaze look out of the window for a minnit. I want to spake to me +cousin." Jerry sauntered over to the window and stood looking at the +gathering storm. + +"Is that all over?" whispered Peg. + +"Yes," replied Ethel, in a low tone. + +"Ye'll never see him again?" + +"Never. I'll write him that. What must you think of me?" + +"I thought of you all last night," said Peg eagerly. "Ye seem like some +one who's been lookin' for happiness in the dark with yer eyes shut. +Open them wide, dear, and look at the beautiful things in the daylight +and then you'll be happy." + +Ethel shook her head sadly: + +"I feel to-day that I'll never know happiness again." + +"Sure, I've felt like that many a time since I've been here. Ye know +three meals a day, a soft bed to slape in an' everythin' ye want +besides, makes ye mighty discontented. If ye'd go down among the poor +once in a while an' see what they have to live on, an' thry and help +them, ye might find comfort and peace in doin' it." + +Ethel put both of her hands affectionately on Peg's shoulders. + +"Last night you saved me from myself--and then; you shielded me from my +family." + +"Faith I'd do THAT for any poor girl, much less me own cousin." + +"Don't think too hardly of me, Margaret. Please!" she entreated. + +"I don't, dear. It wasn't yer fault. It was yer mother's." + +"My mother's?" + +"That's what I said. It's all in the way, we're brought up what we +become aftherwards. Yer mother, raised ye in a hot house instead of +thrustin' ye out into the cold winds of the wurrld when ye were young +and gettin' ye used them. She taught ye to like soft silks and shining +satins an' to look down on the poor, an' the shabby. That's no way to +bring up anybody. Another thing ye learnt from her--to be sacret about +things that are near yer heart instead of encouragin' ye to be +outspoken an' honest. Of course I don't think badly of ye. Why should +I? I had the advantage of ye all the time. It isn't ivery girl has the +bringin' up such as I got from me father. So let yer mind be aisy, +dear. I think only good of ye. God bless ye!" She took Ethel gently in +her arms and kissed her. + +"I'll drive down with you," said Ethel, brokenly, and hurried out. + +Peg stood looking after her for a moment, then she turned and looked at +Jerry, who was still looking out of the window. + +"She's gone," said Peg, quietly. + +Jerry walked down to her. + +"Are you still determined to go?" he asked. + +"I am." + +"And you'll leave here without a regret?" + +"I didn't say that sure." + +"We've been good friends, haven't we?" + +"I thought we were," she answered gently. "But friendship must be +honest. Why didn't ye tell me ye were a gentleman? Sure, how was I to +know? 'Jerry' might mean anybody. Why didn't ye tell me ye had a title?" + +"I did nothing to get it. Just inherited it," he said simply. Then he +added: "I'd drop it altogether if I could." + +"Would ye?" she asked curiously. + +"I would. And as for being a gentleman, why one of the finest I ever +met drove a cab in Piccadilly. He was a GENTLE MAN--that is--one who +never willingly hurts another. Strange in a cabman, eh?" + +"Why did ye let me treat ye all the time as an equal?" + +"Because you ARE--superior in many things. Generosity, for instance." + +"Oh, don't thry the comther on me. I know ye now. Nothin' seems the +same." + +"Nothing?" + +"Nothin'!" + +"Are we never to play like children again?" he pleaded. + +"No," she said firmly. "Ye'll have to come out to New York to do it. +An' then I mightn't." + +"Will nothing make you stay?" + +"Nothing. I'm just achin' for me home." + +"Such as this could never be home to you?" + +"This? Never," she replied positively. + +"I'm sorry. Will you ever think of me?" He waited. She averted her eyes +and said nothing. + +"Will you write to me?" he urged. + +"What for?" + +"I'd like to hear of you and from you. Will you?" + +"Just to laugh at me spellin'?" + +"Peg!" He drew near to her. + +"Sir Gerald!" she corrected him and drew a little away. "Peg, my dear!" +He took both of her hands in his and bent over her. + +Just for a moment was Peg tempted to yield to the embrace. + +Had she done so, the two lives would have changed in that moment. But +the old rebellious spirit came uppermost, and she looked at him +defiantly and cried: + +"Are you goin' to propose to me, too?" + +That was the one mistake that separated those two hearts. Sir Gerald +drew back from her--hurt. + +She was right--they were not equals. + +She could not understand him, since he could never quite say all he +felt, and she could never divine what was left unsaid. + +She was indeed right. + +Such as this could never be a home for her. + +Jarvis came quietly in: + +"Mr. Hawkes says, Miss, if you are going to catch the train--" + +"I'll catch it," said Peg impatiently; and Jarvis went out. + +Peg looked at Jerry's back turned eloquently toward her, as though in +rebuke. + +"Why in the wurrld did I say that to him?" she muttered. "It's me Irish +tongue." She went to the door, and opened it noisily, rattling the +handle loudly--hoping he would look around. + +But he never moved. + +She accepted the attitude as one of dismissal. + +Under her breath she murmured: + +"Good-bye, Misther Jerry--an' God bless ye--an' thank ye for bein' so +nice to me." And she passed out. + +In the hall Peg found Ethel and Hawkes waiting for her. + +They put her between them in the cab and with "Michael" in her arms, +she drove through the gates of Regal Villa never to return. + +The gathering storm broke as she reached the station. In storm Jerry +came into her life, in storm she was leaving his. + +The threads of what might have been a fitting addition to the "LOVE +STORIES OF THE WORLD" were broken. + +Could the break ever be healed? + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +PEG'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND + + +Many and conflicting were Peg's feelings as she went aboard the ship +that was to carry her from England forever. + +In that short MONTH she had experienced more contrasted feelings than +in all the other YEARS she had lived. + +It seemed as if she had left her girlhood, with all its keen hardships +and sweet memories, behind her. + +When the vessel swung around the dock in Liverpool and faced toward +America Peg felt that not only was she going back to the New World, but +she was about to begin a new existence. Nothing would ever be quite the +same again. She had gone through the leavening process of emotional +life and had come out of it with her courage still intact, her honesty +unimpaired, but somehow with her FAITH abruptly shaken. She had +believed and trusted, and she had been--she thought--entirely mistaken, +and it hurt her deeply. + +Exactly why Peg should have arrived at such a condition--bordering as +it was on cynicism--was in one sense inexplicable, yet from another +point of view easily understood. That Jerry had not told her all about +himself when they first met, as she did about herself to him, did not +necessarily imply deceit on his part. Had she asked any member or +servant in the Chichester family who and what "Jerry" was they would +readily have told her. But that was contrary to Peg's nature. If she +liked anyone, she never asked questions about them. It suggested a +doubt, and doubt to Peg meant disloyalty in friendship and affection. +Everyone had referred to this young gentleman as "Jerry." He even +introduced himself by that unromantic and undignified name. No one +seemed to treat him with any particular deference, nor did anything in +his manner seem to demand it. She had imagined that anyone with a title +should not only be proud of it, but would naturally hasten to let +everyone they met become immediately aware whom they were addressing. + +She vividly remembered her father pointing out to her a certain +north-of-Ireland barrister who--on the strength of securing more +convictions under the "Crimes Act" than any other jurist in the whole +of Ireland--was rewarded with the Royal and Governmental approval by +having conferred on him the distinction and dignity of knighthood. It +was the crowning-point of his career. It has steadily run through his +life since as a thin flame of scarlet. He lives and breathes +"knighthood." He thinks and speaks it. He DEMANDS recognition from his +equals, even as he COMPELS it from his inferiors. Her father told Peg +that all the servants were drilled carefully to call him--"Sir Edward." + +His relations, unaccustomed through their drab lives to the usages of +the great, found extreme difficulty in acquiring the habit of using the +new appellation in the place of the nick-name of his youth--"Ted." It +was only when it was made a condition of being permitted an audience +with the gifted and honoured lawyer, that they allowed their lips to +meekly form the servile "Sir!" when addressing their distinguished +relation. + +When he visited Dublin Castle to consult with his Chiefs, and any of +his old-time associates hailed him familiarly as "Ted!" a grieved look +would cross his semi-Scotch features, and he would hasten to correct in +his broad, coarse brogue: "Sir Edward, me friend! Be the Grace of Her +Majesty and the British Government--Sir Edward--if--ye plaze!" + +THERE was one who took pride in the use of his title. + +He desired and exacted the full tribute due the dignity it carried. +Then why did not "Jerry" do the same? + +She did not appreciate that to him the prefix having been handed down +from generations, was as natural to him as it was unnatural to the +aforementioned criminal lawyer. The one was born with it, consequently +it became second nature to him. The other had it conferred on him for +his zeal in procuring convictions of his own countrymen, and never +having in his most enthusiastic dreams believed such a condition would +come to pass--now that it was an accomplished fact, he naturally wanted +all to know and respect it. + +They were two distinct breeds of men. + +Peg had occasionally met the type of the honoured lawyer. They sprang +up as mushrooms over night during the pressure of the "Crimes Act," and +were liberally rewarded by the government--some were even transferred +to the English Bar. And they carried their blatant insistence even +across the channel. + +But the man of breeding who exacted nothing; of culture, who pretended +not to have acquired it; of the real power and dignity of life, yet was +simplicity itself in his manner to others--that kind of man was new to +Peg. + +She burned with shame as she thought of her leave-taking. What must Sir +Gerald think of her? + +Even to the end she was just the little "Irish nothin'," as she had +justly, it seemed to her now, described herself to him. She had hurt +and offended him. In that one rude, foolish, unnecessary question, "Are +you goin' to propose too?" she had outraged common courtesy, and made +it impossible for him to say even a friendly "Good bye" to her. She did +not realise the full measure of the insult until afterwards. She had +practically insinuated that he was following the somewhat sordid +example of cousin Alaric and Montgomery Hawkes in proposing for her +hand because, in a few years, she would benefit by her uncle's will. +Such a suggestion was not only unworthy of her--it was an unforgivable +thing to say to him. He had always treated her with the greatest +courtesy and consideration, and because he did not flaunt his gentility +before her, she had taken unwarranted umbrage and had said something +that raised an impassable barrier between them. + +All the way across the Atlantic poor lonely Peg had many opportunities +of reviewing that brief glimpse of English life. She felt now how wrong +her attitude had been to the whole of the Chichester family. She had +judged them at first sight. She had resolved that they were just +selfish, inconsiderate, characterless people. On reflection, she +determined that they were not. And even if they had been, why should +Peg have been their accuser? And after all, is there not an element of +selfishness in every nature? Was Peg herself entirely immune? + +And in a family with traditions to look back on and live up to, have +they not a greater right to being self-centred than the plebeian with +nothing to look back on or forward to? And, all things considered, is +not selfishness a thoroughly human and entirely natural feeling? What +right had she to condemn people wholesale for feeling and practising it? + +These were the sum and substance of Peg's self-analysis during the +first days of her voyage home. + +Then the thought came to her,--were the Chichesters really selfish? Now +that she had been told the situation, she knew that her aunt had +undertaken her training to protect Ethel and Alaric from distress and +humiliation. She realised how distasteful it must have been to a lady +of Mrs. Chichester's nature and position to have occasion to receive +into her house, amongst her own family, such a girl as Peg. And she had +not made it easy for her aunt. She had regarded the family as being +allied against her. + +Was it not largely her own fault if they had been? Peg's sense of +justice was asserting itself. + +The thought of Alaric flashed through her mind, and with it came a +little pang of regret for the many occasions she had made fun of +him--and in his mother's presence. His proposal to her had its pathetic +as well as its humorous side. To save his family he would have +deliberately thrown away his own chance of happiness by marrying her. +Yet he would have done it willingly and cheerfully and, from what she +had seen of the little man, he would have lived up to his obligations +honourably and without a murmur. + +Alaric's sense of relief at her refusal of him suddenly passed before +her, and she smiled broadly as she saw, in a mental picture, his eager +and radiant little face as he thanked her profusely for being so +generous as to refuse him. Looking back, Alaric was by no means as +contemptible as he had appeared at first sight. He had been coddled too +much. He needed the spur of adversity and the light of battle with his +fellowmen. Experience and worldly wisdom could make him a useful and +worthy citizen, since fundamentally there was nothing seriously wrong +with him. + +Peg's outlook on life was distinctly becoming clarifled. + +Lastly, she thought of Ethel. Poor, unhappy, lonely Ethel! In her +little narrow ignorance, Peg had taken an intense dislike to her cousin +from the beginning. Once or twice she had made friendly overtures to +Ethel, and had always been repulsed. She placed Ethel in the category +of selfish English-snobdom that she had heard and read about and now, +apparently, met face to face. Then came the vivid experience at night +when Ethel laid bare her soul pitilessly and torrentially for Peg to +see. With it came the realisation of the heart-ache and misery of this +outwardly contented and entirely unemotional young lady. Beneath the +veneer of repression and convention Peg saw the fires of passion +blazing in Ethel, and the cry of revolt and hatred against her +environment. But for Peg she would have thrown away her life on a +creature such as Brent because there was no one near her to understand +and to pity and to succour. + +Peg shuddered as she thought of the rash act Ethel had been saved +from--blackening her life in the company of that satyr. + +How many thousands of girls were there in England today, well-educated, +skilled in the masonry of society--to all outward seeming perfectly +contented, awaiting their final summons to the marriage-market--the +culmination of their brief, inglorious careers. Yet if one could +penetrate beneath the apparent calm, one might find boiling in THEIR +blood and beating in THEIR brains the same revolt that had driven Ethel +to the verge of the Dead Sea of lost hopes and vain ambitions--the +vortex of scandal. + +When from time to time a girl of breeding and of family elopes with an +under-servant or a chauffeur, the unfortunate incident is hushed up and +the parents attribute the unhappy occurrence primarily to some mental +or moral twist in the young lady. They should seek the fault in their +own hearts and lives. It is the home life of England that is +responsible for a large portion of the misery that drives the victims +to open revolt. The children are not taught from the time they can +first speak to be perfectly frank and honest about everything they +think and feel. They are too often left in the care of servants at an +age when parental influence has the greatest significance. On the rare +occasions when they are permitted to enter the august presence of their +parents, they are often treated with a combination of tolerant +affection and imperial severity. Small wonder the little ones in their +development to adolescence evade giving confidences that have neither +been asked for nor encouraged. They have to learn the great secrets of +life and of nature from either bitter experience or from the lips of +strangers. Children and parents grow up apart. It often takes a +convulsion of nature or a devastating scandal to awaken the latter to +the full realisation of their responsibility. + +During their talk the morning following that illuminating incident, Peg +learned more of Ethel's real nature than she had done in all of the +four weeks she had seen and listened to her daily. + +She had opened her heart to Peg, and the two girls had mingled +confidences. If they had only begun that way, what a different month it +might have been for both! Peg resolved to watch Ethel's career from +afar: to write to her constantly: and to keep fresh and green the +memory of their mutual regard. + +At times there would flash through Peg's mind--what would her future in +America be--with her father? Would he be disappointed? He so much +wanted her to be provided for that the outcome of her visit abroad +would be, of a certainty, in the nature of a severe shock to him. What +would be the outcome? How would he receive her? And what had all the +days to come in store for her with memory searching back to the days +that were? She had a longing now for education: to know the essential +things that made daily intercourse possible between people of culture. +She had been accustomed to look on it as affectation. Now she realised +that it was as natural to those who had acquired the masonry of gentle +people as her soft brogue and odd, blunt, outspoken ways were to her. + +From, now on she would never more be satisfied with life as it was of +old. She had passed through a period of awakening; a searchlight had +been turned on her own shortcomings and lack of advantages. She had not +been conscious of them before, since she had been law unto herself. But +now a new note beat in on her. It was as though she had been +colour-blind and suddenly had the power of colour-differentiation +vouchsafed her and looked out on a world that dazzled by its new-found +brilliancy. It was even as though she had been tone-deaf and, by a +miracle, had the gift of sweet sounds given her, and found herself +bathed in a flow of sweet music. She was bewildered. Her view of life +had changed. She would have to rearrange her outlook by her experience +if she hoped to find happiness. + +And always as she brooded and argued with and criticised herself and +found things to admire in what had hitherto been wrong to her--always +the face of Jerry rose before her and the sound of his voice came +pleasantly to her ears and the memory of his regard touched gently at +her heart, and the thought of her final mistake burnt and throbbed in +her brain. + +And with each pulsation of the giant engines she was carried farther +and farther away froze the scene of her first romance. One night she +made her "farewell" to England and all it contained that had played a +part in her life. + +It was the night before she reached New York. + +As she came nearer and nearer to America, the thought of one who was +waiting for her--who had never shown anger or resentment toward +her--whatever she did; who had never shown liking for any but her; who +had always given her the love of his heart and the fruit of his brain; +who had sheltered and taught and loved and suffered for her,--rose +insistently before her and obliterated all other impressions and all +other memories. + +As she spoke her "farewell" to England, Peg turned her little body +toward the quickly nearing shores of America and thanked God that +waiting to greet her would be her father, and entreated Him that he +would be spared to her, and that when either should die that she might +be called first; that life without him would be barren and terrible! +and above all, she pleaded that He would keep her little heart loyal +always to her childhood hero, and that no other should ever supplant +her father in her love and remembrance. + +When she awoke nest day amid the bustle of the last morning on board, +it seemed that her prayer had been answered. + +Her farewell to England was indeed final. + +She had only one thought uppermost--she was going to see her father. + + + + +BOOK V + +PEG RETURNS TO HER FATHER + + +CHAPTER I + +AFTER MANY DAYS + + +Frank O'Connell stood on the quay that morning in July, and watched the +great ship slowly swing in through the heads, and his heart beat fast +as he waited impatiently while they moored her. + +His little one had come back to him. + +His fears were at rest. + +She was on board that floating mass of steel and iron, and the giant +queen of the water had gallantly survived storm and wave and was +nestling alongside the pier. + +Would she be the same Peg? That was the thought beating through him as +he strained his eyes to see the familiar and beloved little figure. Was +she coming back to him--transformed by the magic wand of association--a +great lady? He could scarcely believe that she WOULD, yet he had a +half-defined fear in his soul that she might not be the same. + +One thing he made up his mind to--never again would he think of +separation. Never again would he argue her into agreeing to go away +from him. He had learned his lesson and by bitter experience. Never +again until SHE wished it. + +Amid the throngs swarming down the gangways he suddenly saw his +daughter, and he gave a little gasp of surprised pleasure, and a mist +swam before his eyes and a great lump came into his throat and his +heart beat as a trip-hammer. It was the same Peg that had gone away a +month ago. The same little black suit and the hat with the berries and +the same bag and "Michael" in her arms. + +Their meeting was extraordinary. It was quite unlike what either had +supposed it would be. There was a note of strangeness in each. There +was--added to the fulness of the heart--an aloofness--a feeling that, +in the passage of time, life had not left either quite the same. + +How often that happens to two people who have shared the intimacy of +years and the affection of a lifetime! After a separation of even a +little while, the break in their joint-lives, the influence of +strangers, and the quick rush of circumstance during their parting, +creates a feeling neither had ever known. The interregnum had created +barriers that had to be broken down before the old relationship could +be resumed. + +O'Connell and Peg made the journey home almost in silence. They sat +hand in hand in the conveyance whilst Peg's eyes looked at the tall +buildings as they flashed past her, and saw the daring advertisements +on the boardings and listened to the ceaseless roar of the traffic. + +All was just as she had left it. + +Only Peg had changed. + +New York seemed a Babel after the quiet of that little north of England +home. She shivered as thoughts surged in a jumbled mass through her +brain. + +They reached O'Connell's apartment. + +It had been made brilliant for Peg's return. + +There were additions to the meagre furnishings Peg had left behind. +Fresh pictures were on the walls. There were flowers everywhere. + +O'Connell watched Peg anxiously as she looked around. How would she +feel toward her home when she contrasted it with what she had just left? + +His heart bounded as he saw Peg's face brighten as she ran from one +object to another and commented on them. + +"It's the grand furniture we have now, father!" + +"Do ye like it, Peg?" + +"That I do. And it's the beautiful picture of Edward Fitzgerald ye have +on the wall there!" + +"Ye mind how I used to rade ye his life?" + +"I do indade. It's many's the tear I've shed over him and Robert Emmet." + +"Then ye've not forgotten?" + +"Forgotten what?" + +"All ye learned as a child and we talked of since ye grew to a girl?" + +"I have not. Did ye think I would?" + +"No, Peg, I didn't. Still, I was wondherin'--" + +"What would I be doin' forgettin' the things ye taught me?" + +He looked at her and a whimsical note came in his voice and the old +look twinkled in his eyes. + +"It's English I thought ye'd be by now. Ye've lived so long among the +Saxons." + +"English! is it?" And her tone rang with disgust and her look was one +of disdain. "English ye thought I'd be! Sure, ye ought to know me +betther than that!" + +"I do, Peg. I was just tasin' ye." + +"An' what have ye been doin' all these long days without me?" + +He raised the littered sheets of his manuscript and showed them to her. + +"This." + +She looked over her shoulder and read: + +"From 'BUCK-SHOT' to 'AGRICULTURAL ORGANISATION.' "THE HISTORY OF A +GENERATION OF ENGLISH MISRULE, by Frank Owen O'Connell." + +She looked up proudly at her father. + +"It looks wondherful, father." + +"I'll rade it to you in the long evenin's now we're together again." + +"Do, father." + +"And we won't separate any more, Peg, will we?" + +"We wouldn't have this time but for you, father." + +"Is it sorry ye are that ye went?" + +"I don't know. I'm sorry o' coorse, and GLAD, too, in some ways." + +"What made yez come back so sudden-like?" + +"I only promised to stay a month." + +"Didn't they want ye any longer?" + +"In one way they did, an' in another they didn't. It's a long +history--that's what it is. Let us sit down here as we used in the +early days and I'll tell ye the whole o' the happenin's since I left +ye." + +She made him comfortable as had been her wont before, and, sitting on +the little low stool at his feet, she told him the story of her month +abroad and the impelling motive of her return. + +She softened some things and omitted others--Ethel entirely. That +episode should be locked forever in Peg's heart. + +Jerry she touched on lightly. + +O'Connell asked her many questions about him, remembering the tone of +her later letters. And all the time he never took his eyes from her +face, and he marked how it shone with a warm glow of pleasure when +Jerry's name occurred, and how the gleam died away and settled into one +of sadness when she spoke of her discovery that he had a title. + +"They're queer people, the English, Peg." + +"They are, father." + +"They're cool an' cunnin' an' crafty, me darlin'." + +"Some o' them are fine an' honourable an' clever too, father." + +"Was this fellow that called himself 'Jerry'--an' all the while was a +Lord--that same?" + +"Ivery bit of it, father." + +"And he trated ye dacent-like?" + +"Sure, I might have been a LADY, the way he behaved to me." + +"Did he iver smile at ye?" + +"Many's the time." + +"Do ye remember the proverb I taught ye as a child?" + +"Which wun, father? I know a hundred, so I do." + +"'Beware the head of a bull, the heels of a horse, of the smile of an +Englishman!'" + +He paused and looked at her keenly. + +"Do you remember that, Peg?" + +"I do. There are Englishmen AND Englishmen. There are PLENTY o' bad +Irish, and by the same token there are SOME good Englishmen. An' he is +wun o' them." + +"Why didn't he tell ye he was a Lord?" + +"He didn't think it necessary. Over there they let ye gather from their +manner what they are. They don't think it necessary to be tellin' +everyone." + +"It's the strange ones they are, Peg, to be rulin' us." + +"Some day, father, they'll go over to Ireland and learn what we're +really like, and then they'll change everything. Jerry said that." + +"They've begun to already. Sure, there's a man named Plunkett has done +more in a few years than all the governments have accomplished in all +the years they've been blunderin' along tryin' to thrample on us. An' +sure, Plunkett has a title, too!" + +"I know, father. Jerry knows him and often spoke of him." + +"Did he, now?" + +"He did. He said that so long as the English government 'ud listen to +kindly, honourable men like Plunkett, there was hope of makin' Ireland +a happy, contented people, an' Jerry said--" + +"It seems Misther Jerry must have said a good deal to yez." + +"Oh, he did. Sure, it was HE started me learnin' things, an' I am goin' +on learnin' now, father. Let us both learn." + +"What?" cried the astonished father. + +"O' coorse, I know ye have a lot o' knowledge, but it's the little FINE +things we Irish have got to learn. An' they make life seem so much +bigger an' grander by bein' considerate an' civil an' soft-spoken to +each other. We've let the brutality of all the years that have gone +before eat into us, and we have thrown off all the charm and formality +of life, and in their place adopted a rough and crude manner to each +other that does not come really from our hearts, but from the memory of +our wrongs." + +Unconsciously Peg had spoken as she had heard Jerry so often speak when +he discussed the Irish. She had lowered her voice and concluded with +quiet strength and dignity. The contrast to the beginning of the speech +was electrical. O'Connell listened amazed. + +"Did the same Jerry say that?" + +"He did, father. An' much more. He knows Ireland well, an' loves it. +Many of his best friends are Irish--an'--" + +"Wait a minnit. Have I ever been 'rough an' crude' in me manner to you, +Peg?" + +"Never, father. But, faith, YOU ought to be a Lord yerself. There isn't +one o' them in England looks any betther than you do. It's in their +MANNER that they have the advantage of us." + +"And where would _I_ be gettin' the manner of a Lord, when me father +died the poorest peasant in the village, an' me brought up from hand to +mouth since I was a child?" + +"I'm sorry I said anythin', father. I wasn't reproachin' ye." + +"I know that, Peg." + +"I'm so proud of ye that yer manner manes more to me than any man o' +title in England." + +He drew her gently to him. + +"There's the one great danger of two people who have grown near to each +other separatin'. When they, meet again, they each think the other has +changed. They look at each other with different eyes, Peg. An' that's +what yer doin' with me. So long as I was near ye, ye didn't notice the +roughness o' me speech an' the lack o' breedin' an' the want o' +knowledge. Ye've seen and listened to others since who have all I never +had the chance to get. God knows I want YOU to have all the advantages +that the wurrld can give ye, since you an' me counthry--an' the memory +of yer mother--are all I have had in me life these twenty years past. +An' that was why I urged ye to go to England on the bounty of yer +uncle. I wanted ye to know there was another kind of a life, where the +days flowed along without a care or a sorrow. Where poverty was but a +word, an' misery had no place. An' ye've seen it, Peg. An' the whole +wurrld has changed for ye, Peg. An' from now you'll sit in judgment on +the dead and gone days of yer youth--an' in judgment on me--" + +She interrupted him violently: + +"What are ye sayin' to me at all! _I_ sit in judgment on YOU! What do +ye think I've become? Let me tell ye I've come back to ye a thousand +times more yer child than I was when I left ye. What I've gone through +has only strengthened me love for ye and me reverence for yer life's +work. _I_ MAY have changed. But don't we all change day by day, even as +we pass them close to each other. An' if the change is for the betther, +where's the harm? I HAVE changed, father. There's somethin' wakened in +me I never knew before. It's a WOMAN I've brought ye back instead o' +the GIRL I left. An' it's the WOMAN'LL stand by ye, father, even as the +child did when I depended on ye for every little thing. There's no +power in the wurrld'll ever separate us!" + +She clung to him hysterically. + +Even while she protested the most, he felt the strange new note in her +life. He held her firmly and looked into her eyes. + +"There's one thing, Peg, that must part us, some day, when it comes to +you." + +"What's that, father?" + +"LOVE, Peg." + +She lowered her eyes and said nothing. + +"Has it come? Has it, Peg?" + +She buried her face on his breast, and though no sound came, he knew by +the trembling of her little body that she was crying. + +So it HAD come into her life. + +The child he had sent away a month ago had come back to him transformed +in that little time--into a woman. + +The Cry of Youth and the Call of Life had reached her heart. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +LOOKING BACKWARD + + +That night Peg and her father faced the future. They argued out all it +might mean. They would fight it together. It was a pathetic, wistful +little Peg that came back to him, and O'Connell set himself the task of +lifting something of the load that lay on his child's heart. + +After all, he reasoned with her, with all his gentility and his +advantages to have allowed Peg to like him and then to deliberately +hurt her at the end, just as she was leaving, for a fancied insult, did +not augur well for the character of Jerry. + +He tried to laugh her out of her mood. + +He chided her for joking with an Englishman at a critical moment such +as their leave-taking. + +"And it WAS a joke, Peg, wasn't it?" + +"Sure, it was, father." + +"You ought to have known betther than that. During all that long month +ye were there did ye meet one Englishman that ever saw a joke?" + +"Not many, father. Cousin Alaric couldn't." + +"Did ye meet ONE?" + +"I did, father." + +"Ye did?" + +"I did." + +"THERE was a man whose friendship ye might treasure." + +"I do treasure it, father." + +"Ye do?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Who was it?" + +"Jerry, father." + +O'Connell took a long breath and sighed. + +Jerry! Always Jerry! + +"I thried several jokes on him, an' he saw most of 'em." + +"I'd like to see this paragon, faith." + +"I wish ye could, father. Indade I do. Ye'd be such good friends." + +"WE'D be friends? Didn't ye say he was a GINTLEMAN?" + +"He sez a GENTLEMAN is a man who wouldn't willingly hurt anybody else. +And he sez, as well, that it doesn't matther what anybody was born, if +they have that quality in them they're just as much gintleman as the +people with ancestors an' breedin'. An' he said that the finest +gintleman he ever met was a CABMAN." + +"A cabman, Peg?" + +"Yes, faith--that's what he said. The cabman couldn't hurt anybody, and +so he was a gintlemaa." + +"Did he mane it?" + +"He meant everything he said--to ME." + +"There isn't much the matther with him, I'm thinkin'." + +"There's nothin' the matther with him, father." + +"Mebbe he is Irish way back. It's just what an Irishman would say--a +RALE Irishman." + +"There's no nationality in character or art, or sport or letthers or +music. They're all of one great commonwealth. They're all one +brotherhood, whether they're white or yellow or red or black. There's +no nationality about them. The wurrld wants the best, an' they don't +care what colour the best man is, so long as he's GREAT." + +O'Connell listened amazed. + +"An' where might ye have heard that?" + +"Jerry towld me. An' it's thrue. I believe it." + +They talked far into the night. + +He unfolded his plans. + +If his book was a success and he made some little money out of it, they +would go back to Ireland and live out their lives there. And it was +going to be a wonderful Ireland, too, with the best of the old and +ceaseless energy of the new. + +An Ireland worth living in. + +They would make their home there again, and this time they would not +leave it. + +"But some day we might go to England, father, eh?" + +"What for?" + +"Just to see it, father." + +"I was only there once. It was there yer mother an' me were married. It +was there she gave her life into me care." + +He became suddenly silent, and the light of memory shone in his eyes, +and the sigh of heart-ache broke through his lips. + +And his thoughts stretched back through the years, and once again +Angela was beside him. + +Peg saw the look and knew it. She kept quite still. Then, as of old, +when her father was in trouble, she did as she was wont in those +old-young days--she slipped her little hand into his and waited for him +to break the silence. + +After a while he stood up. + +"Ye'd betther be goin' to bed, Peg." + +"All right, father." + +She went to the door. Then she stopped. + +"Ye're glad I'm home, father?" + +He pressed her closely to him for answer. + +"I'll never lave ye again," she whispered. + +All through the night Peg lay awake, searching through the past and +trying to pierce through the future. + +Toward morning she slept and, in a whirling dream she saw a body +floating down a stream. She stretched out her hand to grasp it when the +eyes met hers, and the eyes were those of a dead man--and the man was +Jerry. + +She woke trembling with fear and she turned on the light and huddled +into a chair and sat chattering with terror until she heard her father +moving in his room. She went to the door and asked him to let her go in +to him. He opened the door and saw his little Peg wild eyed, pale and +terror-stricken, standing on the threshold. The look in her eyes +terrified him. + +"What is it, Peg, me darlin'? What is it?" + +She crept in, and looked up into his face with her startling gaze, and +she grasped him with both of her small hands, and in a voice dull and +hopeless, cried despairingly: + +"I dreamt he was dead! Dead! and I couldn't rache him. An' he went on +past me--down the stream--with his face up-turned--" The grasp +loosened, and just as she slipped from him, O'Connell caught her in his +strong arms and placed her gently on the sofa and tended her until her +eyes opened again and looked up at him. + +It was the first time his Peg had fainted. + +She had indeed come back to him changed. + +He reproached himself bitterly. + +Why had he insisted on her going? + +She had a sorrow at her heart, now, that no hand could heal--not even +his. + +Time only could soften her grief--time--and-- + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR + + +Those first days following Peg's return found father and child nearer +each other than they had been since that famous trip through Ireland, +when he lectured from the back of his historical cart. + +She became O'Connell's amanuensis. During the day she would go from +library to library in New York, verifying data for her father's +monumental work. At night he would dictate and she would write. +O'Connell took a newer and more vital interest in the book, and it +advanced rapidly toward completion. + +It was a significant moment to introduce it, since the eyes of the +world were turned on the outcome of the new measure for Home Rule for +Ireland, that Mr. Asquith's government were introducing, and that +appeared to have every chance of becoming law. + +The dream of so many Irishmen seemed to be within the bounds of +possibility of becoming a forceful reality. + +Accordingly O'Connell strained every nerve to complete it. He reviewed +the past; he dwelt on the present: he attempted to forecast the future. +And with every new page that he completed he felt it was one more step +nearer home--the home he was hoping for and building on for Peg--in +Ireland. + +There the colour would come back to her cheeks, the light to her eyes +and the flash of merriment to her tongue. She rarely smiled now, and +the pallor was always in her cheeks, and wan circles pencilled around +her eyes spoke of hard working days and restless nights. + +She no longer spoke of England. + +He, wise in his generation, never referred to it. All her interest +seemed to be centred in his book. + +It was a strange metamorphosis for Peg--this writing at dictation: +correcting her orthography; becoming familiar with historical facts and +hunting through bookshelves for the actual occurrences during a certain +period. + +And she found a certain happiness in doing it. + +Was it not for her father? + +And was she not improving herself? + +Already she would not be at such a disadvantage, as a month ago, with +people. + +The thought gratified her. + +She had two letters from Ethel: the first a simple, direct one of +gratitude and of regret; gratitude for Peg's kindness and loyalty to +her, and regret that Peg had left them. The second told of a trip she +was about to make to Norway with some friends. + +They were going to close the house in Scarboro and return to London +early in September. + +Alaric had decided to follow his father's vocation and go to the bar. +The following Autumn they would settle permanently in London while +Alaric ate his qualifying dinners and addressed himself to making his +career! + +Of Brent she wrote nothing. That incident was apparently closed. She +ended her letter with the warmest expressions of regard and affection +for Peg, and the hope that some day they would meet again and renew +their too-brief intimacy. The arrival of these letters and her daily +'deviling' for her father were the only incidents in her even life. + +One evening some few weeks after her return, she was in her room +preparing to begin her night's work with her father when she heard the +bell ring. That was unusual. Their callers were few. She heard the +outer door open--then the sound of a distant voice mingling with her +father's. + +Then came a knock at her door. + +"There's somebody outside here to see ye, Peg," said her father. + +"Who is it, father?" + +"A perfect sthranger--to me. Be quick now." + +She heard her father's footsteps go into the little sitting-room and +then the hum of voices. + +Without any apparent reason she suddenly felt a tenseness and +nervousness. She walked out of her room and paused a moment outside the +closed door of the sitting-room and listened. + +Her father was talking. She opened the door and walked in. A tall, +bronzed man came forward to greet her. Her heart almost stopped. She +trembled violently. The next moment Jerry had clasped her hand in both +of his. + +"How are you, Peg?" + +He smiled down at her as he used to in Regal Villa: and behind the +smile there was a grave look in his dark eyes, and the old tone of +tenderness in his voice. + +"How are you, Peg?" he repeated. + +"I'm fine, Mr. Jerry," she replied in a daze. Then she looked at +O'Connell and she hurried on to say: + +"This is my father--Sir Gerald Adair." + +"We'd inthroduced ourselves already," said O'Connell, good-naturedly, +eyeing the unexpected visitor all the while. "And what might ye be +doin' in New York?" he asked. + +"I have never seen America. I take an Englishman's interest in what we +once owned--" + +"--And lost thro' misgovernment--" + +"--Well, we'll say MISUNDERSTANDING--" + +"--As they'll one day lose Ireland--" + +"--I hope not. The two countries understand each other better every +day." + +"It's taken centuries to do it." + +"The more lasting will be the union." + +As Peg watched Jerry she was wondering all the time why he was there. +This quiet, undemonstrative, unemotional man. Why? + +The bell rang again. Peg started to go, but O'Connell stopped her. + +"It's McGinnis. This is his night to call and tell me the politics of +the town. I'll take him into the next room, Peg, until yer visitor is +gone." + +"Oh, please--" said Jerry hurriedly and taking a step toward the door. +"Allow me to call some other time." + +"Stay where ye are!" cried O'Connell, hurrying out as the bell rang +again. + +Peg and Jerry looked at each other a moment, then she lowered her eyes. + +"I want to ask ye something, Sir Gerald," she began. + +"Jerry!" he corrected. + +"Please forgive me for what I said to ye that day. It was wrong of me +to say it. Yet it was just what ye might have expected from me. But +ye'd been so fine to me--a little nobody--all that wonderful month that +it's hurt me ever since. And I didn't dare write to ye--it would have +looked like presumption from me. But now that ye've come here--ye've +found me out and I want to ask yer pardon--an' I want to ask ye not to +be angry with me." + +"I couldn't be angry with you, Peg." + +He paused, and, as he looked at her, the reserve of the held-in, +self-contained man was broken. He bent over her and said softly: + +"Peg, I love you!" + +A cry welled up from Peg's heart to her lips, and was stifled. The room +swam around her. + +Was all her misery to end? + +Did this man come back from the mists of memory BECAUSE he loved her? + +She tried to speak but nothing came from her parched lips and tightened +throat. + +Then she became conscious that he was speaking again, and she listened +to him with all her senses, with all her heart, and from her soul. + +"I knew you would never write to me, and somehow I wondered just how +much you cared for me--if at all. So I came here. I love you, Peg. I +want you to be my wife. I want to care for you, and tend you, and make +you happy. I love you!" + +Her heart leaped and strained. The blood surged to her temples. + +"Do you love me?" she whispered, and her voice trembled and broke. + +"I do. Indeed I do. Be my wife." + +"But you have a title," she pleaded + +"Share it with me!" he replied. + +"Ye'd be so ashamed o' me, ye would!" + +"No, Peg, I'd be proud of you. I love you!" + +Peg, unable to argue or plead, or strive against what her heart yearned +for the most, broke down and sobbed as she murmured: + +"I love you, too, Mister Jerry." + +In a moment she was in his arms. + +It was the first time anyone had touched her tenderly besides her +father. All her sturdy, boyish ruggedness shrank from any display of +affection. Just for a moment it did now. Then she slowly yielded +herself. + +But Jerry stroked her hair, and looked into her eyes and smiled down at +her lovingly, as he asked: + +"What will your father say?" + +She looked happily up at him and answered: + +"Do you know one of the first things me father taught me when I was +just a little child?" + +"Tell me!" + +"It was from Tom Moore: 'Oh, there's nothin' half so sweet in life As +Love's young dream.'" + +When O'Connell came into the room later he realised that the great +summons had come to his little girl. + +He felt a dull pain at his heart. + +But only for a moment. + +The thought came to him that he was about to give to England his +daughter in marriage! Well, had he not taken from the English one of +her fairest daughters as his wife? + +And a silent prayer went up from his heart that happiness would abide +with his Peg and her 'Jerry' and that their romance would last longer +than had Angela's and his. + + + +AFTERWORD + +And now the moment has come to take leave of the people I have lived +with for so long. Yet, though I say "Adieu!" I feel it is only a +temporary leave-taking. Their lives are so linked with mine that some +day in the future I may be tempted to draw back the curtain and show +the passage of years in their various lives. + +Simultaneously with the Second-Reading of the Home Rule Bill passing +through the English House of Commons, O'Connell published his book. + +Setting down clearly, without passion or prejudice, the actual facts of +the ancient and modern struggle for Ireland's freedom, and +foreshadowing the coming of the New Era of prosperity and enlightenment +and education and business integrity--O'Connell found himself hailed, +as a modern prophet. + +He appealed to them to BEG no longer but to cooperate, to +organize--above all to WORK and to work consistently and intelligently. +He appealed to the Irish working in factories and work-shops and in +civil appointments in the great cities of the world, to come back to +Ireland, and, once again to worship at the shrine of the beauty of +God's Country! To open their eyes and their hearts to all the light and +glory and wonder which God gives to the marvellous world He has made +for humanity. To see the Dawn o'er mountain and lake; scent the grass +and the incense of the flowers, and the sweet breath of the land. To +grasp the real and tumultuous magnificence of their native country. + +He appealed to all true Irishmen to take up their lives again in the +land from which, they were driven, and to be themselves the progenitors +of Ireland's New Nation. + +It will not be long before his appeal will be answered and his prophecy +fulfilled. + +The Dawn of the New Ireland has begun to shed its light over the +country, and the call of Patriotism will bring Irishmen from the +farthest limits of the world, as it drove them away in the bitter time +of blood and strife and ignorance and despotism. + +Those days have passed. O'Connell was in the thick o the battle in his +youth; in his manhood he now sees the fruit of the conflict. + +Some day, with him, we will visit Peg in her English home, and see the +marvels time and love have wrought upon her. But to those who knew her +in the old days she is still the same Peg O' my Heart--resolute, loyal, +unflinching, mingling the laugh with the tear--truth and honesty her +bed-rock. + +And whilst we are in London we will drop into the Law-Courts and hear +Alaric Chichester, now Barrister-at-Law, argue his first case and show +the possibility of following in his famous father's footsteps. + +We will also visit Mrs. Chichester and hear of her little grand-child, +born in Berlin, where her daughter, Ethel, met and married an attache +at the Embassy, and has formed a salon in which the illustrious in the +Diplomatic world foregather. + +It will be a grateful task to revive old memories of those who formed +the foreground of the life-story of one whose radiant presence shall +always live in my memory: whose steadfastness and courage endeared her +to all; whose influence on those who met her and watched her and +listened to her was far-reaching, since she epitomized in her small +body all that makes woman loveable and man supreme: honour, faith and +Love! + +Adieu! Peg O' my Heart! + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peg O' My Heart, by J. Hartley Manners + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEG O' MY HEART *** + +***** This file should be named 3621.txt or 3621.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/2/3621/ + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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