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diff --git a/old/68966-0.txt b/old/68966-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8d6ee1e..0000000 --- a/old/68966-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10530 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Snake's Pass, by Bram Stoker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Snake's Pass - -Author: Bram Stoker - -Release Date: September 11, 2022 [eBook #68966] - -Language: English - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SNAKE'S PASS *** - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other -spelling and punctuation remains unchanged. - -Knock-na-callte-crōin-ōir appears with six different spellings. -Knock-na-callte-ōir -Knockcalltecrore -Knockcalltore -Knockalltecrore -Knockaltecrore - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - THE SNAKE’S PASS. - - - - - _Quarto, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s._ - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ - - UNDER THE SUNSET. - - Some Opinions of the Press. - - -“... This particularly is a book which all clever and imaginative -children should read.... The stories all paint a grand moral, are -deeply pathetic, and of absorbing interest.”—_The World._ - -“....A charming book....”—_Punch._ - -“....This collection of delicate and forcible allegories.”—_Daily -Telegraph._ - -“....The style of the book is characterized throughout by remarkable -purity and grace.”—_The Daily News._ - -“....A really beautiful book, which may be enjoyed, not only by -children, but by their elders.”—_Morning Post._ - -“....The tales are in the best style of imaginative narrative, -with charming little touches of nature and reference to every-day -things.”—_The Spectator._ - -“....The book is pervaded by a dreamy beauty of style, which cannot -fail to be fascinating.”—_The Echo._ - -“....A mystical, supernatural tale, told as it should be told, -hovering airily and luminously in a medium half imaginative, half -ethical....”—_Liverpool Daily Post._ - -“....It ought to be in the book-case of every pastor, Christian, -teacher, and scholar in the kingdom....”—_Elgin Courant._ - -“....The tales one and all captivate the young intellect by the charm -of innocence and freshness they possess....”—_Dublin Freeman’s Journal._ - -“....We have rarely met a more delightful or more thoroughly wholesome -book to place in the hands of children....”—_Cork Constitution._ - -“....The thoughts of the book are high and pure, and the scenery of it -is finely coloured and attractive....”—_New York Tribune._ - -“A charming book, full of ingenious, refined, and poetical fancy.”—_The -Australasian._ - - - - - THE SNAKE’S PASS - - - BY - - BRAM STOKER, M.A. - - [Colophon] - - LONDON: - SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON, LTD. - St. Dunstan’s House, - FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET. - 1891. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, - CHANCERY LANE. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE -CHAPTER I. A SUDDEN STORM 1 - - II. THE LOST CROWN OF GOLD 15 - - III. THE GOMBEEN MAN 36 - - IV. THE SECRETS OF THE BOG 58 - - V. ON KNOCKNACAR 83 - - VI. CONFIDENCES 106 - - VII. VANISHED 126 - - VIII. A VISIT TO JOYCE 147 - - IX. MY NEW PROPERTY 160 - - X. IN THE CLIFF FIELDS 176 - - XI. UN MAUVAIS QUART D’HEURE 195 - - XII. BOG-FISHING AND SCHOOLING 213 - - XIII. MURDOCK’S WOOING 235 - - XIV. A TRIP TO PARIS 254 - - XV. A MIDNIGHT TREASURE HUNT 278 - - XVI. A GRIM WARNING 297 - - XVII. THE CATASTROPHE 320 - - XVIII. THE FULFILMENT 344 - - - - - THE SNAKE’S PASS. - - - CHAPTER I. - - A SUDDEN STORM. - - -Between two great mountains of grey and green, as the rock cropped -out between the tufts of emerald verdure, the valley, almost as -narrow as a gorge, ran due west towards the sea. There was just room -for the roadway, half cut in the rock, beside the narrow strip of -dark lake of seemingly unfathomable depth that lay far below between -perpendicular walls of frowning rock. As the valley opened, the land -dipped steeply, and the lake became a foam-fringed torrent, widening -out into pools and miniature lakes as it reached the lower ground. -In the wide terrace-like steps of the shelving mountain there were -occasional glimpses of civilization emerging from the almost primal -desolation which immediately surrounded us—clumps of trees, cottages, -and the irregular outlines of stone-walled fields, with black stacks -of turf for winter firing piled here and there. Far beyond was the -sea—the great Atlantic—with a wildly irregular coast-line studded with -a myriad of clustering rocky islands. A sea of deep dark blue, with the -distant horizon tinged with a line of faint white light, and here and -there, where its margin was visible through the breaks in the rocky -coast, fringed with a line of foam as the waves broke on the rocks or -swept in great rollers over the level expanse of sands. - -The sky was a revelation to me, and seemed to almost obliterate -memories of beautiful skies, although I had just come from the south -and had felt the intoxication of the Italian night, where in the deep -blue sky the nightingale’s note seems to hang as though its sound and -the colour were but different expressions of one common feeling. - -The whole west was a gorgeous mass of violet and sulphur and gold—great -masses of storm-cloud piling up and up till the very heavens seemed -weighted with a burden too great to bear. Clouds of violet, whose -centres were almost black and whose outer edges were tinged with living -gold; great streaks and piled up clouds of palest yellow deepening into -saffron and flame-colour which seemed to catch the coming sunset and to -throw its radiance back to the eastern sky. - -The view was the most beautiful that I had ever seen, and, accustomed -as I had been only to the quiet pastoral beauty of a grass country, -with occasional visits to my Great Aunt’s well-wooded estate in the -South of England, it was no wonder that it arrested my attention and -absorbed my imagination. Even my brief half-a-year’s travel in Europe, -now just concluded, had shown me nothing of the same kind. - -Earth, sea and air all evidenced the triumph of nature, and told of her -wild majesty and beauty. The air was still—ominously still. So still -was all, that through the silence, that seemed to hedge us in with a -sense of oppression, came the booming of the distant sea, as the great -Atlantic swell broke in surf on the rocks or stormed the hollow caverns -of the shore. - -Even Andy, the driver, was for the nonce awed into comparative silence. -Hitherto, for nearly forty miles of a drive, he had been giving me -his experiences—propounding his views—airing his opinions; in fact he -had been making me acquainted with his store of knowledge touching -the whole district and its people—including their names, histories, -romances, hopes and fears—all that goes to make up the life and -interest of a country-side. - -No barber—taking this tradesman to illustrate the popular idea of -loquacity _in excelsis_—is more consistently talkative than an Irish -car-driver to whom has been granted the gift of speech. There is -absolutely no limit to his capability, for every change of surrounding -affords a new theme and brings on the tapis a host of matters requiring -to be set forth. - -I was rather glad of Andy’s ‘brilliant flash of silence’ just at -present, for not only did I wish to drink in and absorb the grand and -novel beauty of the scene that opened out before me, but I wanted to -understand as fully as I could some deep thought which it awoke within -me. It may have been merely the grandeur and beauty of the scene—or -perhaps it was the thunder which filled the air that July evening—but -I felt exalted in a strange way, and impressed at the same time with a -new sense of the reality of things. It almost seemed as if through that -opening valley, with the mighty Atlantic beyond and the piling up of -the storm-clouds overhead, I passed into a new and more real life. - -Somehow I had of late seemed to myself to be waking up. My foreign -tour had been gradually dissipating my old sleepy ideas, or perhaps -overcoming the negative forces that had hitherto dominated my life; and -now this glorious burst of wild natural beauty—the majesty of nature at -its fullest—seemed to have completed my awakening, and I felt as though -I looked for the first time with open eyes on the beauty and reality of -the world. - -Hitherto my life had been but an inert one, and I was younger in many -ways and more deficient in knowledge of the world in all ways than -other young men of my own age. I had stepped but lately from boyhood, -with all boyhood’s surroundings, into manhood, and as yet I was hardly -at ease in my new position. - -For the first time in my life I had had a holiday—a real holiday, as -one can take it who can choose his own way of amusing himself. - -I had been brought up in an exceedingly quiet way with an old clergyman -and his wife in the west of England, and except my fellow pupils, -of whom there was never at any time more than one other, I had had -little companionship. Altogether I knew very few people. I was the -ward of a Great Aunt, who was wealthy and eccentric and of a sternly -uncompromising disposition. When my father and mother were lost at -sea, leaving me, an only child, quite unprovided for, she undertook -to pay for my schooling and to start me in a profession if I should -show sufficient aptitude for any. My father had been pretty well cut -off by his family on account of his marriage with what they considered -his inferior, and times had been, I was always told, pretty hard for -them both. I was only a very small boy when they were lost in a fog -when crossing the Channel; and the blank that their loss caused me -made me, I dare say, seem even a duller boy than I was. As I did not -get into much trouble and did not exhibit any special restlessness -of disposition, my Great Aunt took it, I suppose, for granted that I -was very well off where I was; and when, through growing years, the -fiction of my being a schoolboy could be no longer supported, the old -clergyman was called “guardian” instead of “tutor,” and I passed with -him the years that young men of the better class usually spend in -College life. The nominal change of position made little difference to -me, except that I was taught to ride and shoot, and was generally given -the rudiments of an education which was to fit me for being a country -gentleman. I dare say that my tutor had some secret understanding with -my Great Aunt, but he never gave me any hint whatever of her feelings -towards me. A part of my holidays each year was spent in her place, a -beautiful country seat. Here I was always treated by the old lady with -rigid severity but with the best of good manners, and by the servants -with affection as well as respect. There were a host of cousins, both -male and female, who came to the house; but I can honestly say that by -not one of them was I ever treated with cordiality. It may have been -my fault, or the misfortune of my shyness; but I never met one of them -without being made to feel that I was an “outsider.” - -I can understand now the cause of this treatment as arising from their -suspicions when I remember that the old lady, who had been so severe -with me all my life, sent for me when she lay on her deathbed, and, -taking my hand in hers and holding it tight, said, between her gasps:— - -“Arthur, I hope I have not done wrong, but I have reared you so that -the world may for you have good as well as bad—happiness as well as -unhappiness; that you may find many pleasures where you thought there -were but few. Your youth, I know, my dear boy, has not been a happy -one; but it was because I, who loved your dear father as if he had been -my own son—and from whom I unhappily allowed myself to be estranged -until it was too late—wanted you to have a good and happy manhood.” - -She did not say any more, but closed her eyes and still held my hand. -I feared to take it away lest I should disturb her; but presently the -clasp seemed to relax, and I found that she was dead. - -I had never seen a dead person, much less anyone die, and the event -made a great impression on me. But youth is elastic, and the old lady -had never been much in my heart. - -When the will was read, it was found that I had been left heir to all -her property, and that I would be called upon to take a place among the -magnates of the county. I could not fall at once into the position and, -as I was of a shy nature, resolved to spend at least a few months in -travel. This I did, and when I had returned, after a six months’ tour, -I accepted the cordial invitation of some friends, made on my travels, -to pay them a visit at their place in the County of Clare. - -As my time was my own, and as I had a week or two to spare, I had -determined to improve my knowledge of Irish affairs by making a detour -through some of the counties in the west on my way to Clare. - -By this time I was just beginning to realize that life has many -pleasures. Each day a new world of interest seemed to open before me. -The experiment of my Great Aunt might yet be crowned with success. - -And now the consciousness of the change in myself had come home to -me—come with the unexpected suddenness of the first streak of the dawn -through the morning mists. The moment was to be to me a notable one; -and as I wished to remember it to the full, I tried to take in all the -scene where such a revelation first dawned upon me. I had fixed in my -mind, as the central point for my memory to rest on, a promontory right -under the direct line of the sun, when I was interrupted by a remark -made, not to me but seemingly to the universe in general:— - -“Musha! but it’s comin’ quick.” - -“What is coming?” I asked. - -“The shtorm! Don’t ye see the way thim clouds is dhriftin’? Faix! but -it’s fine times the ducks’ll be afther havin’ before many minutes is -past.” - -I did not heed his words much, for my thoughts were intent on the -scene. We were rapidly descending the valley, and, as we got lower, the -promontory seemed to take bolder shape, and was beginning to stand out -as a round-topped hill of somewhat noble proportions. - -“Tell me, Andy,” I said, “what do they call the hill beyond?” - -“The hill beyant there is it? Well, now, they call the place -Shleenanaher.” - -“Then that is Shleenanaher mountain?” - -“Begor it’s not. The mountain is called Knockcalltecrore. It’s Irish.” - -“And what does it mean?” - -“Faix, I believe it’s a short name for the Hill iv the Lost Goolden -Crown.” - -“And what is Shleenanaher, Andy?” - -“Throth, it’s a bit iv a gap in the rocks beyant that they call -Shleenanaher.” - -“And what does that mean? It is Irish, I suppose?” - -“Thrue for ye! Irish it is, an’ it manes ‘The Shnake’s Pass.’” - -“Indeed! And can you tell me why it is so called?” - -“Begor, there’s a power iv raysons guv for callin’ it that. Wait till -we get Jerry Scanlan or Bat Moynahan, beyant in Carnaclif! Sure they -knows every laygend and shtory in the bar’ny, an’ll tell them all, av -ye like. Whew! Musha! here it comes.” - -Surely enough it did come. The storm seemed to sweep through the valley -in a single instant—the stillness changed to a roar, the air became -dark with the clouds of drifting rain. It was like the bursting of a -waterspout in volume, and came so quickly that I was drenched to the -skin before I could throw my mackintosh round me. The mare seemed -frightened at first, but Andy held her in with a steady hand and with -comforting words, and after the first rush of the tempest she went on -as calmly and steadily as hitherto, only shrinking a little at the -lightning and the thunder. - -The grandeur of that storm was something to remember. The lightning -came in brilliant sheets that seemed to cleave the sky, and threw weird -lights amongst the hills, now strange with black sweeping shadows. The -thunder broke with startling violence right over our heads, and flapped -and buffeted from hillside to hillside, rolling and reverberating away -into the distance, its farther voices being lost in the crash of each -succeeding peal. - -On we went, through the driving storm, faster and faster; but the storm -abated not a jot. Andy was too much occupied with his work to speak, -and as for me it took all my time to keep on the rocking and swaying -car, and to hold my hat and mackintosh so as to shield myself, as -well as I could, from the pelting storm. Andy seemed to be above all -considerations of personal comfort. He turned up his coat collar, that -was all; and soon he was as shiny as my own waterproof rug. Indeed, -altogether, he seemed quite as well off as I was, or even better, -for we were both as wet as we could be, and whilst I was painfully -endeavouring to keep off the rain he was free from all responsibility -and anxiety of endeavour whatever. - -At length, as we entered on a long straight stretch of level road, he -turned to me and said:— - -“Yer ’an’r it’s no kind iv use dhrivin’ like this all the way to -Carnaclif. This shtorm’ll go on for hours. I know thim well up in these -mountains, wid’ a nor’-aist wind blowin’. Wouldn’t it be betther for us -to get shelther for a bit?” - -“Of course it would,” said I. “Try it at once! Where can you go?” - -“There’s a place nigh at hand, yer ’an’r, the Widdy Kelligan’s -sheebeen, at the cross-roads of Glennashaughlin. It’s quite contagious. -Gee-up! ye ould corncrake! hurry up to Widdy Kelligan’s.” - -It seemed almost as if the mare understood him and shared his wishes, -for she started with increased speed down a laneway that opened out a -little on our left. In a few minutes we reached the cross-roads, and -also the sheebeen of Widow Kelligan, a low whitewashed thatched house, -in a deep hollow between high banks in the south-western corner of the -cross. Andy jumped down and hurried to the door. - -“Here’s a sthrange gintleman, Widdy. Take care iv him,” he called out, -as I entered. - -Before I had succeeded in closing the door behind me he was -unharnessing the mare, preparatory to placing her in the lean-to -stable, built behind the house against the high bank. - -Already the storm seemed to have sent quite an assemblage to Mrs. -Kelligan’s hospitable shelter. A great fire of turf roared up the -chimney, and round it stood, and sat, and lay a steaming mass of nearly -a dozen people, men and women. The room was a large one, and the -inglenook so roomy that nearly all those present found a place in it. -The roof was black, rafters and thatch alike; quite a number of cocks -and hens found shelter in the rafters at the end of the room. Over the -fire was a large pot, suspended on a wire, and there was a savoury and -inexpressibly appetizing smell of marked volume throughout the room of -roasted herrings and whisky punch. - -As I came in all rose up, and I found myself placed in a warm seat -close to the fire, whilst various salutations of welcome buzzed all -around me. The warmth was most grateful, and I was trying to convey my -thanks for the shelter and the welcome, and feeling very awkward over -it, when, with a “God save all here!” Andy entered the room through the -back door. - -He was evidently a popular favourite, for there was a perfect rain of -hearty expressions to him. He, too, was placed close to the fire, and a -steaming jorum of punch placed in his hands—a similar one to that which -had been already placed in my own. Andy lost no time in sampling that -punch. Neither did I; and I can honestly say that if he enjoyed his -more than I did mine he must have had a very happy few minutes. He lost -no time in making himself and all the rest comfortable. - -“Hurroo!” said he. “Musha! but we’re just in time. Mother, is the -herrins done? Up with the creel, and turn out the pitaties; they’re -done, or me senses desaves me. Yer ’an’r, we’re in the hoight iv good -luck! Herrins, it is, and it might have been only pitaties an’ point.” - -“What is that?” I asked. - -“Oh, that is whin there is only wan herrin’ amongst a crowd—too little -to give aich a taste, and so they put it in the middle and point the -pitaties at it to give them a flaviour.” - -All lent a hand with the preparation of supper. A great potato basket, -which would hold some two hundredweight, was turned bottom up—the pot -was taken off the fire, and the contents turned out on it in a great -steaming mass of potatoes. A handful of coarse salt was taken from a -box and put on one side of the basket, and another on the other side. -The herrings were cut in pieces, and a piece given to each.—The dinner -was served. - -There were no plates, no knives, forks or spoons—no ceremony—no -precedence—nor was there any heartburning, jealousy or greed. A -happier meal I never took a part in—nor did I ever enjoy food more. -Such as it was it was perfect. The potatoes were fine and cooked to -perfection; we took them in our fingers, peeled them how we could, -dipped them in the salt—and ate till we were satisfied. - -During the meal several more strangers dropped in and all reported the -storm as showing no signs of abating. Indeed, little such assurance was -wanting, for the fierce lash of the rain and the howling of the storm -as it beat on the face of the house, told the tale well enough for the -meanest comprehension. - -When dinner was over and the basket removed, we drew around the fire -again—pipes were lit—a great steaming jug of punch made its appearance, -and conversation became general. Of course, as a stranger, I came in -for a good share of attention. - -Andy helped to make things interesting for me, and his statement, made -by my request, that I hoped to be allowed to provide the punch for the -evening, even increased his popularity, whilst it established mine. -After calling attention to several matters which evoked local stories -and jokes and anecdotes, he remarked:— - -“His ’an’r was axin’ me just afore the shtorm kem on as to why the -Shleenanaher was called so. I tould him that none could tell him like -Jerry Scanlan or Bat Moynahan, an’ here is the both of them, sure -enough. Now, boys, won’t ye oblige the sthrange gintleman an tell him -what yez know iv the shtories anent the hill?” - -“Wid all the plisure in life,” said Jerry Scanlan, a tall man of middle -age, with a long, thin, clean shaven face, a humorous eye, and a shirt -collar whose points in front came up almost to his eyes, whilst the -back part disappeared into the depths of his frieze coat collar behind. - -“Begor yer ’an’r I’ll tell ye all I iver heerd. Sure there’s a laygend, -and there’s a shtory—musha! but there’s a wheen o’ both laygends and -shtories—but there’s wan laygend beyant all—Here! Mother Kelligan, -fill up me glass, fur sorra one o’ me is a good dhry shpaker—Tell me, -now, sor, do they allow punch to the Mimbers iv Parlymint whin they’re -spakin’?” I shook my head. - -“Musha! thin, but its meself they’ll niver git as a mimber till they -alther that law. Thank ye, Mrs. Kelligan, this is just my shtyle. But -now for the laygend that they tell of Shleenanaher:—” - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - THE LOST CROWN OF GOLD. - - -“Well, in the ould ancient times, before St. Patrick banished the -shnakes from out iv Ireland, the hill beyant was a mighty important -place intirely. For more betoken, none other lived in it than the King -iv the Shnakes himself. In thim times there was up at the top iv the -hill a wee bit iv a lake wid threes and sedges and the like growin’ -round it; and ’twas there that the King iv the Shnakes made his nist—or -whativer it is that shnakes calls their home. Glory be to God! but none -of us knows anythin’ of them at all, at all, since Saint Patrick tuk -them in hand.” - -Here an old man in the chimney corner struck in:— - -“Thrue for ye, Acushla; sure the bit lake is there still, though more -belike it’s dhry now it is, and the threes is all gone.” - -“Well,” went on Jerry, not ill-pleased with this corroboration of his -story, “the King iv the Shnakes was mighty important intirely. He was -more nor tin times as big as any shnake as any man’s eyes had iver saw; -an’ he had a goolden crown on to the top of his head, wid a big jool -in it that tuk the colour iv the light, whether that same was from the -sun or the moon; an’ all the shnakes had to take it in turns to bring -food, and lave it for him in the cool iv the evenin’, whin he would -come out and ate it up and go back to his own place. An’ they do say -that whiniver two shnakes had a quarr’ll they had to come to the King, -an’ he decided betune them; an’ he tould aich iv them where he was to -live, and what he was to do. An’ wanst in ivery year there had to be -brought to him a live baby; and they do say that he would wait until -the moon was at the full, an’ thin would be heerd one wild wail that -made every sowl widin miles shuddher, an’ thin there would be black -silence, and clouds would come over the moon, and for three days it -would never be seen agin.” - -“Oh, Glory be to God!” murmured one of the women, “but it was a -terrible thing!” and she rocked herself to and fro, moaning, all the -motherhood in her awake. - -“But did none of the min do nothin’?” said a powerful-looking young -fellow in the orange and green jersey of the Gaelic Athletic Club, with -his eyes flashing; and he clenched his teeth. - -“Musha! how could they? Sure, no man ever seen the King iv the Shnakes!” - -“Thin how did they know about him?” he queried doubtfully. - -“Sure, wasn’t one of their childher tuk away iv’ry year? But, anyhow, -it’s all over now! an’ so it was that none iv the min iver wint. They -do say that one woman what lost her child, run up to the top of the -hill; but what she seen, none could tell, for, whin they found her she -was a ravin’ lunatic, wid white hair an eyes like a corpse—an’ the -mornin’ afther they found her dead in her bed wid a black mark round -her neck as if she had been choked, an’ the mark was in the shape iv a -shnake. Well! there was much sorra and much fear, and whin St. Pathrick -tuk the shnakes in hand the bonfires was lit all over the counthry. -Never was such a flittin’ seen as whin the shnakes came from all parts -wrigglin’ and crawlin’ an shkwirmin’.” - -Here the narrator dramatically threw himself into an attitude, and with -the skill of a true improvisatore, suggested in every pose and with -every limb and in every motion the serpentine movements. - -“They all came away to the West, and seemed to come to this wan -mountain. From the North and the South and the East they came be -millions an’ thousands an’ hundhreds—for whin St. Patrick ordhered them -out he only tould them to go, but he didn’t name the place—an there was -he up on top of Brandon mountain wid his vistments on to him an’ his -crozier in his hand, and the shnakes movein’ below him, all goin up -North, an’, sez he to himself:— - -“‘I must see about this.’ An’ he got down from aff iv the mountain, and -he folly’d the shnakes, and he see them move along to the hill beyant -that they call Knockcalltecrore. An’ be this time they wor all come -from all over Ireland, and they wor all round the mountain—exceptin’ -on the say side—an’ they all had their heads pointed up the hill, and -their tails pointed to the Saint, so that they didn’t see him, an’ -they all gave wan great hiss, an’ then another, an’ another, like wan, -two, three! An’ at the third hiss the King of the Shnakes rose up out -of the wee fen at the top of the hill, wid his gold crown gleamin’—an’ -more betoken it was harvest time, an’ the moon was up, an’ the sun was -settin’, so the big jool in the crown had the light of both the sun an’ -the moon, an’ it shone so bright that right away in Lensther the people -thought the whole counthry was afire. But whin the Saint seen him, his -whole forrum seemed to swell out an’ get bigger an’ bigger, an’ he -lifted his crozier, an’ he pointed West, an’ sez he, in a voice like a -shtorm, ‘To the say all ye shnakes! At wanst! to the say!’ - -“An’ in the instant, wid wan movement, an’ wid a hiss that made the -air seem full iv watherfalls the whole iv the shnakes that was round -the hill wriggled away into the say as if the fire was at their tails. -There was so many iv them that they filled up the say out beyant to -Cusheen Island, and them that was behind, had to shlide over their -bodies. An’ the say piled up till it sent a wave mountains high -rollin’ away across the Atlantic till it sthruck upon the shore iv -America—though more betoken it wasn’t America thin, for it wasn’t -discovered till long afther. An’ there was so many shnakes that they -do say that all the white sand that dhrifts up on the coast from the -Blaskets to Achill Head is made from their bones.” Here Andy cut in:— - -“But, Jerry, you haven’t tould us if the King iv the Shnakes wint too.” - -“Musha! but it’s in a hurry ye are. How can I tell ye the whole laygend -at wanst; an’, moreover, when me mouth is that dhry I can hardly spake -at all—an’ me punch is all dhrunk——” - -He turned his glass face down on the table, with an air of comic -resignation. Mrs. Kelligan took the hint and refilled his glass whilst -he went on:— - -“Well! whin the shnakes tuk to say-bathin’ an’ forgot to come in to -dhry themselves, the ould King iv thim sunk down agin into the lake, -an’ Saint Pathrick rowls his eyes, an’ sez he to himself:— - -“‘Musha! is it dhramin’ I am, or what? or is it laughin’ at me he is? -Does he mane to defy me?‘ An’ seein’ that no notice was tuk iv him at -all, he lifts his crozier, and calls out:— - -“‘Hi! Here! You! Come here! I want ye!’—As he spoke, Jerry went through -all the pantomime of the occasion, exemplifying by every movement the -speech of both the Saint and the Snake. - -“Well! thin the King iv the Shnakes puts up his head, out iv the lake, -an’ sez he:— - -“‘Who calls?’ - -“‘I do,’ says Saint Pathrick, an’ he was so much mulvathered at the -Shnake presumin’ to sthay, afther he tould thim all to go, that for a -while he didn’t think it quare that he could sphake at all. - -“‘Well, what do ye want wid me?’ sez the Shnake. - -“‘I want to know why you didn’t lave Irish soil wid all th’ other -Shnakes,’ sez the Saint. - -“‘Ye tould the Shnakes to go,’ sez the King, ‘an’ I am their King, so I -am; and your wurrds didn’t apply to me!’ an’ with that he dhrops like a -flash of lightnin’ into the lake agin. - -“Well! St. Patrick was so tuk back wid his impidence that he had to -think for a minit, an’ then he calls again:— - -“‘Hi! here! you!’ - -“‘What do you want now?’ sez the King iv the Shnakes, again poppin’ up -his head. - -“‘I want to know why you didn’t obey me ordhers?’ sez the Saint. An’ -the King luked at him an’ laughed; and he looked mighty evil, I can -tell ye—for be this time the sun was down and the moon up, and the jool -in his crown threw out a pale cold light that would make you shuddher -to see. ‘An’,’ says he, as slow an’ as hard as an attorney (saving your -prisence) when he has a bad case:— - -“‘I didn’t obey,’ sez be, ‘because I thraverse the jurisdiction.’ - -“‘How do ye mane?’ asks St. Pathrick. - -“‘Because,’ sez he, ‘this is my own houldin’,’ sez he, ‘be perscriptive -right,’ sez he. ‘I’m the whole govermint here, and I put a nexeat on -meself not to lave widout me own permission,’ and he ducks down agin -into the pond. - -“Well, the Saint began to get mighty angry, an’ he raises his crozier, -and he calls him agin:— - -“‘Hi! here! you!’ and the Shnake pops up. - -“‘Well! Saint, what do you want now? Amn’t I to be quit iv ye at all?’ - -“‘Are ye goin’, or are ye not?’ sez the Saint. - -“‘I’m king here; an’ I’m not goin’.’ - -“‘Thin,’ says the Saint, ‘I depose ye!’ - -“‘You can’t,’ sez the Shnake, ‘whilst I have me crown.’ - -“‘Then I’ll take it from ye,’ sez St. Pathrick. - -“‘Catch me first!’ sez the Shnake; an’ wid that he pops undher the -wather, what began to bubble up and boil. Well thin! the good Saint -stood bewildhered, for as he was lukin’ the wather began to disappear -out of the wee lake—and then the ground iv the hill began to be shaken -as if the big Shnake was rushin’ round and round it down deep down -undher the ground. - -“So the Saint stood on the edge of the empty lake an’ held up his -crozier, and called on the Shnake to come forth. And when he luked -down, lo! an’ behold ye! there lay the King iv the Shnakes coiled round -the bottom iv the lake—though how he had got there the Saint could -niver tell, for he hadn’t been there when he began to summons him. Then -the Shnake raised his head, and, lo! and behold ye! there was no crown -on to it. - -“‘Where is your crown?’ sez the Saint. - -“‘It’s hid,’ sez the Shnake, leerin’ at him. - -“‘Where is it hid?’ - -“‘It’s hid in the mountain! Buried where you nor the likes iv you can’t -touch it in a thousand years!’ an’ he leered agin. - -“‘Tell me where it may be found?’ sez the Saint starnly. An’ thin the -Shnake leers at him again wid an eviller smile than before; an’ sez he:— - -“‘Did ye see the wather what was in the lake?’ - -“‘I did,’ sez Saint Pathrick. - -“‘Thin, when ye find that wather ye may find me jool’d crown, too,’ sez -he; an’ before the Saint could say a word, he wint on:— - -“‘An’ till ye git me crown I’m king here still, though ye banish -me. An’ mayhap, I’ll come in some forrum what ye don’t suspect, for -I must watch me crown. An’ now I go away—iv me own accorrd.‘ An’ -widout one word more, good or bad, he shlid right away into the say, -dhrivin’ through the rock an’ makin’ the clift that they call the -Shleenanaher—an’ that’s Irish for the Shnake’s Pass—until this day.” - -“An’ now, sir, if Mrs. Kelligan hasn’t dhrunk up the whole bar’l, I’d -like a dhrop iv punch, for talkin’ is dhry wurrk,” and he buried his -head in the steaming jorum, which the hostess had already prepared. - -The company then began to discuss the legend. Said one of the women:— - -“I wondher what forrum he tuk when he kem back!” Jerry answered:— - -“Sure, they do say that the shiftin’ bog wor the forrum he tuk. The -mountain wid the lake on top used to be the fertilest shpot in the -whole counthry; but iver since the bog began to shift this was niver -the same.” - -Here a hard-faced man named McGlown, who had been silent, struck in -with a question:— - -“But who knows when the bog did begin to shift?” - -“Musha! Sorra one of me knows; but it was whin th’ ould Shnake druv the -wather iv the lake into the hill!”—There was a twinkle in the eyes of -the story-teller, which made one doubt his own belief in his story. - -“Well, for ma own part,” said McGlown, “A don’t believe a sengle word -of it.” - -“An’ for why not?” said one of the women. “Isn’t the mountain called -‘Knockcalltecrore,’ or ‘The Hill of the Lost Crown iv Gold,’ till this -day?” Said another:— - -“Musha! how could Misther McGlown believe anythin’, an’ him a -Protestan’.” - -“A’ll tell ye that A much prefer the facs,” said McGlown. “Ef hestory -es till be believed, A much prefer the story told till me by yon old -man. Damn me! but A believe he’s old enough till remember the theng -itself.” - -He pointed as he spoke to old Moynahan, who, shrivelled up and -white-haired, crouched in a corner of the inglenook, holding close to -the fire his wrinkled shaky hands. - -“What is the story that Mr. Moynahan has, may I ask?” said I. “Pray -oblige, me, won’t you? I am anxious to hear all I can of the mountain, -for it has taken my fancy strangely.” - -The old man took the glass of punch, which Mrs. Kelligan handed him as -the necessary condition antecedent to a story, and began:— - -“Oh, sorra one of me knows anythin’ except what I’ve heerd from me -father. But I oft heerd him say that he was tould, that it was said, -that in the Frinch invasion that didn’t come off undher Gineral -Humbert, whin the attimpt was over an’ all hope was gone, the English -sodgers made sure of great prize-money whin they should git hould of -the threasure chist. For it was known that there was much money goin’ -an’ that they had brought a lot more than iver they wanted for pay -and expinses in ordher to help to bribe some of the people that was -houldin’ off to be bought by wan side or the other—if they couldn’t -manage to git bought be both. But sure enough they wor all sould, bad -cess to thim! and the divil a bit of money could they lay their hands -on at all.” - -Here the old man took a pull at his jug of punch, with so transparent a -wish to be further interrogated that a smile flashed round the company. -One of the old crones remarked, in an audible _sotto voce_:— - -“Musha! But Bat is the cute story-teller intirely. Ye have to dhrag it -out iv him! Go on, Bat! Go on! Tell us what become iv the money.” - -“Oh, what become iv the money? So ye would like to hear! Well, I’ll -tell ye.—Just one more fill of the jug, Mrs. Kelligan, as the -gintleman wishes to know all about it.—Well! they did say that the -officer what had charge of the money got well away with some five or -six others. The chist was a heavy wan—an iron chist bang full up iv -goold! Oh, my! but it was fine! A big chist—that high, an’ as long as -the table, an’ full up to the led wid goolden money an’ paper money, -an’ divil a piece of white money in it at all! All goold, every pound -note iv it.” - -He paused, and glanced anxiously at Mrs. Kelligan, who was engaged in -the new brew. - -“Not too much wather if ye love me, Katty. You know me wakeness!—Well, -they do say that it tuk hard work to lift the chist into the boat; -an’ thin they put in a gun carriage to carry it on, an’ tuk out two -horses, an’ whin the shmoke was all round an’ the darkness of night was -on they got on shore, an’ made away down South from where the landin’ -was made at Killala. But, anyhow, they say that none of them was ever -heerd of agin. But they was thraced through Ardnaree an’ Lough Conn, -an’ through Castlebar Lake an’ Lough Carra, an’ through Lough Mask an’ -Lough Corrib. But they niver kem out through Galway, for the river was -watched for thim day an’ night be the sodgers; and how they got along -God knows! for ’twas said they suffered quare hardships. They tuk the -chist an’ the gun carriage an’ the horses in the boat, an’ whin they -couldn’t go no further they dhragged the boat over the land to the next -lake, an’ so on. Sure one dhry sayson, when the wathers iv Corrib was -down feet lower nor they was iver known afore, a boat was found up at -the Bealanabrack end that had lay there for years; but the min nor the -horses nor the treasure was never heerd of from that day to this—so -they say,” he added, in a mysterious way, and he renewed his attention -to the punch, as if his tale was ended. - -“But, man alive!” said McGlown, “that’s only a part. Go on, man dear! -an’ fenesh the punch after.” - -“Oh, oh! Yes, of course, you want to know the end. Well! no wan knows -the end. But they used to say that whin the min lift the boat they -wint due west, till one night they sthruck the mountain beyant; an’ -that there they buried the chist an’ killed the horses, or rode away -on them. But anyhow, they wor niver seen again; an’ as sure as you’re -alive, the money is there in the hill! For luk at the name iv it! Why -did any wan iver call it ‘Knockcalltore’—an’ that’s Irish for ‘the Hill -of the Lost Gold’—if the money isn’t there?” - -“Thrue for ye!” murmured an old woman with a cutty pipe. “For why, -indeed? There’s some people what won’t believe nothin’ altho’ it’s -undher their eyes!” and she puffed away in silent rebuke to the spirit -of scepticism—which, by the way, had not been manifested by any person -present. - -There was a long pause, broken only by one of the old women, who -occasionally gave a sort of half-grunt, half-sigh, as though -unconsciously to fill up the hiatus in the talk. She was a ‘keener’ by -profession, and was evidently well fitted to, and well drilled in, her -work. Presently old Moynahan broke the silence:— - -“Well! it’s a mighty quare thing anyhow that the hill beyant has -been singled out for laygends and sthories and gossip iv all kinds -consarnin’ shnakes an’ the like. An’ I’m not so sure, naythur, that -some iv thim isn’t there shtill—for mind ye! it’s a mighty curious -thin’ that the bog beyant keeps shiftin’ till this day. And I’m not so -sure, naythur, that the shnakes has all left the hill yit!” - -There was a chorus of “Thrue for ye!” - -“Aye, an’ it’s a black shnake too!” said one. - -“An’ wid side-whishkers!” said another. - -“Begorra! we want Saint Pathrick to luk in here agin!” said a third. - -I whispered to Andy the driver:— - -“Who is it they mean?” - -“Whisht!” he answered, but without moving his lips; “but don’t let on I -tould ye! Sure an’ it’s Black Murdock they mane.” - -“Who or what is Murdock?” I queried. - -“Sure an’ he is the Gombeen Man.” - -“What is that? What is a gombeen man?” - -“Whisper me now!” said Andy; “ax some iv the others. They’ll larn it ye -more betther nor I can.” - -“What is a gombeen man?” I asked to the company generally. - -“A gombeen man is it? Well! I’ll tell ye,” said an old, shrewd-looking -man at the other side of the hearth. “He’s a man that linds you a few -shillin’s or a few pounds whin ye want it bad, and then niver laves ye -till he has tuk all ye’ve got—yer land an’ yer shanty an’ yer holdin’ -an’ yer money an’ yer craps; an’ he would take the blood out of yer -body if he could sell it or use it anyhow!” - -“Oh, I see, a sort of usurer.” - -“Ushurer? aye that’s it; but a ushurer lives in the city an’ has laws -to hould him in. But the gombeen has nayther law nor the fear iv law. -He’s like wan that the Scriptures says ‘grinds the faces iv the poor.’ -Begor! it’s him that’d do little for God’s sake if the divil was dead!” - -“Then I suppose this man Murdock is a man of means—a rich man in his -way?” - -“Rich is it? Sure an’ it’s him as has plinty. He could lave this place -if he chose an’ settle in Galway—aye or in Dublin itself if he liked -betther, and lind money to big min—landlords an’ the like—instead iv -playin’ wid poor min here an’ swallyin’ them up, wan be wan.—But he -can’t go! He can’t go!” This he said with a vengeful light in his eyes; -I turned to Andy for explanation. - -“Can’t go! How does he mean? What does he mean?” - -“Whisht! Don’t ax me. Ax Dan, there. He doesn’t owe him any money!” - -“Which is Dan?” - -“The ould man there be the settle what has just spoke, Dan Moriarty. -He’s a warrum man, wid money in bank an’ what owns his houldin’; an’ -he’s not afeerd to have his say about Murdock.” - -“Can any of you tell me why Murdock can’t leave the Hill?” I spoke out. - -“Begor’ I can,” said Dan, quickly. “He can’t lave it because the Hill -houlds him!” - -“What on earth do you mean? How can the Hill hold him?” - -“It can hould tight enough! There may be raysons that a man -gives—sometimes wan thing, an’ sometimes another; but the Hill -houlds—an’ houlds tight all the same!” - -Here the door was opened suddenly, and the fire blazed up with the rush -of wind that entered. All stood up suddenly, for the new comer was a -priest. He was a sturdy man of middle age, with a cheerful countenance. -Sturdy as he was, however, it took him all his strength to shut the -door, but he succeeded before any of the men could get near enough to -help him. Then he turned and saluted all the company:— - -“God save all here.” - -All present tried to do him some service. One took his wet great coat, -another his dripping hat, and a third pressed him into the warmest seat -in the chimney corner, where, in a very few seconds, Mrs. Kelligan -handed him a steaming glass of punch, saying, “Dhrink that up, yer -Riv’rence. ’Twill help to kape ye from catchin’ cowld.” - -“Thank ye, kindly,” he answered, as he took it. When he had half -emptied the glass, he said:— - -“What was it I heard as I came in about the Hill holding some one?” Dan -answered:— - -“‘Twas me, yer Riverence, I said that the Hill had hould of Black -Murdock, and could hould him tight.” - -“Pooh! pooh! man; don’t talk such nonsense. The fact is, sir,” said -he, turning to me after throwing a searching glance round the company, -“the people here have all sorts of stories about that unlucky Hill—why, -God knows; and this man Murdock, that they call Black Murdock, is a -money-lender as well as a farmer, and none of them like him, for he is -a hard man and has done some cruel things among them. When they say -the Hill holds him, they mean that he doesn’t like to leave it because -he hopes to find a treasure that is said to be buried in it. I’m not -sure but that the blame is to be thrown on the different names given -to the Hill. That most commonly given is Knockcalltecrore, which is -a corruption of the Irish phrase Knock-na-callte-crōin-ōir, meaning, -‘The Hill of the Lost Golden Crown;’ but it has been sometimes called -Knockcalltore—short for the Irish words Knock-na-callte-ōir, or ‘The -Hill of the Lost Gold.’ It is said that in some old past time it was -called Knocknanaher, or ‘The Hill of the Snake;’ and, indeed, there’s -one place on it they call Shleenanaher, meaning the ‘Snake’s Pass.’ I -dare say, now, that they have been giving you the legends and stories -and all the rubbish of that kind. I suppose you know, sir, that in most -places the local fancy has run riot at some period and has left a good -crop of absurdities and impossibilities behind it?” - -I acquiesced warmly, for I felt touched by the good priest’s desire to -explain matters, and to hold his own people blameless for crude ideas -which he did not share. He went on:— - -“It is a queer thing that men must be always putting abstract ideas -into concrete shape. No doubt there have been some strange matters -regarding this mountain that they’ve been talking about—the Shifting -Bog, for instance; and as the people could not account for it in -any way that they can understand, they knocked up a legend about -it. Indeed, to be just to them, the legend is a very old one, and -is mentioned in a manuscript of the twelfth century. But somehow it -was lost sight of till about a hundred years ago, when the loss of -the treasure-chest from the French invasion at Killala set all the -imaginations of the people at work, from Donegal to Cork, and they -fixed the Hill of the Lost Gold as the spot where the money was to -be found. There is not a word of fact in the story from beginning to -end, and”—here he gave a somewhat stern glance round the room—“I’m a -little ashamed to hear so much chat and nonsense given to a strange -gentleman like as if it was so much gospel. However, you mustn’t be too -hard in your thoughts on the poor people here, sir, for they’re good -people—none better in all Ireland—in all the world for that—but they -talk too free to do themselves justice.” - -All those present were silent for awhile. Old Moynahan was the first to -speak. - -“Well, Father Pether, I don’t say nothin’ about Saint Pathrick an’ the -shnakes, meself, because I don’t know nothin’ about them; but I know -that me own father tould me that he seen the Frinchmin wid his own eyes -crossin’ the sthrame below, an’ facin’ up the mountain. The moon was -risin’ in the west, an’ the hill threw a big shadda. There was two min -an’ two horses, an’ they had a big box on a gun carriage. Me father -seen them cross the sthrame. The load was so heavy that the wheels sunk -in the clay, an’ the min had to pull at them to git them up again. An’ -didn’t he see the marks iv the wheels in the ground the very nixt day?” - -“Bartholomew Moynahan, are you telling the truth?” interrupted the -priest, speaking sternly. - -“Throth an I am, Father Pether; divil a word iv a lie in all I’ve said.” - -“Then how is it you’ve never told a word of this before?” - -“But I have tould it, Father Pether. There’s more nor wan here now what -has heered me tell it; but they wor tould as a saycret!” - -“Thrue for ye!” came the chorus of almost every person in the room. -The unanimity was somewhat comic and caused amongst them a shamefaced -silence, which lasted quite several seconds. The pause was not wasted, -for by this time Mrs. Kelligan had brewed another jug of punch, and -glasses were replenished. This interested the little crowd and they -entered afresh into the subject. As for myself, however, I felt -strangely uncomfortable. I could not quite account for it in any -reasonable way. - -I suppose there must be an instinct in men as well as in the lower -orders of animal creation—I felt as though there were a strange -presence near me. - -I quietly looked round. Close to where I sat, on the sheltered side of -the house, was a little window built in the deep recess of the wall, -and, further, almost obliterated by the shadow of the priest as he sat -close to the fire. Pressed against the empty lattice, where the glass -had once been, I saw the face of a man—a dark, forbidding face it -seemed in the slight glimpse I caught of it. The profile was towards -me, for he was evidently listening intently, and he did not see me. Old -Moynahan went on with his story:— - -“Me father hid behind a whin bush, an’ lay as close as a hare in -his forrum. The min seemed suspicious of bein’ seen and they looked -carefully all round for the sign of anywan. Thin they started up the -side of the hill; an’ a cloud came over the moon so that for a bit -me father could see nothin’. But prisintly he seen the two min up on -the side of the hill at the south, near Joyce’s mearin’. Thin they -disappeared agin, an’ prisintly he seen the horses an’ the gun carriage -an’ all up in the same place, an’ the moonlight sthruck thim as they -wint out iv the shadda; and men an’ horses an’ gun carriage an’ chist -an’ all wint round to the back iv the hill at the west an’ disappeared. -Me father waited a minute or two to make sure, an’ thin he run round as -hard as he could an’ hid behind the projectin’ rock at the enthrance -iv the Shleenanaher, an’ there foreninst him! right up the hill side -he seen two min carryin’ the chist, an’ it nigh weighed thim down. -But the horses an’ the gun carriage was nowhere to be seen. Well! me -father was stealin’ out to folly thim, when he loosened a sthone an’ it -clattered down through the rocks at the Shnake’s Pass wid a noise like -a dhrum, an’ the two min sot down the chist an’ they turned; an’ whin -they seen me father one of them runs at him, and he turned an’ run. An’ -thin another black cloud crossed the moon; but me father knew ivery -foot of the mountain side, and he run on through the dark. He heerd -the footsteps behind him for a bit, but they seemed to get fainter an’ -fainter; but he niver stopped runnin’ till he got to his own cabin.—An’ -that was the last he iver see iv the men or the horses or the chist. -Maybe they wint into the air or the say, or the mountain; but anyhow -they vanished, and from that day to this no sight or sound or word iv -them was ever known!” - -There was a universal, ‘Oh!’ of relief as he concluded, whilst he -drained his glass. - -I looked round again at the little window—but the dark face was gone. - -Then there arose a perfect babble of sounds. All commented on the -story, some in Irish, some in English, and some in a speech, English -indeed, but so purely and locally idiomatic that I could only guess at -what was intended to be conveyed. The comment generally took the form -that two men were to be envied, one of them, the gombeen man, Murdock, -who owned a portion of the western side of the hill, the other one, -Joyce, who owned another section of the same aspect. - -In the midst of the buzz of conversation the clattering of hoofs was -heard. There was a shout, and the door opened again and admitted a -stalwart stranger of some fifty years of age, with a strong, determined -face, with kindly eyes, well dressed but wringing wet, and haggard, and -seemingly disturbed in mind. One arm hung useless by his side. - -“Here’s one of them!” said Father Peter. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE GOMBEEN MAN. - - -“God save all here,” said the man as he entered. - -Room was made for him at the fire. He no sooner came near it and tasted -the heat than a cloud of steam arose from him. - -“Man! but ye’re wet,” said Mrs. Kelligan. “One’d think ye’d been in the -lake beyant!” - -“So I have,” he answered, “worse luck! I rid all the way from Galway -this blessed day to be here in time, but the mare slipped coming down -Curragh Hill and threw me over the bank into the lake. I wor in the -wather nigh three hours before I could get out, for I was foreninst the -Curragh Rock an’ only got a foothold in a chink, an’ had to hold on wid -me one arm for I fear the other is broke.” - -“Dear! dear! dear!” interrupted the woman. “Sthrip yer coat off, -acushla, an’ let us see if we can do anythin’.” - -He shook his head, as he answered:— - -“Not now, there’s not a minute to spare. I must get up the Hill at -once. I should have been there be six o’clock. But I mayn’t be too -late yit. The mare has broke down entirely. Can any one here lend me a -horse?” - -There was no answer till Andy spoke:— - -“Me mare is in the shtable, but this gintleman has me an’ her for the -day, an’ I have to lave him at Carnaclif to-night.” - -Here I struck in:— - -“Never mind me, Andy! If you can help this gentleman, do so: I’m better -off here than driving through the storm. He wouldn’t want to go on, -with a broken arm, if he hadn’t good reason!” - -The man looked at me with grateful eagerness:— - -“Thank yer honour, kindly. It’s a rale gintleman ye are! An’ I hope -ye’ll never be sorry for helpin’ a poor fellow in sore throuble.” - -“What’s wrong, Phelim?” asked the priest. “Is there anything troubling -you that any one here can get rid of?” - -“Nothin’, Father Pether, thank ye kindly. The throuble is me own -intirely, an’ no wan here could help me. But I must see Murdock -to-night.” - -There was a general sigh of commiseration; all understood the situation. - -“Musha!” said old Dan Moriarty, _sotto voce_. “An’ is that the way of -it! An’ is he too in the clutches iv that wolf? Him that we all thought -was so warrum. Glory be to God! but it’s a quare wurrld it is; an’ it’s -few there is in it that is what they seems. Me poor frind! is there -any way I can help ye? I have a bit iv money by me that yer welkim to -the lend iv av ye want it.” - -The other shook his head gratefully:— - -“Thank ye kindly, Dan, but I have the money all right; it’s only the -time I’m in trouble about!” - -“Only the time! me poor chap! It’s be time that the divil helps Black -Murdock an’ the likes iv him, the most iv all! God be good to ye if he -has got his clutch on yer back, an’ has time on his side, for ye’ll -want it!” - -“Well! anyhow, I must be goin’ now. Thank ye kindly, neighbours all. -When a man’s in throuble, sure the goodwill of his frinds is the -greatest comfort he can have.” - -“All but one, remember that! all but one!” said the priest. - -“Thank ye kindly, Father, I shan’t forget. Thank ye Andy: an’ you, -too, young sir, I’m much beholden to ye. I hope, some day, I may have -it to do a good turn for ye in return. Thank ye kindly again, and good -night.” He shook my hand warmly, and was going to the door, when old -Dan said:— - -“An’ as for that black-jawed ruffian, Murdock—” He paused, for the door -suddenly opened, and a harsh voice said:— - -“Murtagh Murdock is here to answer for himself!”—It was my man at the -window. - -There was a sort of paralyzed silence in the room, through which came -the whisper of one of the old women:— - -“Musha! talk iv the divil!” - -Joyce’s face grew very white; one hand instinctively grasped his riding -switch, the other hung uselessly by his side. Murdock spoke:— - -“I kem here expectin’ to meet Phelim Joyce. I thought I’d save him the -throuble of comin’ wid the money.” Joyce said in a husky voice:— - -“What do ye mane? I have the money right enough here. I’m sorry I’m -a bit late, but I had a bad accident—bruk me arrum, an’ was nigh -dhrownded in the Curragh Lake. But I was goin’ up to ye at once, bad as -I am, to pay ye yer money, Murdock.” The Gombeen Man interrupted him:— - -“But it isn’t to me ye’d have to come, me good man. Sure, it’s the -sheriff, himself, that was waitin’ for ye’, an’ whin ye didn’t -come”—here Joyce winced; the speaker smiled—“he done his work.” - -“What wurrk, acushla?” asked one of the women. Murdock answered slowly:— - -“He sould the lease iv the farrum known as the Shleenanaher in open -sale, in accordance wid the terrums of his notice, duly posted, and wid -warnin’ given to the houldher iv the lease.” - -There was a long pause. Joyce was the first to speak:— - -“Ye’re jokin’, Murdock. For God’s sake say ye’re jokin’! Ye tould me -yerself that I might have time to git the money. An’ ye tould me that -the puttin’ me farrum up for sale was only a matther iv forrum to let -me pay ye back in me own way. Nay! more, ye asked me not to te tell -any iv the neighbours, for fear some iv them might want to buy some iv -me land. An’ it’s niver so, that whin ye got me aff to Galway to rise -the money, ye went on wid the sale, behind me back—wid not a soul by -to spake for me or mine—an’ sould up all I have! No! Murtagh Murdock, -ye’re a hard man I know, but ye wouldn’t do that! Ye wouldn’t do that!” - -Murdock made no direct reply to him, but said seemingly to the company -generally:— - -“I ixpected to see Phelim Joyce at the sale to-day, but as I had some -business in which he was consarned, I kem here where I knew there’d be -neighbours—an’ sure so there is.” - -He took out his pocket-book and wrote names, “Father Pether Ryan, -Daniel Moriarty, Bartholomew Moynahan, Andhrew McGlown, Mrs. Katty -Kelligan—that’s enough! I want ye all to see what I done. There’s -nothin’ undherhand about me! Phelim Joyce, I give ye formial notice -that yer land was sould an’ bought be me, for ye broke yer word to -repay me the money lint ye before the time fixed. Here’s the Sheriff’s -assignmint, an’ I tell ye before all these witnesses that I’ll proceed -with ejectment on title at wanst.” - -All in the room were as still as statues. Joyce was fearfully still -and pale, but when Murdock spoke the word “ejectment” he seemed to -wake in a moment to frenzied life. The blood flushed up in his face -and he seemed about to do something rash; but with a great effort he -controlled himself and said:— - -“Mr. Murdock, ye won’t be too hard. I got the money to-day—it’s -here—but I had an accident that delayed me. I was thrown into the -Curragh Lake and nigh drownded an’ me arrum is bruk. Don’t be so close -as an hour or two—ye’ll never be sorry for it. I’ll pay ye all, and -more, and thank ye into the bargain all me life; ye’ll take back the -paper, won’t ye, for me childhren’s sake—for Norah’s sake?” - -He faltered; the other answered with an evil smile:— - -“Phelim Joyce, I’ve waited years for this moment—don’t ye know me -betther nor to think I would go back on meself whin I have shtarted on -a road? I wouldn’t take yer money, not if ivery pound note was spread -into an acre and cut up in tin-pound notes. I want yer land—I have -waited for it, an’ I mane to have it!—Now don’t beg me any more, for I -won’t go back—an’ tho’ its many a grudge I owe ye, I square them all -before the neighbours be refusin’ yer prayer. The land is mine, bought -be open sale; an’ all the judges an’ coorts in Ireland can’t take it -from me! An’ what do ye say to that now, Phelim Joyce?” - -The tortured man had been clutching the ash sapling which he had used -as a riding whip, and from the nervous twitching of his fingers I knew -that something was coming. And it came; for, without a word, he struck -the evil face before him—struck as quick as a flash of lightning—such -a blow that the blood seemed to leap out round the stick, and a vivid -welt rose in an instant. With a wild, savage cry the Gombeen Man jumped -at him; but there were others in the room as quick, and before another -blow could be struck on either side both men were grasped by strong -hands and held back. - -Murdock’s rage was tragic. He yelled, like a wild beast, to be let get -at his opponent. He cursed and blasphemed so outrageously that all were -silent, and only the stern voice of the priest was heard:— - -“Be silent Murtagh Murdock! Aren’t you afraid that the God overhead -will strike you dead? With such a storm as is raging as a sign of His -power, you are a foolish man to tempt Him.” - -The man stopped suddenly, and a stern dogged sullenness took the place -of his passion. The priest went on:— - -“As for you, Phelim Joyce, you ought to be ashamed of yourself; ye’re -not one of my people, but I speak as your own clergyman would if he -were here. Only this day has the Lord seen fit to spare you from a -terrible death; and yet you dare to go back of His mercy with your -angry passion. You had cause for anger—or temptation to it, I know—but -you must learn to kiss the chastening rod, not spurn it. The Lord knows -what He is doing for you as for others, and it may be that you will -look back on this day in gratitude for His doing, and in shame for -your own anger. Men, hold off your hands—let those two men go; they’ll -quarrel no more—before me at any rate, I hope.” - -The men drew back. Joyce held his head down, and a more despairing -figure or a sadder one I never saw. He turned slowly away, and leaning -against the wall put his face between his hands and sobbed. Murdock -scowled, and the scowl gave place to an evil smile as looking all -around he said:— - -“Well, now that me work is done, I must be gettin’ home.” - -“An’ get some wan to iron that mark out iv yer face,” said Dan. Murdock -turned again and glared around him savagely as he hissed out:— - -“There’ll be iron for some one before I’m done. Mark me well! I’ve -never gone back or wakened yit whin I promised to have me own turn. -There’s thim here what’ll rue this day yit! If I am the shnake on the -hill—thin beware the shnake. An’ for him what shtruck me, he’ll be in -bitther sorra for it yit—him an’ his!” He turned his back and went to -the door. - -“Stop!” said the priest. “Murtagh Murdock, I have a word to say to -you—a solemn word of warning. Ye have to-day acted the part of Ahab -towards Naboth the Jezreelite; beware of his fate! You have coveted -your neighbour’s goods—you have used your power without mercy; you -have made the law an engine of oppression. Mark me! It was said of -old that what measure men meted should be meted out to them again. God -is very just. ‘Be not deceived, God is not mocked. For what things a -man shall sow, those also shall he reap.’ Ye have sowed the wind this -day—beware lest you reap the whirlwind! Even as God visited his sin -upon Ahab the Samarian, and as He has visited similar sins on others -in His own way—so shall He visit yours on you. You are worse than the -land-grabber—worse than the man who only covets. Saintough is a virtue -compared with your act! Remember the story of Naboth’s vineyard, and -the dreadful end of it. Don’t answer me! Go and repent if you can, and -leave sorrow and misery to be comforted by others—unless you wish to -undo your wrong yourself. If you don’t—then remember the curse that may -come upon you yet!” - -Without a word Murdock opened the door and went out, and a little -later we heard the clattering of his horse’s feet on the rocky road to -Shleenanaher. - -When it was apparent to all that he was really gone a torrent of -commiseration, sympathy and pity broke over Joyce. The Irish nature is -essentially emotional, and a more genuine and stronger feeling I never -saw. Not a few had tears in their eyes, and one and all were manifestly -deeply touched. The least moved was, to all appearance, poor Joyce -himself. He seemed to have pulled himself together, and his sterling -manhood and courage and pride stood by him. He seemed, however, to -yield to the kindly wishes of his friends; and when we suggested that -his hurt should be looked to, he acquiesced:— - -“Yes, if you will. Betther not go home to poor Norah and distress her -with it. Poor child! she’ll have enough to bear without that.” - -His coat was taken off, and between us we managed to bandage the wound. -The priest, who had some surgical knowledge, came to the conclusion -that there was only a simple fracture. He splinted and bandaged the -arm, and we all agreed that it would be better for Joyce to wait until -the storm was over before starting for home. Andy said he could take -him on the car, as he knew the road well, and that, as it was partly on -the road to Carnaclif, we should only have to make a short detour and -would pass the house of the doctor, by whom the arm could be properly -attended to. - -So we sat around the fire again, whilst, without, the storm howled and -the fierce gusts which swept the valley seemed at times as if they -would break in the door, lift off the roof, or in some way annihilate -the time-worn cabin which gave us shelter. - -There could, of course, be only one subject of conversation now, and -old Dan simply interpreted the public wish, when he said:— - -“Tell us, Phelim, sure we’re all friends here! how Black Murdock got -ye in his clutches? Sure any wan of us would get you out of thim if he -could.” - -There was a general acquiescence. Joyce yielded himself, and said:— - -“Let me thank ye, neighbours all, for yer kindness to me and mine this -sorraful night. Well! I’ll say no more about that; but I’ll tell ye how -it was that Murdock got me into his power. Ye know that boy of mine, -Eugene?” - -“Oh! and he’s the fine lad, God bless him! an’ the good lad too!”—this -from the women. - -“Well! ye know too that he got on so well whin I sint him to school -that Dr. Walsh recommended me to make an ingineer of him. He said he -had such promise that it was a pity not to see him get the right start -in life, and he gave me, himself, a letther to Sir George Henshaw, the -great ingineer. I wint and seen him, and he said he would take the -boy. He tould me that there was a big fee to be paid, but I was not to -throuble about that—at any rate, that he himself didn’t want any fee, -and he would ask his partner if he would give up his share too. But the -latther was hard up for money. He said he couldn’t give up all fee, -but that he would take half the fee, provided it was paid down in dhry -money. Well! the regular fee to the firm was five hundhred pounds, and -as Sir George had giv up half an’ only half th’ other half was to be -paid, that was possible. I hadn’t got more’n a few pounds by me—for -what wid dhrainin’ and plantin’ and fencin’ and the payin’ the boy’s -schoolin’, and the girl’s at the Nuns’ in Galway, it had put me to -the pin iv me collar to find the money up to now. But I didn’t like to -let the boy lose his chance in life for want of an effort, an’ I put -me pride in me pocket an’ kem an’ asked Murdock for the money. He was -very smooth an’ nice wid me—I know why now—an’ promised he would give -it at wanst if I would give him security on me land. Sure he joked an’ -laughed wid me, an’ was that cheerful that I didn’t misthrust him. He -tould me it was only forrums I was signin’ that’d never be used”—— Here -Dan Moriarty interrupted him:— - -“What did ye sign, Phelim?” - -“There wor two papers. Wan was a writin’ iv some kind, that in -considheration iv the money lent an’ his own land—which I was to take -over if the money wasn’t paid at the time appointed—he was to get me -lease from me: an’ the other was a power of attorney to Enther Judgment -for the amount if the money wasn’t paid at the right time. I thought I -was all safe as I could repay him in the time named, an’ if the worst -kem to the worst I might borry the money from some wan else—for the -lease is worth the sum tin times over—an’ repay him. Well! what’s the -use of lookin’ back, anyhow! I signed the papers—that was a year ago, -an’ one week. An’ a week ago the time was up!” He gulped down a sob, -and went on:— - -“Well! ye all know the year gone has been a terrible bad wan, an’ as -for me it was all I could do to hould on—to make up the money was -impossible. Thrue the lad cost me next to nothin’, for he arned his -keep be exthra work, an’ the girl, Norah, kem home from school and -laboured wid me, an’ we saved every penny we could. But it was all -no use!—we couldn’t get the money together anyhow. Thin we had the -misfortin wid the cattle that ye all know of; an’ three horses, that -I sould in Dublin, up an’ died before the time I guaranteed them free -from sickness.” Here Andy struck in:— - -“Thrue for ye! Sure there was some dhreadful disordher in Dublin among -the horse cattle, intirely; an’ even Misther Docther Perfesshinal -Ferguson himself couldn’t git undher it!” Joyce went on:— - -“An’ as the time grew nigh I began to fear, but Murdock came down to -see me whin I was alone, an’ tould me not to throuble about the money -an’ not to mind about the sheriff, for he had to give him notice. -‘An’,’ says he, ‘I wouldn’t, if I was you, tell Norah anythin’ about -it, for it might frighten the girl—for weemin is apt to take to heart -things like that that’s only small things to min like us.‘ An’ so, God -forgive me, I believed him; an’ I niver tould me child anything about -it—even whin I got the notice from the sheriff. An’ whin the Notice -tellin’ of the sale was posted up on me land, I tuk it down meself so -that the poor child wouldn’t be frightened—God help me!” He broke down -for a bit, but then went on:— - -“But somehow I wasn’t asy in me mind, an’ whin the time iv the sale -dhrew nigh I couldn’t keep it to meself any longer, an’ I tould -Norah. That was only yisterday, and look at me to-day! Norah agreed -wid me that we shouldn’t trust the Gombeen, an’ she sent me off to -the Galway Bank to borry the money. She said I was an honest man an’ -farmed me own land, and that the bank might lind the money on it. An’ -sure enough whin I wint there this mornin’ be appointment, wid the -Coadjuthor himself to inthroduce me, though he didn’t know why I wanted -the money—that was Norah’s idea, and the Mother Superior settled it -for her—the manager, who is a nice gintleman, tould me at wanst that I -might have the money on me own note iv hand. I only gave him a formal -writin’, an’ I took away the money. Here it is in me pocket in good -notes; they’re wet wid the lake, but I’m thankful to say all safe. -But it’s too late, God help me!” Here he broke down for a minute, but -recovered himself with an effort:— - -“Anyhow the bank that thrusted me musn’t be wronged. Back the money -goes to Galway as soon as iver I can get it there. If I am a ruined man -I needn’t be a dishonest wan! But poor Norah! God help her! it will -break her poor heart.” - -There was a spell of silence only broken by sympathetic moans. The -first to speak was the priest. - -“Phelim Joyce, I told you a while ago, in the midst of your passion, -that God knows what He is doin’, and works in His own way. You’re an -honest man, Phelim, and God knows it, and, mark me, He won’t let you -nor yours suffer. ‘I have been young,’ said the Psalmist, ‘and now -am old; and I have not seen the just forsaken, nor his seed seeking -bread.’ Think of that, Phelim!—may it comfort you and poor Norah. God -bless her! but she’s the good girl. You have much to be thankful for, -with a daughter like her to comfort you at home and take the place of -her poor mother, who was the best of women; and with such a boy as -Eugene, winnin’ name and credit, and perhaps fame to come, even in -England itself. Thank God for His many mercies, Phelim, and trust Him.” - -There was a dead silence in the room. The stern man rose, and coming -over took the priest’s hand. - -“God bless ye, Father!” he said, “it’s the true comforter ye are.” - -The scene was a most touching one; I shall never forget it. The worst -of the poor man’s trouble seemed now past. He had faced the darkest -hour; he had told his trouble, and was now prepared to make the best of -everything—for the time at least—for I could not reconcile to my mind -the idea that that proud, stern man, would not take the blow to heart -for many a long day, that it might even embitter his life. - -Old Dan tried comfort in a practical way by thinking of what was to be -done. Said he:— - -“Iv course, Phelim, it’s a mighty throuble to give up yer own foine -land an’ take Murdock’s bleak shpot instead, but I daresay ye will be -able to work it well enough. Tell me, have ye signed away all the land, -or only the lower farm? I mane, is the Cliff Fields yours or his?” - -Here was a gleam of comfort evidently to the poor man. His face -lightened as he replied:— - -“Only the lower farm, thank God! Indeed, I couldn’t part wid the -Cliff Fields, for they don’t belong to me—they are Norah’s, that her -poor mother left her—they wor settled on her, whin we married, be her -father, and whin he died we got them. But, indeed, I fear they’re but -small use be themselves; shure there’s no wather in them at all, savin’ -what runs off me ould land; an’ if we have to carry wather all the way -down the hill from—from me new land”—this was said with a smile, which -was a sturdy effort at cheerfulness—“it will be but poor work to raise -anythin’ there—ayther shtock or craps. No doubt but Murdock will take -away the sthrame iv wather that runs there now. He’ll want to get the -cliff lands, too, I suppose.” - -I ventured to ask a question:— - -“How do your lands lie compared with Mr. Murdock’s?” - -There was bitterness in his tone as he answered, in true Irish fashion: - -“Do you mane me ould land, or me new?” - -“The lands that were—that ought still to be yours,” I answered. - -He was pleased at the reply, and his face softened as he replied:— - -“Well, the way of it is this. We two owns the West side of the hill -between us. Murdock’s land—I’m spakin’ iv them as they are, till he -gets possession iv mine—lies at the top iv the hill; mine lies below. -My land is the best bit on the mountain, while the Gombeen’s is poor -soil, with only a few good patches here and there. Moreover, there is -another thing. There is a bog which is high up the hill, mostly on his -houldin’, but my land is free from bog, except one end of the big bog, -an’ a stretch of dry turf, the best in the counthry, an’ wid’ enough -turf to last for a hundhred years, it’s that deep.” - -Old Dan joined in:— - -“Thrue enough! that bog of the Grombeen’s isn’t much use anyhow. It’s -rank and rotten wid wather. Whin it made up its mind to sthay, it might -have done betther!” - -“The bog? Made up its mind to stay! What on earth do you mean?” I -asked. I was fairly puzzled. - -“Didn’t ye hear talk already,” said Dan, “of the shiftin’ bog on the -mountain?” - -“I did.” - -“Well, that’s it! It moved an’ moved an’ moved longer than anywan can -remimber. Me grandfather wanst tould me that whin he was a gossoon it -wasn’t nigh so big as it was when he tould me. It hasn’t shifted in my -time, and I make bould to say that it has made up its mind to settle -down where it is. Ye must only make the best of it, Phelim. I daresay -ye will turn it to some account.” - -“I’ll try what I can do, anyhow. I don’t mane to fould me arms an’ sit -down op-pawsit me property an’ ate it!” was the brave answer. - -For myself, the whole idea was most interesting. I had never before -even heard of a shifting bog, and I determined to visit it before I -left this part of the country. - -By this time the storm was beginning to abate. The rain had ceased, and -Andy said we might proceed on our journey. So after a while we were on -our way; the wounded man and I sitting on one side of the car, and Andy -on the other. The whole company came out to wish us God-speed, and with -such comfort as good counsel and good wishes could give we ventured -into the inky darkness of the night. - -Andy was certainly a born car-driver. Not even the darkness, the -comparative strangeness of the road, or the amount of whisky-punch -which he had on board could disturb his driving in the least; he went -steadily on. The car rocked and swayed and bumped, for the road was -a bye one, and in but poor condition—but Andy and the mare went on -alike unmoved. Once or twice only, in a journey of some three miles of -winding bye-lanes, crossed and crossed again by lanes or water-courses, -did he ask the way. I could not tell which was roadway and which -water-way, for they were all water-courses at present, and the darkness -was profound. Still, both Andy and Joyce seemed to have a sense lacking -in myself, for now and again they spoke of things which I could not see -at all. As, for instance, when Andy asked:— - -“Do we go up or down where the road branches beyant?” Or again: “I -disremimber, but is that Micky Dolan’s ould apple three, or didn’t he -cut it down? an’ is it Tim’s fornent us on the lift?” - -Presently we turned to the right, and drove up a short avenue towards a -house. I knew it to be a house by the light in the windows, for shape -it had none. Andy jumped down and knocked, and after a short colloquy, -Joyce got down and went into the Doctor’s house. I was asked to go -too, but thought it better not to, as it would only have disturbed the -Doctor in his work; and so Andy and I possessed our souls in patience -until Joyce came out again, with his arm in a proper splint. And then -we resumed our journey through the inky darkness. - -However, after a while either there came more light into the sky, or -my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, for I thought that now and -again I beheld “men as trees walking.” - -Presently something dark and massive seemed outlined in the sky before -us—a blackness projected on a darkness—and, said Andy, turning to me:— - -“That’s Knockcalltecrore; we’re nigh the foot iv it now, and pretty -shortly we’ll be at the enthrance iv the boreen, where Misther Joyce’ll -git aff.” - -We plodded on for a while, and the hill before us seemed to overshadow -whatever glimmer of light there was, for the darkness grew more -profound than ever; then Andy turned to my companion:— - -“Sure, isn’t that Miss Norah I see sittin’ on the shtyle beyant?” I -looked eagerly in the direction in which he evidently pointed, but for -the life of me I could see nothing. - -“No! I hope not,” said the father, hastily. “She’s never come out in -the shtorm. Yes! It is her, she sees us.” - -Just then there came a sweet sound down the lane:— - -“Is that you, father?” - -“Yes! my child; but I hope you’ve not been out in the shtorm.” - -“Only a bit, father; I was anxious about you. Is it all right, father; -did you get what you wanted?” She had jumped off the stile and had -drawn nearer to us, and she evidently saw me, and went on in a changed -and shyer voice:- - -“Oh! I beg your pardon, I did not see you had a stranger with you.” - -This was all bewildering to me; I could hear it all—and a sweeter voice -I never heard—but yet I felt like a blind man, for not a thing could I -see, whilst each of the three others was seemingly as much at ease as -in the daylight. - -“This gentleman has been very kind to me, Norah. He has given me a seat -on his car, and indeed he’s come out of his way to lave me here.” - -“I am sure we’re all grateful to you, sir; but, father, where is your -horse? Why are you on a car at all? Father, I hope you haven’t met with -any accident—I have been so fearful for you all the day.” This was -spoken in a fainter voice; had my eyes been of service, I was sure I -would have seen her grow pale. - -“Yes, my darlin’, I got a fall on the Curragh Hill, but I’m all right. -Norah dear! Quick, quick! catch her, she’s faintin’!—my God! I can’t -stir!” - -I jumped off the car in the direction of the voice, but my arms sought -the empty air. However, I heard Andy’s voice beside me:— - -“All right! I have her. Hould up, Miss Norah; yer dada’s all right, -don’t ye see him there, sittin’ on me car. All right, sir, she’s a -brave girrul! she hasn’t fainted.” - -“I am all right,” she murmured, faintly; “but, father, I hope you are -not hurt?” - -“Only a little, my darlin’, just enough for ye to nurse me a while; I -daresay a few days will make me all right again. Thank ye, Andy; steady -now, till I get down; I’m feelin’ a wee bit stiff.” Andy evidently -helped him to the ground. - -“Good night, Andy, and good night you too, sir, and thank you kindly -for your goodness to me all this night. I hope I’ll see you again.” He -took my hand in his uninjured one, and shook it warmly. - -“Good night,” I said, and “good-bye: I am sure I hope we shall meet -again.” - -Another hand took mine as he relinquished it—a warm, strong one—and a -sweet voice said, shyly:— - -“Good night, sir, and thank you for your kindness to father.” - -I faltered “Good night,” as I raised my hat; the aggravation of the -darkness at such a moment was more than I could equably bear. We heard -them pass up the boreen, and I climbed on the car again. - -The night seemed darker than ever as we turned our steps towards -Carnaclif, and the journey was the dreariest one I had ever taken. I -had only one thought which gave me any pleasure, but that was a pretty -constant one through the long miles of damp, sodden road—the warm hand -and the sweet voice coming out of the darkness, and all in the shadow -of that mysterious mountain, which seemed to have become a part of -my life. The words of the old story-teller came back to me again and -again:— - -“The Hill can hould tight enough! A man has raysons—sometimes wan thing -and sometimes another—but the Hill houlds him all the same!” - -And a vague wonder grew upon me as to whether it could ever hold me, -and how! - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - THE SECRETS OF THE BOG. - - -Some six weeks elapsed before my visits to Irish friends were -completed, and I was about to return home. I had had everywhere a -hearty welcome; the best of sport of all kinds, and an appetite beyond -all praise—and one pretty well required to tackle with any show of -success the excellent food and wine put before me. The west of Ireland -not only produces good viands in plenty and of the highest excellence, -but there is remaining a keen recollection, accompanied by tangible -results, of the days when open house and its hospitable accompaniments -made wine merchants prosperous—at the expense of their customers. - -In the midst of all my pleasure, however, I could not shake from my -mind—nor, indeed, did I want to—the interest which Shleenanaher and -its surroundings had created in me. Nor did the experience of that -strange night, with the sweet voice coming through the darkness in -the shadow of the hill, become dim with the passing of the time. When -I look back and try to analyse myself and my feelings with the aid -of the knowledge and experience of life received since then, I think -that I must have been in love. I do not know if philosophers have -ever undertaken to say whether it is possible for a human being to be -in love in the abstract—whether the something which the heart has a -tendency to send forth needs a concrete objective point! It may be so; -the swarm of bees goes from the parent hive with only the impulse of -going—its settling is a matter of chance. At any rate I may say that no -philosopher, logician, metaphysician, psychologist, or other thinker, -of whatsoever shade of opinion, ever held that a man could be in love -with a voice. - -True that the unknown has a charm—_omne ignotum pro magnifico_. If my -heart did not love, at least it had a tendency to worship. Here I am on -solid ground; for which of us but can understand the feelings of those -men of old in Athens, who devoted their altars “To The Unknown God?” I -leave the philosophers to say how far apart, or how near, are love and -worship; which is first in historical sequence, which is greatest or -most sacred! Being human, I cannot see any grace or beauty in worship -without love. - -However, be the cause what it might, I made up my mind to return home -viâ Carnaclif. To go from Clare to Dublin by way of Galway and Mayo is -to challenge opinion as to one’s motive. I did not challenge opinion, -I distinctly avoided doing so, and I am inclined to think that there -was more of Norah than of Shleenanaher in the cause of my reticence. I -could bear to be “chaffed” about a superstitious feeling respecting a -mountain, or I could endure the same process regarding a girl of whom I -had no high ideal, no sweet illusive memory. - -I would never complete the argument, even to myself—then; later on, the -cause or subject of it varied! - -It was not without a certain conflict of feelings that I approached -Carnaclif, even though on this occasion I approached it from the South, -whereas on my former visit I had come from the North. I felt that the -time went miserably slowly, and yet nothing would have induced me to -admit so much. I almost regretted that I had come, even whilst I was -harrowed with thoughts that I might not be able to arrive at all at -Knockcalltecrore. At times I felt as though the whole thing had been a -dream; and again as though the romantic nimbus with which imagination -had surrounded and hallowed all things must pass away and show that -my unknown beings and my facts of delicate fantasy were but stern and -vulgar realities. - -The people at the little hotel made me welcome with the usual effusive -hospitable intention of the West. Indeed, I was somewhat nettled at how -well they remembered me, as for instance when the buxom landlady said:— - -“I’m glad to be able to tell ye, sir, that yer carman, Andy Sullivan, -is here now. He kem with a commercial from Westport to Roundwood, an’ -is on his way back, an’ hopin’ for a return job. I think ye’ll be able -to make a bargain with him if ye wish.” - -I made to this kindly speech a hasty and, I felt, an ill-conditioned -reply, to the effect that I was going to stay in the neighbourhood -for only a few days and would not require the car. I then went to my -room, and locked my door muttering a malediction on officious people. I -stayed there for some time, until I thought that probably Andy had gone -on his way, and then ventured out. - -I little knew Andy, however. When I came to the hall, the first person -that I saw was the cheerful driver, who came forward to welcome me:— - -“Musha! but it’s glad I am to see yer ’an’r. An’ it’ll be the proud man -I’ll be to bhring ye back to Westport wid me.” - -“I’m sorry Andy,” I began, “that I shall not want you, as I am going to -stay in this neighbourhood for a few days.” - -“Sthay is it? Begor! but it’s more gladerer shtill I am. Sure the mare -wants a rist, an’ it’ll shute her an’ me all to nothin’; an’ thin -whilst ye’re here I can be dhrivin’ yer ’an’r out to Shleenanaher. It -isn’t far enough to intherfere wid her rist.” - -I answered in, I thought, a dignified way—I certainly intended to be -dignified:— - -“I did not say, Sullivan, that I purposed going out to Shleenanaher or -any other place in the neighbourhood.” - -“Shure no, yer ’an’r, but I remimber ye said ye’d like to see the -Shiftin’ Bog; an’ thin Misther Joyce and Miss Norah is in throuble, and -ye might be a comfort to thim.” - -“Mr. Joyce! Miss Norah! who are they?” I felt that I was getting red -and that the tone of my voice was most unnatural. - -Andy’s sole answer was as comical a look as I ever saw, the central -object in which was a wink which there was no mistaking. I could not -face it, and had to say: - -“Oh yes, I remember now! was not that the man we took on the car to a -dark mountain?” - -“Yes, surr—him and his daughther!” - -“His daughter! I do not remember her. Surely we only took him on the -car.” Again I felt angry, and with the anger an inward determination -not to have Andy or anyone else prying around me when I should choose -to visit even such an uncompromising phenomenon as a shifting bog. -Andy, like all humourists, understood human nature, and summed up the -situation conclusively in his reply—inconsequential though it was:— - -“Shure yer ’an’r can thrust me; its blind or deaf an’ dumb I am, an’ -them as knows me knows I’m not the man to go back on a young gintleman -goin’ to luk at a bog. Sure doesn’t all young min do that same? I’ve -been there meself times out iv mind! There’s nothin’ in the wurrld -foreninst it! Lukin’ at bogs is the most intherestin’ thin’ I knows.” - -There was no arguing with Andy; and as he knew the place and the -people, I, then and there, concluded an engagement with him. He was -to stay in Carnaclif whilst I wanted him, and then drive me over to -Westport. - -As I was now fairly launched on the enterprise, I thought it better to -lose no time, but arranged to visit the bog early the next morning. - -As I was lighting my cigar after dinner that evening Mrs. Keating, my -hostess, came in to ask me a favour. She said that there was staying -in the house a gentleman who went over every day to Knockcalltecrore, -and as she understood that I was going there in the morning, she made -bold to ask if I would mind giving a seat on my car to him as he had -turned his ancle that day and feared he would not be able to walk. -Under the circumstances I could only say “yes,” as it would have been -a churlish thing to refuse. Accordingly I gave permission with seeming -cheerfulness, but when I was alone my true feelings found vent in -muttered grumbling:—“I ought to travel in an ambulance instead of a -car.” “I seem never to be able to get near this Shleenanaher without an -invalid.” “Once ought to be enough! but it has become the regulation -thing now.” “I wish to goodness Andy would hold his infernal tongue—I’d -as lief have a detective after me all the time.” “It’s all very well -to be a good Samaritan as a luxury—but as a profession it becomes -monotonous.” “Confound Andy! I wish I’d never seen him at all.” - -This last thought brought me up standing, and set me face to face with -my baseless ill-humour. If I had never seen Andy I should never have -heard at all of Shleenanaher. I should not have known the legend—I -should not have heard Norah’s voice. - -“And so,” said I to myself, “this ideal fantasy—this embodiment of a -woman’s voice, has a concrete name already. Aye! a concrete name, and a -sweet one too.” - -And so I took another step on my way to the bog, and lost my ill-humour -at the same time. When my cigar was half through and my feelings were -proportionately soothed, I strolled into the bar and asked Mrs. Keating -as to my companion of the morrow. She told me that he was a young -engineer named Sutherland. - -“What Sutherland?” I asked. Adding that I had been at school with a -Dick Sutherland, who had, I believed, gone into the Irish College of -Science. - -“Perhaps it’s the same gentleman, sir. This is Mr. Richard Sutherland, -and I’ve heerd him say that he was at Stephen’s Green.” - -“The same man!” said I, “this is jolly! Tell me, Mrs. Keating, what -brings him here?” - -“He’s doin’ some work on Knockcalltecrore for Mr. Murdock, some quare -thing or another. They do tell me, sir, that it’s a most mystayrious -thing, wid poles an’ lines an’ magnets an’ all kinds of divilments. -They say that Mr. Murdock is goin’ from off of his head ever since he -had the law of poor Phelim Joyce. My! but he’s the decent man, that -same Mr. Joyce, an’ the Gombeen has been hard upon him.” - -“What was the law suit?” I asked. - -“All about a sellin’ his land on an agreement. Mr. Joyce borryed some -money, an’ promised if it wasn’t paid back at a certain time that he -would swop lands. Poor Joyce met wid an accident comin’ home with the -money from Galway an’ was late, an’ when he got home found that the -Grombeen had got the sheriff to sell up his land on to him. Mr. Joyce -thried it in the Coorts, but now Murdock has got a decree on to him an’ -the poor man’ll to give up his fat lands an’ take the Gombeen’s poor -ones instead.” - -“That’s bad! when has he to give up?” - -“Well, I disremember meself exactly, but Mr. Sutherland will be able to -tell ye all about it as ye drive over in the mornin.” - -“Where is he now? I should like to see him; it may be my old -schoolfellow.” - -“Troth, it’s in his bed he is; for he rises mighty arly, I can tell ye.” - -After a stroll through the town (so-called) to finish my cigar I went -to bed also, for we started early. In the morning, when I came down -to my breakfast I found Mr. Sutherland finishing his. It was my old -schoolfellow; but from being a slight, pale boy, he had grown into a -burly, hale, stalwart man, with keen eyes and a flowing brown beard. -The only pallor noticeable was the whiteness of his brow, which was -ample and lofty as of old. - -We greeted each other cordially, and I felt as if old times had come -again, for Dick and I had been great friends at school. When we were on -our way I renewed my inquiries about Shleenanaher and its inhabitants. -I began by asking Sutherland as to what brought him there. He answered:— - -“I was just about to ask you the same question. ‘What brings you here?’” - -I felt a difficulty in answering as freely as I could have wished, for -I knew that Andy’s alert ears were close to us, so I said:— - -“I have been paying some visits along the West Coast, and I thought -I would take the opportunity on my way home of investigating a very -curious phenomenon of whose existence I became casually acquainted on -my way here—a shifting bog.” - -Andy here must strike in:— - -“Shure the masther is mighty fond iv bogs, intirely. I don’t know -there’s anything in the wurruld what intherests him so much.” - -Here he winked at me in a manner that said as plainly as if spoken in -so many words, “All right, yer ’an’r, I’ll back ye up!” - -Sutherland laughed as he answered:— - -“Well, you’re in the right place here, Art; the difficulty they -have in this part of the world is to find a place that is _not_ bog. -However, about the shifting bog on Knockcalltecrore, I can, perhaps, -help you as much as any one. As you know, geology has been one of my -favourite studies, and lately I have taken to investigate in my spare -time the phenomena of this very subject. The bog at Shleenanaher -is most interesting. As yet, however, my investigation can only be -partial, but very soon I shall have the opportunity which I require.” - -“How is that?” I asked. - -“The difficulty arises,” he answered, “from a local feud between two -men, one of them my employer, Murdock, and his neighbour, Joyce.” - -“Yes,” I interrupted, “I know something of it. I was present when the -sheriff’s assignment was shown to Joyce, and saw the quarrel. But how -does it affect you and your study?” - -“This way; the bog is partly on Murdock’s land and partly on Joyce’s, -and until I can investigate the whole extent I cannot come to a -definite conclusion. The feud is so bitter at present that neither man -will allow the other to set foot over his boundary—or the foot of any -one to whom the other is friendly. However, to-morrow the exchange -of lands is to be effected, and then I shall be able to continue my -investigation. I have already gone nearly all over Murdock’s present -ground, and after to-morrow I shall be able to go over his new -ground—up to now forbidden to me.” - -“How does Joyce take his defeat?” - -“Badly, poor fellow, I am told; indeed, from what I see of him, I am -sure of it. They tell me that up to lately he was a bright, happy -fellow, but now he is a stern, hard-faced, scowling man; essentially -a man with a grievance, which makes him take a jaundiced view of -everything else. The only one who is not afraid to speak to him is his -daughter, and they are inseparable. It certainly is cruelly hard on -him. His farm is almost an ideal one for this part of the world; it has -good soil, water, shelter, trees, everything that makes a farm pretty -and comfortable, as well as being good for farming purposes; and he has -to change it for a piece of land as irregular in shape as the other is -compact; without shelter, and partly taken up with this very bog and -the utter waste and chaos which, when it shifted in former times, it -left behind.” - -“And how does the other, Murdock, act?” - -“Shamefully; I feel so angry with him at times that I could strike him. -There is not a thing he can say or do, or leave unsaid or undone, that -is not aggravating and insulting to his neighbour. Only that he had the -precaution to bind me to an agreement for a given time I’m blessed if -I would work for him, or with him at all—interesting as the work is in -itself, and valuable as is the opportunity it gives me of studying that -strange phenomenon, the shifting bog.” - -“What is your work with him?” I asked: “mining or draining, or what?” - -He seemed embarrassed at my question. He ‘’hum’d and ’ha’d’—then with -a smile he said quite frankly:— - -“The fact is that I am not at liberty to say. The worthy Gombeen Man -put a special clause in our agreement that I was not during the time of -my engagement to mention to any one the object of my work. He wanted -the clause to run that I was never to mention it; but I kicked at that, -and only signed in the modified form.” - -I thought to myself “more mysteries at Shleenanaher!” Dick went on:— - -“However, I have no doubt that you will very soon gather the object for -yourself. You are yourself something of a scientist, if I remember?” - -“Not me!” I answered. “My Great Aunt took care of that when she sent -me to our old tutor. Or, indeed, to do the old boy justice, he tried -to teach me something of the kind; but I found out it wasn’t my vogue. -Anyhow, I haven’t done anything lately.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“I haven’t got over being idle yet. It’s not a year since I came into -my fortune. Perhaps—indeed I hope—that I may settle down to work again.” - -“I’m sure I hope so, too, old fellow,” he answered gravely. “When a man -has once tasted the pleasure of real work, especially work that taxes -the mind and the imagination, the world seems only a poor place without -it.” - -“Like the wurrld widout girruls for me, or widout bog for his ’an’r!” -said Andy, grinning as he turned round on his seat. - -Dick Sutherland, I was glad to see, did not suspect the joke. He took -Andy’s remark quite seriously, and said to me:— - -“My dear fellow, it is delightful to find you so interested in my own -topic.” - -I could not allow him to think me a savant. In the first place he would -very soon find me out, and would then suspect my motives ever after. -And again, I had to accept Andy’s statement, or let it appear that I -had some other reason or motive—or what would seem even more suspicious -still, none at all; so I answered:— - -“My dear Dick, my zeal regarding bog is new; it is at present in its -incipient stage in so far as erudition is concerned. The fact is, that -although I would like to learn a lot about it, I am at the present -moment profoundly ignorant on the subject.” - -“Like the rest of mankind!” said Dick. “You will hardly believe that -although the subject is one of vital interest to thousands of persons -in our own country—one in which national prosperity is mixed up to -a large extent—one which touches deeply the happiness and material -prosperity of a large section of Irish people, and so helps to mould -their political action, there are hardly any works on the subject in -existence.” - -“Surely you are mistaken,” I answered. - -“No! unfortunately, I am not. There is a Danish book, but it is -geographically local; and some information can be derived from the -Blue Book containing the report of the International Commission on -turf-cutting, but the special authorities are scant indeed. Some day, -when you want occupation, just you try to find in any library, in any -city of the world, any works of a scientific character devoted to the -subject. Nay more! try to find a fair share of chapters in scientific -books devoted to it. You can imagine how devoid of knowledge we are, -when I tell you that even the last edition of the ‘Enclycopædia -Britannica’ does not contain the heading ’bog.’” - -“You amaze me!” was all I could say. - -Then as we bumped and jolted over the rough by-road Dick Sutherland -gave me a rapid but masterly survey of the condition of knowledge on -the subject of bogs, with special application to Irish bogs, beginning -with such records as those of Giraldus Cambrensis—of Dr. Boate—of -Edmund Spenser—from the time of the first invasion when the state of -the land was such that, as is recorded, when a spade was driven into -the ground a pool of water gathered forthwith. He told me of the extent -and nature of the bog-lands—of the means taken to reclaim them, and of -his hopes of some heroic measures being ultimately taken by Government -to reclaim the vast Bog of Allen which remains as a great evidence of -official ineptitude. - -“It will be something,” he said, “to redeem the character for -indifference to such matters so long established, as when Mr. King -wrote two hundred years ago, ‘We live in an Island almost infamous -for bogs, and yet, I do not remember, that any one has attempted much -concerning them.’” We were close to Knockcalltecrore when he finished -his impromptu lecture thus:— - -“In fine, we cure bog by both a surgical and a medical process. We -drain it so that its mechanical action as a sponge may be stopped, and -we put in lime to kill the vital principle of its growth. Without the -other, neither process is sufficient; but together, scientific and -executive man asserts his dominance.” - -“Hear! hear!” said Andy. “Musha, but Docther Wilde himself, Rest his -sowl! couldn’t have put it aisier to grip. It’s a purfessionaler the -young gintleman is intirely!” - -We shortly arrived at the south side of the western slope of the hill, -and as Andy took care to inform me, at the end of the boreen leading to -the two farms, and close to the head of the Snake’s Pass. - -Accordingly, I let Sutherland start on his way to Murdock’s, whilst I -myself strolled away to the left, where Andy had pointed out to me, -rising over the slope of the intervening spur of the hill, the top of -one of the rocks which formed the Snake’s Pass. After a few minutes of -climbing up a steep slope, and down a steeper one, I arrived at the -place itself. - -From the first moment that my eyes lit on it, it seemed to me to be a -very remarkable spot, and quite worthy of being taken as the scene of -strange stories, for it certainly had something ‘uncanny’ about it. - -I stood in a deep valley, or rather bowl, with behind me a remarkably -steep slope of green sward, whilst on either hand the sides of the -hollow rose steeply—that on the left, down which I had climbed, being -by far the steeper and rockier of the two. In front was the Pass itself. - -It was a gorge or cleft through a great wall of rock, which rose on -the seaside of the promontory formed by the hill. This natural wall, -except at the actual Pass itself, rose some fifty or sixty feet over -the summit of the slope on either side of the little valley; but right -and left of the Pass rose two great masses of rock, like the pillars -of a giant gateway. Between these lay the narrow gorge, with its -walls of rock rising sheer some two hundred feet. It was about three -hundred feet long, and widened slightly outward, being shaped something -funnel-wise, and on the inner side was about a hundred feet wide. The -floor did not go so far as the flanking rocks, but, at about two-thirds -of its length, there was a perpendicular descent, like a groove cut in -the rock, running sheer down to the sea, some three hundred feet below, -and as far under it as we could see. From the northern of the flanking -rocks which formed the Pass the rocky wall ran northwards, completely -sheltering the lower lands from the west, and running into a towering -rock that rose on the extreme north, and which stood up in jagged peaks -something like “The Needles” off the coast of the Isle of Wight. - -There was no doubt that poor Joyce’s farm, thus sheltered, was an -exceptionally favoured spot, and I could well understand how loth he -must be to leave it. - -Murdock’s land, even under the enchantment of its distance, seemed -very different, and was just as bleak as Sutherland had told me. Its -south-western end ran down towards the Snake’s Pass. I mounted the wall -of rock on the north of the Pass to look down, and was surprised to -find that down below me was the end of a large plateau of some acres -in extent which ran up northward, and was sheltered north and west by -a somewhat similar formation of rock to that which protected Joyce’s -land. This, then, was evidently the place called the “Cliff Fields” of -which mention had been made at Widow Kelligan’s. - -The view from where I stood was one of ravishing beauty. Westward in -the deep sea, under grey clouds of endless variety, rose a myriad of -clustering islets, some of them covered with grass and heather, where -cattle and sheep grazed; others were mere rocks rising boldly from the -depths of the sea, and surrounded by a myriad of screaming wild-fowl. -As the birds dipped and swept and wheeled in endless circles, their -white breasts and grey wings varying in infinite phase of motion—and -as the long Atlantic swell, tempered by its rude shocks on the outer -fringe of islets, broke in fleecy foam and sent living streams through -the crevices of the rocks and sheets of white water over the boulders -where the sea rack rose and fell, I thought that the earth could give -nothing more lovely or more grand. - -Andy’s voice beside me grated on me unpleasantly:— - -“Musha! but it’s the fine sight it is entirely; it only wants wan -thing.” - -“What does it want?” I asked, rather shortly. - -“Begor, a bit of bog to put your arrum around while ye’re lukin’ at -it,” and he grinned at me knowingly. - -He was incorrigible. I jumped down from the rock and scrambled into -the boreen. My friend Sutherland had gone on his way to Murdock’s, so -calling to Andy to wait till I returned, I followed him. - -I hurried up the boreen and caught up with him, for his progress was -slow along the rough laneway. In reality I felt that it would be far -less awkward having him with me; but I pretended that my only care was -for his sprained ankle. Some emotions make hypocrites of us all! - -With Dick on my arm limping along we passed up the boreen, leaving -Joyce’s house on our left. I looked out anxiously in case I should see -Joyce—or his daughter; but there was no sign of anyone about. In a few -minutes Dick, pausing for a moment, pointed out to me the shifting bog. - -“You see,” he said, “those two poles? the line between them marks -the mearing of the two lands. We have worked along the bog down from -there.” He pointed as he spoke to some considerable distance up the -hill to the north where the bog began to be dangerous, and where it -curved around the base of a grassy mound, or shoulder of the mountain. - -“Is it a dangerous bog?” I queried. - -“Rather! It is just as bad a bit of soft bog as ever I saw. I wouldn’t -like to see anyone or anything that I cared for try to cross it!” - -“Why not?” - -“Because at any moment they might sink through it; and then, -good-bye—no human strength or skill could ever save them.” - -“Is it a quagmire, then? or like a quicksand?” - -“Like either, or both. Nay! it is more treacherous than either. You may -call it, if you are poetically inclined, a ‘carpet of death!’ What you -see is simply a film or skin of vegetation of a very low kind, mixed -with the mould of decayed vegetable fibre and grit and rubbish of all -kinds which have somehow got mixed into it, floating on a sea of ooze -and slime—of something half liquid half solid, and of an unknown depth. -It will bear up a certain weight, for there is a degree of cohesion in -it; but it is not all of equal cohesive power, and if one were to step -on the wrong spot—” He was silent. - -“What then?” - -“Only a matter of specific gravity! A body suddenly immersed would, -when the air of the lungs had escaped and the _rigor mortis_ had set -in, probably sink a considerable distance; then it would rise after -nine days, when decomposition began to generate gases, and make an -effort to reach the top. Not succeeding in this, it would ultimately -waste away, and the bones would become incorporated with the existing -vegetation somewhere about the roots, or would lie among the slime at -the bottom.” - -“Well,” said I, “for real cold-blooded horror, commend me to your men -of science.” - -This passage brought us to the door of Murdock’s house—a plain, -strongly-built cottage, standing on a knoll of rock that cropped up -from the plateau round it. It was surrounded with a garden hedged in by -a belt of pollard ash and stunted alders. - -Murdock had evidently been peering surreptitiously through the window -of his sitting-room, for as we passed in by the gate he came out to the -porch. His salutation was not an encouraging one:— - -“You’re somethin’ late this mornin’, Mr. Sutherland. I hope ye didn’t -throuble to delay in ordher to bring up this sthrange gintleman. Ye -know how particular I am about any wan knowin’ aught of me affairs.” - -Dick flushed up to the roots of his hair, and, much to my surprise, -burst out quite in a passionate way:— - -“Look you here, Mr. Murdock, I’m not going to take any cheek from -you, so don’t you give any. Of course I don’t expect a fellow of your -stamp to understand a gentleman’s feelings—damn it! how can you have a -gentleman’s understanding when you haven’t even a man’s? You ought to -know right well that what I said I would do, I shall do. I despise you -and your miserable secrets and your miserable trickery too much to take -to myself anything in which they have a part; but when I bring with me -a friend, but for whom I shouldn’t have been here at all—for I couldn’t -have walked—I expect that neither he nor I shall be insulted. For two -pins I’d not set foot on your dirty ground again!” - -Here Murdock interrupted him:— - -“Aisy now! ye’re undher agreement to me; an’ I hould ye to it.” - -“So you can, you miserable scoundrel, because you know I shall keep my -word; but remember that I expect proper treatment; and remember, too, -that if I want an assistant I am to have one.” - -Again Murdock interrupted—but this time much more soothingly: - -“Aisy! Aisy! haven’t I done every livin’ thing ye wanted—and helped ye -meself every time? Sure arn’t I yer assistant?” - -“Yes, because you—you wanted to get something, and couldn’t do without -me. And mind this! you can’t do without me yet. But be so good as to -remember that I choose my own assistant; and I shall not choose you -unless I like. You can keep me here, and pay me for staying as we -agreed; but don’t you think that I could fool you if I would?” - -“Ye wouldn’t do that, I know—an’ me thrusted ye!” - -“You trusted me! you miserable wretch—yes! you trusted me by a deed, -signed, sealed, and delivered. I don’t owe you anything for that.” - -“Mr. Sutherland, sir! ye’re too sharp wid me. Yer frind is very -welkim. Do what you like—go where you choose—bring whom you will—only -get on wid the worrk and kape it saycret.” - -“Aye!” sneered Dick, “you are ready to climb down because you want -something done, and you know that this is the last day for work on this -side of the hill. Well, let me tell you this—for you’ll do anything for -greed—that you and I together, doing all we can, shall not be able to -cover all the ground. I haven’t said a word to my friend—and I don’t -know how he will take any request from you after your impudence; but he -is my friend, and a clever man, and if you ask him nicely, perhaps he -will be good enough to stay and lend us a hand.” - -The man made me a low bow and asked me in suitable terms if I would -kindly stop part of the day and help in the work. Needless to say I -acquiesced. Murdock eyed me keenly, as though to make up his mind -whether or no I recollected him—he evidently remembered me—but I -affected ignorance, and he seemed satisfied. I was glad to notice that -the blow of Joyce’s riding switch still remained across his face as -a livid scar. He went away to get the appliances ready for work, in -obedience to a direction from Sutherland. - -“One has to cut that hound’s corns rather roughly,” said the latter, -with a nice confusion of metaphors, as soon as Murdock had disappeared. - -Dick then told me that his work was to make magnetic experiments to -ascertain, if possible, if there was any iron hidden in the ground. - -“The idea,” he said, “is Murdock’s own, and I have neither lot nor part -in it. My work is simply to carry out his ideas, with what mechanical -skill I can command, and to invent or arrange such appliances as he -may want. Where his theories are hopelessly wrong, I point this out to -him, but he goes on or stops just as he chooses. You can imagine that a -fellow of his low character is too suspicious to ever take a hint from -any one! We have been working for three weeks past, and have been all -over the solid ground, and are just finishing the bog.” - -“How did you first come across him?” I asked. - -“Very nearly a month ago he called on me in Dublin, having been sent by -old Gascoigne, of the College of Science. He wanted me to search for -iron on his property. I asked if it was regarding opening mines? he -said, ‘no, just to see if there should be any old iron lying about.’ As -he offered me excellent terms for my time, I thought he must have some -good—or rather I should say some strong motive. I know now, though he -has never told me, that he is trying for the money that is said to have -been lost and buried here by the French after Humbert’s expedition to -Killala.” - -“How do you work?” I asked. - -“The simplest thing in the world; just carry about a strong magnet—only -we have to do it systematically.” - -“And have you found anything as yet?” - -“Only old scraps—horseshoes, nails, buckles, buttons; our most -important find was the tire of a wheel. The old Gombeen thought he had -it that time!” and Dick laughed. - -“How did you manage the bog?” - -“That is the only difficult part; we have poles on opposite sides of -the bog with lines between them. The magnet is fixed, suspended from a -free wheel, and I let it down to the centre from each side in turn. If -there were any attraction I should feel it by the thread attached to -the magnet which I hold in my hand.” - -“It is something like fishing?” - -“Exactly.” - -Murdoch now returned and told us that he was ready, so we all went -to work. I kept with Sutherland at the far side of the bog, Murdoch -remaining on the near side. We planted or rather placed a short stake -in the solid ground, as close as we could get it to the bog, and -steadied it with a guy from the top; the latter I held, whilst Murdoch, -on the other side, fulfilled a similar function. A thin wire connected -the two stakes; on this Sutherland now fixed the wheel, from which the -magnet depended. On each side we deflected the stake until the magnet -almost touched the surface of the bog. After a few minutes’ practice -I got accustomed to the work, and acquired sufficient dexterity to be -able to allow the magnet to run freely. Inch by inch we went over the -surface of the bog, moving slightly to the south-west each time we -shifted, following the edges of the bog. Every little while Dick had to -change sides, so as to cover the whole extent of the bog, and when he -came round again had to go back to where he had last stopped on the -same side. - -All this made the process very tedious, and the day was drawing to a -close when we neared the posts set up to mark the bounds of the two -lands. Several times during the day Joyce had come up from his cottage -and inspected our work, standing at his own side of the post. He looked -at me closely, but did not seem to recognize me. I nodded to him once, -but he did not seem to see my salutation, and I did not repeat it. - -All day long I never heard the sweet voice; and as we returned to -Carnaclif after a blank day—blank in every sense of the word—the air -seemed chiller and the sunset less beautiful than before. The last -words I heard on the mountain were from Murdock:— - -“Nothin’ to-morrow, Mr. Sutherland! I’ve a flittin’ to make, but I pay -the day all the same; I hould ye to your conthract. An’ remember, surr, -we’re in no hurry wid the wurrk now, so ye’ll not need help any more.” - -Andy made no remark till we were well away from the hill, and then -said, dryly:— - -“I’m afeerd yer ’an’r has had but a poor day; ye luk as if ye hadn’t -seen a bit iv bog at all, at all. Gee up, ye ould Corncrake! the -gintlemin does be hurryin’ home fur their tay, an’ fur more wurrk wid -bogs to-morra!” - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - ON KNOCKNACAR. - - -When Sutherland and I had finished dinner that evening we took up the -subject of bogs where we had left it in the morning. This was rather -a movement of my own making, for I felt an awkwardness about touching -on the special subject of the domestic relations of the inhabitants of -Knockcalltecrore. After several interesting remarks, Dick said:— - -“There is one thing that I wish to investigate thoroughly, the -correlation of bog and special geological formations.” - -“For instance?” said I. - -“Well, specially with regard to limestone. Just at this part of the -country I find it almost impossible to pursue the investigation any -more than Van Troil could have pursued snake studies in Iceland.” - -“Is there no limestone at all in this part of the country?” I queried. - -“Oh yes, in lots of places, but as yet I have not been able to find -any about here. I say ‘as yet’ on purpose, because it seems to me that -there must be some on Knockcalltecrore.” - -Needless to say the conversation here became to me much more -interesting; Dick went on:— - -“The main feature of the geological formation of all this part of the -country is the vast amount of slate and granite, either in isolated -patches or lying side by side. And as there are instances of limestone -found in quaint ways, I am not without hopes that we may yet find the -same phenomenon.” - -“Where do you find the instances of these limestone formations?” I -queried, for I felt that as he was bound to come back to, or towards -Shleenanaher, I could ease my own mind by pretending to divert his from -it. - -“Well, as one instance, I can give you the Corrib River—the stream that -drains Lough Corrib into Galway Bay; in fact, the river on which the -town of Galway is built. At one place one side of the stream all is -granite, and the other is all limestone; I believe the river runs over -the union of the two formations. Now, if there should happen to be a -similar formation, even in the least degree, at Knockcalltecrore, it -will be a great thing. - -“Why will it be a great thing?” I asked. - -“Because there is no lime near the place at all; because with limestone -on the spot a hundred things could be done that, as things are at -present, would not repay the effort. With limestone we could reclaim -the bogs cheaply all over the neighbourhood—in fact a lime-kiln there -would be worth a small fortune. We could build walls in the right -places; I can see how a lovely little harbour could be made there at a -small expense. And then beyond all else would be the certainty—which -is at present in my mind only a hope or a dream—that we could fathom -the secret of the shifting bog, and perhaps abolish or reclaim it.” - -“This is exceedingly interesting,” said I, as I drew my chair closer. -And I only spoke the exact truth, for at that moment I had no other -thought in my mind. “Do you mind telling me more, Dick? I suppose you -are not like Lamb’s Scotchman that will not broach a half-formed idea!” - -“Not the least in the world. It will be a real pleasure to have such a -good listener. To begin at the beginning, I was much struck with that -old cavity on the top of the hill. It is one of the oddest things I -have ever seen or heard of. If it were in any other place or amongst -any other geological formation I would think its origin must have been -volcanic. But here such a thing is quite impossible. It was evidently -once a lake.” - -“So goes the legend. I suppose you have heard it?” - -“Yes! and it rather confirms my theory. Legends have always a base in -fact; and whatever cause gave rise to the myth of St. Patrick and the -King of the Snakes, the fact remains that the legend is correct in at -least one particular—that at some distant time there was a lake or pond -on the spot.” - -“Are you certain?” - -“A very cursory glance satisfied me of that. I could not go into -the matter thoroughly, for that old wolf of mine was so manifestly -impatient that I should get to his wild-goose chase for the lost -treasure-chest, that the time and opportunity were wanting. However, I -saw quite enough to convince me.” - -“Well, how do you account for the change? What is your theory regarding -the existence of limestone?” - -“Simply this, that a lake or reservoir on the top of a mountain means -the existence of a spring or springs. Now springs in granite or hard -slate do not wear away the substance of the rock in the same way as -they do when they come through limestone. And moreover, the natures of -the two rocks are quite different. There are fissures and cavities in -the limestone which are wanting, or which are at any rate not so common -or perpetually recurrent in the other rock. Now if it should be, as I -surmise, that the reservoir was ever fed by a spring passing through a -streak or bed of limestone, we shall probably find that in the progress -of time the rock became worn and that the spring found a way in some -other direction—either some natural passage through a gap or fissure -already formed, or by a channel made for itself.” - -“And then?” - -“And then the process is easily understandable. The spring naturally -sent its waters where there was the least resistance, and they found -their way out on some level lower than the top of the hill. You -perhaps noticed the peculiar formation of the hill, specially on its -west side—great sloping tables of rock suddenly ended by a wall of a -different stratum—a sort of serrated edge all the way down the inclined -plane; you could not miss seeing it, for it cuts the view like the -teeth of a saw! Now if the water, instead of rising to the top and then -trickling down the old channel, which is still noticeable, had once -found a vent on one of those shelving planes it would gradually fill -up the whole cavity formed by the two planes, unless in the meantime -it found some natural escape. As we know, the mountain is covered in -a number of places with a growth or formation of bog, and this water, -once accumulating under the bog, would not only saturate it, but would -raise it—being of less specific gravity than itself—till it actually -floated. Given such a state of things as this, it would only require -sufficient time for the bog to become soft and less cohesive than when -it was more dry and compact, and you have a dangerous bog, something -like the Carpet of Death that we spoke of this morning.” - -“So far I can quite understand.” said I. “But if this be so, how can -the bog shift as this one has undoubtedly done? It seems, so far, to be -hedged with walls of rock. Surely these cannot move.” - -Sutherland smiled. “I see you do apprehend! Now we are at the second -stage. Did you notice as we went across the hill side that there were -distinct beds or banks of clay?” - -“Certainly! do they come in?” - -“Of course! If my theory is correct, the shifting is due to them.” - -“Explain!” - -“So far as I can. But here I am only on surmise, or theory pure and -simple. I may be all wrong, or I may be right—I shall know more before -I am done with Shleenanaher. My theory is that the shifting is due to -the change in the beds of clay, as for instance by rains washing them -by degrees to lower levels—this is notably the case in that high clay -bank just opposite the Snake’s Pass. The rocks are fixed, and so the -clay becomes massed in banks between them, perhaps aided in the first -instance by trees falling across the chasm or opening. But then the -perpetually accumulating water from the spring has to find a way of -escape; and as it cannot cut through the rock it rises to the earth -bed, till it either tops the bed of clay which confines it or finds a -gap or fissure through which it can escape. In either case it makes -a perpetually deepening channel for itself, for the soft clay yields -little by little to the stream passing over it, and so the surface -of the outer level falls, and the water escapes, to perhaps find new -reservoirs ready made to receive it, and a similar process as before -takes place.” - -“Then the bog extends and the extended part takes the place of the old -bog which gradually drains.” - -“Just so! but such would of course depend on the level; there might -be two or more reservoirs, each with a deep bottom of its own and -united only near the surface; or if the bank or bed of clay lay on the -surface of one shelving rock, the water would naturally drain to the -lowest point and the upper land would be shallow in proportion.” - -“But,” I ventured to remark, “if this be so, one of two things must -happen; either the water would wear away the clay so quickly, that the -accumulation would not be dangerous, or else the process would be a -very gradual one, and would not be attended with such results as we -are told of. There would be a change in the position of the bog, but -there would not be the upheaval and complete displacement and chaos -that I have heard of, for instance, with regard to this very bog of -Knockcalltecrore. - -“Your ‘if’ is a great peacemaker! If what I have supposed were all, -then the result would be as you have said; but there are lots of other -supposes; as yet we have only considered one method of change. Suppose, -for instance, that the water found a natural means of escape—as, for -instance, where this very bog sends a stream over the rocks into the -Cliff Fields—it would not attack the clay bed at all, unless under -some unusual pressure. Then suppose that when such pressure had come -the water did not rise and top the clay bed, but that it found a -small fissure part of the way down. Suppose there were several such -reservoirs as I have mentioned—and from the formation of the ground I -think it very likely, for in several places jutting rocks from either -side come close together, and suggest a sort of gap or canon in the -rock formation, easily forming it into a reservoir. Then if the barrier -between the two upper ones were to be weakened, and a sudden weight of -water were to be thrown on the lower wall; suppose such wall were to -partially collapse, and bring down, say, a clay bank, which would make -a temporary barrier loftier than any yet existing, but only temporary; -suppose that the quick accumulation of waters behind this barrier -lifted the whole mass of water and slime and bog to its utmost height. -Then, when such obstruction had been reached, the whole lower barrier, -weakened by infiltration and attacked with sudden and new force, would -give way at once, and the stream, kept down from above by the floating -bog, would force its way along the bed rock and lift the whole spongy -mass resting on it. Then with this new extent of bog suddenly saturated -and weakened—demoralized as it were—and devoid of resisting power, -the whole floating mass of the upper bog might descend on it, mingle -with it, become incorporated with its semi-fluid substance, and form a -new and dangerous quagmire incapable of sustaining solid weight, but -leaving behind on the higher level only the refuse and sediment of its -former existence—all the rubble and grit too heavy to float, and which -would gradually settle down on the upper bed rock.” - -“Really, Dick, you put it most graphically. What a terrible thing it -would be to live on the line of such a change.” - -“Terrible, indeed! At such a moment a house in the track of the -movement—unless it were built on the rock—would go down like a ship in -a storm. Go down solid and in a moment, without warning and without -hope!” - -“Then with such a neighbour as a shifting bog, the only safe place -for a house would be on a rock.”—Before my eyes, as I spoke, rose the -vision of Murdock’s house, resting on its knoll of rock, and I was glad -for one reason that there, at least, would be safety for Joyce—and his -daughter. - -“Exactly! Now Murdock’s house is as safe as a church. I must look at -his new house when I go up to-morrow.” - -As I really did not care about Murdock’s future, I asked no further -questions; so we sat in silence and smoked in the gathering twilight. - -There was a knock at the door. I called “Come in.” The door opened -slowly, and through a narrow opening Andy’s shock head presented itself. - -“Come in, Andy!” said Dick. “Come here and try if you can manage a -glass of punch!” - -“Begor!” was Andy’s sole expression of acquiescence. The punch was -brewed and handed to him. - -“Is that as good as Widow Kelligan’s?” I asked him. Andy grinned:— - -“All punch is good, yer ’an’rs. Here’s both yer good healths, an’ -here’s ‘The Girls’ an’”—turning to me, “‘the Bog.’” He winked, threw up -his hand—and put down the empty glass. “Glory be to God” was his grace -after—drink. - -“Well, Andy! what is it?” said Dick. - -“I’ve heerd,” said he, “that yer ’an’rs isn’t goin’ in the mornin’ to -Shleenanaher, and I thought that yez couldn’t do betther nor dhrive -over to Knocknacar to-morra an’ spind the day there.” - -“And why Knocknacar?” said I. - -Andy twirled his cap between his hands in a sheepish way. I felt that -he was acting a part, but could not see any want of reality. With a -little hesitation he said:— - -“I’ve gother from what yer ’an’rs wor sayin’ on the car this mornin’, -that yez is both intherested in bogs—an’ there’s the beautifulest bit -iv bog in all the counthry there beyant. An’, moreover, it’s a lovely -shpot intirely. If you gintlemin have nothin’ betther to do, ye’d -dhrive over there—if ye’d take me advice.” - -“What kind of bog is it, Andy?” said Dick. “Is there anythin’ peculiar -about it. Does it shift?” - -Andy grinned a most unaccountable grin:— - -“Begor, it does, surr!” he answered quickly. “Sure all bogs does -shift!” And he grinned again. - -“Andy,” said Dick, laughing, “you have some joke in your mind. What is -it?” - -“Oh, sorra wan, surr—ask the masther there.” - -As it did not need a surgical operation to get the joke intended -into the head of a man—of whatever nationality—who understood Andy’s -allusion, and as I did not want to explain it, I replied:— - -“Oh, don’t ask me, Andy; I’m no authority on the subject,” and I -looked rather angrily at him, when Dick was not looking. - -Andy hastened to put matters right—he evidently did not want to lose -his day’s hire on the morrow:— - -“Yer ’an’rs! ye may take me wurrd for it—there’s a bog beyant at -Knocknacar which’ll intherest yez intirely—I remimber it meself a lot -higher up the mountain whin I was a spalpeen—an’ it’s been crawlin’ -down iver since. It’s a mighty quare shpot intirely!” - -This settled the matter, and we arranged forthwith to start early on -the following morning for Knocknacar, Andy, before he left, having a -nightcap—out of a tumbler. - -We were astir fairly early in the morning, and having finished a -breakfast sufficiently substantial to tide us over till dinner time, we -started on our journey. The mare was in good condition for work, the -road was level and the prospect fine, and altogether we enjoyed our -drive immensely. As we looked back we could see Knockcalltecrore rising -on the edge of the coast away to our right, and seemingly surrounded by -a network of foam-girt islands, for a breeze was blowing freshly from -the south-west. - -At the foot of the mountain—or rather, hill—there was a small, -clean-looking sheebeen. Here Andy stopped and put up the mare; then he -brought us up a narrow lane bounded by thick hedges of wild briar to -where we could see the bog which was the object of our visit. Dick’s -foot was still painful, so I had to give him an arm, as on yesterday. -We crossed over two fields, from which the stones had been collected -and placed in heaps. The land was evidently very rocky, for here and -there—more especially in the lower part—the grey rock cropped up in -places. At the top of the farthest field, Andy pointed out an isolated -rock rising sharply from the grass. - -“Look there, yer ’an’rs; whin I remimber first, that rock was as far -aff from the bog as we are now from the boreen—an’ luk at it now! why, -the bog is close to it, so it is.” He then turned and looked at a small -heap of stones. “Murther! but there is a quare thing. Why that heap, -not a year ago, was as high as the top iv that rock. Begor, it’s bein’ -buried, it is!” - -Dick looked quite excited as he turned to me and said:— - -“Why, Art, old fellow! here is the very thing we were talking about. -This bog is an instance of the gradual changing of the locality of -a bog by the filtration of its water through the clay beds resting -on the bed-rock. I wonder if the people here will let me make some -investigations! Andy, who owns this land?” - -“Oh, I can tell yer ’an’r that well enough; it’s Misther Moriarty from -Knockaltecrore. Him, surr,” turning to me, “that ye seen at Widda -Kelligan’s that night in the shtorm.” - -“Does he farm it himself?” - -“No, surr—me father rints it. The ould mare was riz on this very -shpot.” - -“Do you think your father will let me make some investigations here, if -I get Mr. Moriarty’s permission also?” - -“Throth, an’ he will, surr—wid all the plisure in life—iv coorse,” -he added, with native shrewdness, “if there’s no harrum done to his -land—or, if there’s harrum done, it’s ped for.” - -“All right, Andy,” said I; “I’ll be answerable for that part of it.” - -We went straight away with Andy to see the elder Sullivan. We found him -in his cabin at the foot of the hill—a hale old man of nearly eighty, -with all his senses untouched, and he was all that could be agreeable. -I told him who I was, and that I could afford to reimburse him if any -damage should be done. Dick explained to him that, so far from doing -harm, what he would do would probably prevent the spreading of the bog, -and would in such case much enhance the value of his holding, and in -addition give him the use of a spring on his land. Accordingly we went -back to make further investigations. Dick had out his note-book in an -instant, and took accurate note of everything; he measured and probed -the earth, tapped the rocks with the little geological hammer which he -always carried, and finally set himself down to make an accurate map -of the locality, I acting as his assistant in the measurements. Andy -left us for a while, but presently appeared, hot and flushed. As he -approached, Dick observed:— - -“Andy has been drinking the health of all his relatives. We must keep -him employed here, or we may get a spill going home.” - -The object of his solicitude came and sat on a rock beside us, and -looked on. Presently he came over, and said to Dick:— - -“Yer ’an’r, can I help ye in yer wurrk? Sure, if ye only want wan hand -to help ye, mayhap mine id do. An’ thin his ’an’r here might hop up to -the top iv the mountain; there’s a mighty purty view there intirely, -an’ he could enjoy it, though ye can’t get up wid yer lame fut.” - -“Good idea!” said Dick. “You go up on top, Art. This is very dull work, -and Andy can hold the tape for me as well as you or anyone else. You -can tell me all about it when you come down.” - -“Do, yer ’an’r. Tell him all ye see!” said Andy, as I prepared to -ascend. “If ye go up soft be the shady parts, mayhap ye’d shtrike -another bit of bog be the way.” - -I had grown so suspicious of Andy’s _double entente_, that I looked at -him keenly, to see if there was any fresh joke on; but his face was -immovably grave, and he was seemingly intent on the steel tape which he -was holding. - -I proceeded up the mountain. It was a very pleasant one to climb, or -rather to ascend, for it was nearly all covered with grass. Here and -there, on the lower half, were clumps of stunted trees, all warped -eastwards by the prevailing westerly wind—alders, mountain-ash, and -thorn. Higher up these disappeared, but there was still a pleasant -sprinkling of hedgerows. As the verdure grew on the south side higher -than on the north or west, I followed it and drew near the top. As I -got closer, I heard some one singing. “By Jove,” said I to myself, “the -women of this country have sweet voices!”—indeed, this was by no means -the first time I had noticed the fact. I listened, and as I drew nearer -to the top of the hill, I took care not to make any noise which might -disturb the singer. It was an odd sensation to stand in the shadow of -the hill-top, on that September day, and listen to _Ave Maria_ sung -by the unknown voice of an unseen singer. I made a feeble joke all to -myself:— - -“My experience of the girls of the West is that of _vox et præterea -nihil_.” - -There was an infinity of pathos in the voice—some sweet, sad yearning, -as though the earthly spirit was singing with an unearthly voice—and -the idea came on me with a sense of conviction that some deep -unhappiness underlay that appeal to the Mother of Sorrows. I listened, -and somehow felt guilty. It almost seemed that I was profaning some -shrine of womanhood, and I took myself to task severely in something of -the following strain:— - -“That poor girl has come to this hill top for solitude. She thinks -she is alone with Nature and Nature’s God, and pours forth her soul -freely; and you, wretched, tainted man, break in on the sanctity of her -solitude—of her prayer. For shame! for shame!” - -Then—men are all hypocrites!—I stole guiltily forward to gain a peep -at the singer who thus communed with Nature and Nature’s God, and the -sanctity of whose solitude and prayer I was violating. - -A tuft of heath grew just at the top; behind this I crouched, and -parting its luxuriance looked through. - -For my pains I only saw a back, and that back presented in the most -ungainly way of which graceful woman is capable. She was seated on the -ground, not even raised upon a stone. Her knees were raised to the -level of her shoulders, and her outstretched arms confined her legs -below the knees—she was, in fact, in much the same attitude as boys are -at games of cock-fighting. And yet there was something very touching -in the attitude—something of self-oblivion so complete that I felt a -renewed feeling of guiltiness as an intruder.—Whether her reasons be -æsthetic, moral, educational, or disciplinary, no self-respecting woman -ever sits in such a manner when a man is by. - -The song died away, and then there was a gulp and a low suppressed -moan. Her head drooped between her knees, her shoulders shook, and I -could see that she was weeping. I wished to get away, but for a few -moments I was afraid to stir lest she should hear me. The solitude, -now that the vibration of her song had died out of the air, seemed -oppressive. In those few seconds a new mood seemed to come over her. -She suddenly abandoned her dejected position, and, with the grace and -agility of a young fawn, leaped to her feet. I could see that she was -tall and exquisitely built, on the slim side—what the French call -_svelte_. With a grace and pathos which were beyond expression she -stretched forth her arms towards the sea, as to something that she -loved, and then, letting them fall by her side, remained in a kind of -waking dream. - -I slipped away, and when I was well out of sight, ran down the hill -about a hundred yards, and then commenced the re-ascent, making a fair -proportion of noise as I came—now striking at the weeds with my heavy -stick, now whistling, and again humming a popular air. - -When I gained the top of the hill I started as though surprised at -seeing any one, much less a girl, in such a place. I think I acted the -part well—again I say that at times the hypocrite in us can be depended -upon! She was looking straight towards me, and certainly, so far as I -could tell, took me in good faith. I doffed my hat and made some kind -of stammering salutation as one would to a stranger—the stammering not -being, of course, in the routine of such occasions, but incidental to -the special circumstances. She made me a graceful curtsey, and a blush -overspread her cheeks. I was afraid to look too hard at her, especially -at first, lest I should frighten her away, but I stole a glance towards -her at every moment when I could. - -How lovely she was! I had heard that along the West coast of Ireland -there are traces of Spanish blood and Spanish beauty; and here was a -living evidence of the truth of the hearsay. Not even at sunset in -the parades of Madrid or Seville, could one see more perfect beauty -of the Spanish type—beauty perhaps all the more perfect for being -tempered with northern calm. As I said, she was tall and beautifully -proportioned. Her neck was long and slender, gracefully set in her -rounded shoulders, and supporting a beautiful head borne with the -free grace of the lily on its stem. There is nothing in woman more -capable of complete beauty than the head, and, crowned as this head was -with a rich mass of hair as black and as glossy as the raven’s wing, -it was a thing to remember. She wore no bonnet, but a grey homespun -shawl was thrown loosely over her shoulders; her hair was coiled in -one rich mass at the top and back of her head, and fastened with -an old-fashioned tortoiseshell comb. Her face was a delicate oval, -showing what Rossetti calls “the pure wide curve from ear to chin.” -Luxuriant black eyebrows were arched over large black-blue eyes swept -by curling lashes of extraordinary length, and showed off the beauty of -a rounded, ample forehead—somewhat sunburnt, be it said. The nose was -straight and wide between the eyes, with delicate sensitive nostrils; -the chin wide and firm, and the mouth full and not small, with lips of -scarlet, forming a perfect Cupid’s bow, and just sufficiently open to -show two rows of small teeth, regular and white as pearls. Her dress -was that of a well-to-do peasant—a sort of body or jacket of printed -chintz over a dress or petticoat of homespun of the shade of crimson -given by a madder dye. The dress was short, and showed trim ankles in -grey homespun with pretty feet in thick country-made wide-toed shoes. -Her hands were shapely, with long fingers, and were very sunburnt and -manifestly used to work. - -As she stood there, with the western breeze playing with her dress and -tossing about the stray ends of her raven tresses, I thought that I -had never in my life seen anything so lovely. And yet she was only a -peasant girl, manifestly and unmistakably, and had no pretence of being -anything else. - -She was evidently as shy as I was, and for a little while we were -both silent. As is usual, the woman was the first to recover her -self-possession, and whilst I was torturing my brain in vain for proper -words to commence a conversation, she remarked:— - -“What a lovely view there is from here. I suppose, sir, you have never -been on the top of this hill before?” - -“Never,” said I, feeling that I was equivocating if not lying. “I had -no idea that there was anything so lovely here.” I meant this to have a -double meaning, although I was afraid to make it apparent to her. “Do -you often come up here?” I continued. - -“Not very often. It is quite a long time since I was here last; but the -view seems fairer and dearer to me every time I come.” As she spoke the -words, my memory leaped back to that eloquent gesture as she raised her -arms. - -I thought I might as well improve the occasion and lay the foundation -for another meeting without giving offence or fright, so I said:— - -“This hill is quite a discovery; and as I am likely to be here in -this neighbourhood for some time, I dare say I shall often find myself -enjoying this lovely view.” - -She made no reply or comment whatever to this statement. I looked over -the scene, and it was certainly a fit setting for so lovely a figure; -but it was the general beauty of the scene, and not, as had hitherto -been the case, one part of it only that struck my fancy. Away on the -edge of the coast-line rose Knockcalltecrore; but it somehow looked -lower than before, and less important. The comparative insignificance -was of course due to the fact that I was regarding it from a superior -altitude, but it seemed to me that it was because it did not now seem -to interest me so much. That sweet voice through the darkness seemed -very far away now—here was a voice as sweet, and in such a habitation! -The invisible charm with which Shleenanaher had latterly seemed to hold -me—or the spell which it had laid upon me, seemed to pass away, and I -found myself smiling that I should ever have entertained such an absurd -idea. - -Youth is not naturally stand off, and before many minutes the two -visitors to the hill-top had laid aside reserve and were chatting -freely. I had many questions to ask of local matters, for I wanted -to find out what I could of my fair companion without seeming to be -too inquisitive; but she seemed to fight shy of all such topics, and -when we parted my ignorance of her name and surroundings remained as -profound as it had been at first. She, however, wanted to know all -about London. She knew it only by hearsay; for some of the questions -which she asked me were amazingly simple—manifestly she had something -of the true peasant belief that London is the only home of luxury, -power, and learning. She was so frank, however, and made her queries -with such a gentle modesty, that something within my heart seemed to -grow, and grow; and the conviction was borne upon me that I stood -before my fate. Sir Geraint’s ejaculation rose to my lips:— - - “Here, by God’s rood, is the one maid for me!” - -One thing gave me much delight. The sadness seemed to have passed quite -away—for the time at all events. Her eyes, which had at the first been -glassy with recent tears, were now lit with keenest interest, and she -seemed to have entirely forgotten the cause of her sorrow. - -“Good!” thought I to myself complacently. “At least I have helped to -brighten her life, though it be but for one hour.” - -Even whilst I was thinking she rose up suddenly—we had been sitting on -a boulder—“Goodness! how the time passes!” she said; “I must run home -at once.” - -“Let me see you home,” I said eagerly. Her great eyes opened, and she -said with a grave simplicity that took me “way down” to use American -slang:- - -“Why?” - -“Just to see that you get home safely,” I stammered. She laughed -merrily:— - -“No fear for me. I’m safer on this mountain than anywhere in the -world—almost,” she added, and the grave, sad look stole again over her -face. - -“Well, but I would like to,” I urged. Again she answered with grave, -sweet seriousness:— - -“Oh, no, sir: that would not do. What would folk say to see me walking -with a gentleman like you?” The answer was conclusive. I shrugged -my shoulders because I was a man, and had a man’s petulance under -disappointment; and then I took off my hat and bowed—not ironically, -but cheerfully, so as to set her at ease—for I had the good fortune to -have been bred a gentleman. My reward came when she held out her hand -frankly and said:— - -“Good-bye, sir,” gave a little graceful curtsey, and tripped away over -the edge of the hill. - -I stood bareheaded looking at her until she disappeared. Then I went to -the edge of the little plateau and looked over the distant prospect of -land and sea, with a heart so full that the tears rushed to my eyes. -There are those who hold that any good emotion is an act of prayer! If -this be so, then on that wild mountain-top as fervent a prayer as the -heart of man is capable of went up to the Giver of all good things! - -When I reached the foot of the mountain I found Dick and Andy waiting -for me at the sheebeen. As I came close Dick called out:— - -“What a time you were, old chap. I thought you had taken root on the -hill-top! What on earth kept you?” - -“The view from the top is lovely beyond compare,” I said, as an evasive -reply. - -“Is what ye see there more lovelier nor what ye see at Shleenanaher?” -said Andy with seeming gravity. - -“Far more so!” I replied instantly and with decision. - -“I tould yer ’an’r there was somethin’ worth lukin’ at,” said he. “An’ -may I ask if yer ’an’r seen any bog on the mountain?” - -I looked at him with a smile. I seemed to rather like his chaff now. -“Begor I did, yer ’an’r,” I answered, mimicking his accent. - -We had proceeded on our way for a long distance, Andy apparently quite -occupied with his driving—Dick studying his note-book, and I quite -content with my thoughts—when Andy said, apropos of nothing and looking -at nobody:— - -“I seen a young girrul comin’ down the hill beyant, a wee while before -yer ’an’r. I hope she didn’t disturb any iv yez?” - -The question passed unnoticed, for Dick apparently did not hear and I -did not feel called upon to answer it. - -I could not have truthfully replied with a simple negative or positive. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - CONFIDENCES. - - -The next day Sutherland would have to resume his work with -Murdock—but on his newly-acquired land. I could think of his visit to -Knockcalltecrore without a twinge of jealousy; and for my own part I -contemplated a walk in a different direction. Dick was full of his -experiment regarding the bog at Knocknacar, and could talk of nothing -else—a disposition of things which suited me all to nothing, for I had -only to acquiesce in all he said, and let my own thoughts have free and -pleasant range. - -“I have everything cut and dry in my head, and I’ll have it all on -paper before I sleep to-night,” said the enthusiast. “Unfortunately, I -am tied for a while longer to the amiable Mr. Murdock; but since you’re -good enough, old fellow, to offer to stay to look after the cutting, -I can see my way to getting along. We can’t begin until the day after -to-morrow, for I can’t by any possibility get old Moriarty’s permission -before that. But then we’ll start in earnest. You must get some men up -there and set them to work at once. By to-morrow evening I’ll have an -exact map ready for you to work by, and all you will have to do will be -to see that the men are kept up to the mark, look at the work now and -then and take a note of results. I expect it will take quite a week or -two to make the preliminary drainage, for we must have a decided fall -for the water. We can’t depend on less than twenty or thirty feet, -and I should not be surprised if we want twice as much. I suppose I -shan’t see you till to-morrow night; for I’m going up to my room now, -and shall work late, and I must be off early in the morning. As you’re -going to have a walk I suppose I may take Andy, for my foot is not -right yet?” - -“By all means,” I replied, and we bade each other good night. - -When I went to my own room I locked the door and looked out of the open -window at the fair prospect bathed in soft moonlight. For a long time -I stood there. What my thoughts were I need tell no young man or young -woman, for without shame I admitted to myself that I was over head and -ears in love. If any young person of either sex requires any further -enlightenment, well! then, all I can say is that their education in -life has been shamefully neglected, or their opportunities have been -scant; or, worse still, some very grave omission has been made in their -equipment for the understanding of life.—If any one, not young, wants -such enlightenment I simply say—‘sir or madam, either you are a fool or -your memory is gone!’ - -One thing I will say, that I never felt so much at one with my kind; -and before going to bed I sat down and wrote a letter of instructions -to my agent, directing him to make accurate personal inquiries all over -the estate, and at the forthcoming rent-day make such remissions of -rent as would relieve any trouble or aid in any plan of improvements -such as his kinder nature could guess at or suggest. - -I need not say that for a long time I did not sleep, and although -my thoughts were full of such hope and happiness that the darkness -seemed ever changing into sunshine, there were, at times, such -harrowing thoughts of difficulties to come, in the shape of previous -attachments—of my being late in my endeavours to win her as my wife—of -my never been able to find her again—that, now and again, I had to -jump from my bed and pace the floor. Towards daylight I slept, and -went through a series of dreams of alternating joy and pain. At first -hope held full sway, and my sweet experience of the day became renewed -and multiplied. Again I climbed the hill and saw her and heard her -voice—again the tearful look faded from her eyes—again I held her hand -in mine and bade good-bye, and a thousand happy fancies filled me with -exquisite joy. Then doubts began to come. I saw her once more on the -hill-top—but she was looking out for some other than myself, and a -shadow of disappointment passed over her sweet face when she recognized -me. Again, I saw myself kneeling at her feet and imploring her love, -while only cold, hard looks were my lot; or I found myself climbing -the hill, but never able to reach the top—or on reaching it finding it -empty. Then I would find myself hurrying through all sorts of difficult -places—high, bleak mountains, and lonely wind-swept strands—dark paths -through gloomy forests, and over sun-smitten plains, looking for -her whom I had lost, and in vain trying to call her—for I could not -remember her name. This last nightmare was quite a possibility, for I -had never heard it. - -I awoke many times from such dreams in an agony of fear; but after a -time both pleasure and pain seemed to have had their share of my sleep, -and I slept the dreamless sleep that Plato eulogizes in the “Apologia -Socratis.” - -I was awakened to a sense that my hour of rising had not yet come by a -knocking at my door. I opened it, and on the landing without saw Andy -standing, cap in hand. - -“Hullo, Andy!” I said. “What on earth do you want?” - -“Yer ’an’r ’ll parden me, but I’m jist off wid Misther Sutherland; an’ -as I undherstand ye was goin’ for a walk, I made bould t’ ask yer ’an’r -if ye’ll give a missage to me father?” - -“‘Certainly, Andy! With pleasure.” - -“Maybe ye’d tell him that I’d like the white mare tuk off the grash -an’ gave some hard ’atin’ for a few days, as I’ll want her brung into -Wistport before long.” - -“All right, Andy! Is that all?” - -“That’s all, yer ’an’r.” Then he added, with a sly look at me:— - -“May be ye’ll keep yer eye out for a nice bit o’ bog as ye go along.” - -“Get on, Andy,” said I. “Shut up! you ould corncrake.” I felt I could -afford to chaff with him as we were alone. - -He grinned, and went away. But he had hardly gone a few steps when he -returned and said, with an air of extreme seriousness:— - -“As I’m goin’ to Knockcalltecrore, is there any missage I kin take for -ye to Miss Norah?” - -“Oh, go on!” said I. “What message should I have to send, when I never -saw the girl in my life?” - -For reply he winked at me with a wink big enough to cover a perch of -land, and, looking back over his shoulder so that I could see his grin -to the last, he went along the corridor—and I went back to bed. - -It did not strike me till a long time afterwards—when I was quite -close to Knocknacar—how odd it was that Andy had asked me to give the -message to his father. I had not told him I was even coming in the -direction—I had not told anyone—indeed, I had rather tried to mislead -when I spoke of taking a walk that day, by saying some commonplace -about ‘the advisability of breaking new ground’ and so forth. Andy had -evidently taken it for granted; and it annoyed me somewhat that he -could find me so transparent. However, I gave the message to the old -man, to which he promised to attend, and had a drink of milk, which is -the hospitality of the west of Ireland farmhouse. Then, in the most -nonchalant way I could, I began to saunter up the hill. - -I loitered awhile here and there on the way up. I diverted my steps now -and then as if to make inquiry into some interesting object. I tapped -rocks and turned stones over, to the discomfiture of various swollen -pale-coloured worms and nests of creeping things. With the end of my -stick I dug up plants, and made here and there unmeaning holes in the -ground as though I were actuated by some direct purpose known to myself -and not understood of others. In fact I acted as a hypocrite in many -harmless and unmeaning ways, and rendered myself generally obnoxious to -the fauna and flora of Knocknacar. - -As I approached the hill-top my heart beat loudly and fast, and a -general supineness took possession of my limbs, and a dimness came over -my sight and senses. I had experienced something of the same feeling -at other times in my life—as, for instance, just before my first fight -when a school boy, and when I stood up to make my maiden speech at the -village debating society. Such feelings—or lack of feelings—however, do -not kill; and it is the privilege and strength of advancing years to -know this fact. - -I proceeded up the hill. I did not whistle this time, or hum, or make -any noise—matters were far too serious with me for any such levity. I -reached the top—and found myself alone! A sense of blank disappointment -came over me—which was only relieved when, on looking at my watch, I -found that it was as yet still early in the forenoon. It was three -o’clock yesterday when I had met—when I had made the ascent. - -As I had evidently to while away a considerable time, I determined to -make an accurate investigation of the hill of Knocknacar—much, very -much fuller than I had made as yet. As my unknown had descended the -hill by the east, and would probably make the ascent—if she ascended -at all—by the same side; and as it was my object not to alarm her, I -determined to confine my investigations to the west side. Accordingly I -descended about half way down the slope, and then commenced my prying -into the secrets of Nature under a sense of the just execration of me -and my efforts on the part of the whole of the animate and inanimate -occupants of the mountain side. - -Hours to me had never seemed of the same inexhaustible proportions as -the hours thus spent. At first I was strong with a dogged patience; but -this in time gave way to an impatient eagerness, that merged into a -despairing irritability. More than once I felt an almost irresistible -inclination to rush to the top of the hill and shout, or conceived -an equally foolish idea to make a call at every house, cottage and -cabin, in the neighbourhood. In this latter desire my impatience was -somewhat held in check by a sense of the ludicrous; for as I thought -of the detail of the doing it, I seemed to see myself when trying to -reduce my abstract longing to a concrete effort, meeting only jeers and -laughter from both men and women—in my seemingly asinine effort to make -inquiries regarding a person whose name even I did not know, and for -what purpose I could assign no sensible reason. - -I verily believe I must have counted the leaves of grass on portions -of that mountain. Unfortunately, hunger or thirst did not assail me, -for they would have afforded some diversion to my thoughts. I sturdily -stuck to my resolution not to ascend to the top until after three -o’clock, and I gave myself much _kudos_ for the stern manner in which I -adhered to my resolve. - -My satisfaction at so bravely adhering to my resolution, in spite of -so much mental torment and temptation, may be imagined when, at the -expiration of the appointed time, on ascending to the hill-top, I saw -my beautiful friend sitting on the edge of the plateau and heard her -first remark after our mutual salutations:— - -“I have been here nearly two hours, and am just going home! I have been -wondering and wondering what on earth you were working at all over the -hillside! May I ask, are you a botanist?” - -“No!” - -“Or a geologist?” - -“No!” - -“Or a naturalist?” - -“No!” - -There she stopped; this simple interrogation as to the pursuits of a -stranger evidently struck her as unmaidenly, for she blushed and turned -away. - -I did not know what to say; but youth has its own wisdom—which is -sincerity—and I blurted out:— - -“In reality I was doing nothing; I was only trying to pass the time.” - -There was a query in the glance of the glorious blue-black eyes and in -the lifting of the ebon lashes; and I went on, conscious as I proceeded -that the ground before me was marked “Dangerous”:— - -“The fact is, I did not want to come up here till after three, and the -time seemed precious long, I can tell you.” - -“Indeed, but you have missed the best part of the view. Between one and -two o’clock, when the sun strikes in between the islands—Cusheen there -to the right, and Mishcar—the view is the finest of the whole day.” - -“Oh, yes,” I answered, “I know now what I have missed.” - -Perhaps my voice betrayed me. I certainly felt full of bitter regret; -but there was no possibility of mistaking the smile which rose to -her eyes and faded into the blush that followed the reception of the -thought. - -There are some things which a woman _cannot_ misunderstand or fail to -understand; and surely my regret and its cause were within the category. - -It thrilled through me, with a sweet intoxication, to realize that she -was not displeased. Man is predatory even in his affections, and there -is some conscious power to him which follows the conviction that the -danger of him—which is his intention—is recognized. - -However, I thought it best to be prudent, and to rest on success—for a -while, at least. I therefore commenced to talk of London, whose wonders -were but fresh to myself, and was rewarded by the bright smile that had -now become incorporated with my dreams by day and by night. - -And so we talked—talked in simple companionship; and the time fled by -on golden wings. No word of love was spoken or even hinted at, but -with joy and gratitude unspeakable I began to realize that we were _en -rapport_. And more than this, I realized that the beautiful peasant -girl had great gifts—a heart of gold, a sweet, pure nature, and a rare -intelligence. I gathered that she had had some education, though not an -extensive one, and that she had followed up at home such subjects as -she had learned in school. But this was all I gathered. I was still as -ignorant as ever of her name, and all else beside, as when I had first -heard her sweet voice on the hill-top. - -Perhaps I might have learned more, had there been time; but the limit -of my knowledge had been fixed. The time had fled so quickly, because -so happily, that neither of us had taken account of it; and suddenly, -as a long red ray struck over the hill-top from the sun now preparing -for his plunge into the western wave, she jumped to her feet with a -startled cry:— - -“The sunset! What am I thinking of! Good-night! good-night! No, you -must not come—it would never do! Good night!” And before I could say a -word, she was speeding down the eastern slope of the mountain. - -The revulsion from such a dream of happiness made me for the moment -ungrateful; and I felt that it was with an angry sneer on my lip that I -muttered as I looked at her retreating form:— - -“Why are the happy hours so short—whilst misery and anxiety spread out -endlessly?” - -But as the red light of the sunset smote my face, a better and a holier -feeling came to me; and there on the top of the hill I knelt and -prayed, with the directness and fervour that are the spiritual gifts -of youth, that every blessing might light on her—the _arrière pensée_ -being—her, my wife. Slowly I went down the mountain after the sun had -set; and when I got to the foot, I stood bareheaded for a long time, -looking at the summit which had given me so much happiness. - -Do not sneer or make light of such moments, ye whose lives are grey. -Would to God that the grey-haired and grey-souled watchers of life, -could feel such moments once again! - -I walked home with rare briskness, but did not feel tired at all by -it—I seemed to tread on air. As I drew near the hotel, I had some vague -idea of hurrying at once to my own room, and avoiding dinner altogether -as something too gross and carnal for my present exalted condition; -but a moment’s reflection was sufficient to reject any such folly. I -therefore achieved the other extreme, and made Mrs. Keating’s kindly -face beam by the vehemence with which I demanded food. I found that -Dick had not yet returned—a fact which did not displease me, as it -insured me a temporary exemption from Andy’s ill-timed banter, which I -did not feel in a humour to enjoy at present. - -I was just sitting down to my dinner when Dick arrived. He too had a -keen appetite; and it was not until we had finished our fish, and were -well into our roast duck, that conversation began. Once he was started, -Dick was full of matters to tell me. He had seen Moriarty—that was -what had kept him so late—and had got his permission to investigate -and experiment on the bog. He had thought out the whole method of work -to be pursued, and had, during Murdock’s dinner-time, made to scale -a rough diagram for me to work by. We had our cigars lit before he -had exhausted himself on this subject. He had asked me a few casual -questions about my walk, and, so as not to arouse any suspicions, I -had answered him vaguely that I had had a lovely day, had enjoyed -myself immensely, and had seen some very pretty things—all of which -was literally and exactly true. I had then asked him as to how he had -got on with his operations in connection with the bog. It amused me to -think how small and secondary a place Shleenanaher, and all belonging -to it, now had in my thoughts. He told me that they had covered a -large portion of the new section of the bog—that there was very little -left to do now, in so far as the bog was concerned; and he descanted on -the richness and the fine position of Murdock’s new farm. - -“It makes me angry,” said he, “to think that that human-shaped wolf -should get hold of such a lovely spot, and oust such a good fellow as -the man whom he has robbed—yes! it is robbery, and nothing short of it. -I feel something like a criminal myself for working for such a wretch -at all.” - -“Never mind, old chap,” said I; “you can’t help it. Whatever he may -have done wrong, you have had neither act nor part in it. It will all -come right in time!” In my present state of mind I could not imagine -that there was, or could be, anything in the world that would not come -all right in time. - -We strolled into the street, and met Andy, who immediately hurried up -to me:— - -“Good evenin’, yer ’an’r! An’ did ye give me insthructions to me -father?” - -“I did, Andy; and he asked me to tell you that all shall be done -exactly as you wish.” - -“Thank yer ’an’r.” He turned away, and my heart rejoiced, for I thought -I would be free from his badinage; but he turned and came back, and -asked with a servility which I felt to be hypocritical and assumed:— - -“Any luck, yer ’an’r, wid bogs to-day?” I know I got red as I answered -him:— - -“Oh, I don’t know! Yes! a little—not much.” - -“Shure an’ I’m glad to hear it, surr! but I might have known be the luk -iv ye and be yer shtep. Faix! it’s aisy known whin a man has been lucky -wid bogs!” The latter sentence was spoken in a pronounced “aside.” - -Dick laughed, for although he was not in the secret he could see that -there was some fun intended. I did not like his laugh, and said hotly:— - -“I don’t understand you, Andy!” - -“Is it undershtand me ye don’t do? Well, surr, if I’ve said anythin’ -that I shouldn’t, I ax yer pardon. Bogs isn’t to be lightly shpoke iv -at all, at all!” then, after a pause:—“Poor Miss Norah!” - -“What do you mean?” said I. - -“Shure yer ’an’r, I was only pityin’ the poor crathur. Poor thing, -but this’ll be a bitther blow to her intirely!” The villain was so -manifestly acting a part, and he grinned at me in such a provoking way, -that I got quite annoyed. - -“Andy, what do you mean? out with it!” I said hotly. - -“Mane, yer ’an’r? Sure nawthin’. All I mane is, poor Miss Norah! Musha, -but it’ll be the sore thrial to her. Bad cess to Knocknacar anyhow!” - -“This is infernal impertinence! Here——” I was stopped by Dick’s hand on -my breast:— - -“Easy, easy, old chap! What is this all about? Don’t get angry, old -man. Andy is only joking, whatever it is. I’m not in the secret myself, -and so can give no opinion; but there is a joke somewhere. Don’t let it -go beyond a joke.” - -“All right, Dick,” said I, having had time to recover my temper. “The -fact is that Andy has started some chaff on me about bogs—meaning -girls thereby—every time he mentions the word to me; and now he seems -to accuse me in some way about a girl that came to meet her father -that night I left him home at Knockcalltecrore. You know, Joyce, that -Murdock has ousted from his farm. Now, look here, Andy! You’re a very -good fellow, and don’t mean any harm; but I entirely object to the way -you’re going on. I don’t mind a button about a joke. I hope I’m not -such an ass as to be thin-skinned about a trifle, but it is another -matter when you mention a young lady’s name alongside mine. You don’t -think of the harm you may do. People are very talkative, and generally -get a story the wrong end up. If you mention this girl—whatever her -name is——” - -“Poor Miss Norah!” struck in Andy, and then ostentatiously corrected -himself—“I big yer ’an’r’s pardon, Miss Norah, I mane.” - -“This Miss Norah along with me,” I went on, “and especially in that -objectionable form, people may begin to think she is wronged in some -way, and you may do her an evil that you couldn’t undo in all your -lifetime. As for me, I never even saw the girl. I heard her speak in -the dark for about half a minute, but I never set eyes on her in my -life. Now, let this be the last of all this nonsense! Don’t worry me -any more; but run in and tell Mrs. Keating to give you a skinful of -punch, and to chalk it up to me.” - -Andy grinned, ducked his head, and made his exit into the house as -though propelled or drawn by some unseen agency. When I remarked this -to Dick he replied, “Some spirit draws him, I dare say.” - -Dick had not said a word beyond advising me not to lose my temper. He -did not appear to take any notice of my lecture to Andy, and puffed -unconcernedly at his cigar till the driver had disappeared. He then -took me by the arm and said:— - -“Let us stroll a bit up the road.” Arm in arm we passed out of the town -and into the silence of the common. The moon was rising, and there was -a soft, tender light over everything. Presently, without looking at me, -Dick said:— - -“Art, I don’t want to be inquisitive or to press for any confidences, -but you and I are too old friends not to be interested in what concerns -each other. What did Andy mean? Is there any girl in question?” - -I was glad to have a friend to whom to open my mind, and without -further thought I answered:— - -“There is, Dick!” - -Dick grasped my arm and looked keenly into my face, and then said: - -“Art! Answer me one question—answer me truly, old fellow, by all you -hold dear—answer me on your honour!” - -“I shall, Dick! What is it?” - -“Is it Norah Joyce?” I had felt some vague alarm from the seriousness -of his manner, but his question put me at ease again, and, with a high -heart, I answered:— - -“No! Dick. It is not.” We strolled on, and after a pause, that seemed a -little oppressive to me, he spoke again:— - -“Andy mentioned a poor ‘Miss Norah’—don’t get riled, old man—and you -both agreed that a certain young lady was the only one alluded to. Are -you sure there is no mistake? Is not your young lady called Norah?” -This was a difficult question to answer, and made me feel rather -awkward. Being awkward, I got a little hot:— - -“Andy’s an infernal fool. What I said to him—you heard me——” - -“Yes! I heard you.” - -“—— was literally and exactly true. I never set eyes on Norah Joyce -in my life. The girl I mean, the one you mean also, was one I saw by -chance yesterday—and to-day—on the top of Knocknacar.” - -“Who is she?”—there was a more joyous sound in Dick’s voice. - -“Eh! eh!” I stammered. “The fact is, Dick, I don’t know.” - -“What is her name?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“You don’t know her name?” - -“No.” - -“Where does she come from?” - -“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her, except this, Dick, that -I love her with all my heart and soul!” I could not help it—I could not -account for it —but the tears rushed to my eyes, and I had to keep my -head turned away from Dick lest he should notice me. He said nothing, -and when I had surreptitiously wiped away what I thought were unmanly -tears of emotion, I looked round at him. He, too, had his head turned -away and, and if my eyes did not deceive me, he too had some unmanly -signs of emotion. - -“Dick!” said I. He turned on the instant. We looked in one another’s -faces, and the story was all told. We grasped hands warmly. - -“We’re both in the same boat, old boy,” said he. - -“Who is it, Dick?” - -“Norah Joyce!”—— I gave a low whistle. - -“But,” he went on, “you are well ahead of me. I have never even -exchanged a word with her yet. I have only seen her a couple of times; -but the whole world is nothing to me beside her. There! I’ve nothing -to tell. _Veni, Vidi, Victus sum!_—I came, I saw, I was conquered. She -has beauty enough, and if I’m not an idiot, worth enough to conquer a -nation!—Now, tell me all about yours.” - -“There’s nothing to tell, Dick; as yet I have only exchanged a few -words. I shall hope to know more soon.” We walked along in silence, -turning our steps back to the hotel. - -“I must hurry and finish up my plans to-night so as to be ready for you -to-morrow. You won’t look on it as a labour to go to Knocknacar, old -chap!” said he, slapping me on the back. - -“Nor you to go to Shleenanaher,” said I, as we shook hands and parted -for the night. - -It was quite two hours after this when I began to undress for bed. I -suppose the whole truth, however foolish, must be told, but those two -hours were mainly spent in trying to compose some suitable verses to -my unknown. I had consumed a vast amount of paper—consumed literally, -for what lover was ever yet content to trust his unsuccessful poetic -efforts to the waste basket?—and my grate was thickly strewn with filmy -ashes. Hitherto the Muse had persistently and successfully evaded me. -She did not even grant me a feather from her wing, and my ‘woeful -ballad made to my mistress’ eyebrow’ was amongst the things that were -not. There was a gentle tap at the door. I opened it, and saw Dick with -his coat off. He came in. - -“I thought I would look in, Art, as I saw the light under your door, -and knew that you had not gone to bed. I only wanted to tell you this. -You don’t know what a relief it is to me to be able to speak of it to -any living soul—how maddening it is to me to work for that scoundrel -Murdock. You can understand now why I flared up at him so suddenly ere -yesterday. I have a strong conviction on me that his service is devil’s -service as far as my happiness is concerned—and that I shall pay some -terrible penalty for it.” - -“Nonsense, old fellow,” said I, “Norah only wants to see you to know -what a fine fellow you are. You won’t mind my saying it, but you are -the class of man that any woman would be proud of!” - -“Ah! old chap,” he answered sadly, “I’m afraid it will never get that -far. There isn’t, so to speak, a fair start for me. She has seen me -already—worse luck!—has seen me doing work which must seem to her to -aid in ruining her father. I could not mistake the scornful glance she -has thrown on me each time we have met. However, _che sara sara_! It’s -no use fretting beforehand. Good night!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - VANISHED. - - -We were all astir shortly after daylight on Monday morning. Dick’s foot -was well enough for his walk to Knockcalltecrore, and Andy came with me -to Knocknacar, as had been arranged, for I wanted his help in engaging -labourers and beginning the work. We got to the shebeen about nine -o’clock, and Andy having put up the mare went out to get labourers. As -I was morally certain that at that hour in the morning there would be -no chance of seeing my unknown on the hill-top, I went at once to the -bog, taking my map with me and studying the ground where we were to -commence operations. - -Andy joined me in about half-an-hour with five men—all he had been able -to get in the time. They were fine strapping young fellows and seemed -interested in the work, so I thought the contingent would be strong -enough. By this time I had the ground marked out according to the plan, -and so without more ado we commenced work. - -We had attacked the hill some two hundred feet lower down than the -bog, where the land suddenly rose steeply from a wide sloping extent -of wilderness of invincible barrenness. It was over this spot that -Sutherland hoped ultimately to send the waters of the bog. We began at -the foot and made a trench some four feet wide at the bottom, and with -sloping walls, so that when we got in so far the drain would be twenty -feet deep, the external aperture would measure about twice as much. - -The soil was heavy and full of moderate-sized boulders, but was not -unworkable, and amongst us we came to the conclusion that a week of -solid work would, bar accidents and our coming across unforeseen -difficulties, at any rate break the back of the job. The men worked -in sections—one marking out the trench by cutting the surface to some -foot-and-a-half deep, and the others following in succession. Andy -sat on a stone hard by, filled his pipe, and endeavoured in his own -cheery way to relieve the monotony of the labour of the others. After -about an hour he grew tired and went away—perhaps it was that he became -interested in a country car, loaded with persons, that came down the -road and stopped a few minutes at the sheebeen on its way to join the -main road to Carnaclif. - -Things went steadily on for some time. The men worked well, and I -possessed my soul in such patience as I could, and studied the map and -the ground most carefully. When dinner-time came the men went off each -to his own home, and as soon as the place was free from them I hurried -to the top of the mountain. The prospect was the same as yesterday. -There was the same stretch of wild moor and rugged coast, of clustering -islands and foam-girt rocks—of blue sky laden with such masses of -luminous clouds as are only found in Ireland. But all was to me dreary -and desolate, for the place was empty and _she_ was not there. I -sat down to wait with what patience I could. It was dreary work at -best; but at any rate there was hope—and its more immediate kinsman, -expectation—and I waited. Somehow the view seemed to tranquillize me in -some degree. It may have been that there was some unconscious working -of the mind which told me in some imperfect way that in a region quite -within my range of vision, nothing could long remain hidden or unknown. -Perhaps it was the stilly silence of the place. There was hardly a -sound—the country people were all within doors at dinner, and even the -sounds of their toil were lacking. From the west came a very faint -breeze, just enough to bring the far-off, eternal roar of the surf. -There was scarcely a sign of life. The cattle far below were sheltering -under trees, or in the shadows of hedges, or standing still knee-deep -in the pools of the shallow streams. The only moving thing which I -could see, was the car which had left so long before, and was now far -off, and was each moment becoming smaller and smaller as it went into -the distance. - -So I sat for quite an hour with my heart half sick with longing, but -she never came. Then I thought I heard a step coming up the path -at the far side. My heart beat strangely. I sat silent, and did not -pretend to hear. She was walking more slowly than usual, and with a -firmer tread. She was coming. I heard the steps on the plateau, and a -voice came:— - -“Och! an’ isn’t it a purty view, yer ’an’r?” I leaped to my feet with a -feeling that was positively murderous. The revulsion was too great, and -I broke into a burst of semi-hysterical laughter. There stood Andy—with -ragged red head and sun-scorched face—in his garb of eternal patches, -bleached and discoloured by sun and rain into a veritable coat of many -colours—gazing at the view with a rapt expression, and yet with one -eye half-closed in a fixed but unmistakable wink, as though taking the -whole majesty of nature into his confidence. - -When he heard my burst of laughter he turned to me quizzically:— - -“Musha! but it’s the merry gentleman yer ’an’r is this day. Shure the -view here is the laughablest thing I ever see!” and he affected to -laugh, but in such a soulless, unspontaneous way that it became a real -burlesque. I waited for him to go on. I was naturally very vexed, but -I was afraid to say anything lest I might cause him to interfere in -_this_ affair—the last thing on earth that I wished for. - -He did go on; no one ever found Andy abashed or ill at ease:— - -“Begor! but yer ’an’r lepped like a deer when ye heerd me shpake. Did -ye think I was goin’ to shoot ye? Faix! an’ I thought that ye wor -about to jump from aff iv the mountain into the say, like a shtag.” - -“Why, what do you know about stags, Andy? There are none in this part -of the country, are there?” I thought I would drag a new subject across -his path. The ruse of the red herring drawn across the scent succeeded! - -“Phwhat do I know iv shtags? Faix, I know this, that there does be -plinty in me Lard’s demesne beyant at Wistport. Sure wan iv thim got -out last autumn an’ nigh ruined me garden. He kem in at night an’ ate -up all me cabbages an’ all the vigitables I’d got. I frightened him -away a lot iv times, but he kem back all the same. At last I could -shtand him no longer, and I wint meself an’ complained to the Lard. -He tould me he was very sorry fur the damage he done, ‘an’,’ sez he, -‘Andy, I think he’s a bankrup,’ sez he, ‘an’ we must take his body.’ -‘How is that, Me Lard?’ sez I. Sez he, ‘I give him to ye, Andy. Do -what ye like wid him!’ An’ wid that I wint home an’ I med a thrap iv -a clothes line wid a loop in it, an’ I put it betune two threes; and -shure enough in the night I got him.” - -“And what did you do with him, Andy?” said I. - -“Faith, surr, I shkinned him and ate him!” He said this just in the -same tone in which he would speak of the most ordinary occurrence, -leaving the impression on one’s mind that the skinning and eating were -matters done at the moment and quite offhand. - -I fondly hoped that Andy’s mind was now in quite another state from -his usual mental condition; but I hardly knew the man yet. He had -the true humorist’s persistence, and before I was ready with another -intellectual herring he was off on the original track. - -“I thrust I didn’t dishturb yer ’an’r. I know some gintlemin likes to -luk at views and say nothin’. I’m tould that a young gintleman like yer -’an’r might be up on top iv a mountain like this, an’ he’d luk at the -view so hard day afther day that he wouldn’t even shpake to a purty -girrul—if there was wan forninst him all the time!” - -“Then they lied to you, Andy!” I said this quite decisively. - -“Faix, yer ’an’r, an’ it’s glad I am to hear that same, for I wouldn’t -like to think that a young gintleman was afraid of a girrul, however -purty she might be.” - -“But, tell me, Andy,” I said, “what idiot could have started such an -idea? And even if it was told to you, how could you be such a fool as -to believe it?” - -“Me belave it! Surr, I did’t belave a wurrd iv it—not until I met yer -’an’r.” His face was quite grave, and I was not sorry to find him in a -sober mood, for I wanted to have a serious chat with him. It struck me -that he, having relatives at Knocknacar, might be able to give me some -information about my unknown. - -“Until you met me, Andy! Surely I never gave you any ground for holding -such a ridiculous idea?” - -“Begor, yer ’an’r, but ye did. But p’raps I had betther not say any -more—yer ’an’r mightn’t like it.” - -This both surprised and nettled me, and I was determined now to have it -out, so I said, “You quite surprise me, Andy. What have I ever done? Do -not be afraid! Out with it,” for he kept looking at me in a timorous -kind of way. - -“Well, then, yer ’an’r, about poor Miss Norah?” - -This was a surprise, but I wanted to know more. - -“Well, Andy, what about her?” - -“Shure, an’ didn’t you refuse to shpake iv her intirely an’ sot on me -fur only mintionin’ her—an’ she wan iv the purtiest girruls in the -place.” - -“My dear Andy,” said I, “I thought I had explained to you, last night, -all about that. I don’t suppose you quite understand; but it might do a -girl in her position harm to be spoken about with a—a man like me.” - -“Wid a man like you—an’ for why? Isn’t she as good a girrul as iver -broke bread?” - -“Oh, it’s not that, Andy; people might think harm.” - -“Think harrum!—phwhat harrum—an’ who’d think it?” - -“Oh, you don’t understand—a man in your position can hardly know.” - -“But, yer ’an’r, I don’t git comprehindin’! What harrum could there -be, an’ who’d think it? The people here is all somethin’ iv me own -position—workin’ people—an’ whin they knows a girrul is a good, dacent -girrul, why should they think harrum because a nice young gintleman -goes out iv his way to shpake to her?— Doesn’t he shpake to the -quality like himself, an’ no wan thinks any harrum iv ayther iv them?” - -Andy’s simple, honest argument made me feel ashamed of the finer -sophistries belonging to the more artificial existence of those of my -own station. - -“Sure, yer ’an’r, there isn’t a bhoy in Connaught that wouldn’t like -to be shpoke of wid Miss Norah. She’s that good, that even the nuns in -Galway, where she was at school, loves her and thrates her like wan iv -themselves, for all she’s a Protestan’.” - -“My dear Andy,” said I, “don’t you think you’re a little hard on me? -You’re putting me in the dock, and trying me for a series of offences -that I never even thought of committing with regard to her or any one -else. Miss Norah may be an angel in petticoats, and I’m quite prepared -to take it for granted that she is so—your word on the subject is quite -enough for me. But just please to remember that I never set eyes on her -in my life. The only time I was ever in her presence was when you were -by yourself, and it was so dark that I could not see her, to help her -when she fainted. Why, in the name of common sense, you should keep -holding her up to me, I do not understand.” - -“But yer ’an’r said that it might do her harrum even to mintion her wid -you.” - -“Oh, well, Andy, I give it up—it’s no use trying to explain. Either you -_won’t_ understand, or I am unable to express myself properly.” - -“Surr, there can be only one harrum to a girrul from a gintleman,” he -laid his hand on my arm, and said this impressively—whatever else he -may have ever said in jest, he was in grim earnest now—“an’ that’s whin -he’s a villain. Ye wouldn’t do the black thrick, and desave a girrul -that thrusted ye?” - -“No, Andy, no! God forbid! I would rather go to the highest rock on -some island there beyond, where the surf is loudest, and throw myself -into the sea, than do such a thing. No! Andy, there are lots of men -that hold such matters lightly, but I don’t think I’m one of them. -Whatever sins I have, or may ever have upon my soul, I hope such a one -as _that_ will never be there.” - -All the comment Andy made was, “I thought so!” Then the habitual -quizzical look stole over his face again, and he said:— - -“There does be some that does fear Braches iv Promise. Mind ye, a man -has to be mighty careful on the subject, for some weemin is that ’cute, -there’s no bein’ up to them.” - -Andy’s sudden change to this new theme was a little embarrassing, since -the idea leading to it—or rather preceding it—had been one purely -personal to myself; but he was off, and I thought it better that he -should go on. - -“Indeed!” said I. - -“Yes, surr. Oh, my! but they’re ’cute. The first thing that a girrul -does when a man looks twice at her, is t’ ask him to write her a -letther, an’ thin she has him—tight.” - -“How so, Andy?” - -“Well, ye see, surr, when you’re writin’ a letther to a girrul, ye -can’t begin widout a ‘My dear’ or a ‘My darlin’’—an’ thin she has the -grip iv the law onto ye! An’ ye do be badgered be the councillors, -an’ ye do be frowned at be the judge, an’ ye do be laughed at be the -people, an’ ye do have to pay yer money—an’ there ye are!” - -“I say, Andy,” said I, “I think you must have been in trouble yourself -in that way—you seem to have it all off pat!” - -“Oh, throth, not me, yer ’an’r. Glory be to God! but I niver was a -defindant in me life—an’ more betoken, I don’t want to be—but I was -wance a witness in a case iv the kind.” - -“And what did you witness?” - -“Faix, I was called to prove that I seen the gintleman’s arrum around -the girrul’s waist. The councillors made a deal out iv that—just as if -it warn’t only manners to hould up a girrul on a car!” - -“What was the case, Andy? Tell me all about it.” - -I did not mind his waiting, as it gave me an excuse for staying on the -top of the hill. I knew I could easily get rid of him when she came—if -she came—by sending him on a message. - -“Well, this was a young woman what had an action agin Shquire Murphy -iv Ballynashoughlin himself—a woman as was no more nor a mere simple -governess!” - -It would be impossible to convey the depth of social unimportance -conveyed by his tone and manner; and coming from a man of “shreds and -patches,” it was more than comic. Andy had his good suit of frieze -and homespun; but whilst he was on mountain duty, he spared these and -appeared almost in the guise of a scarecrow. - -“Well! what happened?” - -“Faix, whin she tould her shtory the shquire’s councillor luked up at -the jury, an’ he whispered a wurrd to the shquire and his ’an’r wrote -out a shlip iv paper an’ handed it to him, an’ the councillor ups an’ -says he: ‘Me Lard and Gintlemin iv the Jury, me client is prepared to -have the honour iv the lady’s hand if she will so, for let bygones be -bygones.’ An’ sure enough they was married on the Sunday next four -weeks; an’ there she is now dhrivin’ him about the counthry in her -pony-shay, an’ all the quality comin’ to tay in the garden, an’ she as -affable as iver to all the farmers round. Aye, an’ be the hokey, the -shquire himself sez that it was a good day for him whin he sot eyes on -her first, an’ that he don’t know why he was such a dam fool as iver to -thry to say ‘no’ to her, or to wish it.” - -“Quite a tale with a moral, Andy! Bravo! Mrs. Murphy.” - -“A morial is it? Now may I make bould to ask yer ’an’r what morial ye -take out iv it?” - -“The moral, Andy, that I see is, When you see the right woman go for -her for all you’re worth, and thank God for giving you the chance.” -Andy jumped up and gave me a great slap on the back. - -“Hurro! more power to yer elbow! but it’s a bhoy afther me own h’arrt -y’ are. I big yer pardon, surr, for the liberty; but it’s mighty glad I -am.” - -“Granted, Andy; I like a man to be hearty, and you certainly are. But -why are you so glad about me?” - -“Because I like yer ’an’r. Shure in all me life I niver see so much -iv a young gintleman as I’ve done iv yer ’an’r. Surr, I’m an ould man -compared wid ye—I’m the beginnin’ iv wan, at any rate, an’ I’d like -to give ye a wurrd iv advice—git marrid while ye can! I tell ye this, -surr, it’s not whin the hair is beginnin’ to git thin on to the top -iv yer head that a nice young girrul ’ill love ye for yerself. It’s -the people that goes all their lives makin’ money and lukin’ after -all kinds iv things that’s iv no kind iv use to thim, that makes the -mishtake. Suppose ye do git marrid when ye’re ould and bald, an’ yer -legs is shaky, an’ ye want to be let sit close to the fire in the -warrum corner, an’ ye’ve lashins iv money that ye don’t know what to do -wid! Do you think that it’s thin that yer wives does be dhramin’ iv ye -all the time and worshippin’ the ground ye thrid? Not a bit iv it! They -do be wantin’—aye and thryin’ too—to help God away wid ye!” - -“Andy,” said I, “you preach, on a practical text, a sermon that any -and every young man ought to hear!” I thought I saw an opening here for -gaining some information and jumped in. - -“By Jove! you set me off wishing to marry! Tell me, is there any pretty -girl in this neighbourhood that would suit a young man like me?” - -“Oho! begor, there’s girruls enough to shute any man.” - -“Aye, Andy—but pretty girls!” - -“Well surr, that depinds. Now what might be yer ’anr’s idea iv a purty -girrul?” - -“My dear Andy, there are so many different kinds of prettiness that it -is hard to say.” - -“Faix, an’ I’ll tell ye if there’s a girrul to shute in the counthry, -for bedad I think I’ve seen thim all. But you must let me know what -would shute ye best?” - -“How can I well tell that, Andy, when I don’t know myself? Show me the -girl, and I’ll very soon tell you.” - -“Unless I was to ax yer ’an’r questions!” this was said very slily. - -“Go on, Andy! there is nothing like the Socratic method.” - -“Very well thin! I’ll ax two kinds iv things, an’ yer ’an’r will tell -me which ye’d like the best!” - -“All right, go on.” - -“Long or short?” - -“Tall; not short, certainly.” - -“Fat or lane?” - -“Fie! fie! Andy, for shame; you talk as if they were cattle or pigs.” - -“Begor, there’s only wan kind iv fat an’ lane that I knows of; but av -ye like I’ll call it thick or thin; which is it?” - -“Not too fat, but certainly not skinny.” Andy held up his hands in mock -horror:— - -“Yer ’an’r shpakes as if ye was talkin’ iv powlthry.” - -“I mean Andy,” said I with a certain sense of shame, “she is not to be -either too fat or too lean, as you put it.” - -“Ye mane ‘shtreaky’!” - -“Streaky!” said I, “what do you mean?” He answered promptly:— - -“Shtreaky,—thick an’ thin—like belly bacon.” I said nothing. I felt -certain it would be useless and out of place. He went on:— - -“Nixt, fair or dark?” - -“Dark, by all means.” - -“Dark be it, surr. What kind iv eyes might she have?” - -“Ah! eyes like darkness on the bosom of the azure deep!” - -“Musha! but that’s a quare kind iv eye fur a girrul to have intirely! -Is she to be all dark, surr, or only the hair of her?” - -“I don’t mean a nigger, Andy!” I thought I would be even with him for -once in a way. He laughed heartily. - -“Oh! my but that’s a good wan. Be the hokey, a girrul can be dark -enough fur any man widout bein’ a naygur. Glory be to God, but I niver -seen a faymale naygur meself, but I suppose there’s such things; God’s -very good to all his craythurs! But, barrin’ naygurs, must she be all -dark?” - -“Well not of necessity, but I certainly prefer what we call a brunette.” - -“A bru-net. What’s that now; I’ve heerd a wheen o’ quare things in me -time, but I niver heerd a woman called that before.” - -I tried to explain the term; he seemed to understand, but his only -comment was:— - -“Well, God is very good,” and then went on with his queries. - -“How might she be dressed?” he looked very sly as he asked the question. - -“Simply! The dress is not particular—that can easily be altered. For -myself, just at present, I should like her in the dress they all wear -here, some pretty kind of body and a red petticoat.” - -“Thrue for ye!” said Andy. Then he went over the list ticking off the -items on his fingers as he went along:— - -“A long, dark girrul, like belly bakin, but not a naygur, some kind iv -a net, an’ wid a rid petticoat, an’ a quare kind iv an eye! Is that the -kind iv a girrul that yer ’an’r wants to set yer eyes on?” - -“Well,” said I, “item by item, as you explain them, Andy, the -description is correct; but I must say, that never in my life did I -know a man to so knock the bottom out of romance as you have done in -summing-up the lady’s charms.” - -“Her charrums, is it? Be the powers! I only tuk what yer ’an’r tould -me. An’ so that’s the girrul that id shute yer?” - -“Yes! Andy. I think she would.” I waited in expectation, but he said -nothing. So I jogged his memory:— - -“Well!” He looked at me in a most peculiar manner, and said slowly and -impressively:— - -“Thin I can sahtisfy yer ’an’r. There’s no such girrul in all -Knocknacar!” I smiled a smile of triumph:— - -“You’re wrong for once, Andy. I saw such a girl only yesterday, here on -the top of this mountain, just where we’re sitting now.” - -Andy jumped up as if he had been sitting on an ant-hill, and had -suddenly been made aware of it. He looked all round in a frightened -way, but I could see that he was only acting, and said:— - -“Glory be to God! but maybe it’s the fairies, it was, or the pixies! -Shure they do say that there’s lots an’ lots an’ lashins iv them on -this hill. Don’t ye have nothin’ to say to thim, surr! There’s only -sorra follys thim. Take an ould man’s advice, an’ don’t come up here -any more. The shpot is dangerous to ye. If ye want to see a fine girrul -go to Shleenanaher, an’ have a good luk at Miss Norah in the daylight.” - -“Oh, bother Miss Norah!” said I. “Get along with you—do! I think -you’ve got Miss Norah on the brain; or perhaps you’re in love with her -yourself.” Andy murmured _sotto voce_, but manifestly for me to hear:— - -“Begor, I am, like the rist iv the bhoys—av course!” - -Here I looked at my watch, and found it was three o’clock, so thought -it was time to get rid of him. - -“Here,” said I “run down to the men at the cutting and tell them that -I’m coming down presently to measure up their work, as Mr. Sutherland -will want to know how they’ve got on.” - -Andy moved off. Before going, however, he had something to say, as -usual:— - -“Tell me, Misther Art”—this new name startled me, Andy had evidently -taken me into his public family—“do ye think Misther Dick”—this was -another surprise—“has an eye on Miss Norah?” There was a real shock -this time. - -“I see him lukin’ at her wance or twice as if he’d like to ate her; -but, bedad, it’s no use if he has, for she wouldn’t luk at him. No -wondher! an’ him helpin’ to be takin’ her father’s houldin’ away from -him.” - -I could not answer Andy’s question as to poor old Dick’s feelings, for -such was his secret, and not mine; but I determined not to let there -be any misapprehension regarding his having a hand in Murdock’s dirty -work, so I spoke hotly:— - -“You tell anyone that dares to say that Dick Sutherland has any act or -part, good or bad—large or small—in that dirty ruffian’s dishonourable -conduct, that he is either a knave or a fool—at any rate he is a liar! -Dick is simply a man of science engaged by Murdock, as any other man of -science might be, to look after some operations in regard to his bog.” - -Andy’s comment was made _sotto voce_, so I thought it better not to -notice it. - -“Musha! but the bogs iv all kinds is gettin’ mixed up quarely. Here’s -another iv them. Misther Dick is engaged to luk afther the bogs. An’ so -he does, but his eyes goes wandherin’ among thim. There does be bogs iv -all kinds now all over these parts. It’s quare times we’re in, or I’m -gettin’ ould!” - -With this Parthian shaft Andy took himself down the hill, and presently -I saw the good effects of his presence in stimulating the workmen to -more ardent endeavours, for they all leaned on their spades whilst he -told them a long story, which ended in a tumult of laughter. - -I might have enjoyed the man’s fun, but I was in no laughing humour. I -had got anxious long ago because _she_ had not visited the hill-top. -I looked all round, but could see no sign of her anywhere. I waited -and waited, and the time truly went on leaden wings. The afternoon sun -smote the hill-top with its glare, more oppressive always than even the -noontide heat. - -I lingered on and lingered still, and hope died within me. - -When six o’clock had come I felt that there was no more chance for me -that day; so I went sadly down the hill, and, after a glance for Dick’s -sake at the cutting, sought the sheebeen where Andy had the horse ready -harnessed in the car. I assumed as cheerful an aspect as I could, and -flattered myself that I carried off the occasion very well. It was not -at all flattering, however, to my histrionic powers to hear Andy, as -we were driving off, whisper in answer to a remark deploring how sad I -looked, made by the old lady who kept the sheebeen:— - -“Whisht! Don’t appear to notice him, or ye’ll dhrive him mad. Me -opinion is that he’s been wandherin’ on the mountain too long, an’ -tamperin’ wid the rings on the grass—you know—an’ that he has seen the -fairies!” Then he said aloud and ostentatiously:— - -“Gee up! ye ould corncrake—ye ought to be fresh enough—ye’ve niver left -the fut iv the hill all the day,”—then turning to me, “An’ sure, surr, -it’s goin’ to the top that takes it out iv wan—ayther a horse or a man.” - -I made no answer, and in silence we drove to Carnaclif, where I found -Dick impatiently waiting dinner for me. - -I was glad to find that he was full of queries concerning the cutting, -for it saved me from the consideration of subjects more difficult to -answer satisfactorily. Fortunately I was able to give a good account -of the time spent, for the work done had far exceeded my expectations. -I thought that Dick was in much better spirits than he had been; but -it was not until the subject of the bog at Knocknacar was completely -exhausted that I got any clue on the subject. I then asked Dick if he -had had a good time at Shleenanaher? - -“Yes!” he answered. “Thank God! the work is nearly done. We went over -the whole place to-day and there was only one indication of iron. This -was in the bog just beside an elbow where Joyce’s land—his present -land—touches ours; no! I mean on Murdock’s, the scoundrel!” He was -quite angry with himself for using the word “ours” even accidentally. - -“And has anything come of it?” I asked him. - -“Nothing! Now that he knows it is there, he would not let me go near -it on any account. I’m in hopes he’ll quarrel with me soon in order to -get rid of me, so that he may try by himself to fish it—whatever it may -be—out of the bog. If he does quarrel with me! Well! I only hope he -will; I have been longing for weeks past to get a chance at him. Then -she’ll believe, perhaps——” He stopped. - -“You saw her to-day, Dick!” - -“How did you know that?” - -“Because you look so happy, old man!” - -“Yes! I did see her; but only for a moment. She drove up in the middle -of the day, and I saw her go up to the new house. But she didn’t even -see me,” and his face fell. Presently he asked:— - -“You didn’t see your girl?” - -“No, Dick, I did not! But how did you know?” - -“I saw it in your face when you came in!” - -We sat and smoked in silence. The interruption came in the shape of -Andy:— - -“I suppose, Masther Art, the same agin to-morra—unless ye’d like me -to bring ye wid Masther Dick to see Shleenanaher—ye know the shpot, -surr—where Miss Norah is!” - -He grinned, and as we said nothing, made his exit. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - A VISIT TO JOYCE. - - -With renewed hope I set out in the morning for Knocknacar. - -It is one of the many privileges of youth that a few hours’ sleep will -change the darkest aspect of the entire universe to one of the rosiest -tint. Since the previous evening, sleeping and waking, my mind had been -framing reasons and excuses for the absence of...!—it was a perpetual -grief to me that I did not even know her name. The journey to the -mountain seemed longer than usual; but, even at the time, this seemed -to me only natural under the circumstances. - -Andy was to-day seemingly saturated or overwhelmed with a superstitious -gravity. Without laying any personal basis for his remarks, but -accepting as a stand-point his own remark of the previous evening -concerning my having seen a fairy, he proceeded to develop his fears -on the subject. I will do him the justice to say that his knowledge -of folklore was immense, and that nothing but a gigantic memory -for detail, cultivated to the full, or else an equally stupendous -imagination working on the facts that momentarily came before his -view, could have enabled him to keep up such a flow of narrative and -legend. The general result to me was, that if I had been inclined to -believe such matters I would have remained under the impression that, -although the whole seaboard, with adjacent mountains, from Westport -to Galway, was in a state of plethora as regards uncanny existences, -Knocknacar, as a habitat for such, easily bore off the palm. Indeed, -that remarkable mountain must have been a solid mass of gnomes, -fairies, pixies, leprachauns, and all genii, species and varieties -of the same. No Chicago grain-elevator in the early days of a wheat -corner could have been more solidly packed. It would seem that so -many inhabitants had been allured by fairies, and consequently had -mysteriously disappeared, that this method of minimisation of the -census must have formed a distinct drain on the local population, -which, by the way, did not seem to be excessive. - -I reserved to myself the right of interrogating Andy on this subject -later in the day, if, unhappily, there should be any opportunity. Now -that we had drawn near the hill, my fears began to return. - -Whilst Andy stabled the mare I went to the cutting and found the -men already at work. During the night there had evidently been a -considerable drainage from the cutting, not from the bog but entirely -local. This was now Friday morning, and I thought that if equal -progress were made in the two days, it would be quite necessary that -Dick should see the working on Sunday, and advise before proceeding -further. - -As I knew that gossip and the requirements of his horse would keep Andy -away for a little while, I determined to take advantage of his absence -to run up to the top of the hill, just to make sure that no one was -there. It did not take long to get up, but when I arrived there was no -reward, except in the shape of a very magnificent view. The weather was -evidently changing, for great clouds seemed to gather from the west and -south, and far away over the distant rim of the horizon the sky was as -dark as night. Still the clouds were not hurrying as before a storm, -and the gloom did not seem to have come shoreward as yet; it was rather -a presage of prolonged bad weather than bad itself. I did not remain -long, as I wished to escape Andy’s scrutiny. Indeed, as I descended the -hill I began to think that Andy had become like the “Old Man of the -Sea,” and that my own experience seemed likely to rival that of Sinbad. - -When I arrived at the cutting I found Andy already seated, enjoying his -pipe. When he saw me he looked up with a grin, and said audibly:— - -“The Good People don’t seem to be workin’ so ’arly in the mornin’! Here -he is safe an’ sound amongst us.” - -That was a very long day. Whenever I thought I could do so, without -attracting too much attention, I strolled to the top of the hill, but -only to suffer a new disappointment. - -At dinner-time I went up and sat all the time. I was bitterly -disappointed, and also began to be seriously alarmed. I seemed to have -lost my unknown. - -When the men got back to their work, and I saw Andy beginning to climb -the hill in an artless, purposeless manner, I thought I would kill -two birds with one stone, and, whilst avoiding my incubus, make some -inquiries. As I could easily see from the top of the hill, there were -only a few houses all told in the little hamlet; and including those -most isolated, there were not twenty in all. Of these I had been in the -sheebeen and in old Sullivan’s, so that a stroll of an hour or two, -properly organized, would cover the whole ground; and so I set out on -my task to try and get some sight or report of my unknown. I knew I -could always get an opportunity of opening conversation by asking for a -light for my cigar. - -It was a profitless task. Two hours after I had started I returned to -the top of the hill as ignorant as I had gone, and the richer only by -some dozen or more drinks of milk, for I found that the acceptance of -some form of hospitality was an easy opening to general conversation. -The top was still empty, but I had not been there a quarter of an hour -when I was joined by Andy. His first remark was evidently calculated to -set me at ease:— - -“Begor, yer ’an’r comes to the top iv this hill nigh as often as I do -meself.” - -I felt that my answer was inconsequential as well as ill-tempered:— - -“Well, why on earth, Andy, do you come so often? Surely there is no -need to come, unless you like it.” - -“Faix! I came this time lest yer ’an’r might feel lonely. I niver see a -man yit be himself on top iv a hill that he didn’t want a companion—iv -some kind or another.” - -“Andy,” I remarked, as I thought, rather cuttingly, “you judge life -and men too much by your own experience. There are people and emotions -which are quite out of your scope—far too high, or perhaps too low, for -your psychic or intellectual grasp.” - -Andy was quite unabashed. He looked at me admiringly. - -“It’s a pity yer ’an’r isn’t a mimber iv Parlyment. Shure, wid a flow -iv language like that, ye could do anythin’!” - -As satire was no use I thought I would draw him out on the subject of -the fairies and pixies. - -“I suppose you were looking for more fairies; the supply you had this -morning was hardly enough to suit you, was it?” - -“Begor, it’s meself is not the only wan that does be lukin’ for the -fairies!” and he grinned. - -“Well, I must say, Andy, you seem to have a good supply on hand. -Indeed, it seems to me that if there were any more fairies to be -located on this hill it would have to be enlarged, for it’s pretty -solid with them already, so far as I can gather.” - -“Augh! there’s room for wan more! I’m tould there’s wan missin’ since -ere yistherday.” - -It was no good trying to beat Andy at this game, so I gave it up and -sat silent. After a while he asked me:— - -“Will I be dhrivin’ yer ’an’r over to Knockcalltecrore?” - -“Why do you ask me?” - -“I’m thinking it’s glad yer ’an’r will be to see Miss Norah.” - -“Upon my soul, Andy, you are too bad. A joke is a joke, but there are -limits to it; and I don’t let any man joke with me when I prefer not. -If you want to talk of your Miss Norah, go and talk to Mr. Sutherland -about her. He’s there every day and can make use of your aid! Why on -earth do you single me out as your father confessor? You’re unfair to -the girl, after all, for if I ever do see her I’m prepared to hate her.” - -“Ah! yer ’an’r wouldn’t be that hard! What harrum has the poor crathur -done that ye’d hate her—a thing no mortial man iver done yit?” - -“Oh, go on! don’t bother me any more; I think it’s about time we were -getting home. You go down to the sheebeen and rattle up that old -corncrake of yours; I’ll come down presently and see how the work goes -on.” - -He went off, but came back as usual; I could have thrown something at -him. - -“Take me advice, surr—pay a visit to Shleenanaher, an’ see Miss Norah!” -and he hurried down the hill. - -His going did me no good; no one came, and after a lingering glance -around, and noting the gathering of the rain clouds, I descended the -hill. - -When I got up on the car I was not at all in a talkative humour, and -said but little to the group surrounding me. I heard Andy account for -it to them:— - -“Whisht! don’t notice his ’an’r’s silence! It’s stupid wid shmokin’ -he is. He lit no less nor siventeen cigars this blissed day. Ax the -neighbours av ye doubt me. Gee up!” - -The evening was spent with Dick as the last had been. I knew that he -had seen his girl; he knew that I had not seen mine, but neither had -anything to tell. Before parting he told me that he expected to shortly -finish his work at Knockcalltecrore, and asked me if I would come over. - -“Do come,” he said, when I expressed a doubt. “Do come, I may want a -witness,” so I promised to go. - -Andy had on his best suit, and a clean wash, when he met us smiling in -the early morning, “Look at him,” I said, “wouldn’t you know he was -going to meet his best girl?” - -“Begor,” he answered, “mayhap we’ll all do that same!” - -It was only ten o’clock when we arrived at Knockcalltecrore, and went -up the boreen to Murdock’s new farm. The Gombeen Man was standing at -the gate with his watch in his hand. When we came up, he said:— - -“I feared you would be late. It’s just conthract time now. Hadn’t -ye betther say good-bye to your frind an’ git to work?” He was so -transparently inclined to be rude, and possibly to pick a quarrel, that -I whispered a warning to Dick. To my great satisfaction he whispered -back:— - -“I see he wants to quarrel; nothing in the world will make me lose -temper to-day.” Then he took out his pocket-book, searched for and -found a folded paper; opening this he read: “‘and the said Richard -Sutherland shall be at liberty to make use of such assistant as he may -choose or appoint whensoever he may wish during the said engagement -at his own expense.’ You see, Mr. Murdock, I am quite within the four -walls of the agreement, and exercise my right. I now tell you formally -that Mr. Arthur Severn has kindly undertaken to assist me for to-day.” -Murdock glared at him for a minute, and then opened the gate and said:— - -“Come in, gintlemin.” We entered. - -“Now, Mr. Murdoch!” said Dick, briskly, “what do you wish done to-day? -Shall we make further examination of the bog where the iron indication -is, or shall we finish the survey of the rest of the land?” - -“Finish the rough survey!” - -The operation was much less complicated than when we had examined the -bog. We simply “quartered” the land, as the Constabulary say when they -make search for hidden arms; and taking it bit by bit, passed the -magnet over its surface. We had the usual finds of nails, horseshoes, -and scrap iron, but no result of importance. The last place we examined -was the house. It was a much better built and more roomy structure -than the one he had left. It was not, however, like the other, built -on a rock, but in a sheltered hollow. Dick pointed out this to me, and -remarked:— - -“I don’t know but that Joyce is better off, all told, in the exchange. -I wouldn’t care myself to live in a house built in a place like this, -and directly in the track of the bog.” - -“Not even,” said I, “if Norah was living in it too?” - -“Ah, that’s another thing! With Norah I’d take my chance and live in -the bog itself, if I could get no other place.” - -When this happened, our day’s work was nearly done, and very soon we -took our leave for the evening, Murdock saying, as I thought rather -offensively:— - -“Now, you, sir, be sure to be here in time on Monday morning.” - -“All right!” said Dick, nonchalantly; and we passed out. In the boreen, -he said to me:— - -“Let us stroll up this way, Art,” and we walked up the hill towards -Joyce’s house, Murdock coming down to his gate and looking at us. When -we came to Joyce’s gate, we stopped. There was no sign of Norah; but -Joyce himself stood at his door. I was opening the gate when he came -forward. - -“Good evening, Mr. Joyce,” said I. “How is your arm? I hope quite well -by this time. Perhaps you don’t remember me—I had the pleasure of -giving you a seat up here in my car, from Mrs. Kelligan’s, the night -of the storm.” - -“I remember well,” he said; “and I was thankful to you, for I was in -trouble that night—it’s all done now.” And he looked round the land -with a sneer, and then he looked yearningly towards his old farm. - -“Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Sutherland,” said I. - -“I ask yer pardon, sir. An’ I don’t wish to be rude—but I don’t want to -know him. He’s no frind to me and mine!” - -Dick’s honest, manly face grew red with shame. I thought he was going -to say something angrily, so cut in as quickly as I could:— - -“You are sadly mistaken, Mr. Joyce; Dick Sutherland is too good a -gentleman to do wrong to you or any man. How can you think such a -thing?” - -“A man what consorts wid me enemy can be no frind of mine!” - -“But he doesn’t consort with him; he hates him. He was simply engaged -to make certain investigations for him as a scientific man. Why, I -don’t suppose you yourself hate Murdock more than Dick does.” - -“Thin I ax yer pardon, sir,” said Joyce. “I like to wrong no man, an’ -I’m glad to be set right.” - -Things were going admirably, and we were all beginning to feel at ease, -when we saw Andy approach. I groaned in spirit—Andy was gradually -taking shape to me as an evil genius. He approached, and making his -best bow, said:— - -“Fine evenin’, Misther Joyce. I hope yer arrum is betther—an’ how is -Miss Norah?” - -“Thank ye kindly, Andy; both me arm and the girl’s well.” - -“Is she widin?” - -“No! she wint this mornin’ to stay over Monday in the convent. Poor -girl! she’s broken-hearted, lavin’ her home and gettin’ settled here. I -med the changin’ as light for her as I could—but weemin takes things to -heart more nor min does, an’ that’s bad enough, God knows!” - -“Thrue for ye,” said Andy. “This gintleman here, Masther Art, says he -hasn’t seen her since the night she met us below in the dark.” - -“I hope,” said Joyce, “you’ll look in and see us, if you’re in these -parts, sir, whin she comes back. I know she thought a dale of your -kindness to me that night.” - -“I’ll be here for some days, and I’ll certainly come, if I may.” - -“And I hope I may come, too, Mr. Joyce,” said Dick, “now that you know -me.” - -“Ye’ll be welkim, sir.” - -We all shook hands, coming away; but as we turned to go home, at the -gate we had a surprise. There, in the boreen, stood Murdock—livid with -fury. He attacked Dick with a tirade of the utmost virulence. He called -him every name he could lay his tongue to—traitor, liar, thief, and -indeed exhausted the whole terminology of abuse, and accused him of -stealing his secrets and of betraying his trust. Dick bore the ordeal -splendidly; he never turned a hair, but calmly went on smoking his -cigar. When Murdock had somewhat exhausted himself and stopped, he said -calmly:— - -“My good fellow, now that your ill-manners are exhausted, perhaps you -will tell me what it is all about?” - -Whereupon Murdock opened again the vials of his wrath. This time he -dragged us all into it—I had been brought in as a spy, to help in -betraying him, and Joyce had suborned him to the act of treachery. For -myself I fired up at once, and would have struck him, only that Dick -laid his hand on me, and in a whisper cautioned me to desist. - -“Easy, old man—easy! Don’t spoil a good position. What does it matter -what a man like that can say? Give him rope enough! we’ll have our turn -in time, don’t fear!” - -I held back, but unfortunately Joyce pressed forwards. He had his say -pretty plainly. - -“What do ye mane, ye ill-tongued scoundhrel, comin’ here to make a -quarrel? Why don’t ye shtay on the land you have robbed from me, and -lave us alone? I am not like these gintlemen here, that can afford to -hould their tongues and despise ye—I’m a man like yerself, though I -hope I’m not the wolf that ye are—fattenin’ on the blood of the poor! -How dare you say I suborned any one—me that never told a lie, or done a -dirty thing in me life? I tell you, Murtagh Murdock, I put my mark upon -ye once—I see it now comin’ up white through the red of yer passion! -Don’t provoke me further, or I’ll put another mark on ye that ye’ll -carry to yer grave!” - -No one said a word more. Murdock moved off and entered his own house; -Dick and I said “good night” to Joyce again, and went down the boreen. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - MY NEW PROPERTY. - - -The following week was a time to me of absolute bitterness. I went each -day to Knocknacar, where the cutting was proceeding at a rapid rate. I -haunted the hill-top, but without the slightest result. Dick had walked -over with me on Sunday, and had been rejoiced at the progress made; he -said that if all went well we could about Friday next actually cut into -the bog. Already there was a distinct infiltration through the cutting, -and we discussed the best means to achieve the last few feet of the -work so as not in any way to endanger the safety of the men working. - -All this time Dick was in good spirits. His meeting with Norah’s father -had taken a great and harrowing weight off his mind, and to him all -things were now possible in the future. He tried his best to console -me for my disappointment. He was full of hope—indeed he refused to -see anything but a delay, and I could see that in his secret heart he -was not altogether sorry that my love affair had received a temporary -check. This belief was emphasized by the tendency of certain of -his remarks to the effect that marriages between persons of unequal -social status were inadvisable—he, dear old fellow, seemingly in his -transparent honesty unaware that he was laying himself out with all his -power to violate his own principles. - -But all the time I was simply heartbroken. To say that I was consumed -with a burning anxiety would be to understate the matter; I was simply -in a fever. I could neither eat nor sleep satisfactorily, and—sleeping -or waking—my brain was in a whirl of doubts, conjectures, fears and -hopes. The most difficult part to bear was my utter inability to do -anything. I could not proclaim my love or my loss on the hill-top; I -did not know where to make inquiries, and I had no idea who to inquire -for. I did not even like to tell Dick the full extent of my woes. - -Love has a modesty of its own, whose lines are boldly drawn, and whose -rules are stern. - -On more than one occasion I left the hotel secretly—after having -ostensibly retired for the night—and wended my way to Knocknacar. As -I passed through the sleeping country I heard the dogs bark in the -cottages as I went by, but little other sound I ever heard except the -booming of the distant sea. On more than one of these occasions I was -drenched with rain—for the weather had now become thoroughly unsettled. -But I heeded it not; indeed the physical discomfort—when I felt it—was -in some measure an anodyne to the torture of my restless soul. - -I always managed to get back before daylight, so as to avoid any -questioning. After three or four days, however, the “boots” of the -hotel began evidently to notice the state of my clothes and boots, and -ventured to speak to me. He cautioned me against going out too much -alone at night, as there were two dangers—one from the moonlighters -who now and again raided the district, and who, being composed of the -scum of the country-side—“corner-boys” and loafers of all kinds—would -be only too glad to find an unexpected victim to rob; and the other, -lest in wandering about I should get into trouble with the police under -suspicion of being one of these very ruffians. - -The latter difficulty seemed to me to be even more obnoxious than -the former; and to avoid any suspicion I thought it best to make my -night wanderings known to all. Accordingly, I asked Mrs. Keating -to have some milk and bread and butter left in my room each night, -as I would probably require something after my late walk. When she -expressed surprise as to my movements, I told her that I was making a -study of the beauty of the country by night, and was much interested -in moonlight effects. This last was an unhappy setting forth of my -desires, for it went round in a whisper amongst the servants and others -outside the hotel, until at last it reached the ears of an astute -Ulster-born policeman, from whom I was much surprised to receive a -visit one morning. I asked him to what the honour was due. His answer -spoke for itself:— - -“From information received A come to talk till ye regardin’ the -interest ye profess to take in moon-lichtin’.” - -“What on earth do you mean?” I asked. - -“A hear ye’re a stranger in these parts—an’ as ye might take away a -wrong impression weth ye—A thenk it ma duty to tell ye that the people -round here are nothin’ more nor less than leears—an’ that ye mustn’t -believe a sengle word they say.” - -“Really,” said I, “I am quite in the dark. Do try and explain. Tell me -what it is all about.” - -“Why, A larn that ye’re always out at nicht all over the country, -and that ye’ve openly told people here that ye’re interested in -moon-lichtin’.” - -“My dear sir, some one is quite mad! I never said such a thing—indeed, -I don’t know anything about moon-lighting.” - -“Then why do ye go out at nicht?” - -“Simply to see the country at night—to look at the views—to enjoy -effects of moonlight.” - -“There ye are, ye see—ye enjoy the moonlicht effect.” - -“Good lord! I mean the view—the purely æsthetic effect—the -chiaroscuro—the pretty pictures!” - -“Oh, aye! A see now—A ken weel! Then A needn’t trouble ye further. -But let ma tell ye that it’s a dangerous practice to walk out be -nicht. There’s many a man in these parts watched and laid for. Why in -Knockcalltecrore there’s one man that’s in danger all the time. An’ as -for ye—why ye’d better be careful that yer nicht wanderins doesn’t -bring ye ento trouble,” and he went away. - -At last I got so miserable about my own love affair that I thought I -might do a good turn to Dick; and so I determined to try to buy from -Murdock his holding on Knockcalltecrore, and then to give it to my -friend, as I felt that the possession of the place, with power to -re-exchange with Joyce, would in no way militate against his interests -with Norah. - -With this object in view I went out one afternoon to Knockcalltecrore, -when I knew that Dick had arranged to visit the cutting at Knocknacar. -I did not tell anyone where I was going, and took good care that Andy -went with Dick. I had acquired a dread of that astute gentleman’s -inferences. - -It was well in the afternoon when I got to Knockcalltecrore. Murdock -was out at the edge of the bog making some investigations on his own -account with the aid of the magnets. He flew into a great rage when he -saw me, and roundly accused me of coming to spy upon him. I disclaimed -any such meanness, and told him that he should be ashamed of such a -suspicion. It was not my cue to quarrel with him, so I restrained -myself as well as I could, and quietly told him that I had come on a -matter of business. - -He was anxious to get me away from the bog, and took me into the house; -here I broached my subject to him, for I knew he was too astute a man -for my going round the question to be of any use. - -At first my offer was a confirmation of his suspicion of me as a spy; -and, indeed, he did not burke this aspect of the question in expressing -his opinion. - -“Oh, aye!” he sneered. “Isn’t it likely I’m goin’ to give up me land -to ye, so that ye may hand it over to Mr. Sutherland—an’ him havin’ -saycrets from me all the time—maybe knowin’ where what I want to find -is hid. Didn’t I know it’s a thraitor he is, an’ ye a shpy.” - -“Dick Sutherland is no traitor and I am no spy. I wouldn’t hear such -words from anyone else; but, unfortunately, I know already that your -ideas regarding us both are so hopelessly wrong that it’s no use trying -to alter them. I simply came here to make you an offer to buy this -piece of land. The place is a pretty one, and I, or some friend of -mine, may like some day to put up a house here. Of course if you don’t -want to sell there’s an end to the matter; but do try to keep a decent -tongue in your head—if you can.” - -My speech had evidently some effect on him, for he said:— - -“I didn’t mane any offinse—an’ as for sellin’, I’d sell anything in the -wurrld av I got me price fur it!” - -“Well! why not enter on this matter? You’re a man of the world, and so -am I. I want to buy; I have money and can afford to give a good price, -as it is a fancy with me. What objection have you to sell?” - -“Ye know well enough I’ll not sell—not yit, at all evints. I wouldn’t -part wid a perch iv this land fur all ye cud offer—not till I’m done -wid me sarch. I mane to get what I’m lukin’ fur—if it’s there!” - -“I quite understand! Well! I am prepared to meet you in the matter. I -am willing to purchase the land—it to be given over to me at whatever -time you may choose to name. Would a year suit you to make your -investigations?” - -He thought for a moment—then took out an old letter, and on the back of -it made some calculations. Then he said:— - -“I suppose ye’d pay the money down at wanst?” - -“Certainly,” said I, “the very day I get possession.” I had intended -paying the money down, and waiting for possession as a sort of -inducement to him to close with me; but there was so much greed in his -manner that I saw I would do better by holding off payment until I got -possession. My judgment was correct, for his answer surprised me:— - -“A month ’ll do what I wanted; or, to be certain, say five weeks from -to-day. But the money would have to be payed to the minit.” - -“Certainly!” said I. “Suit yourself as to time, and let me know the -terms, so that I can see if we agree. I suppose you will want to see -your attorney, so name any day to suit you.” - -“I’m me own attorney! Do ye think I’d thrust any iv them wid me -affairs? Whin I have a law suit I’ll have thim, but not before. If ye -want to know me price I’ll tell it to ye now.” - -“Go on,” said I, concealing my delight as well as I could. - -He accordingly named a sum which, to me, accustomed only as I had -hitherto been to the price of land in a good English county, seemed -very small indeed. - -“He evidently thought he was driving a hard bargain, for he said with a -cunning look:— - -“I suppose ye’ll want to see lawyers and the like. So you may; but -only to see that ye get ye bargin hard and fast. I’ll not discuss the -terrums wid anyone else; an’ if y’ accept, ye must sign me a writin’ -now, that ye buy me land right here, an’ that ye’ll pay the money widin -a month before ye take possession on the day we fix.” - -“All right,” said I. “That will suit me quite well. Make out your -paper in duplicate, and we will both sign. Of course, you must put in -a clause guaranteeing title, and allowing the deed to be made with -the approval of my solicitor, not as to value, but as to form and -completeness. - -“That’s fair!” he said, and sat down to draw up his papers. He was -evidently a bit of a lawyer—a gombeen man must be—and he knew the -practical matters of law affecting things in which he was himself -interested. His Memorandum of Agreement was, so far as I could judge, -quite complete and as concise as possible. He designated the land sold, -and named the price which was to be paid into the account in his name -in the Galway Bank before twelve o’clock noon on the 27th September, -or which might be paid in at an earlier date, with the deduction of -two per cent. per annum as discount—in which case the receipt was to be -given in full and an undertaking to give possession at the appointed -time, namely Wednesday, 27 Oct., at 12 noon. - -We both signed the memorandum, he having sent the old woman who came up -from the village to cook for him for the old schoolmaster to witness -the signatures. I arranged that when I should have seen my solicitor -and have had the deed proper drafted, I would see him again. I then -came away, and got back at the hotel a little while before Dick arrived. - -Dick was in great spirits; his experiment with the bog had been quite -successful. The cutting had advanced so far that the clay wall hemming -in the bog was actually weakened, and with a mining cartridge, prepared -for the purpose, he had blown up the last bit of bank remaining. The -bog had straightway begun to pour into the opening, not merely from the -top, but simultaneously to the whole depth of the cutting. - -“The experience of that first half-hour of the rush,” went on Dick, -“was simply invaluable. I do wish you had been there, old fellow. It -was in itself a lesson on bogs and their reclamation.” - -It just suited my purpose that he should do all the talking at present, -so I asked him to explain all that happened. He went on:— - -“The moment the cartridge exploded the whole of the small clay bank -remaining was knocked to bits and was carried away by the first rush. -There had evidently been a considerable accumulation of water just -behind the bank; and at the first rush this swept through the cutting -and washed it clean. Then the bog at the top, and the water in the -middle, and the ooze below all struggled for the opening. I could see -that the soft part of the bog actually floated. Naturally the water got -away first. The bog proper, which was floating, jammed in the opening, -and the ooze began to drain out below it. Of course, this was only the -first rush; it will be running for days before things begin to settle; -and then we shall be able to make some openings in the bog and see if -my theories are tenable, in so far as the solidification is concerned. -I am only disappointed in one thing.” - -“What is that?” - -“That it will not enlighten us much regarding the bog at Shleenanaher, -for I cannot find any indication here of a shelf of rock such as I -imagine to be at the basis of the shifting bog. If I had had time I -would like to have made a cutting into some of the waste where the bog -had originally been. I daresay that Joyce would let me try now if I -asked him.” - -I had my own fun out of my answer:— - -“Oh! I’m sure he will; but even if he won’t let you now, he may be -inclined to in a month or two when things have settled down a bit.” - -His answer startled me. - -“Do you know, Art, I fear it’s quite on the cards that in a month or -two there may be some settling down up there that may be serious for -some one.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“Simply this—that I am not at all satisfied about Murdock’s house. -There is every indication of it being right in the track of the bog -in case it should shift again; and I would not be surprised if that -hollow where it stands was right over the deepest part of the natural -reservoir, where the rock slopes into the ascending stratum. This wet -weather looks bad; and already the bog has risen somewhat. If the rain -lasts I wouldn’t like to live in that house after five or six weeks.” - -A thought struck me:— - -“Did you tell this to Murdock?” - -“Certainly! the moment the conviction was in my mind.” - -“When was that now? just for curiosity!” - -“Last night, before I came away.” A light began to dawn on me, as to -Murdock’s readiness to sell the land. I did not want to have to explain -anything, so I did not mention the subject of my purchase, but simply -asked Dick:— - -“And what did our upright friend say?” - -“He said, in his own sweet manner, that it would last as long as he -wanted it, and that after that it might go to hell—and me too, he -added, with a thoughtfulness that was all his own.” - -When I went to my room that night I thought over the matter. For good -or ill I had bought the property, and there was no going back now; -indeed I did not wish to go back, for I thought that it would be a fine -opportunity for Dick to investigate the subject. If we could succeed in -draining the bog and reclaiming it, it would be a valuable addition to -the property. - -That night I arranged to go over on the following day to Galway, my -private purpose being to consult a solicitor; and I wrote to my bankers -in London, directing that an amount something over the sum required -to effect my purchase should be lodged forthwith to an account to be -opened for me at the Galway Bank. - -Next day I drove to Galway, and there, after a little inquiry, found -a solicitor, Mr. Caicy, of whom every one spoke well. I consulted him -regarding the purchase. He arranged to do all that was requisite, -and to have the deed of purchase drawn. I told him that I wished the -matter kept a profound secret. He agreed to meet my wishes in this -respect, even to the extent that when he should come to Carnaclif to -make the final completion with Murdock, he would not pretend to know -me. We parted on the best of terms, after I had dined with him, and had -consumed my share of a couple of bottles of as fine old port as is to -be had in all the world. - -Next day I returned to Carnaclif in the evening and met Dick. - -Everything had gone right during the two days. Dick was in great -spirits; he had seen his Norah during the day, and had exchanged -salutations with her. Then he had gone to Knocknacar, and had seen a -great change in the bog, which was already settling down into a more -solid form. I simply told him I had been to Galway to do some banking -and other business. It was some consolation to me in the midst of my -own unhappiness to know that I was furthering the happiness of my -friend. - -On the third day from this Mr. Caicy was to be over with the deed, -and the following day the sale was to be completed, I having arranged -with the bank to transfer on that day the purchase money for the -sale to the account of Mr. Murdock. The two first days I spent -mainly on Knocknacar, going over each day ostensibly to look at the -progress made in draining the bog, but in reality in the vain hope of -seeing my unknown. Each time I went, my feet turned naturally to the -hill-top; but on each visit I felt only a renewal of my sorrow and -disappointment. I walked on each occasion to and from the hill, and -on the second day—which was Sunday—went in the morning and sat on the -top many hours, in the hope that some time during the day, it being a -holiday, she might be able to find her way there once again! - -When I got to the top, the chapel bells were ringing in all the -parishes below me to the west, and very sweetly and peacefully the -sounds came through the bright crisp September air. And in some degree -the sound brought peace to my soul, for there is so large a power in -even the aspirations and the efforts of men towards good, that it -radiates to unmeasurable distance. The wave theory that rules our -knowledge of the distribution of light and sound, may well be taken -to typify, if it does not control the light of divine love, and the -beating in unison of human hearts. - -I think that during these days I must have looked, as well as felt, -miserable; for even Andy did not make any effort to either irritate -or draw me. On the Sunday evening, when I was on the strand behind -the hotel, he lounged along, in his own mysterious fashion, and after -looking at me keenly for a few moments, came up close, and said to me -in a grave, pitying half-whisper:— - -“Don’t be afther breakin’ yer harrt, yer ’an’r. Divil mend the fairy -girrul. Sure isn’t she vanished intirely? Mark me now! there’s no -sahtisfaction at all, at all, in them fairy girruls. Faix! but I -wouldn’t like to see a fine young gintleman like yer ’an’r, become like -Yeoha, the Sigher, as they called him in the ould times.” - -“And who might that gentleman be, Andy?” I asked, with what appearance -of cheerful interest I could muster up. - -“Begor! it’s a prince he was that married onto a fairy girrul, what -wint an’ was tuk off be a fairy man what lived in the same mountain as -she done herself. Sure thim fairy girruls has mostly a fairy man iv -their own somewheres, that they love betther nor they does mortials. -Jist you take me advice, Master Art, fur ye might do worser! Go an take -a luk at Miss Norah, an ye’ll soon forgit the fairies. There’s a rale -girrul av ye like!” - -I was too sad to make any angry reply, and before I could think of any -other kind, Andy lounged away whistling softly—for he had, like many of -his class, a very sweet whistle—the air of _Savourneen Deelish_. - -The following day Mr. Caicy turned up at the hotel according to his -promise. He openly told Mrs. Keating, of whom he had often before -been a customer, that he had business with Mr. Murdock. He was, as -usual with him, affable to all, “passing the time of day” with the -various inhabitants of all degrees, and, as if a stranger, entering -into conversation with me as we sat at lunch in the coffee-room. When -we were alone he whispered to me that all was ready; that he had -made an examination of the title, for which Murdock had sent him all -the necessary papers, and that the deed was complete and ready to be -signed. He told me he was going over that day to Knockcalltecrore, and -would arrange that he would be there the next day, and that he would -take care to have some one to witness the signatures. - -On the following morning, when Dick went off with Andy to Knocknacar, -and Mr. Caicy drove over to Knockcalltecrore, where I also shortly took -my way on another car. - -We met at Murdock’s house. The deed was duly completed, and Mr. Caicy -handed over to Murdock the letter from the bank that the lodgment had -been made. - -The land was now mine; and I was to have possession on the 27th of -October. Mr. Caicy took the deed with him; and with it took also -instructions to draw out a deed making the property over to Richard -Sutherland. He went straight away to Galway; whilst I, in listless -despair, wandered out on the hillside to look at the view. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - IN THE CLIFF FIELDS. - - -I went along the mountain-side until I came to the great ridge of -rocks which, as Dick had explained to me, protected the lower end of -Murdock’s farm from the westerly wind. I climbed to the top to get a -view, and then found that the ridge was continuous, running as far as -the Snake’s Pass where I had first mounted it. Here, however, I was -not as then above the sea, for I was opposite what they had called the -Cliff Fields, and a very strange and beautiful sight it was. - -Some hundred and fifty feet below me was a plateau of seven or eight -acres in extent, and some two hundred and fifty feet above the sea. It -was sheltered on the north by a high wall of rock like that I stood -on, serrated in the same way, as the strata ran in similar layers. In -the centre there rose a great rock with a flat top some quarter of an -acre in extent. The whole plateau, save this one bare rock, was a mass -of verdure. It was watered by a small stream which fell through a deep -narrow cleft in the rocks, where the bog drained itself from Murdock’s -present land. The after-grass was deep, and there were many clumps -of trees and shrubs—none of them of considerable height except a few -great stone-pines which towered aloft and dared the fury of the western -breeze. But not all the beauty of the scene could hold my eyes—for -seated on the rocky table in the centre, just as I had seen her on -the hill-top at Knocknacar, sat a girl to all intents the ditto of my -unknown. - -My heart gave a great bound, and in the tumult of hope that awoke -within my breast the whole world seemed filled with sunshine. For an -instant I almost lost my senses; my knees shook, and my eyes grew dim. -Then came a horrible suspense and doubt. It was impossible to believe -that I should see my unknown here when I least expected to see her. And -then came the man’s desire of action. - -I do not know how I began. To this day I cannot make out whether I took -a bee-line for that isolated table of rock, and from where I was, slid -or crawled down the face of the rock, or whether I made a detour to the -same end. All I can recollect is that I found myself scrambling over -some large boulders, and then passing through the deep heavy grass at -the foot of the rock. - -Here I halted to collect my thoughts—a moment sufficed. I was too much -in earnest to need any deliberation, and there was no choice of ways. I -only waited to be sure that I would not create any alarm by unnecessary -violence. - -Then I ascended the rock. I did not make more noise than I could help; -but I did not try to come silently. She had evidently heard steps, for -she spoke without turning round:— - -“Am I wanted?” Then, as I was passing across the plateau, my step -seemed to arouse her attention; for at a bound she leaped to her feet, -and turned with a glad look that went through the shadow on my soul, as -the sunshine strikes through the mist. - -“Arthur!” She almost rushed to meet me; but stopped suddenly—for an -instant grew pale—and then a red flush crimsoned her face and neck. -She put up her hands before her face, and I could see the tears drop -through her fingers. - -As for myself, I was half-dazed. When I saw that it was indeed my -unknown, a wild joy leaped to my heart; and then came the revulsion -from my long pent-up sorrow and anxiety; and as I faltered out—“At -last! at last!”—the tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. There is, indeed, -a dry-eyed grief, but its corresponding joy is as often smit with -sudden tears. - -In an instant I was by her side, and had her hand in mine. It was only -for a moment, for she withdrew it with a low cry of maidenly fear—but -in that moment of gentle, mutual pressure, a whole world had passed, -and we knew that we loved. - -We were silent for a time, and then we sat together on a boulder—she -edging away from me shyly. - -What matters it of what we talked? There was not much to say—nothing -that was new—the old, old story that has been told since the days when -Adam, waking, found that a new joy had entered into his life. For those -whose feet have wandered in Eden, there is no need to speak; for those -who are yet to tread the hallowed ground, there is no need either—for -in the fulness of time their knowledge will come. - -It was not till we had sat some time that we exchanged any sweet -words—they were sweet, although to any one but ourselves they would -have seemed the most absurd and soulless commonplaces. - -We spoke, and that was all. It is of the nature of love that it can -from airy nothings win its own celestial food! - -Presently I said—and I pledge my word that this was the first speech -that either of us had made, beyond the weather and the view, and such -lighter topics:— - -“Won’t you tell me your name? I have so longed to know it, all these -weary days.” - -“Norah—Norah Joyce! I thought you knew.” - -This was said with a shy lifting of the eyelashes, which were as -suddenly and as shyly dropped again. - -“Norah!” As I spoke the word—and my whole soul was in its speaking—the -happy blush overspread her face again. “Norah! What a sweet name! -Norah! No, I did not know it; if I had known it, when I missed you from -the hill-top at Knocknacar, I should have sought you here.” - -Somehow her next remark seemed to chill me:— - -“I thought you remembered me, from that night when father came home -with you?” - -There seemed some disappointment that I had so forgotten. - -“That night,” I said, “I did not see you at all. It was so dark, that I -felt like a blind man—I only heard your voice.” - -“I thought you remembered my voice.” - -The disappointment was still manifest. Fool that I was!—that voice, -once heard, should have sunk into my memory for ever. - -“I thought your voice was familiar when I heard you on the hill-top; -but when I saw you, I loved you from that moment—and then every other -woman’s voice in the world went, for me, out of existence!” She half -arose, but sat down again, and the happy blush once more mantled her -cheek—I felt that my peace was made. “My name is Arthur.” Here a -thought struck me—struck me for the first time, and sent through me -a thrill of unutterable delight. The moment she had seen me she had -mentioned my name—all unconsciously, it is true—but she had mentioned -it. I feared, however, to alarm her by attracting her attention to it -as yet, and went on:—“Arthur Severn—but I think you know it.” - -“Yes; I heard it mentioned up at Knocknacar.” - -“Who by?” - -“Andy the driver. He spoke to my aunt and me when we were driving down, -the day after we—after we met on the hill-top the last time.” - -Andy! And so my jocose friend knew all along! Well, wait! I must be -even with him! - -“Your aunt?” - -“Yes; my aunt Kate. Father sent me up to her, for he knew it would -distress me to see all our things moved from our dear old home—all -my mother’s things. And father would have been distressed to see me -grieved, and I to see him. It was kind of him; he is always so good to -me.” - -“He is a good man, Norah—I know that; I only hope he won’t hate me.” - -“Why?”—This was said very faintly. - -“For wanting to carry off his daughter. Don’t go, Norah. For God’s -sake, don’t go! I shall not say anything you do not wish; but if you -only knew the agony I have been in since I saw you last—when I thought -I had lost you—you would pity me—indeed you would! Norah, I love you! -No! you must listen to me—you must! I want you to be my wife—I shall -love and honour you all my life! Don’t refuse me, dear; don’t draw -back—for I love you!—I love you!” - -There, it was all out. The pent-up waters find their own course. - -For a minute, at least, Norah sat still. Then she turned to me very -gravely, and there were tears in her eyes:— - -“Oh, why did you speak like that, sir?—why did you speak like that? Let -me go!—let me go! You must not try to detain me!”—I stood back, for we -had both risen—“I am conscious of your good intention—of the honour -you do me—but I must have time to think. Good-bye!” - -She held out her hand. I pressed it gently—I dared not do more—true -love is very timid at times!—She bowed to me, and moved off. - -A sudden flood of despair rushed over me—the pain of the days when I -thought I had lost her could not be soon forgotten, and I feared that I -might lose her again. - -“Stay, Norah!—stay one moment!” She stopped and turned round. “I may -see you again, may I not? Do not be cruel!—may I not see you again?” - -A sweet smile lit up the perplexed sadness of her face:— - -“You may meet me here to-morrow evening, if you will,” and she was gone. - -To-morrow evening! Then there was hope; and with gladdened heart I -watched her pass across the pasture and ascend a path over the rocks. -Her movements were incarnate grace; her beauty and her sweet presence -filled the earth and air. When she passed from my sight, the sunlight -seemed to pale and the warm air to grow chill. - -For a long while I sat on that table-rock, and my thoughts were of -heavenly sweetness—all, save one which was of earth—one brooding fear -that all might not be well—some danger I did not understand. - -And then I too arose, and took my way across the plateau, and climbed -the rock, and walked down the boreen on my way for Carnaclif. - -And then, and for the first time, did a thought strike me—one which for -a moment made my blood run cold—Dick! - -Aye—Dick! What about him? It came to me with a shudder, that my -happiness—if it should be my happiness—must be based on the pain of -my friend. Here, then, there was perhaps a clue to Norah’s strange -gravity! Could Dick have made a proposal to her? He admitted having -spoken to her—why should he, too, not have been impulsive? Why should -it not be that he, being the first to declare himself, had got a -favourable answer, and that now Norah was not free to choose? - -How I cursed the delay in finding her—how I cursed and found fault with -everyone and everything! Andy especially came in for my ill-will. He, -at any rate, knew that my unknown of the hill-top at Knocknacar was -none other than Norah! - -And yet, stay! who but Andy persisted in turning my thoughts to Norah, -and more than once suggested my paying a visit to Shleenanaher to see -her? No! Andy must be acquitted at all points: common justice demanded -that. Who, then, was I to blame? Not Andy—not Dick, who was too noble -and too loyal a friend to give any cause for such a thought. Had he -not asked me at the first if the woman of my fancy was not, this very -woman; and had he not confessed his own love only when I answered him -that it was not? No! Dick must be acquitted from blame! - -Acquitted from blame! Was that justice? At present he was in the -position of a wronged man, and it was I who had wronged him—in -ignorance certainly, but still the wrong was mine. And now what could -I do? Should I tell Dick? I shrank from such a thing; and as yet -there was little to tell. Not till to-morrow evening should I know my -fate; and might not that fate be such that it would be wiser not to -tell Dick of it? Norah had asked for time to consider my offer. If it -should be that she had already promised Dick, and yet should have taken -time to consider another offer, would it be fair to tell Dick of such -hesitation, even though the result was a loyal adherence to her promise -to him? Would such be fair either to him or to her? No! he must not be -told—as yet, at all events. - -How, then, should I avoid telling him, in case the subject should crop -up in the course of conversation? I had not told him of any of my late -visits to Knockcalltecrore, although, God knows! they were taken not -in my own interest, but entirely in his; and now an explanation seemed -impossible. - -Thus revolving the situation in my mind as I walked along, I came -to the conclusion that the wisest thing I could do was to walk to -some other place and stay there for the night. Thus I might avoid -questioning altogether. On the morrow I could return to Carnaclif, and -go over to Shleenanaher at such a time that I might cross Dick on -the way, so that I might see Norah and get her answer without anyone -knowing of my visit. Having so made up my mind, I turned my steps -towards Roundwood, and when I arrived there in the evening sent a wire -to Dick:— - -“Walked here, very tired; sleep here to-night; probably return -to-morrow.” - -The long walk did me good, for it made me thoroughly tired, and that -night, despite my anxiety of mind, I slept well—I went to sleep with -Norah’s name on my lips. - -The next day I arrived at Carnaclif about mid-day. I found that Dick -had taken Andy to Knockcalltecrore. I waited until it was time to -leave, and then started off. About half a mile from the foot of the -boreen I went and sat in a clump of trees, where I could not be seen, -but from which I could watch the road; and presently saw Dick passing -along on Andy’s car. When they had quite gone out of sight, I went on -my way to the Cliff Fields. - -I went with mingled feelings. There was hope, there was joy at the -remembrance of yesterday, there was expectation that I would see her -again—even though the result might be unhappiness, there was doubt, -and there was a horrible, haunting dread. My knees shook, and I felt -weak as I climbed the rocks. I passed across the field and sat on the -table-rock. - -Presently she came to join me. With a queenly bearing she passed over -the ground, seeming to glide rather than to walk. She was very pale, -but as she drew near I could see in her eyes a sweet calm. - -I went forward to meet her, and in silence we shook hands. She motioned -to the boulder, and we sat down. She was less shy than yesterday, and -seemed in many subtle ways to be, though not less girlish, more of a -woman. - -When we sat down I laid my hand on hers and said—and I felt that my -voice was hoarse:— - -“Well!” - -She looked at me tenderly, and said in a sweet, grave voice:— - -“My father has a claim on me that I must not overlook. He is all alone; -he has lost my mother, and my brother is away, and is going into a -different sphere of life from us. He has lost his land that he prized -and valued, and that has been ours for a long, long time; and now that -he is sad and lonely, and feels that he is growing old, how could I -leave him? He that has always been so good and kind to me all my life!” -Here the sweet eyes filled with tears. I had not taken away my hand, -and she had not removed hers; this negative of action gave me hope and -courage. - -“Norah! answer me one thing. Is there any other man between your heart -and me?” - -“Oh no! no!” Her speech was impulsive; she stopped as suddenly as she -began. A great weight seemed lifted from my heart; and yet there came a -qualm of pity for my friend. Poor Dick! poor Dick! - -Again we were silent for a minute. I was gathering courage for another -question. - -“Norah!”—I stopped; she looked at me. - -“Norah! if your father had other objects in life, which would leave you -free, what would be your answer to me?” - -“Oh, do not ask me! Do not ask me!” Her tone was imploring; but there -are times when manhood must assert itself, even though the heart be -torn with pity for woman’s weakness. I went on:— - -“I must, Norah! I must! I am in torture till you tell me. Be pitiful -to me! Be merciful to me! Tell me, do you love me? You know I love -you, Norah. Oh God! how I love you! The world has but one being in it -for me; and you are that one! With every fibre of my being—with all my -heart and soul, I love you! Won’t you tell me, then, if you love me?” - -A flush as rosy as dawn came over her face, and timidly she asked me, -“Must I answer? Must I?” - -“You must, Norah!” - -“Then, I do love you! God help us both! but I love you! I love you!” -and tearing away her hand from mine, she put both hands before her face -and burst into a passionate flood of tears. - -There could be but one ending to such a scene. In an instant she was in -my arms. Her will and mine went down before the sudden flood of passion -that burst upon us both. She hid her face upon my breast, but I raised -it tenderly, and our lips met in one long, loving, passionate kiss. - -We sat on the boulder, hand in hand, and whispering confessed to each -other, in the triumph of our love, all those little secrets of the -growth of our affection that lovers hold dear. That final separation, -which had been spoken of but a while ago, was kept out of sight by -mutual consent; the dead would claim its dead soon enough. Love lives -in the present and in the sunshine finds its joy. - -Well, the men of old knew the human heart, when they fixed upon the -butterfly as the symbol of the soul; for the rainbow is but sunshine -through a cloud, and love, like the butterfly, takes the colours of the -rainbow on its aery wings! - -Long we sat in that beauteous spot. High above us towered the -everlasting rocks; the green of nature’s planting lay beneath our feet; -and far off the reflection of the sunset lightened the dimness of the -soft twilight over the wrinkled sea. - -We said little, as we sat hand in hand; but the silence was a poem, -and the sound of the sea, and the beating of our hearts were hymns of -praise to nature and to nature’s God. - -We spoke no more of the future; for now that we knew that we were each -beloved, the future had but little terror for us. We were content! - -When we had taken our last kiss, and parted beneath the shadow of the -rock, I watched her depart through the gloaming to her own home; and -then I too took my way. At the foot of the Boreen I met Murdock, who -looked at me in a strange manner, and merely growled some reply to my -salutation. - -I felt that I could never meet Dick to-night. Indeed, I wished to see -no human being, and so I sat for long on the crags above the sounding -sea; and then wandered down to the distant beach. To and fro I went all -the night long, but ever in sight of the hill, and ever and anon coming -near to watch the cottage where Norah slept. - -In the early morning, I took my way to Roundwood, and going to bed, -slept until late in the day. - -When I woke, I began to think of how I could break my news to Dick. I -felt that the sooner it was done the better. At first I had a vague -idea of writing to him from where I was, and explaining all to him; but -this, I concluded, would not do—it seemed too cowardly a way to deal -with so true and loyal a friend—I would go now and await his arrival at -Carnaclif, and tell him all, at the earliest moment when I could find -an opportunity. - -I drove to Carnaclif, and waited his coming impatiently, for I -intended, if it were not too late, to afterwards drive over to -Shleenanaher, and see Norah—or at least the house she was in. - -Dick arrived a little earlier than usual, and I could see from the -window that he was grave and troubled. When he got down from the car, -he asked if I were in, and being answered in the affirmative, ordered -dinner to be put on the table as soon as possible, and went up to his -room. - -I did not come down until the waiter came to tell me that dinner was -ready. Dick had evidently waited also, and followed me down. When he -came into the room, he said heartily:— - -“Hallo! Art, old fellow, welcome back, I thought you were lost,” and -shook hands with me warmly. - -Neither of us seemed to have much appetite, but we pretended to eat, -and sent away platesfull of food, cut up into the smallest proportions. -When the apology for dinner was over, Dick offered me a cigar, lit his -own, and said:— - -“Come out for a stroll on the sand, Art; I want to have a chat with -you.” I could feel that he was making a great effort to appear hearty, -but there was a hollowness about his voice, which was not usual. As we -went through the hall, Mrs. Keating handed me my letters, which had -just arrived. - -We walked out on the wide stretch of fine hard sand, which lies -westwards from Carnaclif when the tide is out, and were a considerable -distance from the town before a word was spoken. Dick turned to me, and -said:— - -“Art! what does it all mean?” - -I hesitated for a moment, for I hardly knew where to begin—the -question, so comprehensive and so sudden, took me aback. Dick went on:— - -“Art! two things I have always believed; and I won’t give them up -without a struggle. One is that there are very few things that, no -matter how strange or wrong they look, won’t bear explanation of some -kind; and the other is that an honourable man does not grow crooked in -a moment. Is there anything, Art, that you would like to tell me?” - -“There is, Dick! I have a lot to tell; but won’t you tell me what you -wish me to speak about?” I was just going to tell him all, but it -suddenly occurred to me that it would be wise to know something of what -was amiss with him first. - -“Then I shall ask you a few questions! Did you not tell me that the -girl you were in love with was not Norah Joyce?” - -“I did; but I was wrong. I did not know it at the time—I only found it -out, Dick, since I saw you last!” - -“Since you saw me last! Did you not then know that I loved Norah Joyce, -and that I was only waiting a chance to ask her to marry me?” - -“I did!” I had nothing to add here; it came back to me that I had -spoken and acted all along without a thought of my friend. - -“Have you not of late payed many visits to Shleenanaher; and have you -not kept such visits quite dark from me?” - -“I have, Dick.” - -“Did you keep me ignorant on purpose?” - -“I did! But those visits were made entirely on your account.”—I -stopped, for a look of wonder and disgust spread over my companion’s -face. - -“On my account! on my account! And was it, Arthur Severn, on my account -that you asked, as I presume you did, Norah Joyce to marry you—I take -it for granted that your conduct was honourable, to her at any rate—the -woman whom I had told you I loved, and that I wished to marry, and -that you assured me that you did not love, your heart being fixed on -another woman? I hate to speak so, Art! but I have had black thoughts, -and am not quite myself—was this all on my account?” It was a terrible -question to answer, and I paused; Dick went on:— - -“Was it on my account that you, a rich man, purchased the home that -she loved; whilst I, a poor one, had to stand by and see her father -despoiled day by day, and, because of my poverty, had to go on with a -hateful engagement, which placed me in a false position in her eyes?” - -Here I saw daylight. I could answer this scathing question:— - -“It was, Dick—entirely on your account!” He drew away from me, and -stood still, facing me in the twilight as he spoke:— - -“I should like you to explain, Mr. Severn—for your own sake—a statement -like that.” - -Then I told him, with simple earnestness, all the truth. How I had -hoped to further his love, since my own seemed so hopeless—how I had -bought the land intending to make it over to him, so that his hands -might be strong to woo the woman he loved—how this and nothing else -had taken me to Shleenanaher; and that whilst there I had learned that -my own unknown love and Norah were one and the same—of my proposal to -her; and here I told him humbly how in the tumult of my own passion -I had forgotten his—whereat he shrugged his shoulders—and of my long -anxiety till her answer was given. I told him that I had stayed away -the first night at Roundwood, lest I should be betrayed into any speech -which would lack in loyalty to him as well as to her. And then I told -him of her decision not to leave her father—touching but lightly on the -confession of her love, lest I should give him needless pain; I did not -dare to avoid it lest I should mislead him to his further harm. When I -had finished he said softly:— - -“Art, I have been in much doubt!” - -I thought a moment, and then remembered that I had in my pocket the -letters which had been handed to me at the hotel, and that amongst them -there was one from Mr. Caicy at Galway. This letter I took out and -handed to Dick. - -“There is a letter unopened. Open it and it may tell you something. I -know my word will suffice you; but this is in justice to us both.” - -Dick took the letter and broke the seal. He read the letter from Caicy, -and then holding up the deed so that the dying light of the west should -fall on it, read it. The deed was not very long. When he finished it -he stood for a moment with his hands down by his sides; then he came -over to me, and laying his hands, one of which grasped the deed, on my -shoulders, said:— - -“Thank God, Art, there need be no bitterness between me and thee—all -is as you say, but oh! old fellow!”—and here he laid his head on my -shoulder and sobbed—“my heart is broken! All the light has gone out of -my life!” - -His despair was only for a moment. Recovering himself as quickly as he -had been overcome, he said:— - -“Never mind, old fellow, only one of us must suffer; and, thank God! my -secret is with you alone—no one else in the wide world even suspects. -She must never know! Now tell me all about it; don’t fear that it will -hurt me. It will be something to know that you are both happy. By the -way, this had better be torn up; there is no need for it now!” Having -torn the paper across, he put his arm over my shoulder as he used to do -when we were boys; and so we passed into the gathering darkness. - -Thank God for loyal and royal manhood! Thank God for the heart of a -friend that can suffer and remain true! And thanks, above all, that the -lessons of tolerance and forgiveness, taught of old by the Son of God, -are now and then remembered by the sons of men. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - _UN MAUVAIS QUART D’HEURE._ - - -When we were strolling back to the hotel Dick said to me:— - -“Cheer up, old fellow! You needn’t be the least bit downhearted. Go -soon and see Joyce. He will not stand in the girl’s way, you may be -sure. He is a good fellow, and loves Norah dearly—who could help it!” -He stopped for a moment here, and choked a great sob, but went on -bravely:— - -“It is only like her to be willing to sacrifice her own happiness; but -she must not be let do that. Settle the matter soon! Go to-morrow to -see Joyce. I shall go up to Knocknacar instead of working with Murdock; -it will leave the coast clear for you.” Then we went into the hotel; -and I felt as if a great weight had been removed. - -When I was undressing I heard a knock. “Come in,” I called, and Dick -entered. Dear old fellow! I could see that he had been wrestling -with himself, and had won. His eyes were red, but there was a noble -manliness about him which was beyond description. - -“Art,” said he, “I wanted to tell you something, and I thought it -ought to be told now. I wouldn’t like the night to close on any wrong -impression between you and me. I hope you feel that my suspicion about -fair-play and the rest of it is all gone.” - -“I do! old fellow! quite.” - -“Well, you are not to get thinking of me as in any way wronged in the -matter, either by accident or design. I have been going over the whole -matter to try and get the heart of the mystery; and I think it only -fair to say that no wrong could be done to me. I never spoke a single -word to Norah in my life. Nor did she to me. Indeed, I have seen her -but seldom, though the first time was enough to finish me. Thank God! -we have found out the true state of affairs before it was too late. It -might have been worse, old lad! it might have been worse! I don’t think -there’s any record—even in the novels—of a man’s life being wrecked -over a girl he didn’t know. We don’t get hit to death at sight, old -boy! It’s only skin deep this time, and though skin deep hurts the -most, it doesn’t kill! I thought I would tell you what I had worked -out, for I knew we were such old friends that it would worry you and -mar your happiness to think I was wretched. I hope—and I honestly -expect—that by to-morrow I shall be all right, and able to enjoy the -sight of both your happiness—as, please God! I hope such is to be.” - -We wrung each other’s hands; and I believe that from that moment we -were closer friends than ever. As he was going out Dick turned to me, -and said:— - -“It is odd about the legend, isn’t it! The Snake is in the Hill still, -if I am not mistaken. He told me all about your visits and the sale of -the land to you, in order to make mischief. But his time is coming; St. -Patrick will lift that crozier of his before long!” - -“But the Hill holds us all!” said I; and as I spoke there was an -ominous feeling over me. “We’re not through yet; but it will be all -right now.” - -The last thing I saw was a smile on his face as he closed the door. - -The next morning Dick started for Knocknacar. It had been arranged the -night before that he should go on Andy’s car, as I preferred walking to -Shleenanaher. I had more than one reason for so doing, but that which -I kept in the foreground of my own mind—and which I almost persuaded -myself was the chief—if not the only reason—was that I did not wish to -be troubled with Andy’s curiosity and impertinent badinage. My real and -secret reason, however, was that I wished to be alone so that I might -collect my thoughts, and acquire courage for what the French call _un -mauvais quart d’heure_. - -In all classes of life, and under all conditions, this is an ordeal -eminently to be dreaded by young men. No amount of reason is of -the least avail to them—there is some horrible, lurking, unknown -possibility which may defeat all their hopes, and may, in addition, -add the flaming aggravation of making them appear ridiculous! I -summed up my own merits, and, not being a fool, found considerable -ground for hope. I was young, not bad looking—Norah loved me; I had no -great bogey of a past secret or misdeed to make me feel sufficiently -guilty to fear a just punishment falling upon me; and, considering all -things, I was in a social position and of wealth beyond the dreams of a -peasant—howsoever ambitious for his daughter he might be. - -And yet I walked along those miles of road that day with my heart -perpetually sinking into my boots, and harassed with a vague dread -which made me feel at times an almost irresistible inclination to run -away. I can only compare my feelings, when I drew in sight of the -hill-top, with those which animate the mind of a young child when -coming in sight of the sea in order to be dipped for the first time. - -There is, however, in man some wholesome fear of running away, which -at times either takes the place of resolution, or else initiates -the mechanical action of guiding his feet in the right direction—of -prompting his speech and regulating his movement. Otherwise no young -man, or very few at least, would ever face the ordeal of asking the -consent of the parents of his _inamorata_. Such a fear stood to me now; -and with a seeming boldness I approached Joyce’s house. When I came to -the gate I saw him in the field not far off, and went up to speak to -him. - -Even at that moment, when the dread of my soul was greatest, I could -not but recall an interview which I had had with Andy that morning, and -which was not of my seeking, but of his. - -After breakfast I had been in my room, making myself as smart as I -could, for of course I hoped to see Norah—when I heard a knock at -the door, timid but hurried. When I called to “come in,” Andy’s head -appeared; and then his whole body was by some mysterious wriggle -conveyed through the partial opening of the door. When within, he -closed it, and, putting a finger to his lip, said in a mysterious -whisper:— - -“Masther Art!” - -“Well Andy! what is it?” - -“Whisper me now! Shure I don’t want to see yer ’an’r so onasy in yer -mind.” - -I guessed what was coming, so interrupted him, for I was determined to -get even with him. - -“Now, Andy! if you have any nonsense about your ‘Miss Norah,’ I don’t -want to hear it.” - -“Whisht! surr; let me shpake. I mustn’t kape Misther Dick waitin’. Now -take me advice! an’ take a luk out to Shleenanaher. Ye may see some wan -there what ye don’t ixpect!”—this was said with a sly mysteriousness, -impossible to describe. - -“No! no! Andy,” said I, looking as sad as I could, “I can see no one -there that I don’t expect.” - -“They do say, surr, that the fairies does take quare shapes; and your -fairy girrul may have gone to Shleenanaher. Fairies may want to take -the wather like mortials.” - -“Take the water, Andy! what do ye mean?” - -“What do I mane! why what the quality does call say-bathin’. An’ maybe, -the fairy girrul has gone too!” - -“Ah! no, Andy,” said I, in as melancholy a way as I could, “my fairy -girl is gone. I shall never see her again!” - -Andy looked at me very keenly; and then a twinkle came in his eye and -he said, slapping his thigh:— - -“Begor! but I believe yer ’an’r is cured! Ye used to be that melancholy -that bedad it’s meself what was gettin’ sarious about ye; an’ now it’s -only narvous ye are! Well! if the fairy is gone, why not see Miss -Norah? Sure wan sight iv her ’d cure all the fairy spells what iver was -cast. Go now, yer ’an’r, an’ see her this day!” - -I said with decision, “No, Andy, I will not go to-day to see Miss -Norah. I have something else to do!” - -“Oh, very well!” said he with simulated despondency. “If yer ’an’r -won’t, of course ye won’t! but ye’re wrong. At any rate, if ye’re in -the direction iv Shleenanaher, will ye go an’ see th’ ould man? Musha! -but I’m thinkin’ it’s glad he’d be to see yer ’an’r.” - -Despite all I could do, I felt blushing up to the roots of my hair. -Andy looked at me quizzically; and said oracularly, and with sudden -seriousness:— - -“Begor! if yer fairy girrul is turned into a fairy complately, an’ has -flew away from ye, maybe ould Joyce too ’d become a leprachaun! Hould -him tight whin ye catch him! Remimber, wid leprachauns, if ye wance let -thim go ye may niver git thim agin. But if ye hould thim tight, they -must do whatsumiver ye wish! So they do say—but maybe I’m wrong—I’m -itherfarin’ wid a gintleman as was bit be a fairy, and knows more nor -mortials does about thim! There’s the masther callin’. Good bye, surr, -an’ good luck!” and with a grin at me over his shoulder, Andy hurried -away. I muttered to myself:— - -“If anyone is a fairy, my bold Andy, I think I can name him. You seem -to know everything!” - -This scene came back to me with renewed freshness. I could not but -feel that Andy was giving me some advice. He evidently knew more than -he pretended; indeed, he must have known all along of the identity of -my unknown of Knocknacar with Norah. He now also evidently knew of my -knowledge on the subject; and he either knew or guessed that I was off -to see Joyce on the subject of his daughter. - -In my present state of embarrassment, his advice was a distinct light. -He knew the people, and Joyce especially; he also saw some danger -to my hopes, and showed me a way to gain my object. I knew already -that Joyce was a proud man, and I could quite conceive that he was an -obstinate one; and I knew from general experience of life that there is -no obstacle so difficult to surmount as the pride of an obstinate man. -With all the fervour of my heart I prayed that, on this occasion, his -pride might not in any way be touched, or arrayed against me. - -When I saw him I went straight towards him, and held out my hand. He -seemed a little surprised, but took it. Like Bob Acres, I felt my -courage oozing out of the tips of my fingers, but with the remnant of -it threw myself into the battle:— - -“Mr. Joyce, I have come to speak to you on a very serious subject.” - -“A sarious subject! Is it concarnin’ me?” - -“It is.” - -“Go on! More throuble, I suppose?” - -“I hope not, most sincerely. Mr. Joyce, I want to have your permission -to marry your daughter!” If I had suddenly turned into a bird and flown -away, I do not think I could have astonished him more. For a second or -two he was speechless, and then said, in an unconscious sort of way:— - -“Want to marry me daughter!” - -“Yes, Mr. Joyce! I love her very dearly! She is a pearl amongst women; -and if you will give your permission, I shall be the happiest man on -earth. I can quite satisfy you as to my means. I am well to do; indeed, -as men go, I am a rich man.” - -“Aye! sir, I don’t doubt. I’m contint that you are what you say. But -you never saw me daughter—except that dark night when you took me home.” - -“Oh yes, I have seen her several times, and spoken with her; but, -indeed, I only wanted to see her once to love her!” - -“Ye have seen her—and she never tould me! Come wid me!” He beckoned me -to come with him, and strode at a rapid pace to his cottage, opened -the door, and motioned me to go in. I entered the room—which was both -kitchen and living room—to which he pointed. He followed. - -As I entered, Norah, who was sewing, saw me and stood up. A rosy blush -ran over her face; then she grew as white as snow as she saw the stern -face of her father close behind me. I stepped forward, and took her -hand; when I let it go, her arm fell by her side. - -“Daughter!”—Joyce spoke very sternly, but not unkindly. “Do you know -this gentleman?” - -“Yes, father!” - -“He tells me that you and he have met several times. Is it thrue?” - -“Yes, father; but—” - -“Ye never tould me! How was that?” - -“It was by accident we met.” - -“Always be accident?” Here I spoke:— - -“Always by accident—on her part.” He interrupted me:— - -“Yer pardon, young gentleman! I wish me daughter to answer me! Shpeak, -Norah!” - -“Always, father!—except once, and then I came to give a message—yes! it -was a message, although from myself.” - -“What missage?” - -“Oh father! don’t make me speak! We are not alone! Let me tell you, -alone! I am only a girl—and it is hard to speak.” - -His voice had a tear in it, for all its sternness, as he answered:— - -“It is on a subject that this gentleman has spoke to me about—as mayhap -he has spoke to you.” - -“Oh father!”—she took his hand, which he did not withdraw, and, bending -over, kissed it and hugged it to her breast. “Oh father! what have I -done that you should seem to mistrust me? You have always trusted me; -trust me now, and don’t make me speak till we are alone!” - -I could not be silent any longer. My blood began to boil, that she I -loved should be so distressed—whatsoever the cause, and at the hands of -whomsoever, even her father. - -“Mr. Joyce, you must let me speak! You would speak yourself to save -pain to a woman you loved.” He turned to tell me to be silent, but -suddenly stopped; I went on:—“Norah,” he winced as I spoke her name, -“is entirely blameless. I met her quite by chance at the top of -Knocknacar when I went to see the view. I did not know who she was—I -had not the faintest suspicion; but from that moment I loved her. I -went next day, and waited all day in the chance of seeing her; I did -see her, but again came away in ignorance even of her name. I sought -her again, day after day, day after day, but could get no word of -her; for I did not know who she was, or where she came from. Then, by -chance, and after many weary days, again I saw her in the Cliff Fields -below, three days ago. I could no longer be silent, but told her that -I loved her, and asked her to be my wife. She asked a while to think, -and left me, promising to give me an answer on the next evening. I came -again; and I got my answer.” Here Norah, who was sobbing, with her face -turned away, looked round, and said:— - -“Hush! hush! You must not let father know. All the harm will be done!” -Her father answered in a low voice:— - -“All that could be done is done already, daughter. Ye never tould me!” - -“Sir! Norah is worthy of all esteem. Her answer to me was that she -could not leave her father, who was all alone in the world!” Norah -turned away again, but her father’s arm went round her shoulder. “She -told me I must think no more of her; but, sir, you and I, who are men, -must not let a woman, who is dear to us both make such a sacrifice.” -Joyce’s face was somewhat bitter as he answered me:— - -“Ye think pretty well of yerself, young sir, whin ye consider it a -sacrifice for me daughter to shtay wid the father, who loves her, and -who she loves. There was never a shadda on her life till ye came!” This -was hard to hear, but harder to answer, and I stammered as I replied:— - -“I hope I am man enough to do what is best for her, even if it were -to break my heart. But she must marry some time; it is the lot of the -young and beautiful!” Joyce paused a while, and his look grew very -tender as he made answer softly:— - -“Aye! thrue! thrue! the young birds lave the nist in due sayson—that’s -only natural.” This seemed sufficient concession for the present; but -Andy’s warning rose before me, and I spoke:— - -“Mr. Joyce, God knows! I don’t want to add one drop of bitterness to -either of your lives! only tell me that I may have hope, and I am -content to wait and to try to win your esteem and Norah’s love.” - -The father drew his daughter closer to him, and with his other hand -stroked her hair, and said, whilst his eyes filled with tears:— - -“Ye didn’t wait for me esteem to win her love!” Norah threw herself -into his arms and hid her face on his breast. He went on:— - -“We can’t undo what is done. If Norah loves ye—and it seems to me -that she does—do I shpeak thrue, daughter?” The girl raised her face -bravely, and looked in her father’s eyes:— - -“Yes! father.” A thrill of wild delight rushed through me. As she -dropped her head again, I could see that her neck had - - “The colour of the budding rose’s crest.” - -“Well! well!” Joyce went on, “Ye are both young yit. God knows what -may happen in a year! Lave the girl free a bit to choose. She has not -met many gentlemen in her time; and she may desave herself. Me darlin’! -whativer is for your good shall be done, plase God!” - -“And am I to have her in time?” The instant I had spoken I felt that I -had made a mistake; the man’s face grew hard as he turned to me:— - -“I think for me daughter, sir, not for you! As it is, her happiness -seems to be mixed up with yours—lucky for ye. I suppose ye must meet -now and thin; but ye must both promise me that ye’ll not meet widout me -lave, or, at laste, me knowin’ it. We’re not gentlefolk, sir, and we -don’t undherstand their ways. If ye were of Norah’s and me own kind, I -mightn’t have to say the same; but ye’re not.” - -Things were now so definite that I determined to make one more effort -to fix a time when my happiness might be certain, so I asked:— - -“Then if all be well, and you agree—as please God you shall when you -know me better—when may I claim her?” - -When he was face to face with a definite answer Joyce again grew stern. -He looked down at his daughter and then up at me, and said, stroking -her hair:— - -“Whin the threasure of Knockcalltecrore is found, thin ye may claim her -if ye will, an’ I’ll freely let her go!” As he spoke, there came before -my mind the strong idea that we were all in the power of the Hill— -that it held us; however, as lightly as I could I spoke:— - -“Then I would claim her now!” - -“What do ye mane?”—this was said half anxiously, half fiercely. - -“The treasure of Knockcalltecrore is here; you hold her in your arms!” -He bent over her:— - -“Aye! the threasure sure enough—the threasure ye would rob me of!” Then -he turned to me, and said sternly, but not unkindly:— - -“Go, now! I can’t bear more at prisent; and even me daughter may wish -to be for a while alone wid me!” I bowed my head and turned to leave -the room; but as I was going out, he called me back:— - -“Shtay! Afther all, the young is only young. Ye seem to have done but -little harm—if any.” He held out his hand; I grasped it closely, and -from that instant it seemed that our hearts warmed to each other. -Then I felt bolder, and stepping to Norah took her hand—she made no -resistance—and pressed it to my lips, and went out silently. I had -hardly left the door when Joyce came after me. - -“Come agin in an hour,” he said, and went in and shut the door. - -Then I wandered to the rocks and climbed down the rugged path into the -Cliff Fields. I strode through the tall grass and the weeds, rank with -the continuous rain, and gained the table rock. I climbed it, and sat -where I first had met my love, after I had lost her; and, bending, -I kissed the ground where her feet had rested. And then I prayed as -fervent a prayer as the heart of a lover can yield, for every blessing -on the future of my beloved; and made high resolves that whatsoever -might befall, I would so devote myself that, if a man’s efforts could -accomplish it, her feet should never fall on thorny places. - -I sat there in a tumult of happiness. The air was full of hope, and -love, and light; and I felt that in all the wild glory and fulness of -nature the one unworthy object was myself. - -When the hour was nearly up I went back to the cottage; the door was -open, but I knocked on it with my hand. A tender voice called to me to -come in, and I entered. - -Norah was standing up in the centre of the room. Her face was radiant, -although her sweet eyes were bright with recent tears; and I could see -that in the hour which I had passed on the rock, the hearts of the -father and the child had freely spoken. The old love between them had -taken a newer and fuller and more conscious life—based, as God has -willed it with the hearts of men, on the parent’s sacrifice of self for -the happiness of the child. - -Without a word I took her in my arms. She came without bashfulness -and without fear; only love and trust spoke in every look, and every -moment. The cup of our happiness was full to the brim; and it seemed as -though God saw, and, as of old with His completed plan of the world, -was satisfied that all was good. - -We sat, hand in hand, and told again and again the simple truths that -lovers tell; and we built bright mansions of future hope. There was no -shadow on us, except the shadow that slowly wrapped the earth in the -wake of the sinking sun. The long, level rays of sunset spread through -the diamond panes of the lattice, grew across the floor, and rose on -the opposite wall; but we did not heed them until we heard Joyce’s -voice behind us:— - -“I have been thinkin’ all the day, and I have come to believe that it -is a happy day for us all, sir. I say, though she is my daughter, that -the man that won her heart should be a proud man, for it is a heart -of gold. I must give her to ye. I was sorry at the first, but I do it -freely now. Ye must guard and kape, and hould her as the apple of your -eye. If ye should ever fail or falter, remimber that ye took a great -thrust in takin’ her from me that loved her much, and in whose heart -she had a place—not merely for her own sake, but for the sake of the -dead that loved her.” He faltered a moment, but then coming over, put -his hand in mine, and while he held it there, Norah put her arm around -his neck, and laying her sweet head on his broad, manly breast, said -softly:— - -“Father, you are very good, and I am very, very happy!” Then she took -my hand and her father’s together, and said to me:— - -“Remember, he is to be as your father, too; and that you owe him all -the love and honour that I do!” - -“Amen,” I said, solemnly; and we three wrung each others’ hands. - -Before I went away, I said to Joyce:— - -“You told me I might claim her when the treasure of the Hill was found. -Well! give me a month, and perhaps, if I don’t have the one you mean, I -may have another.” I wanted to keep, for the present, the secret of my -purchase of the old farm, so as to make a happy surprise when I should -have actual possession. - -“What do ye mane?” he said. - -“I shall tell you when the month is up,” I answered; “or if the -treasure is found sooner—but you must trust me till then.” - -Joyce’s face looked happy as he strolled out, evidently leaving me a -chance of saying good-bye alone to Norah; she saw it too, and followed -him. - -“Don’t go father!” she said. At the door she turned her sweet face to -me, and with a shy look at her father, kissed me, and blushed rosy red. - -“That’s right, me girl,” said Joyce, “honest love is without shame! Ye -need never fear to kiss your lover before me.” - -Again we stayed talking for a little while. I wanted to say good-bye -again; but this last time I had to give the kiss myself. As I looked -back from the gate, I saw father and daughter standing close together; -he had his arm round her shoulder, and the dear head that I loved lay -close on his breast, as they both waved me farewell. - -I went back to Carnaclif, feeling as though I walked on air; and -my thoughts were in the heaven that lay behind my footsteps as I -went—though before me on the path of life. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - BOG-FISHING AND SCHOOLING. - - -When I got near home, I met Dick, who had strolled out to meet me. -He was looking much happier than when I had left him in the morning. -I really believe that now that the shock of his own disappointment -had passed, he was all the happier that my affair had progressed -satisfactorily. I told him all that had passed, and he agreed with -the advice given by Joyce, that for a little while, nothing should be -said about the matter. We walked together to the hotel, I hurrying the -pace somewhat, for it had begun to dawn upon me that I had eaten but -little in the last twenty-four hours. It was prosaic, but true; I was -exceedingly hungry. Joy seldom interferes with the appetite; it is -sorrow or anxiety which puts it in deadly peril. - -When we got to the hotel, we found Andy waiting outside the door. He -immediately addressed me:— - -“‘Och musha! but it’s the sad man I am this day! Here’s Masther Art giv -over intirely to the fairies. An’ its leprachaun catchin’, he has been -onto this blissed day. Luk at him! isn’t it full iv sorra he is. Give -up the fairies, Masther Art!—Do thry an make him, Misther Dick!—an’ -take to fallin’ head over ears in love wid some nice young girrul. -Sure, Miss Norah herself, bad as she is, ’d be betther nor none at all, -though she doesn’t come up to Masther Art’s rulin’!” - -This latter remark was made to Dick, who immediately asked him:— - -“What is that, Andy?” - -“Begor! yer ’an’r, Masther Art has a quare kind iv a girrul in his eye -intirely, wan he used to be lukin’ for on the top iv Knocknacar—the -fairy girrul yer ’an’r,” he added to me in an explanatory manner. - -“I suppose, yer ’an’r,” turning to me, “ye haven’t saw her this day?” - -“I saw nobody to answer your description, Andy; and I fear I wouldn’t -know a fairy girl if I saw one,” said I, as I passed into the house -followed by Dick, whilst Andy, laughing loudly, went round to the back -of the house, where the bar was. - -That was, for me at any rate, a very happy evening. Dick and I sat -up late and smoked, and went over the ground that we had passed, and -the ground that we were, please God, to pass in time. I felt grateful -to the dear old fellow, and spoke much of his undertakings both at -Knocknacar and at Knokcalltecrore. He told me that he was watching -carefully the experiment at the former place as a guide to the latter. -After some explanations, he said:— - -“There is one thing there which rather disturbs me. Even with the -unusual amount of rain which we have had lately, the flow or drain of -water from the bog is not constant; it does not follow the rains as I -expected. There seems to be some process of silting, or choking, or -damming up the walls of what I imagine to be the different sections or -reservoirs of the bog. I cannot make it out, and it disturbs me; for -if the same process goes on at Knockcalltecrore, there might be any -kind of unforeseen disaster in case of the shifting of the bog. I am -not at all easy about the way Murdock is going on there. Ever since -we found the indication of iron in the bog itself, he has taken every -occasion when I am not there to dig away at one of the clay banks that -jut into it. I have warned him that he is doing a very dangerous thing, -but he will not listen. To-morrow, when I go up, I shall speak to him -seriously. He went into Galway with a cart the night before last, and -was to return by to-morrow morning. Perhaps he has some game on. I must -see what it is.” - -Before we parted for the night we had arranged to go together in the -morning to Knockcalltecrore, for of course I had made up my mind that -each day should see me there. - -In the morning, early, we drove over. We left Andy, as usual, in the -boreen at the foot of the hill, and walked up together. I left Dick at -Murdock’s gate, and then hurried as fast as my legs could carry me to -Joyce’s. - -Norah must have had wonderful ears. She heard my footsteps in the -lane, and when I arrived at the gate she was there to meet me. She -said, “Good morning,” shyly, as we shook hands. For an instant she -evidently feared that I was going to kiss her, there in the open where -someone might see; but almost as quickly she realized that she was safe -so far, and we went up to the cottage together. Then came my reward; -for, when the door was closed, she put her arms round my neck as I took -her in my arms, and our lips met in a sweet, long kiss. Our happiness -was complete. Anyone who has met the girl he loved the day after -his engagement to her, can explain why or how—if any explanation be -required. - -Joyce was away in the fields. We sat hand in hand, and talked for a -good while; but I took no note of time. - -Suddenly Norah looked up. “Hush!” she said. “There is a step in the -boreen; it is your friend, Mr. Sutherland.” We sat just a little -further apart and let go hands. Then the gate clicked, and even I heard -Dick’s steps as he quickly approached. He knocked at the door; we both -called out “Come in” simultaneously, and then looked at each other and -blushed. The door opened and Dick entered. He was very pale, but in a -couple of seconds his pallor passed away. He greeted Norah cordially, -and she sweetly bade him welcome; then he turned to me:— - -“I am very sorry to disturb you, old fellow, but would you mind coming -down to Murdock’s for a bit? There is some work which I wish you to -give me a hand with.” - -I started up and took my hat, whispered good-bye to Norah, and went -with him. She did not come to the door; but from the gate I looked back -and saw her sweet face peeping through the diamond pane of the lattice. - -“What is it, Dick?” I asked, as we went down the lane. - -“A new start to-day. Murdock evidently thinks we have got on the track -of something. He went into Galway for a big grapnel; and now we are -making an effort to lift it—whatever ‘it’ is—out of the bog.” - -“By Jove!” said I, “things are getting close.” - -“Yes,” said Dick. “And I am inclined to think he is right. There is -most probably a considerable mass of iron in the bog. We have located -the spot, and are only waiting for you, so as to be strong enough to -make a cast.” - -When we got to the edge of the bog we found Murdock standing beside a -temporary jetty, arranged out of a long plank, with one end pinned to -the ground and the centre supported on a large stone, placed on the -very edge of the solid ground, where a rock cropped up. Beside him was -a very large grappling-iron, some four feet wide, attached to a coil of -strong rope. When we came up, he saluted me in a half surly manner, and -we set to work, Dick saying, as we began:— - -“Mr. Severn, Mr. Murdock has asked us to help in raising something -from the bog. He prefers to trust us, whom he knows to be gentlemen, -than to let his secret be shared in with anyone else.” - -Dick got out on the end of the plank, holding the grapnel and a coil of -the rope in his hand, whilst the end of the coil was held by Murdock. - -I could see from the appearance of the bog that someone had been lately -working at it, for it was all broken about as though to make a hole in -it, and a long pole that lay beside where I stood was covered with wet -and slime. - -Dick poised the grapnel carefully, and then threw it out. It sank into -the bog, slowly at first, but then more quickly; an amount of rope ran -out which astonished me, for I knew that the bog must be at least so -deep. - -Suddenly the run of the rope ceased, and we knew that the grapnel had -gone as far as it could. Murdock and I then held the rope, and Dick -took the pole and poked and beat a passage for it through the bog up to -the rock where we stood. Then he, too, joined us, and we all began to -pull. - -For a few feet we pulled in the slack of the rope. Then there was a -little more resistance for some three or four feet, and we knew that -the grapnel was dragging on the bottom. Suddenly there was a check, and -Murdock gave a suppressed shout:— - -“We have got it! I feel it! Pull away for your lives!” - -We kept a steady pull on the rope. At first there was simply a dead -weight, and in my own mind I was convinced that we had caught a piece -of projecting rock. Murdock would have got unlimited assistance and -torn out of the bog whatever it was that we had got hold of, even if -he had to tear up the rocks by the roots; but Dick kept his head, and -directed a long steady pull. - -There was a sudden yielding, and then again resistance. We continued -to pull, and then the rope began to come, but very slowly, and there -was a heavy weight attached to it. Even Dick was excited now. Murdock -shut his teeth, and scowled like a demon; it would have gone hard with -anyone who came then between him and his prize. As for myself, I was in -a tumult. In addition to the natural excitement of the time, there rose -to my memory Joyce’s words:—“When the treasure is found you may claim -her if you will;”—and, although the need for such an occasion passed -away with his more free consent, the effect that they had at the time -produced on me remained in my mind. - -Here, then, was the treasure at last; its hiding for a century in the -bog had come to an end. - -We pulled and pulled. Heavens! how we tugged at that rope. Foot after -foot it came up through our hands, wet and slimy, and almost impossible -to hold. Now and again it slipped from each of us in turns a few -inches, and a muttered “steady! steady!” was all the sound heard. It -took all three of us to hold the weight, and so no one could be spared -to make an effort to further aid us by any mechanical appliance. The -rope lay beside us in seemingly an endless coil. I began to wonder if -it would ever end. Our breath began to come quickly, our hands were -cramped. There came a new and more obstinate resistance. I could not -account for it. Dick cried out:— - -“It is under the roots of the bog; we must now take it up straight. Can -you two hold on for a moment? and I shall get on the plank.” We nodded, -breath was too precious for unnecessary speech. - -Dick slacked out after we had got our feet planted for a steady -resistance. He then took a handful of earth, and went out on the plank -a little beyond the centre and caught the rope. When he held it firmly -with his clay-covered hands, he said:— - -“Come now, Art. Murdock, you stay and pull.” I ran to him, and, taking -my hands full of earth, caught the rope also. - -The next few minutes saw a terrible struggle. Our faces were almost -black with the rush of blood in stooping and lifting so long and so -hard, our hands and backs ached to torture, and we were almost in -despair, when we saw the bog move just under us. This gave us new -courage and new strength, and with redoubled effort we pulled at the -rope. - -Then up through the bog came a large mass. We could not see what -it was, for the slime and the bog covered it solidly; but with a -final effort we lifted it. Each instant it grew less weighty as the -resistance of the bog was overcome, and the foul slimy surface fell -back into its place and became tranquil. When we lifted and pulled the -mass on the rock bank, Murdock rushed forward in a frenzied manner, and -shouted to us:— - -“Kape back! Hands off! It’s mine, I say, all mine! Don’t dar even to -touch it, or I’ll do ye a harrum! Here, clear off! this is my land! -Go!” and he turned on us with the energy of a madman and the look of a -murderer. - -I was so overcome with my physical exertions that I had not a word to -say, but simply in utter weariness threw myself upon the ground; but -Dick, with what voice he could command, said:— - -“You’re a nice grateful fellow to men who have helped you! Keep your -find to yourself, man alive; we don’t want to share. You must know that -as well as I do, unless your luck has driven you mad. Handle the thing -yourself, by all means. Faugh! how filthy it is!” and he too sat down -beside me. - -It certainly was most filthy. It was a shapeless irregular mass, but -made solid with rust and ooze and the bog surface through which it had -been dragged. The slime ran from it in a stream; but its filth had -no deterring power for Murdock, who threw himself down beside it and -actually kissed the nauseous mass as he murmured:— - -“At last! at last! me threasure! All me own!” - -Dick stood up with a look of disgust on his handsome face:— - -“Come away, Art; it’s too terrible to see a man degraded to this pitch. -Leave the wretch alone with his god!” Murdock turned to us, and said -with savage glee:— - -“No! shtay! Sthay an’ see me threasure! It’ll make ye happy to think of -afther! An’ ye can tell Phelim Joyce what I found in me own land—the -land what I tuk from him.” We stayed. - -Murdock took his spade and began to remove the filth and rubbish from -the mass. And in a very few moments his discovery proclaimed itself. - -There lay before us a rusty iron gun-carriage! This was what we had -dragged with so much effort from the bottom of the bog; and beside it -Murdock sat down with a scowl of black disappointment. - -“Come away!” said Dick. “Poor devil, I pity him! It is hard to find -even a god of that kind worthless!” And so we turned and left Murdock -sitting beside the gun-carriage and the slime, with a look of baffled -greed which I hope never to see on any face again. - -We went to a brook at the foot of the hill, Andy being by this time -in the sheebeen about half a mile off. There we cleansed ourselves as -well as we could from the hideous slime and filth of the bog, and then -walked to the top of the hill to let the breeze freshen us up a bit if -possible. After we had been there for a while, Dick said:— - -“Now, Art, you had better run back to the cottage. Miss Joyce will be -wondering what has become of you all this time, and may be frightened.” -It was so strange to hear her—Norah, my Norah—called “Miss Joyce,” that -I could not help smiling—and blushing whilst I smiled. Dick noticed and -guessed the cause. He laid his hand on my shoulder, and said:— - -“You will hear it often, old lad. I am the only one of all your friends -privileged to hear of her by the name you knew her by at first. She -goes now into your class and amongst your own circle; and, by George! -she will grace it too—it or any circle—and they will naturally give to -her folk the same measure of courtesy that they mete to each other. She -is Miss Joyce—until she shall be Mrs. Arthur Severn!” - -What a delicious thrill the very thought sent through me! - -I went up to the cottage, and on entering found Norah still alone. -She knew that I was under promise not to tell anything of Murdock’s -proceedings, but noticing that I was not so tidy as before—for my -cleansing at the brook-side was a very imperfect one—went quietly and -got a basin with hot water, soap, and a towel, and clothes brush, and -said I must come and be made very tidy. - -That toilet was to me a sweet experience, and is a sweet remembrance -now. It was so wifely in its purpose and its method, that I went -through it in a languorous manner—like one in a delicious dream. When, -with a blush, she brought me her own brush and comb and began to -smooth my hair, I was as happy as it is given to a man to be. There -is a peculiar sensitiveness in their hair to some men, and to have -it touched by hands that they love is a delicious sensation. When my -toilet was complete Norah took me by the hand and made me sit down -beside her. After a pause, she said to me with a gathering blush:— - -“I want to ask you something.” - -“And I want to ask you something,” said I. “Norah, dear! there is one -thing I want much to ask you.” - -She seemed to suspect or guess what I was driving at, for she said:— - -“You must let me ask mine first.” - -“No, no!” I replied. “You must answer me; and then, you know, you will -have the right to ask what you like.” - -“But I do not want any right.” - -“Then it will be all the more pleasure to me to give a favour—if there -can be any such from me to you.” - -Masculine persistence triumphed—men are always more selfish than -women—and I asked my question:— - -“Norah, darling—tell me when will you be mine—my very own? When shall -we be married?” - -The love-light was sweet in her eyes as she answered me with a blush -that made perfect the smile on her lips:— - -“Nay! You should have let me ask my question first.” - -“Why so, dearest?” - -“Because, dear, I am thinking of the future. You know, Arthur, that I -love you, and that whatever you wish, I would and shall gladly do; but -you must think for me too. I am only a peasant girl—” - -“Peasant!” I laughed. “Norah, you are the best lady I have ever seen! -Why, you are like a queen—what a queen ought to be!” - -“I am proud and happy, Arthur, that you think so; but still I am only a -peasant! Look at me—at my dress. Yes! I know you like it, and I shall -always prize it because it found favour in your eyes!” She smiled -happily, but went on:— - -“Dear, I am speaking very truly. My life and surroundings are not -yours. You are lifting me to a higher grade in life, Arthur, and I want -to be worthy of it and of you. I do not want any of your family or your -friends to pity you and say, ‘Poor fellow, he has made a sad mistake. -Look at her manners—she is not of us.’ I could not bear to hear or to -know that such was said—that anyone should have to pity the man I love, -and to have that pity because of me. Arthur, it would break my heart!” - -As she spoke the tears welled up in the deep dark eyes and rolled -unchecked down her cheeks. I caught her to my breast with the sudden -instinct of protection, and cried out:— - -“Norah! no one on earth could say such a thing of you—you who would -lift a man, not lower him. You could not be ungraceful if you tried; -and as for my family and friends, if there is one who will not hold out -both hands to you and love you, he or she is no kin or friend of mine.” - -“But, Arthur, they might be right! I have learned enough to know that -there is so much more to learn—that the great world you live in is so -different from our quiet, narrow life here. Indeed, I do not mean to -be nervous as to the future, or to make any difficulties; but, dear, I -should like to be able to do all that is right and necessary as your -wife. Remember, that when I leave here I shall not have one of my own -kin or friends to tell me anything—from whom I could ask advice. They -do not themselves even know what I might want—not one of them all! Your -world and mine, dear, are so different—as yet.” - -“But, Norah, shall I not be always by your side to ask?”—I felt very -superior and very strong as well as very loving as I spoke. - -“Yes, yes; but oh! Arthur—can you not understand—I love you so that I -would like to be, even in the eyes of others, all that you could wish. -But, dear, you must understand and help me here. I cannot reason with -you. Even now I feel my lack of knowledge, and it makes me fearful. -Even now”—her voice died away in a sob, and she hid her beautiful eyes -with her hand. - -“My darling! my darling!” I said to her passionately—all the true lover -in me awake—“Tell me what it is that you wish, so that I may try to -judge with all my heart.” - -“Arthur! I want you to let me go to school—to a good school for a -while—a year or two before we are married. Oh! I should work so hard! I -should try so earnestly to improve—for I should feel that every hour of -honest work brought me higher and nearer to your level!” - -My heart was more touched than even my passion gave me words to -tell—and I tried, and tried hard, to tell her what I felt—and in my -secret heart a remorseful thought went up: “What have I done in my life -to be worthy of so much love!” - -Then, as we sat hand in hand, we discussed how it was to be done—for -that it was to be done we were both agreed. I had told her that we -should so arrange it that she should go for awhile to Paris, and then -to Dresden, and finish up with an English school. That she could learn -languages, and that amongst them would be Italian; but that she would -not go to Italy until we went together—on our honeymoon. She bent her -head and listened in silent happiness; and when I spoke of our journey -together to Italy, and how we would revel in old-world beauty—in the -softness and light and colour of that magic land—the delicate porcelain -of her shell-like ear became tinged with pink, and I bent over and -kissed it. And then she turned and threw herself on my breast, and hid -her face. - -As I looked I saw the pink spread downward and grow deeper and deeper, -till her neck and all became flushed with crimson. And then she put -me aside, rose up, and with big brave eyes looked me full in the face -through all her deep embarrassment, and said to me:— - -“Arthur, of course I don’t know much of the great world, but I suppose -it is not usual for a man to pay for the schooling of a lady before she -is his wife—whatever might be arranged between them afterwards. You -know that my dear father has no money for such a purpose as we have -spoken of, and so if you think it is wiser, and would be less hardly -spoken of in your family, I would marry you before I went—if—if you -wished it. But we would wait till after I came from school to—to—to go -to Italy,” and whilst the flush deepened almost to a painful degree, -she put her hands before her face and turned away. - -Such a noble sacrifice of her own feelings and her own wishes—and -although I felt it in my heart of hearts I am sure none but a woman -could fully understand it—put me upon my mettle, and it was with truth -I spoke:— - -“Norah, if anything could have added to my love and esteem for you, -your attitude to me in this matter has done it. My darling, I shall try -hard all my life to be worthy of you, and that you may never, through -any act of mine, decline for a moment from the standard you have fixed. -God knows I could have no greater pride or joy than that this very -moment I should call you my wife. My dear! my dear! I shall count the -very hours until that happy time shall come. But all shall be as you -wish. You will go to the schools we spoke of, and your father shall pay -for them. He will not refuse, I know, and what is needed he shall have. -If there be any way that he would prefer—that suits your wishes—it -shall be done. More than this! if he thinks it right, we can be married -before you go, and you can keep your own name until my time comes to -claim you.” - -“No! no! Arthur. When once I shall bear your name I shall be too proud -of it to be willing to have any other. But I want, when I do bear it, -to bear it worthily—I want to come to you as I think your wife should -come.” - -“My dear, dear Norah—my wife to be—all shall be as you wish.” - -Here we heard the footsteps of Joyce approaching. - -“I had better tell him,” she said. - -When he came in she had his dinner ready. He greeted me warmly. - -“Won’t ye stay?” he said. “Don’t go unless ye wish to!” - -“I think, sir, Norah wants to have a chat with you when you have had -your dinner.” - -Norah smiled a kiss at me as I went out. At the door I turned and said -to her:— - -“I shall be in the Cliff Field in case I am wanted.” - -I went there straightway, and sat on the table rock in the centre of -the fields, and thought and thought. In all my thought there was no -cloud. Each day—each hour seemed to reveal new beauties in the girl I -loved, and I felt as if all the world were full of sunshine, and all -the future of hope; and I built new resolves to be worthy of the good -fortune which had come upon me. - -It was not long before Norah came to me, and said that she had told her -father, and that he wished to speak with me. She said that he quite -agreed about the school, and that there would be no difficulty made by -him on account of any false pride about my helping in the task. We had -but one sweet minute together on the rock, and one kiss; and then, hand -in hand, we hurried back to the cottage, and found Joyce waiting for -us, smoking his pipe. - -Norah took me inside, and, after kissing her father, came shyly and -kissed me also, and went out. Joyce began:— - -“Me daughter has been tellin’ me about the plan of her goin’ to school, -an’ her an’ me’s agreed that it’s the right thing to do. Of coorse, -we’re not of your class, an’ if ye wish for her it is only right an’ -fair that she should be brought up to the level of the people that -she’s goin’ into. It’s not in me own power to do all this for her, an’ -although I didn’t give her the schoolin’ that the quality has, I’ve -done already more nor min like me mostly does. Norah knows more nor -any girl about here—an’ as ye’re to have the benefit of yer wife’s -schoolin’, I don’t see no rayson why ye shouldn’t help in it. Mind -ye this—if I could see me way to do it meself, I’d work me arms off -before I’d let you or any one else come between her an’ me in such -a thing. But it’d be only a poor kind of pride that’d hurt the poor -child’s feelins, an’ mar her future—an’ so it’ll be as ye both wish. Ye -must find out the schools an’ write me about them when ye go back to -London.” I jumped up and shook his hand. - -“Mr. Joyce, I am more delighted than I can tell you; and I promise, on -my honour, that you shall never in your life regret what you have done.” - -“I’m sure of that—Mr.—Mr.—” - -“Call me Arthur!” - -“Well! I must do it some day—Arthur—an’ as to the matther that Norah -told me ye shpoke of—that, if I’d wish it, ye’d be married first. Well! -me own mind an’ Norah’s is the same—I’d rather that she come to you as -a lady at wance—though God knows! it’s a lady she is in all ways I iver -see one in me life—barrin’ the clothes!” - -“That’s true, Mr. Joyce! there is no better lady in all the land.” - -“Well, that’s all settled. Ye’ll let me know in good time about the -schools, won’t ye? an’ now I must get back to me work,” and he passed -out of the house, and went up the hillside. - -Then Norah came back, and with joy I told her that all had been -settled; and somehow, we seemed to have taken another step up the -ascent that leads from earth to heaven—and that all feet may tread, -which are winged with hope. - -Presently Norah sent me away for a while, saying that she had some work -to do, as she expected both Dick and myself to come back to tea with -them; and I went off to look for Dick. - -I found him with Murdock. The latter had got over his disappointment, -and had evidently made up his mind to trust to Dick’s superior -knowledge and intelligence. He was feverishly anxious to continue his -search, and when I came up we held a long discussion as to the next -measure to be taken. The afternoon faded away in this manner before -Murdock summed up the matter thus:— - -“The chist was carried on the gun-carriage, and where wan is th’ other -is not far off. The min couldn’t have carried the chist far, from what -ould Moynahan sez. His father saw the min carryin’ the chist only a wee -bit.” Dick said:— - -“There is one thing, Murdock, that I must warn you about. You have been -digging in the clay bank by the edge of the bog. I told you before -how dangerous this is; now, more than ever, I see the danger of it. -It was only to-day that we got an idea of the depth of the bog, and -it rather frightens me to think that with all this rain falling you -should be tampering with what is more important to you than even the -foundations of your house. The bog has risen far too much already, -and you have only to dig perhaps one spadeful too much in the right -place and you’ll have a torrent that will sweep away all you have. I -have told you that I don’t like the locality of your house down in the -hollow. If the bog ever moves again, God help you! You seem also to -have been tampering with the stream that runs into the Cliff Fields. -It is all very well for you to try to injure poor Joyce more than you -have done—and that’s quite enough, God knows!—but here you are actually -imperilling your own safety. That stream is the safety valve of the -bog, and if you continue to dam up that cleft in the rock you will -have a terrible disaster. Mind now! I warn you seriously against what -you are doing. And besides, you do not even know for certain that the -treasure is here. Why, it may be anywhere on the mountain, from the -brook below the boreen to the Cliff Fields; is the off chance worth the -risk you run?” Murdock started when he mentioned the Cliff Fields, and -then said suddenly:— - -“If ye’re afraid ye can go. I’m not.” - -“Man alive!” said Dick, “why not be afraid if you see cause for fear? -I don’t suppose I’m a coward any more than you are, but I can see a -danger, and a very distinct one, from what you are doing. Your house -is directly in the track in which the bog has shifted at any time this -hundred years; and if there should be another movement, I would not -like to be in the house when the time comes.” - -“All right!” he returned doggedly, “I’ll take me chance; and I’ll find -the threasure, too, before many days is over!” - -“Well; but be reasonable also, or you may find your death!” - -“Well, if I do that’s me own luk out. Ye may find yer death first!” - -“Of course I may, but I see it my duty to warn you. The weather these -last few weeks back has been unusually wet. The bog is rising as it is. -As a matter of fact, it is nearly a foot higher now than it was when I -came here first; and yet you are doing what must help to rise it higher -still, and are weakening its walls at the same time.” He scowled at me -as he sullenly answered:— - -“Well, all I say is I’ll do as I like wid me own. I wouldn’t give up me -chance iv findin’ the threasure now—no, not for God himself!” - -“Hush! man; hush!” said Dick sternly, as we turned away. “Do not tempt -Him, but be warned in time!” - -“Let Him look out for Himself, an’ I’ll look out for meself,” he -answered with a sneer. “I’ll find the threasure—an’ if need be in spite -iv God an’ iv the Divil too!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - MURDOCK’S WOOING. - - -I think it was a real pleasure to Dick to get Norah’s message that he -was expected to tea that evening. Like the rest of his sex, he was not -quite free from vanity; for when I told him, his first act was to look -down at himself ruefully, and his first words were:— - -“But I say, old lad! look at the mess I’m in; and these clothes are not -much, anyhow.” - -“Never mind, Dick, you are as good as I am.” - -“Oh, well!” he laughed, “if you’ll do, I suppose I needn’t mind. We’re -both pretty untidy. No, begad,” he added, looking me all over, “you’re -not out of the perpendicular with regard to cleanliness, anyhow. I say, -Art! who’s been tidying you up? Oh! I see! Forgive me, old lad; and -quite natural, too! Miss Joyce should see you blush, Art! Why, you are -as rosy as a girl!” - -“Call her ‘Norah,’ Dick! it is more natural, and I am sure she will -like it better. She is to look on you as a brother, you know!” - -“All right, Art,” he answered heartily, “but you must manage it for -me, for I think I should be alarmed to do so unless I got a lead; but -it will come easy enough after the first go off. Remember, we both -always thought of her as ‘Norah!’” - -We went down towards the brook and met with Andy, who had the car all -ready for us. - -“Begor yer ’an’rs,” said he, “I thought yez was lost intirely, or that -the fairies had carried yez off; both iv yez this time.”—This with -a sly look at me, followed by a portentous wink to Dick. “An’ I’m -thinkin’ it’s about time fur somethin’ to ate. Begor! but me stummick -is cryin’ out that me throat is cut!” - -“You’re quite right, Andy, as to the fact,” said Dick, “but you are a -little antecedent.” - -“An’ now what’s that, surr? Begor! I niver was called that name afore. -Shure, an’ I always thry to be dacent—divvle a man but can tell ye -that! Antidacent indeed! Well now! what nixt?” - -“It means, Andy, that we are going to be carried off by the fairies, -and to have some supper with them too; and that you are to take this -half-crown, and go over to Mother Kelligan’s, and get her to try to -dissipate that unnatural suspicion of capital offence wreaked on your -thoracic region. Here, catch! and see how soon you can be off!” - -“Hurroo! Begor, yer ’an’r, it’s the larned gintleman y’ are! Musha! but -ye ought to be a councillor intirely! Gee-up! ye ould corncrake!” and -Andy was off at full speed. - -When we had got rid of him, Dick and I went down to the brook, and -made ourselves look as tidy as we could. At least Dick did; for, as to -myself, I purposely disarranged my hair—unknown to Dick—in the hope -that Norah would take me in hand again, and that I might once more -experience the delicious sensation of a toilet aided by her sweet -fingers. - -Young men’s ideas, however, are very crude; no one who knew either the -Sex or the World would have fallen into such an absurd hope. When I -came in with Dick, Norah—in spite of some marked hints, privately and -secretly given to her—did not make either the slightest remark on my -appearance, or the faintest suggestion as to improving it. - -She had not been idle in the afternoon. The room, which was always -tidy, was as prettily arranged as the materials would allow. There were -some flowers, and flag-leaves, and grasses tastefully placed about; -and on the table, in a tumbler, was a bunch of scarlet poppies. The -tablecloth, although of coarse material, was as white as snow, and the -plates and cups, of common white and blue, were all that was required. - -When Joyce came in from his bedroom, where he had been tidying himself, -he looked so manly and handsome in his dark frieze coat with horn -buttons, his wide unstarched shirt-collar, striped waistcoat, and cord -breeches, with grey stockings, that I felt quite proud of him. There -was a natural grace and dignity about him which suited him so well, -that I had no wish to see him other than a peasant. He became the -station, and there was no pretence. He made a rough kind of apology to -us both:— - -“I fear ye’ll find things a bit rough, compared with what you’re -accustomed to, but I know ye’ll not mind. We have hardly got settled -down here yit; and me sisther, who always lives with us, is away with -me other sisther that is sick, so Norah has to fare by herself; but -gentlemen both—you, Mr. Sutherland; and you, Arthur—you’re welcome! - -We sat down to table, and Norah insisted on doing all the attendance -herself. I wanted to help her, and, when she was taking up a plate of -cakes from the hearth, stooped beside her and said:— - -“May not I help, Norah? Do let me!” - -“No—no, dear,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me now—I’m a little strange -yet—another time. You’ll be very good, won’t you, and help me not to -feel awkward?” - -Needless to say I sat at table for the rest of the meal, and feasted my -eyes on my darling, whilst in common with the others I enjoyed the good -things placed before us. But when she saw that I looked too long and -too lovingly, she gave me such an imploring glance from her eloquent -eyes, that for the remainder of the time I restrained both the ardour -of my glance and its quantity within modest bounds. - -Oh! but she was fair and sweet to look upon! Her dark hair was plainly -combed back, and coiled modestly round her lovely head. She had on her -red petticoat and chintz body, that she knew I admired so much; and on -her breast she wore a great scarlet poppy, whose splendid colour suited -well her dark and noble beauty. At the earliest opportunity, when tea -was over, I whispered to her:— - -“My darling, how well the poppy suits you. How beautiful you are. You -are like the Goddess of Sleep!” She put her finger to her lips with a -happy smile, as though to forbid me to pay compliments—before others. I -suppose the woman has never yet been born—and never shall be—who would -not like to hear her praises from the man she loves. - -I had eaten potato-cakes before, but never such as Norah had made for -us; possibly they seemed so good to me because I knew that her hands -had made them. The honey, too, was the nicest I had tasted—for it was -made by Norah’s bees. The butter was perfect—for it was the work of her -hands! - -I do not think that a happier party ever assembled round a tea-table. -Joyce was now quite reconciled to the loss of his daughter, and was -beaming all over; and Dick’s loyal nature had its own reward, for he -too was happy in the happiness of those he loved—or else I was, and am, -the most obtuse fool, and he the most consummate actor, that has been. -As for Norah and myself, I know we were happy—as happy as it is given -to mortals to be. - -When tea was over, and Norah fetched her father’s pipe and lighted it -for him, she said to me with a sweet blush, as she called me by my name -for the first time before a stranger:— - -“I suppose, Arthur, you and Mr. Sutherland would like your own cigars -best; but if you care for a pipe there are some new ones here,” and she -pointed them out. We lit our cigars, and sat round the fire; for in -this damp weather the nights were getting a little chilly. Joyce sat -on one side of the fire and Dick on the other. I sat next to Dick, and -Norah took her place between her father and me, sitting on a little -stool beside her father and leaning, her head against his knees, whilst -she took the hand that was fondly laid over her shoulder and held it in -her own. Presently, as the grey autumn twilight died away, and as the -light from the turf fire rose and fell, throwing protecting shadows, -her other hand stole towards my own—which was waiting to receive it; -and we sat silent for a spell, Norah and I in an ecstasy of quiet -happiness. - -By-and-by we heard a click at the latch of the gate, and firm, heavy -footsteps coming up the path. Norah jumped up, and peeped out of the -window. - -“Who is it, daughter?” said Joyce. - -“Oh father! it is Murdock! What can he want?” - -There was a knock at the door. Joyce rose up, motioning to us to sit -still, laid aside his pipe, and went to the door and opened it. Every -word that was spoken was perfectly plain to us all. - -“Good evenin’, Phelim Joyce!” - -“Good evenin’! You want me?” - -“I do.” Murdock’s voice was fixed and firm, as of one who has made up -his mind. - -“What is it?” - -“May I come in? I want to shpake to ye particular.” - -“No, Murtagh Murdock! Whin a man comes undher me roof by me own -consint, I’m not free wid him to spake me mind the same as whin he’s -outside. Ye haven’t thrated me well, Murdock. Ye’ve been hard wid me; -and there’s much that I can’t forgive!” - -“Well! if I did, ye gev me what no other man has ever gave me yit -widout repintin’ it sore. Ye sthruck me a blow before all the people, -an’ I didn’t strike ye back.” - -“I did, Murtagh; an’ I’m sorry for it. That blow has been hangin’ on me -conscience iver since. I would take it back if I could; God knows that -is thrue. Much as ye wronged me, I don’t want such a thing as that to -remimber when me eyes is closin’. Murtagh Murdock, I take it back, an’ -gladly. Will ye let me?” - -“I will—on wan condition.” - -“What is it?” - -“That’s what I’ve kem here to shpake about; but I’d like to go in.” - -“No! ye can’t do that—not yit, at any rate, till I know what ye want. -Ye must remimber, Murtagh, that I’ve but small rayson to thrust ye!” - -“Well, Phelim, I’ll tell ye; tho’ it’s mortial hard to name it -shtandin’ widout the door like a thramp! I’m a warrum man; I’ve a power -iv money put by, an’ it brings me in much.” - -“I know! I know!” said the other bitterly. “God help me! but I know too -well how it was gother up.” - -“Well! niver mind that now; we all know that. Anyhow, it _is_ gother -up. An’ them as finds most fault wid the manes, mayhap ’d be the first -to get hould iv it av they could. Well, anyhow, I’m warrum enough to -ask any girrul in these parts to share it wid me. There’s many min and -weemin between this and Galway, that’d like to talk over the fortin iv -their daughter wid Murtagh Murdock—for all he’s a gombeen man.” - -As he spoke, the clasp of Norah’s hand and mine grew closer. I could -feel in her clasp both a clinging, as for protection, and a restraining -power on myself. Murdock went on:— - -“But there’s none of thim girls what I’ve set me harrt on—except wan!” -He paused. Joyce said quietly:— - -“An’ who, now, might that be?” - -“Yer own daughther, Norah Joyce!” Norah’s hand restrained me as I was -instinctively rising. - -“Go on!” said Joyce, and I could notice that there was a suppressed -passion in his voice:— - -“Well, I’ve set me harrt on her; and I’m willin’ to settle a fortin on -her, on wan condition.” - -“And what, now, might that be?”—the tone was of veiled sarcasm. - -“She’ll have all the money that I settle on her to dale wid as she -likes—that is, the intherest iv it—as long as she lives; an’ I’m to -have the Cliff Fields that is hers, as me own to do what I like wid, -an’ that them an’ all in them belongs to me.” Joyce paused a moment -before answering:— - -“Is that all ye have to say?” Murdock seemed nonplussed, but after a -slight pause he answered:— - -“Yis!” - -“An’ ye want me answer?” - -“Iv coorse!” - -“Thin, Murtagh Murdock, I’d like to ask ye for why me daughter would -marry you or the like of you? Is it because that yer beauty ’d take a -young girl’s fancy—you that’s known as the likest thing to a divil in -these parts! Or is it because of yer kind nature? You that tried to -ruin her own father, and that drove both her and him out of the home -she was born in, and where her poor mother died! Is it because yer -characther is respicted in the counthry wheriver yer name is known?——” -Here Murdock interrupted him:— - -“I tould ye it’s a warrum man I am”—he spoke decisively, as if his -words were final—“an’ I can, an’ will, settle a fortin on her.” Joyce -answered slowly and with infinite scorn:— - -“Thank ye, Mr. Murtagh Murdock, but me daughter is not for sale!” - -There was a long pause. Then Murdock spoke again, and both suppressed -hate and anger were in his voice:— - -“Ye had betther have a care wid me. I’ve crushed ye wance, an’ I’ll -crush ye agin! Ye can shpake scornful yerself, but mayhap the girrul -would give a different answer.” - -“Then, ye had betther hear her answer from herself. Norah! Come here, -daughter! Come here!” - -Norah rose, making an imperative sign to me to keep my seat, and with -the bearing of an empress passed across to the door and stood beside -her father. She took no notice whatever of her wooer. - -“What is it, father?” - -“Now, Murdock, spake away! Say what ye have to say; an’ take yer answer -from her own lips.” Murdock spoke with manifest embarrassment:— - -“I’ve been tellin’ yer father that I’d like ye for me wife!” - -“I’ve heard all you said!” - -“An’ yer answer?” - -“My father has answered for me!” - -“But I want me answer from yer own lips. My! but it’s the handsome -girrul ye are this night!” - -“My answer is ‘No!’” and she turned to come back. - -“Shtay!” Murdock’s voice was nasty, so nasty that instinctively I -stood up. No person should speak like that to the woman I loved. Norah -stopped. “I suppose ye won’t luk at me because ye have a young shpark -on yer hands. I’m no fool! an’ I know why ye’ve been down in the -Fields. I seen yez both more nor wance; an’ I’m makin’ me offer knowin’ -what I know. I don’t want to be too hard on ye, an’ I’ll say nothin’ if -ye don’t dhrive me to. But remimber ye’re in me power; an’ ye’ve got to -plase me in wan way or another. I knew what I was doin’ whin I watched -ye wid yer young shpark! Ye didn’t want yer father to see him nigh the -house! Ye’d betther be careful, the both of ye. If ye don’t intind to -marry me, well, ye won’t; but mind how ye thrate me or shpake to me, -here or where there’s others by; or be th’ Almighty! I’ll send the ugly -whisper round the counthry about ye——” - -Flesh and blood could not stand this. In an instant I was out in the -porch, and ready to fly at his throat; but Norah put her arm between us. - -“Mr. Severn!” she said in a voice which there was no gainsaying, “my -father is here. It is for him to protect me here, if any protection -is required from a thing like that!” The scorn of her voice made even -Murdock wince, and seemed to cool both Joyce and myself, and also Dick, -who now stood beside us. - -Murdock looked from one to another of us for a moment in amazement, and -then with a savage scowl, as though he were looking who and where to -strike with venom, he fixed on Norah—God forgive him! - -“An’ so ye have him at home already, have ye! An’ yer father prisent -too, an’ a witness. It’s the sharp girrul ye are, Norah Joyce, but I -suppose this wan is not the first!” I restrained myself simply because -Norah’s hand was laid on my mouth; Murdock went on:— - -“An’ so ye thought I wanted ye for yerself! Oh no! It’s no bankrup’s -daughther for me; but I may as well tell ye why I wanted ye. It was -because I’ve had in me hands, wan time or another, ivery inch iv this -mountain, bit be bit, all except the Cliff Fields; and thim I wanted -for purposes iv me own—thim as knows why, has swore not to tell”—this -with a scowl at Dick and me—“But I’ll have thim yit; an’ have thim too -widout thinkin’ that me wife likes sthrollin’ there wid sthrange min!” - -Here I could restrain myself no longer; and to my joy on the -instant—and since then whenever I have thought of it—Norah withdrew -her hand as if to set me free. I stepped forward, and with one blow -fair in the lips knocked the foul-mouthed ruffian head over heels. He -rose in an instant, his face covered with blood, and rushed at me. -This time I stepped out, and with an old football trick, taking him on -the breast-bone with my open hand, again tumbled him over. He arose -livid—but this time his passion was cold—and standing some yards off, -said, whilst he wiped the blood from his face:— - -“Wait! Ye’ll be sorry yit ye shtruck that blow! Aye! ye’ll both be -sorry—sad an’ sorry—an’ for shame that ye don’t reckon on! Wait!”—I -spoke out:— - -“Wait! yes, I shall wait, but only till the time comes to punish you. -And let me warn you to be careful how you speak of this lady! I have -shown you already how I can deal with you personally; next time—if -there be a next time——” Here Murdock interrupted _sotto voce_— - -“There ’ll be a next time; don’t fear! Be God but there will!” I went -on:— - -“I shall not dirty my hands with you but I shall have you in gaol for -slander.” - -“Gaol me, is it?” he sneered. “We’ll see. An’ so ye think ye’re going -to marry a lady, whin ye make an honest woman iv Norah Joyce, do ye? -Luk at her! an’ it’s a lady ye’re goin’ to make iv her, is it? An’ thim -hands iv hers, wid the marks iv the milkin’ an’ the shpade on to them. -My! but they’ll luk well among the quality! won’t they?” I was going to -strike him again, but Norah laid her hand on my arm; so smothering my -anger as well as I could, I said:— - -“Don’t dare to speak ill of people whose shoes you are not worthy to -black; and be quick about your finishing your work at Shleenanaher, for -you’ve got to go when the time is up. I won’t have the place polluted -by your presence a day longer than I can help.” - -Norah looked wonderingly at me and at him, for he had given a manifest -start. I went on:— - -“And as for these hands”—I took Norah’s hands in mine—“perhaps the time -may come when you will pray for the help of their honest strength—pray -with all the energy of your dastard soul! But whether this may be or -not, take you care how you cross her path or mine again, or you shall -rue it to the last hour of your life. Come, Norah, it is not fit that -you should contaminate your eyes or your ears with the presence of this -wretch!” and I led her in. As we went I heard Joyce say:— - -“An’ listen to me! Niver you dare to put one foot across me mearin’ -again; or I’ll take the law into me own hands!” - -Then Dick spoke:— - -“An’ hark ye, Mr. Murdock! remember that you have to deal with me also -in any evil that you attempt!” Murdock turned on him savagely:— - -“As for you, I dismiss ye from me imploymint. Ye’ll niver set foot on -me land agin! Away wid ye!” - -“Hurrah!” shouted Dick. “Mr. Joyce, you’re my witness that he has -discharged me, and I am free.” Then he stepped down from the porch, and -said to Murdock, in as exasperating a way as he could:— - -“And, dear Mr. Murdock, wouldn’t it be a pleasure to you to have it -out with me here, now? Just a simple round or two—to see which is the -best man? I am sure it would do you good—and me too! I can see you are -simply spoiling for a fight. I promise you that there will be no legal -consequences if you beat me, and if I beat you I shall take my chance. -Do let me persuade you! Just one round;” and he began to take off his -coat. Joyce, however, stopped him, speaking gravely:— - -“No! Mr. Sutherland, not here! and let me warn ye, for ye’re a younger -man nor me, agin such anger. I sthruck that man wance, an’ it’s sorry I -am for that same! No! not that I’m afeered of him”—answering the query -in Dick’s face—“but because, for a full-grown man to sthrike in anger -is a sarious thing. Arthur there sthruck not for himself, but for an -affront to his wife that’s promised, an’ he’s not to be blamed.” Norah -here took my arm and held it tight; “but I say, wid that one blow that -I’ve sthruck since I was a lad on me mind, ‘Never sthrike a blow in -anger all yer life long, unless it be to purtect one ye love!’” Dick -turned to him, and said heartily:— - -“You’re quite right, Mr. Joyce, and I’m afraid I acted like a cad. -Here! you clear off! Your very presence seems to infect better men than -yourself, and brings them something nearer to your level. Mr. Joyce, -forgive me! I promise I’ll take your good lesson to heart.” - -They both came into the room; and Norah and I looking out of the -window—my arm being around her—saw Murdock pass down the path and out -at the gate. - -We all took our places once again around the fire. When we sat down -Norah instinctively put her hands behind her, as if to hide them—that -ruffian’s words had stung her a little; and as I looked, without, -however, pretending to take any notice, I ground my teeth. But with -Norah such an ignoble thought could be but a passing one; with a quick -blush she laid her hand open on my knee, so that, as the firelight -fell on it, it was shown in all its sterling beauty. I thought the -opportunity was a fair one, and I lifted it to my lips and said:— - -“Norah! I think I may say a word before your father and my friend. This -hand—this beautiful hand,” and I kissed it again, “is dearer to me a -thousand times, because it can do, and has done, honest work; and I -only hope that in all my life I may be worthy of it.” I was about to -kiss it yet again, but Norah drew it gently away. Then she shifted her -stool a little, and came closer to me. Her father saw the movement, and -said simply:— - -“Go to him, daughter. He is worth it!—he sthruck a good blow for ye -this night.” And so we changed places, and she leaned her head against -my knee; her other hand—the one not held in mine—rested on her father’s -knee. - -There we sat and smoked and talked for an hour or more. Then Dick -looked at me and I at him, and we rose. Norah looked at me lovingly as -we got our hats. Her father saw the look, and said:— - -“Come, daughter! if you’re not tired, suppose we see them down the -boreen.” - -A bright smile and a blush came in her face; she threw a shawl over her -head, and we went all together. She held her father’s arm and mine; but -by-and-by the lane narrowed, and her father went in front with Dick, -and we two followed. - -Was it to be wondered at, if we did lag a little behind them?—and if -we spoke in whispers?—or, if now and again, when the lane curved and -kindly bushes projecting threw dark shadows, our lips met? - -When we came to the open space before the gate, we found Andy. He -pretended to see only Dick and Joyce, and saluted them:— - -“Begor! but it’s the fine night, it is, Misther Dick, though more -betoken the rain is comin’ on agin soon. A fine night, Misther Joyce! -and how’s Miss Norah?—God bless her! Musha! but it’s sorry I am that -she didn’t walk down wid ye this fine night! An’ poor Masther Art—I -suppose the fairies has got him agin?” Here he pretended to just catch -sight of me. “Yer ’an’r, but it’s the sorraful man I was—shure, an’ I -thought ye was tuk aff be the fairies—or, mayhap, it was houldin’ a -leprachaun that ye wor. An’ my! but there’s Miss Norah, too, comin’ to -take care iv her father! God bless ye, Miss Norah, Acushla!—but it’s -glad I am to see ye!” - -“And I’m always glad to see you, Andy,” she said, and shook hands with -him. - -Andy took her aside, and said, in a staccato whisper intended for us -all:— - -“Musha! Miss Norah, dear, may I ax ye somethin’?” - -“Indeed you may, Andy. What is it?” - -“Well, now, it’s throubled in me mind I am about Masther Art—that young -gintleman beyant ye, talkin’ t’ yer father!” the hypocritical villain -pointed me out, as though she did not know me. I could see in the -moonlight the happy smile on her face as she turned towards me. - -“Yes, I see him!” she answered. - -“Well, Miss Norah, the fairies got him on the top iv Knocknacar, and -ivir since he’s been wandherin’ round lukin’ fur wan iv thim. I thried -to timpt him away be tellin’ him iv nice girruls iv these parts—real -girruls, not fairies. But he’s that obstinate he wouldn’t luk at wan iv -thim—no, nor listen to me, ayther.” - -“Indeed!” she said, her eyes dancing with fun. - -“An’, Miss Norah, dear, what kind iv a girrul d’ye think he wanted to -find?” - -“I don’t know, Andy—what kind?” - -“Oh, begor! but it’s meself can tell ye! Shure, it’s a long, yalla, -dark girrul, shtreaky—like—like he knows what—not quite a faymale -nagur, wid a rid petticoat, an’ a quare kind iv an eye!” - -“Oh, Andy!” was all she said, as she turned to me smiling. - -“Get along, you villain!” said I, and I shook my fist at him in fun; -and then I took Norah aside, and told her what the “quare kind iv an -eye” was that I had sought—and found. - -Then we two said “Good-night” in peace, whilst the others in front -went through the gate. We took—afterwards—a formal and perfectly -decorous farewell, only shaking hands all round, before Dick and I -mounted the car. Andy started off at a gallop, and his “Git up, ye -ould corncrake!” was lost in our shouts of “Good-bye!” as we waved our -hats. Looking back, we saw Norah’s hands waving as she stood with her -father’s arm around her, and her head laid back against his shoulder, -whilst the yellow moonlight bathed them from head to foot in a sea of -celestial light. - -And then we sped on through the moonlight and the darkness alike, for -the clouds of the coming rain rolled thick and fast across the sky. - -But for me the air was all aglow with rosy light, and the car was a -chariot flying swiftly to the dawn! - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - A TRIP TO PARIS. - - -The next day was Sunday; and after church I came over early to -Knockcalltecrore, and had a long talk with Norah about her school -project. We decided that the sooner she began the better—she because, -as she at first alleged, every month of delay made school a less -suitable place for her—I because, as I took care not only to allege but -to reiterate, as the period had to be put in, the sooner it was begun -the sooner it would end, and so the sooner would my happiness come. - -Norah was very sweet, and shyly told me that if such was my decided -opinion, she must say that she too had something of the same view. - -“I do not want you to be pained, dear, by any delay,” she said, “made -by your having been so good to me; and I love you too well to want -myself to wait longer than is necessary,”—an admission that was an -intoxicating pleasure to me. - -We agreed that our engagement was, if not to be kept a secret, at least -not to be spoken of unnecessarily. Her father was to tell her immediate -relatives, so that there would not be any gossip at her absence, and -I was to tell one or two of my own connexions—for I had no immediate -relatives—and perhaps one or two friends who were rather more closely -connected with me than those of my own blood. I asked to be allowed to -tell also my solicitor, who was an old friend of my father’s, and who -had always had more than merely professional relations with me. I had -reasons of my own for telling him of the purposed change in my life, -for I had important matters to execute through him, so as to protect -Norah’s future in case my own death should occur before the marriage -was to take place. But of this, of course, I did not tell her. - -We had a happy morning together, and when Joyce came in we told him -of the conclusion we had arrived at. He fully acquiesced; and then, -when he and I were alone, I asked him if he would prefer to make the -arrangements about the schools himself or by some solicitor he would -name, or that should all be done by my solicitor? He told me that my -London solicitor would probably know what to do better than anyone in -his own part of the world; and we agreed that I was to arrange it with -him. - -Accordingly I settled with Norah that the next day but one I should -leave for London, and that when I had put everything on a satisfactory -footing I should return to Carnaclif, and so be for a little longer -able to see my darling. Then I went back to the hotel to write my -letters in time for post. - -That afternoon I wrote to my solicitor, Mr. Chapman, and asked him to -have inquiries made, without the least delay, as to what was the best -school in Paris to which to send a young lady, almost grown up, but -whose education had been neglected. I added that I should be myself -in London within two days of my letter, and would hope to have the -information. - -That evening I had a long talk on affairs with Dick, and opened to him -a project I had formed regarding Knockcalltecrore. This was that I -should try to buy the whole of the mountain, right away from where the -sandy peninsula united it to the mainland—for evidently it had ages ago -been an isolated sea-girt rock-bound island. Dick knew that already we -held a large part of it—Norah the Cliff Fields, Joyce the upper land -on the sea side, and myself the part that I had already bought from -Murdock. He quite fell in with the idea, and as we talked it over he -grew more and more enthusiastic. - -“Why, my dear fellow,” he said, as he stood up and walked about the -room, “it will make the most lovely residence in the world, and will -be a fine investment for you. Holding long leases, you will easily be -able to buy the freehold, and then every penny spent will return many -fold. Let us once be able to find the springs that feed the bog, and -get them in hand, and we can make the place a paradise. The springs -are evidently high up on the hill, so that we can not only get water -for irrigating and ornamental purposes, but we can get power also! -Why, you can have electric light, and everything else you like, at the -smallest cost. And if it be, as I suspect, that there is a streak of -limestone in the hill, the place might be a positive mine of wealth as -well! We have not lime within fifty miles, and if once we can quarry -the stone here we can do anything. We can build a harbour on the south -side, which would be the loveliest place to keep a yacht in that ever -was known—quite big enough for anything in these parts—as safe as -Portsmouth, and of fathomless depth. - -“Easy, old man!” I cried, for the idea made me excited too. - -“But I assure you Art, I am within the truth!” - -“I know it, Dick—and now I want to come to business!” - -“Eh! how do you mean?” he said, looking puzzled. - -Then I told him of the school project, and that I was going to London -after another day to arrange it. He was delighted, and quite approved. - -“It is the wisest thing I ever heard of!” was his comment. “But how do -you mean about business?” he asked. - -“Dick, this has all to be done; and it needs some one to do it. I am -not a scientist nor an engineer, and this project wants the aid of -both, or of one man who is the two. Will you do it for me—and for -Norah?” - -He seemed staggered for a moment, but said heartily: - -“That I will—but it will take some time!” - -“We can do it within two years,” I answered, “and that is the time -that Norah will be away. It will help to pass it!” and I sighed. - -“A long time, indeed, but oh, what a time, Art! Just fancy what you are -waiting for; there need be no unhappy moment, please God, in all those -months.” - -Then I made him a proposition, to which he, saying that my offer was -too good, at first demurred. I reasoned with him, and told him that -the amount was little to me, as, thanks to my Great Aunt, I had more -than I ever could use; and that I wanted to make Norah’s country home -a paradise on earth—so far as love and work and the means at command -could do it; that it would take up all Dick’s time, and keep him for -the whole period from pursuing his studies; and that he would have to -be manager as well as engineer, and would have to buy the land for -me. I told him also my secret hope that in time he would take all my -affairs in hand and manage everything for me. - -“Buying the land will, I fancy, be easy enough,” he said. “Two of the -farms are in the market now, and all round here land is literally going -abegging. However, I shall take the matter in hand at once, and write -you to London, in case there should be anything before you get back.” -And thus we settled that night that I was, if possible, to buy the -whole mountain. I wrote by the next post to Mr. Caicy, telling him that -I had a project of purchase in hand, and that Mr. Sutherland would do -everything for me during my absence, and that whatever he wished was to -be done. I asked him to come over and see Dick before the week was out. - -The next day I spoke to Joyce, and asked him if he would care to sell -me the lease of the land he now held. He seemed rejoiced at the chance -of being able to get away. - -“I will go gladly, though, sure enough, I’ll be sad for a while to lave -the shpot where I was born, and where I’ve lived all me life. But whin -Norah is gone—an’ sure she’ll never be back, for I’m thinkin’ that -after her school ye’ll want to get married at once—” - -“That we shall!” I interrupted. - -“An’ right enough too! But widout her the place will be that lonesome -that I don’t think I could abear it! Me sister ’ll go over to -Knocknacar to live wid me married sister there, that’ll be only too -happy to have her with her; and I’ll go over to Glasgow where Eugene -is at work. The boy wants me to come, and whin I wrote and tould him -of Norah’s engagement, he wrote at once askin’ me to lave the Hill and -come to him. He says that before the year is out he hopes to be able to -keep himself—an’ me, too, if we should want it—an’ he wrote such a nice -letter to Norah—but the girl will like to tell ye about that herself! I -can’t sell ye the Cliff Fields meself, for they belong to Norah; but if -ye like to ask her I’m sure she’ll make no objection.” - -“I should be glad to have them,” I said, “but all shall be hers in two -years!” - -And then and there we arranged for the sale of the property. I made -Joyce the offer; he accepted at once, but said it was more than it was -worth. - -“No,” said I, “I shall take the chance! I intend to make improvements.” - -Norah did not make any objection to her father selling the Cliff -Fields. She told me that as I wanted to have them, I might, of course; -but she hoped I would never sell the spot, as it was very dear to her. -I assured her that in this as in all other matters I would do as she -wished, and we sealed the assurance with——. Never mind! we sealed it! - -I spent the afternoon there, for it was to be my last afternoon with -Norah until I came back from Paris. We went down for a while to the -Cliff Fields and sat on the table rock and talked over all our plans. -I told her I had a scheme regarding Knockcalltecrore, but that I did -not wish to tell her about it as it was to be a surprise. It needed a -pretty hard struggle to be able to keep her in the dark even to this -extent—there is nothing more sweet to young lovers than to share a -secret. She knew that my wishes were all for her, and was content. - -When we got back to the cottage I said good-bye. This naturally took -some time—a first good-bye always does!—and went home to get my -traps packed ready for an early start in the morning—more especially -as I wished, when in Galway, to give Mr. Caicy instructions as to -transferring the two properties—Norah’s and her father’s. - -When Dick came home, he and I had a long talk on affairs; and I saw -that he thoroughly understood all about the purchase of the whole -mountain. Then we said good-night, and I retired. - -I did not sleep very well. I think I was too happy, and out of the -completeness of my happiness there seemed to grow a fear—some dim -haunting dread of a change—something which would reverse the existing -order of things. And so in dreams the Drowsy God played at ball with -me; now throwing me to a dizzy height of joy, and then, as I fell -swiftly through darkness, arresting my flight into the nether gloom -with some new sweet hope. It seemed to me that I was awake all the -night—and yet I knew I must have slept for I had distinct recollections -of dreams in which all the persons and circumstances lately present to -my mind were strangely jumbled together. The jumble was kaleidoscopic; -there was an endless succession of its phases, but the pieces all -remained the same. There were moments when all seemed aglow with rosy -light, and hard on them, others horrid with the gloom of despair or -fear; but in all, the dominating idea was the mountain standing against -the sunset, always as the embodiment of the ruling emotion of the -scene—and always Norah’s beautiful eyes shone upon me. I seemed to live -over again in isolated moments all the past weeks; but in such a way -that the legends and myths and stories of Knockcalltecrore which I had -heard were embodied in each moment. Thus, Murdock had always a part in -the gloomy scenes, and got inextricably mixed up with the King of the -Snakes. They freely exchanged personalities, and at one time I could -see the Gombeen Man defying St. Patrick, whilst at another the Serpent -seemed to be struggling with Joyce, and, after twisting round the -mountain, being only beaten off by a mighty blow from Norah’s father, -rushing to the sea through the Shleenanaher. - -Towards morning, as I suppose the needs of the waking day became more -present to my mind in the gradual process of awakening, the bent of -my thoughts began to be more practical; the Saint and His Majesty of -the Serpents began to disappear, and the two dim cuirassiers who, -with the money chest, had through the earlier hours of the night been -passing far athwart my dreams—appearing and disappearing equally -mysteriously—took a more prominent, or, perhaps, a more real part. -Then I seemed to see Murdock working in a grave, whose sides were ever -crumbling in as he frantically sought the treasure chest, whilst the -gun-carriage, rank with the slime of the bog, was high above him on the -brink of the grave, projected blackly against the yellow moon. Every -time this scene in its myriad variations came round, it changed to one -where the sides of the grave began to tumble in, and Murdock in terror -tried to scream out, but could make no sound, nor could he make any -effort to approach Norah, whose strong hands were stretched out to aid -him. - -With such a preparation for waking is it any wonder that I suddenly -started broad awake with a strong sense of something forgotten, and -found that it was four o’clock, and time to get ready for my journey. -I did not lose any time, and after a hot cup of tea, which the cheery -Mrs. Keating had herself prepared for me, was on my way under Andy’s -care to Recess, where we were to meet the “long car” to Galway. - -Andy was, for a wonder, silent, and as I myself felt in a most active -frame of mind, this rather gave me an opportunity for some amusement. -I waited for a while to see if he would suggest any topic in his usual -style; but as there was no sign of a change, I began:— - -“You are very silent to-day, Andy. You are sad! What is it?” - -“I’m thinkin’!” - -“So I thought, Andy. But who are you thinking of?” - -“Faix, I’m thinkin’ iv poor Miss Norah there wid ne’er a bhoy on -the flure at all, at all; an’ iv the fairy girrul at Knocknacar—the -poor craythur waitin’ for some kind iv a leprachaun to come back to -her. They do say, yer ’an’r, that the fairies is mighty fond iv thim -leprachauns intirely. Musha! but it’s a quare thing that weemen of all -natures thinks a power more iv minkind what is hard to be caught nor iv -thim that follys thim an’ is had aisy!” - -“Indeed! Andy.” I felt he was getting on dangerous ground, and thought -it would be as well to keep him to generalities if I could. - -“Shure they do tell me so; that the girruls, whether fairies or weemen, -is more fond iv lukin’ out fur leprachauns, or min if that’s their -kind, than the clargy is iv killin’ the divil—an’ they’ve bin at him -fur thousands iv years, an’ him not turned a hair.” - -“Well! Andy, isn’t it only natural, too? If we look at the girls and -make love to them, why shouldn’t they have a turn too, poor things, and -make love to us? Now you would like to have a wife, I know; only that -you’re too much afraid of any woman.” - -“Thrue for ye! But shure an’ how could I go dhrivin’ about the counthry -av I had a wife iv me own in wan place? It’s meself that’s welkim -everywhere, jist because any wan iv the weemen might fear I’d turn the -laugh on her whin I got her home; but a car-dhriver can no more shpake -soft to only wan girrul nor he can dhrive his car in his own shanty.” - -“Well! but Andy, what would you do if you were to get married?” - -“Faix, surr, an’ the woman must settle that whin she comes. But, begor! -it’s not for a poor man like me—nor for the likes iv me—that the -fairies does be keepin’ their eyes out. I tell yer ’an’r that poor min -isn’t iv much account anyhow! Shure poverty is the worst iv crimes; an’ -there’s no hidin’ it like th’ others. Patches is saw a mighty far way -off; and shure enough they’re more frightfuller nor even the polis!” - -“By George! Andy,” said I, “I’m afraid you’re a cynic.” - -“A cynic, sir; an’, faix, what sin am I up to now?” - -“You say poverty is a crime.” - -“Begor! but it’s worse! Most crimes is forgave afther a bit; an’ the -law is done wid ye whin ye’re atin’ yer skilly. But there’s some -people—aye! an’ lashins iv thim too—what’d rather see ye in a good -shute iv coffin than in a bad shute iv clothes!” - -“Why, Andy, you’re quite a philosopher!” - -“Bedad, that’s quare; but whisper me now, surr, what kind iv a thing’s -that?” - -“Well! it’s a very wise man—one who loves wisdom.” - -“Begor! yer ’an’r, lovin’ girruls is more in my shtyle; but I thought -maybe it was some new kind iv a Protestan’.” - -“Why a Protestant?” - -“Sorra wan iv me knows! I thought maybe they can believe even less nor -the ould wans.” - -Andy’s method of theological argument was quite too difficult for me, -so I was silent; but my companion was not. He, however, evidently felt -that theological disquisition was no more his _forte_ than my own, for -he instantly changed to another topic:— - -“I’ll be goin’ back to Knockcalltecrore to-morra, yer ’an’r. I’ve been -tould to call fur Mr. Caicy, th’ attorney—savin’ yer prisence—to take -him back to Carnaclif. Is there any missage ye’d like to send to any -wan?” He looked at me so slyly that his meaning was quite obvious. - -“Thanks, Andy, but I think not; unless you tell Mr. Dick that we have -had a pleasant journey this morning.” - -“Nothin’ but that?—to nobody?” - -“Who to, for instance, Andy?” - -“There’s Miss Norah, now! Shure girruls is always fond iv gettin’ -missages, an’ most iv all from people what they’re not fond iv!” - -“Meaning me?” - -“Oh, yis! oh, yis! if there’s wan more nor another what she hates the -sight iv, it’s yer ’an’r! Shure didn’t I notice it in her eye ere -yistherday night, beyant at the boreen gate? Faix! but it’s a nice eye -Miss Norah has! Now, yer ’an’r, wouldn’t an eye like that be betther -for a young gintleman to luk into, than the quare eye iv yer fairy -girrul—the wan that ye wor lukin’ for, an’ didn’t find!” - -The sly way in which Andy looked at me as he said this was quite -indescribable. I have seen sly humour in the looks of children where -the transparent simplicity of their purpose was a foil to their -manifest intention to pretend to deceive. I have seen the arch glances -of pretty young women when their eyes contradicted with resistless -force the apparent meaning of their words; but I have never seen any -slyness which could rival that of Andy. However, when he had spoken -as above, he seemed to have spent the last bolt in his armoury; and -for the remainder of the drive to Recess he did not touch again on the -topic, or on a kindred one. - -When I was in the hotel porch waiting the arrival of the long car, Andy -came up to me:— - -“What day will I be in Galway for yer ’an’r?” - -“How do you mean, Andy? I didn’t tell you I was coming back.” - -Andy laughed a merry, ringing laugh:— - -“Begor! yer ’an’r, d’ye think there’s only wan way iv tellin’ things? -Musha! but spache ’d be a mighty precious kind iv a thing if that was -the way!” - -“But, Andy, is not speech the way to make known what you wish other -people to know?” - -“Ah, go to God! I’d like to know if ye take it for granted whin ye -ask a girrul a question an’ she says ‘no,’ that she manes it—or that -she intends ayther that ye should think she manes it. Faix! it ’d be -a harrd wurrld to live in, if that was so; an’ there ’d be mighty few -widdys in it ayther!” - -“Why widows, Andy?” - -“Shure, isn’t wives the shtuff that widdys is made iv!” - -“Oh! I see. I’m learning, Andy—I’m getting on!” - -“Yis! yer ’an’r. Ye haven’t got on the long cap now; but I’m afeerd -it’s only a leather medal ye’d get as yit. Niver mind! surr. Here’s the -long car comin’; an’ whin ye tellygraph to Misther Dick to sind me over -to Galway fur to bring ye back, I’ll luk up Miss Norah an’ ax her to -condescind to give ye some lessons in the differ betwixt ‘yes’ an’ ‘no’ -as shpoke by girruls. I’m tould now, it’s a mighty intherestin’ kind iv -a shtudy for a young gintleman!” - -There was no answering this Parthian shaft. - -“Good-bye! Andy,” I said, as I left a sovereign in his hand. - -“Good luck! yer ’an’r; though what’s the use iv wishin’ luck to a man, -whin the fairies is wid him!” - -The last thing I saw was Andy waving his ragged hat as we passed the -curve of the road round the lake before Recess was hidden from our view. - -When I got to Galway I found Mr. Caicy waiting for me. He was most -hearty in his welcome; and told me that as there was nearly an hour to -wait before the starting of the Dublin express, he had luncheon on the -table, and that we could discuss our business over it. We accordingly -adjourned to his house, and after explaining to him what I wanted done -with regard to the purchase of the property at Knockcalltecrore, I told -him that Dick knew all the details, and would talk them over with him -when he saw him on the next evening. - -I began my eastward journey with my inner man in a most comfortable -condition. Indeed, I concluded that there was no preparation for a -journey like a bottle of ‘Sneyd’s 47’ between two. I got to Dublin in -time for the night mail, and on the following morning walked into Mr. -Chapman’s office at half-past ten o’clock. - -He had all the necessary information for me; indeed, his zeal and his -kindness were such that then and there I opened my heart to him, and -was right glad that I had done so when I felt the hearty grasp of -his hand as he wished me joy and all good fortune. He was, of course, -on the side of prudence. He was my own lawyer and my father’s friend; -and it was right and fitting that he should be. But it was quite -evident that in the background of his musty life there was some old -romance—musty old attorneys always have romances—so at least say the -books. He entered heartily into my plan; and suggested that, if I -chose, he would come with me to see the school and the schoolmistress -in Paris. - -“It will be better, I am sure,” he said, “to have an old man like -myself with you, and who can in our negotiations speak for her father. -Indeed, my dear boy, from being so old a friend of your father’s, and -having no children of my own, I have almost come to look on you as my -son, so it will not be much of an effort to regard Miss Norah as my -daughter. The schoolmistress will, in the long run, be better satisfied -with my standing _in loco parentis_ than with yours.” It was a great -relief to me to find my way thus smoothed, for I had half expected some -objection or remonstrance on his part. His kind offer was, of course, -accepted; and the next morning found us in Paris. - -We went to see the school and the schoolmistress. All was arranged as -we wished. Mr. Chapman did not forget that Norah wished to have all the -extra branches of study, or that I wished to add all that could give a -charm to her life. The schoolmistress opened her eyes at the total of -Norah’s requirements, which Mr. Chapman summed up as “all extras”—the -same including the use of a saddle-horse, and visits to the opera and -such performances as should be approved of, under the special care and -with the special accompaniment of Madame herself. - -I could see that for the coming year Norah’s lines would lie in -pleasant places in so far as Madame Lepecheaux could accomplish it. The -date of her coming was to be fixed by letter, and as soon as possible. - -Mr. Chapman had suggested that it might be well to arrange with Madame -Lepecheaux that Norah should be able to get what clothes she might -require, and such matters as are wanted by young ladies of the position -which she was entering. The genial French woman quite entered into the -idea, but insisted that the representative of Norah’s father should -come with her to the various _magasins_ and himself make arrangements. -He could not refuse; and as I was not forbidden by the unsuspecting -lady, I came too. - -These matters took up some time, and it was not until the fifth day -after I had left Connemara that we were able to start on our return -journey. We left at night, and after our arrival in the early morning -went, as soon as we had breakfasted, to Mr. Chapman’s office to get our -letters. - -I found two. The first I took to the window to read, where I was -hidden behind a curtain, and where I might kiss it without being seen; -for, although the writing was strange to me—for I had never seen her -handwriting—I knew that it was from Norah. - -Do any of us who arrive at middle life ever attempt to remember our -feelings on receiving the first letter from the woman or the man of -our love? Can there come across the long expanse of commonplace life, -strewn as it is with lost beliefs and shattered hopes, any echo—any -after-glow—of that time, any dim recollection of the thrill of pride -and joy that flashed through us at such a moment? Can we rouse -ourselves from the creeping lethargy of the contented acceptance of -things, and feel the generous life-blood flowing through us once again? - -I held Norah’s letter in my hand, and it seemed as though with but one -more step, I should hold my darling herself in my arms. I opened her -letter most carefully; anything that her hands had touched was sacred -to me. And then her message—the message of her heart to mine—sent -direct and without intermediary, reached me:— - - “MY DEAR ARTHUR,— - - “I hope you had a good journey, and that you enjoyed your trip - to Paris. Father and I are both well; and we have had excellent - news of Eugene, who has been promoted to more important work. - We have seen Mr. Sutherland every day. He says that everything - is going just as you wish it. Mr. Murdock has taken old Bat - Moynahan to live with him since you went; they are always - together, and Moynahan seems to be always drunk. Father thinks - that Mr. Murdock has some purpose on foot, and that it cannot - be a good one. We shall all be glad to see you soon again. I - am afraid this letter must seem very odd to you; but you know - I am not accustomed to writing letters. You must believe one - thing—that whatever I say to you, I feel and believe with - all my heart. I got your letters, and I cannot tell you what - pleasure they gave me, or how I treasure them. Father sends his - love and duty. What could I send that words could carry? I may - not try yet. Perhaps I shall be more able to do what I wish, - when I know more. - - “NORAH.” - -The letter disappointed me! Was any young man ever yet satisfied with -written words, when his medium had hitherto been rosy lips, with the -added commentary of loving eyes? And yet when I look back on that -letter from a peasant girl, without high education or knowledge of the -world, and who had possibly never written a letter before except to her -father or brother, or a girl friend, and but few even of these—when I -read in every word its simplicity and truth, and recognise the _arrière -pensée_ of that simple phrase, “whatever I say to you I feel and think -with all my heart,” I find it hard to think that any other letter that -she or anyone else could have written, could have been more suitable, -or could have meant more. - -When I had read Norah’s letter over a few times, and feared that Mr. -Chapman would take humorous notice of my absorption, I turned to the -other letter, which I knew was from Dick. I brought this from the -window to the table, beside which I sat to read it, Mr. Chapman being -still deep in his own neglected correspondence. - -I need not give his letter in detail. It was long and exhaustive, and -told me accurately of every step taken and everything accomplished -since I had seen him. Mr. Caicy had made his appearance, as arranged, -and the two had talked over and settled affairs. Mr. Caicy had lost -no time, and fortune had so favoured him that he found that nearly -all the tenants on the east side of the hill wished to emigrate, and -so were anxious to realize on their holdings. The estate from which -they held was in bankruptcy; and as a sale was then being effected, -Mr. Caicy had purchased the estate, and then made arrangements for all -who wished to purchase to do so on easy terms from me. The nett result -was, that when certain formalities should be complied with, and certain -moneys paid, I should own the whole of Knockcalltecrore and the land -immediately adjoining it, together with certain other parcels of land -in the neighbourhood. There were other matters of interest also in his -letter. He told me that Murdock, in order to spite and injure Joyce, -had completed the damming up of the stream which ran from his land into -the Cliff Fields by blocking with great stones the narrow chine in the -rocks through which it fell; that this, coupled with the continuous -rains had made the bog rise enormously, and that he feared much there -would be some disaster. His fear was increased by what had taken place -at Knocknacar. Even here the cuttings had shown some direful effects -of the rain; the openings, made with so much trouble, had become -choked, and as a consequence the bog had risen again, and had even -spread downwards on its original course. Alarmed by these things, -Dick had again warned Murdock of the danger in which he stood from -the position of his house; and further, from tampering with the solid -bounds of the bog itself. Murdock had not taken his warnings in good -part—not any better than usual—and the interview had, as usual, ended -in a row. Murdock had made the quarrel the occasion of ventilating his -grievance against me for buying the whole mountain, for by this time it -had leaked out that I was the purchaser. His language, Dick said, was -awful. He cursed me and all belonging to me. He cursed Joyce and Norah, -and Dick himself, and swore to be revenged on us all, and told Dick -that he would balk me of finding the treasure—even if I were to buy -up all Ireland, and if he had to peril his soul to forestall me. Dick -ended his description of his proceedings characteristically:—“In fact, -he grew so violent, and said such insulting things of you and others, -that I had to give him a good sound thrashing.” - -“Others”—that meant Norah, of course—good old Dick! It was just as -well for Mr. Murdock’s physical comfort, and for the peace of the -neighbourhood, that I did not meet him then and there; for, under -these favouring conditions, there would have been a continuance of his -experiences under the hands of Dick Sutherland. - -Then Dick went on to tell me at greater length what Norah had conveyed -in her letter—that, since I had left, Murdock had taken Bat Moynahan -to live with him, and kept him continually drunk; that the two of them -were evidently trying to locate the whereabouts of the treasure; and -that, whenever they thought they were not watched, they trespassed on -Joyce’s land, to get near a certain part of the bog. - -“I mean to watch them the first dark night,” wrote Dick, at the close -of his letter; “for I cannot help thinking that there is some devilment -on foot. I don’t suppose you care much for the treasure—you’ve got -a bigger treasure from Knockcalltecrore than ever was hidden in it -by men—but, all the same, it is yours after Murdock’s time is up; -and, as the guardian of your interest, I feel that I have a right -to do whatever may be necessary to protect you. I have seen, at -times, Murdock give such a look at Moynahan out of the corners of -his eyes—when he thought no one was looking—that, upon my soul, I am -afraid he means—if he gets the chance—to murder the old man, after he -has pumped him of all he knows. I don’t want to accuse a man of such -an intention, without being able to prove it, and of course have said -nothing to a soul; but I shall be really more comfortable in my mind -when the man has gone away.” - -By the time I had finished the letter, Mr. Chapman had run through -his correspondence—vacation business was not much in his way—and we -discussed affairs. - -The settlement of matters connected with my estate, and the -purchase of Knockcalltecrore, together with the making of certain -purchases—including a ring for Norah—kept me a few days in London; -but at length all was complete, and I started on my trip to the -West of Ireland. Before leaving, I wrote to Norah that I would be -at Knockcalltecrore on the morning of the 20th October; and also to -Dick, asking him to see that Andy was sent to meet me at Galway on -the morning of the 19th—for I preferred rather to have the drive -in solitude, than to be subjected to the interruptions of chance -fellow-passengers. - -At Dublin Mr. Caicy met me, as agreed; and together we went to various -courts, chambers, offices, and banks—completing the purchase with -all the endless official formalities and eccentricities habitual to -a country whose administration has traditionally adopted and adapted -every possible development of all belonging to red-tape. - -At last, however, all was completed; and very early the next morning -Mr. Caicy took his seat in the Galway express, in a carriage with the -owner of Knockcalltecrore, to whom he had been formally appointed Irish -law agent. - -The journey was not a long one, and it was only twelve o’clock when we -steamed into Galway. As we drew up at the platform, I saw Dick, who -had come over to meet me. He was, I thought, looking a little pale and -anxious; but as he did not say anything containing the slightest hint -of any cause for such a thing, I concluded that he wished to wait until -we were alone. This, however, was not to be for a little while; for Mr. -Caicy had telegraphed to order lunch at his house, and thither we had -to repair. We walked over; although Andy, who was in waiting outside -the station, grinning from ear to ear, offered to “rowl our ’an’rs over -in half a jiffey.” - -Lunch over, and our bodies the richer for some of Mr. Caicy’s excellent -port, we prepared to start. Dick took occasion to whisper to me:— - -“Some time on the road propose to walk for a bit, and send on the car. -I want a talk with you alone, without making a mystery!” - -“All right, Dick. Is it a serious matter?” - -“Very serious!” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - A MIDNIGHT TREASURE HUNT. - - -When, some miles on our road, we came to a long stretch of moorland, I -told Andy to stop till we got off. This being done, I told him to go on -and wait for us at the next house, as we wished to have a walk. - -“The nixt house?” queried Andy, “the very nixt house? Must it be that -same?” - -“No, Andy!” I answered, “the next after that will do equally well, or -the third if it is not too far off. Why do you want to change?” - -“Well, yer ’an’r, to tell ye the thruth there’s a girrul at the house -beyant what thinks it’s a long time on the road I am widout doin’ -anythin’ about settlin’ down, an’ that its time I asked her fortin, -anyhow. Musha! but it’s afeerd I am to shtop there, fur maybe she’d -take advantage iv me whin she got me all alone, an’ me havin’ to wait -there till yez come. An’ me so softhearted, that maybe I’d say too much -or too little.” - -“Why too much or too little?” - -“Faix! if I said too much I might be settled down before the month was -out; an’ if I said too little I might have a girrul lukin’ black at -me iv’ry time I dhruv by. The house beyant it is a public, an’ shure I -know I’m safe there anyhow—if me dhrouth’ll only hould out!” - -I took the hint, and Andy spun my shilling in the air as he drove off. -Dick and I walked together, and when he was out of earshot I said:— - -“Now, old fellow, we are alone! What is it?” - -“It’s about Murdock.” - -“Not more than you told me in your letter, I hope. I owe you a good -turn for that thrashing you gave him!” - -“Oh, that was nothing; it was a labour of love! What I want to speak of -is a much more serious affair.” - -“Nothing to touch Norah, I hope?” I said anxiously. - -“This individual thing is not, thank God! but everything which that -ruffian can do to worry her or any of us will be done. We’ll have to -watch him closely.” - -“What is this new thing?” - -“It is about old Moynahan. I am in serious doubt and anxiety as to what -I should do. At present I have only suspicion to go on, and not the -faintest shadow of proof, and I really want help and advice.” - -“Tell me all about it.” - -“I shall! exactly as I remember it; and when I have told you, you may -be able to draw some conclusion which can help us.” - -“Go on! but remember I am, as yet, in ignorance of what it is all -about. You must not take any knowledge on my part for granted.” - -“I’ll bear it in mind. Well! you remember what I said in my letter, -that I had a suspicion of Murdock, and intended watching him?” I -nodded. “Two nights after I had written that, the evening was dark -and wet—just the weather I would have chosen myself had I had any -mysterious purpose on hand. As soon as it got dark I put on my black -waterproof and fishing boots and a sou’wester, and then felt armed for -any crouching or lying down that might be required. I waited outside -Murdock’s house in the laneway, where I could see from the shadows on -the window that both men were in the house. I told you that old Bat -Moynahan had taken up his residence entirely with the Gombeen Man——” - -“And that he was always drunk!” - -“Exactly! I see you understand the situation. Presently I heard a -stumble on the stone outside the porch, and peeping in through the -hedge I saw Murdock holding up old Moynahan. Then he shut the door -and they came down the path. The wind was by this time blowing pretty -strongly, and made a loud noise in the hedgerows, and bore in the roar -of the surf. Neither of the men could hear me, for I took care as I -followed them to keep on the leeward side, and always with something -between us. Murdock did not seem to have the slightest suspicion that -any one was even on the hill side, let alone listening, and he did not -even lower his tone as he spoke. Moynahan was too drunk to either know -or care how loud he spoke, and indeed both had to speak pretty loud -in order to be heard through the sound of the growing storm. The rain -fell in torrents, and the men passed down the boreen stumbling and -slipping. I followed on the other side of the hedge, and I can tell you -I felt grateful to the original Mackintosh, or Golosh, or whatever was -the name of the Johnny who invented waterproof. When they had reached -the foot of the hill, they went on the road which curves round by the -south-east, and I managed to scramble through the fir wood without -losing sight of them. When they came to the bridge over the stream, -where it runs out on the north side of the Peninsula, they turned up -on the far bank. I slipped over the bridge behind them, and got on the -far side of the fringe of alders. Here they stopped and sheltered for a -while, and as I was but a few feet from them I heard every word which -passed. Murdock began by saying to Moynahan:— - -“‘Now, keep yer wits about ye, if ye can. Ye’ll get lashins iv dhrink -whin we get back, but remimber ye promised to go over the ground where -yer father showed ye that the Frinchmin wint wid the gun carriage an’ -the horses. Where was it now that he tuk ye?’ Moynahan evidently made -an effort to think and speak:— - -“‘It was just about this shpot wheer he seen thim first. They crast -over the sthrame—there wor no bridge thin nigher nor Galway—an’ wint up -the side iv the hill sthraight up.’ - -“‘Now, couldn’t ye folla the way yer father showed ye? Jist think. It’s -all dark, and there’s nothin’ that ye know to confuse ye—no threes what -has growed up since thin. Thry an’ remimber, an’ ye’ll have lashins iv -dhrink this night, an’ half the goold whin we find it.” - -“‘I can go! I can show the shpot! Come on.’ He made a sudden bolt down -into the river, which was running unusually high. The current almost -swept him away; but Murdock was beside him in a moment, crying out:— - -“‘Go an! the wather isn’t deep! don’t be afeerd! I’m wid ye.’ When I -heard this I ran round and across the bridge, and was waiting behind -the hedge on the road when they came up again. The two men went up the -hill straight for perhaps a hundred yards, I still close to them; then -Moynahan stopped:— - -“‘Here’s about the shpot me father tould me that he seen the min whin -the moon shone out. Thin they went aff beyant,’ and he pointed to -the south. The struggle through the stream had evidently sobered him -somewhat, for he spoke much more clearly. - -“‘Come on thin,’ cried Murdock, and they moved off. - -“‘Here’s wheer they wint to, thin,’ said Moynahan, as he stopped on the -south side of the hill—as I knew it to be from the louder sound of the -surf which was borne in by the western gale. ‘Here they wor, jist about -here, an’ me father wint away to hide from thim beside the big shtone -at the Shleenanaher so that they wouldn’t see him.’ Then he paused, -and went on in quite a different voice:— - -“There, now I’ve tould ye enough for wan night. Come home! for it’s -chilled to the harrt I am, an’ shtarved wid the cowld. Come home! I’ll -tell no more this night.’ The next sound I heard was the popping of a -cork, and then the voice of Murdock in a cheery tone:— - -“‘Here, take a sup of this, ould man. It’s chilled we both are, an’ -cramped wid cowld. Take a good dhraw, ye must want it if ye’re as bad -as I am!’ The gurgle that followed showed that he had obeyed orders; -this was confirmed within an incredibly short time by his voice as he -spoke again. - -“‘Me father hid there beyant. Come on!’ We all, each in his own way, -moved down to the Shleenanaher, and stood there. Moynahan spoke first. - -“‘From here, he seen them jist over the ridge iv the hill. I can go -there now; come on!’ He hurried up the slope, Murdock holding on to -him. I followed, now crouching low, for there was but little shelter -here. Moynahan stopped and said:— - -“‘It was just here!’ - -“‘How do ye know?’ asked Murdock doubtfully. - -“‘How do I know! Hasn’t me father been over the shpot wid me a score iv -times; aye, an’ a hundhred times afore that be himself. It was here, I -tell ye, that he seen the min wid the gun carriage for the last time. -Do ye want to arguey it?’ - -“‘Not me!’ said Murdock, and as he spoke I saw him stoop—for as I was -at the time lying on the ground I could see his outline against the -dark sky. He was looking away from me, and as I looked too I could see -him start as he whispered to himself:— - -“‘Be God! but it’s thrue! there’s the gun carriage!’ There it was! Art, -true enough before my eyes, not ten feet away on the edge of the bog! -Moynahan went on:— - -“‘Me father tould me that the mountain was different at that time; the -bog only kem down about as low as this. Musha! but its the quare lot -it has shifted since thin!’ There was a pause, broken by Murdock, who -spoke in a hoarse, hard voice:— - -“‘An’ where did he see them nixt?’ Moynahan seemed to be getting -drunker and drunker, as was manifest in his later speech; his dose of -whiskey had no doubt been a good one. - -“‘He seen them next to the north beyant—higher up towards Murdock’s -house.’ - -“‘Towards Murdock’s house! Ye mane Joyce’s?’ - -“‘No, I mane Black Murdock’s; the wan he had before he robbed Joyce. -But begor! he done himself! It’s on Joyce’s ground the money is! He’s -a nagur, anyhow—Black Murdock the Gombeen—bloody end to him!’ and he -relapsed into silence. I could hear Murdock grind his teeth; then after -a pause he spoke as the bottle popped again. - -“‘Have a sup; it’ll kape out the cowld.’ Moynahan took the bottle. - -“‘Here’s death and damnation to Black Gombeen!’ and the gurgling was -heard again. - -“‘Come! now, show me the shpot where yer father last saw the min!’ -Murdock spoke authoritatively, and the other responded mechanically, -and ran rather than walked along the side of the hill. Suddenly he -stopped. - -“‘Here’s the shpot!’ he said, and incontinently tumbled down. - -“‘Git up! Wake up!’ shouted Murdock in his ear. But the whiskey had -done its work; the man slept, breathing heavily and stentoriously, -heedless of the storm and the drenching rain. Murdock gathered a few -stones and placed them together—I could hear the sound as they touched -each other. Then he, too, took a pull at the bottle, and sat down -beside Moynahan. I moved off a little, and when I came to a whin bush -got behind it for a little shelter, and raising myself looked round. We -were quite close to the edge of the bog, about half way between Joyce’s -house and Murdock’s, and well in on Joyce’s land. I was not satisfied -as to what Murdock would do, so I waited. - -“Fully an hour went by without any stir, and then I heard Murdock -trying to awaken old Moynahan. I got down on the ground again and -crawled over close to them. I heard Murdock shake the old man, and -shout in his ear; presently the latter awoke, and the Gombeen Man gave -him another dose of whiskey. This seemed to revive him a little as well -as to complete his awakening. - -“‘Musha! but it’s cowld I am!’ he shivered. - -“‘Begor it is—git up and come home!’ said Murdock, and he dragged the -old man to his feet. - -“‘Hould me up, Murtagh,’ said the latter, ‘I’m that cowld I can’t -shtand, an’ me legs is like shtones—I can’t feel them at all, at all!’ - -“‘All right!’ said the other, ‘walk on a little bit—sthraight—as ye’re -goin’ now—I’ll just shtop to cork the bottle.’ - -“From my position I could see their movements, and as I am a living -man, Art! I saw Murdock turn him with his face to the bog, and send him -to walk straight to his death!” - -“Good God! Dick—are you quite certain?” - -“I haven’t the smallest doubt on my mind. I wish I could have, for -it’s a terrible thing to remember! That attempt to murder in the dark -and the storm, comes between me and sleep! Moreover, Murdoch’s action -the instant after showed only too clearly what he intended. He turned -quickly away, and I could hear him mutter as he moved past me on his -way down the hill:— - -“‘He’ll not throuble me now—curse him! an’ his share won’t be -required,’ and then he laughed a low horrible laugh, slow and harsh, -and as though to himself; and I heard him say:— - -“‘An’ whin I do get the chist, Miss Norah, ye’ll be the nixt!’” - -My blood began to boil as I heard of the villain’s threat:—“Where is -he Dick? He must deal with me for that.” - -“Steady, Art! steady!” and Dick laid his hand on me. - -“Go on!” I said. - -“I couldn’t go after him, for I had to watch Moynahan, whom I followed -close, and I caught hold of as soon as I thought Murdock was too far -to see me. I was only just in time, for as I touched him he staggered, -lurched forward, and was actually beginning to sink in the bog. It was -at one of those spots where the rock runs sheer down into the morass. -It took all my strength to pull him out, and when I did get him on the -rock he sank down again into his drunken sleep. I thought the wisest -thing I could do was to go to Joyce’s for help; and as, thanks to my -experiments with the magnets all those weeks, I knew the ground fairly -well, I was able to find my way—although the task was a slow and -difficult one. - -When I got near I saw a light at the window. My rubber boots, I -suppose, and the plash of the falling rain dulled my footsteps, for as -I drew near I could see that a man was looking in at the window, but he -did not hear me. I crept up behind the hedge and watched him. He went -to the door and knocked—evidently not for the first time; then the door -was opened, and I could see Joyce’s figure against the light that came -from the kitchen. - -“‘Who’s there? What is it?’ he asked. Then I heard Murdock’s voice:— - -“‘I’m lookin’ for poor ould Moynahan. He was out on the hill in the -evenin’, but he hasn’t kem home, an’ I’m anxious about him, for he had -a sup in him, an’ I fear he may have fallen into the bog. I’ve been out -lukin’ for him, but I can’t find him. I thought he might have kem in -here.’ - -“‘No, he has not been here. Are you sure he was on the hill?’ - -“‘Well, I thought so—but what ought I to do? I’d be thankful if ye’d -advise me. Be the way, what o’clock might it be now?’ - -“Norah, who had joined her father, ran in and looked at the clock. - -“‘It is just ten minutes past twelve,’ she said. - -“‘I don’t know what’s to be done,’ said Joyce. ‘Could he have got to -the shebeen?’ - -“‘That’s a good idea! I suppose I’d betther go there an’ luk afther -him. Ye see, I’m anxious about him, for he’s been livin’ wid me, an’ if -anythin’ happened to him, people might say I done it!’ - -“‘That’s a queer thing for him to say!’ said Norah to her father. - -“Murdock turned on her at once. - -“‘Quare thing—no more quare than the things they’ll be sayin’ about you -before long.’ - -“‘What do you mean?’ said Joyce, coming out. - -“‘Oh, nawthin’, nawthin’! I must look for Moynahan.’ And without a word -he turned and ran. Joyce and Norah went into the house. When Murdock -had quite gone I knocked at the door, and Joyce came out like a -thunderbolt. - -“‘I’ve got ye now ye ruffian’—he shouted—‘what did ye mean to say to me -daughter?’ but by this time I stood in the light, and he recognized me. - -“‘Hush!’ I said, ‘let me in quietly’—and when I passed in we shut -the door. Then I told them that I had been out on the mountain, and -had found Moynahan. I told them both that they must not ask me any -questions, or let on to a soul that I had told them anything—that much -might depend on it—for I thought, Art, old chap, that they had better -not be mixed up in it, however the matter might end. So we all three -went out with a lantern, and I brought them to where the old man was -asleep. We lifted him, and between us carried him to the house; Joyce -and I undressed him and put him in bed, between warm blankets. Then I -came away and went over to Mrs. Kelligan’s, where I slept in a chair -before the fire. - -“The next morning when I went up to Joyce’s I found that Moynahan -was all right—that he hadn’t even got a cold, but that he remembered -nothing whatever about his walking into the bog. He had even expressed -his wonder at seeing the state his clothes were in. When I went into -the village I found that Murdock had been everywhere and had told -everyone of his fears about Moynahan. I said nothing of his being -safe, but tried quietly to arrange matters so that I might be present -when Murdock should set his eyes for the first time on the man he had -tried to murder. I left him with a number of others in the shebeen, -and went back to bring Moynahan, but found, when I got to Joyce’s that -he had already gone back to Murdock’s house. Joyce had told him, as we -had arranged, that when Murdock had come asking for him he had been -alarmed, and had gone out to look for him; had found him asleep on the -hillside, and had brought him home with him. As I found that my scheme -of facing Murdock with his victim was frustrated, I took advantage of -Murdock’s absence to remove the stones which he had placed to mark the -spot where the treasure was last seen. I found them in the form of a -cross, and moving them, replaced them at a spot some distance lower -down the line of the bog. I marked the place, however, with a mark of -my own—four stones put widely apart at the points of a letter Y—the -centre marking the spot where the cross had been. Murdock returned to -his house not long after, and within a short time ran down to tell that -Moynahan had found his way home, and was all safe. They told me that he -was then white and scared-looking.” Here Dick paused:— - -“Now, my difficulty is this. I know he tried to murder the man, but -I am not in a position to prove it. No man could expect his word to -be taken in such a matter and under such circumstances. And yet I am -morally certain that he intends to murder him still. What should I do? -To take any preventive steps would involve making the charge which I -cannot prove. As yet neither of the men has the slightest suspicion -that I am concerned in the matter in any way—or that I even know of it. -Now may I not be most useful by keeping a watch and biding my time?” - -I thought a moment, but there seemed to be only one answer:— - -“You are quite right, Dick! We can do nothing just at present. We -must keep a sharp look out, and get some tangible evidence of his -intention—something that we can support—and then we can take steps -against him. As to the matter of his threat to harm Norah, I shall -certainly try to bring that out in a way we can prove, and then he -shall have the hottest corner he ever thought of in his life.” - -“Quite right that he should have it, Art; but we must think of her too. -It would not do to have her name mixed up with any gossip. She will be -going away very shortly, I suppose, and then his power to hurt her will -be nil. In the mean time everything must be done to guard her.” - -“I shall get a dog—a good savage one—this very day; that ruffian must -not be able to even get near the house again——” Dick interrupted me:— - -“Oh, I quite forgot to tell you about that. The very day after that -night I got a dog and sent it up. It is the great mastiff that -Meldon, the dispensary doctor, had—the one that you admired so much. -I specially asked Norah to keep it for you, and train it to be always -with her. She promised that she would always feed him herself and take -him about with her. I am quite sure she understood that he was to be -her protector.” - -“Thank you, Dick,” I said, and I am sure he knew I was grateful. - -By this time we had come near the house, outside which the car stood. -Andy was inside, and evidently did not expect our coming so soon, for -he sat with a measure of stout half emptied before him on the table, -and on each of his knees sat a lady—one evidently the mother of the -other. As we appeared in the doorway he started up. - -“Be the powdhers, there’s the masther! Git up, acushla!”—this to the -younger woman, for the elder had already jumped up. Then to me:— - -“Won’t ye sit down, yer ’an’r—there’s only the wan chair, so ye see the -shifts we’re dhruv to, whin there’s three iv us. I couldn’t put Mrs. -Dempsey from off iv her own shtool, an’ she wouldn’t sit on me knee -alone—the dacent woman!—so we had to take the girrul on too. They all -sit that way in these parts!” The latter statement was made with brazen -openness and shameless effrontery. I shook my finger at him:— - -“Take care, Andy. You’ll get into trouble one of these days!” - -“Into throuble! for a girrul sittin’ on me knee! Begor! the -Govermint’ll have to get up more coorts and more polis if they want -to shtop that ould custom. An’ more betoken, they’ll have to purvide -more shtools, too. Mrs. Dempsey, whin I come round agin, mind ye kape -a govermint shtool for me! Here’s the masther wouldn’t let any girrul -sit on any wan’s knee. Begor! not even the quality nor the fairies! All -right, yer ’an’r, the mare’s quite ready. Good-bye, Mrs. Dempsey. Don’t -forgit the shtool—an’ wan too for Biddy! Gee up, ye ould corncrake!” -and so we resumed our journey. - -As we went along Dick gave me all details regarding the property which -he and Mr. Caicy had bought for me. Although I had signed deeds and -papers without number, and was owner in the present or in future of the -whole hill, I had not the least idea of either the size or disposition -of the estate. Dick had been all over it, and was able to supply me -with every detail. As he went on he grew quite enthusiastic—everything -seemed to be even more favourable than he had at first supposed. There -was plenty of clay; and he suspected that in two or three places there -was pottery clay, such as is found chiefly in Cornwall. There was any -amount of water; and when we should be able to control the whole hill -and regulate matters as we wished, the supply would enable us to do -anything in the way of either irrigation or ornamental development. The -only thing we lacked, he said, was limestone, and he had a suspicion -that limestone was to be found somewhere on the hill. - -“I cannot but think,” said he, “that there must be a streak of -limestone somewhere. I cannot otherwise account for the subsidence -of the lake on the top of the hill. I almost begin to think that -that formation of rock to which the Snake’s Pass is due runs right -through the hill, and that we shall find that the whole top of it has -similar granite cliffs, with the hollow between them possibly filled -in with some rock of one of the later formations. However, when we get -possession I shall make accurate search. I tell you, Art, it will well -repay the trouble if we can find it. A limestone quarry here would be -pretty well as valuable as a gold mine. Nearly all these promontories -on the western coast of Ireland are of slate or granite, and here we -have not got lime within thirty miles. With a quarry on the spot, we -can not only build cheap and reclaim our own bog, but we can supply -five hundred square miles of country with the rudiments of prosperity, -and at a nominal price compared with what they pay now!” - -Then he went on to tell me of the various arrangements effected—how -those who wished to emigrate were about to do so, and how others who -wished to stay were to have better farms given them on what we called -“the mainland”; and how he had devised a plan for building houses for -them—good solid stone houses, with proper offices and farmyards. He -concluded what seemed to me like a somewhat modified day-dream:— - -“And if we can find the limestone—well! the improvements can all be -done without costing you a penny; and you can have around you the most -prosperous set of people to be found in the country.” - -In such talk as this the journey wore on till the evening came upon -us. The day had been a fine one—one of those rare sunny days in a wet -autumn. As we went I could see everywhere the signs of the continuous -rains. The fields were sloppy and sodden, and the bottoms were flooded; -the bogs were teeming with water; the roads were washed clean—not only -the mud but even the sand having been swept away, and the road metal -was everywhere exposed. Often, as we went along, Dick took occasion to -illustrate his views as to the danger of the shifting of the bog at -Knockalltecrore by the evidence around us of the destructive power of -the continuous rain. - -When we came to the mountain gap where we got our first and only view -of Knockalltecrore from the Galway road, Andy reined in the mare, and -turned to me, pointing with his whip:— - -“There beyant, yer ’an’r, is Knockalltecrore—the hill where the -threasure is. They do say that a young English gintleman has bought up -the hill, an’ manes to git the threasure for himself. Begor! perhaps he -has found it already. Here! Gee up! ye ould corncrake! What the divil -are ye kapin’ the quality waitin’ for?” and we sped down the road. - -The sight of the hill filled me with glad emotion, and I do not think -that it is to be wondered at. And yet my gladness was followed by an -unutterable gloom—a gloom that fell over me the instant after my eyes -took in the well-known hill struck by the falling sunset from the west. -It seemed to me that all had been so happy and so bright and so easy -for me, that there must be in store some terrible shock or loss to make -the balance even, and, to reduce my satisfaction with life to the -level above which man’s happiness may not pass. - -There was a curse on the hill! I felt it and realized it at that -moment for the first time. I suppose I must have shown something of my -brooding fear in my face, for Dick, looking round at me after a period -of silence, said suddenly:— - -“Cheer up Art, old chap! Surely you, at any rate, have no cause to be -down on your luck! Of all men that live, I should think you ought to be -about the very happiest!” - -“That’s it, old fellow,” I answered. “I fear that there must be -something terrible coming. I shall never be quite happy till Norah and -all of us are quite away from the Hill.” - -“What on earth do you mean? Why, you have just bought the whole place!” - -“It may seem foolish, Dick; but the words come back to me and keep -ringing in my ears—‘The Mountain holds—and it holds tight.’” Dick -laughed:— - -“Well, Art, it is not my fault, or Mr. Caicy’s, if you don’t hold it -tight. It is yours now, every acre of it; and, if I don’t mistake, -you are going to make it in time—and not a long time either—into the -fairest bower to which the best fellow ever brought the fairest lady! -There now, Art, isn’t that a pretty speech?” - -Dick’s words made me feel ashamed of myself, and I made an effort to -pull myself together, which lasted until Dick and I said good-night. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - A GRIM WARNING. - - -I cannot say the night was a happy one. There were moments when I -seemed to lose myself and my own anxieties in thoughts of Norah and the -future, and such moments were sweet to look back on—then as they are -now; but I slept only fitfully and dreamt frightfully. - -It was natural enough that my dreams should centre around -Knockcalltecrore; but there was no good reason why they should all -be miserable or terrible. The Hill seemed to be ever under some -uncomfortable or unnatural condition. When my dreams began, it was -bathed in a flood of yellow moonlight, and at its summit was the giant -Snake, the jewel of whose crown threw out an unholy glare of yellow -light, and whose face and form kept perpetually changing to those of -Murtagh Murdock. - -I can now, with comparatively an easy effort, look back on it all, and -disentangle or give a reason for all the phases of my thought. The -snake “wid side whiskers” was distinctly suggested the first night I -heard the legend at Mrs. Kelligan’s; the light from the jewel was a -part of the legend itself; and so on with every fact and incident. -Presently, as I dreamt, the whole Mountain seemed to writhe and shake -as though the great Snake was circling round it, deep under the earth; -and again this movement changed into the shifting of the bog. Then -through dark shadows that lay athwart the hill I could see the French -soldiers, with their treasure-chest, pass along in dusky, mysterious -silence, and vanish in the hill side. I saw Murdock track them; and, -when they were gone, he and old Moynahan—who suddenly and mysteriously -appeared beside him—struggled on the edge of the bog, and, with a -shuddering wail, the latter threw up his arms and sank slowly into the -depths of the morass. Again Norah and I were wandering together, when -suddenly Murdock’s evil face, borne on a huge serpent body, writhed up -beside us; and in an instant Norah was whirled from my side and swept -into the bog, I being powerless to save her or even help her. - -The last of all my dreams was as follows:—Norah and I were sitting on -the table rock in the Cliff Fields; all was happy and smiling around -us. The sun shone and the birds sang, and as we sat hand in hand, the -beating of our hearts seemed a song also. Suddenly there was a terrible -sound—half a roar, as of an avalanche, and half a fluttering sound, -as of many great wings. We clung together in terror, waiting for the -portent which was at hand. And then over the cliff poured the whole -mass of the bog, foul-smelling, fœtid, terrible, and of endless might. -Just as it was about to touch us, and as I clasped Norah to me, so -that we might die together, and whilst her despairing cry was in my -ear, the whole mighty mass turned into loathsome, writhing snakes, -sweeping into the sea! - -I awoke with a scream which brought nearly every one in the hotel into -my bedroom. Dick was first, and found me standing on the floor, white -and drunk with terror. - -“What is it, old fellow?—oh! I see, only a nightmare! Come on! he’s all -right; it’s only a dream!” and almost before I had realized that the -waking world and not the world of shadows was around me, the room was -cleared and I was alone. I lit a candle and put on some clothes; as it -was of no use trying to sleep again after such an experience, I got a -book and resolutely set to reading. The effort was successful, as such -efforts always are, and I quite forgot the cause of my disturbance in -what I read. Then the matter itself grew less interesting.... - -There was a tap at my door. I started awake—it was broad daylight, and -the book lay with crumpled leaves beside me on the floor. It was a -message to tell me that Mr. Sutherland was waiting breakfast for me. -I called out that I would be down in a few minutes, which promise I -carried out as nearly as was commensurate with the requirements of the -tub and the toilet. I found Dick awaiting me; he looked at me keenly as -I came in, and then said heartily:— - -“I see your nightmare has not left any ill-effects. I say! old chap, it -must have been a whopper—a regular Derby winner among nightmares—worse -than Andy’s old corncrake. You yelled fit to wake the dead. I would -have thought the contrast between an ordinary night and the day you are -going to have would have been sufficient to satisfy anyone without such -an addition to its blackness.” Then he sung out in his rich voice:— - - “Och, Jewel, kape dhramin’ that same till ye die, - For bright mornin’ will give dirty night the black lie.” - -We sat down to breakfast, and I am bound to say, from the trencher -experience of that meal, that there is nothing so fine as an appetiser -for breakfast, as a good preliminary nightmare. - -We drove off to Knockcalltecrore. When we got to the foot of the hill -we stopped as usual. Andy gave me a look which spoke a lot, but he did -not say a single word—for which forbearance I owed him a good turn. -Dick said:— - -“I want to go round to the other side of the hill, and shall cross over -the top. I shall look you up, if I may, at Joyce’s about two o’clock.” - -“All right,” I said; “we shall expect you,” and I started up the hill. - -When I got to the gate, and opened it, there was a loud, deep barking, -which, however, was instantly stilled. I knew that Norah had tied up -the mastiff, and I went to the door. I had no need to knock; for as I -came near, it opened, and in another instant Norah was in my arms. She -whispered in my ear when I had kissed her:— - -“I would like to have come out to meet you, but I thought you would -rather meet me here!” Then, as we went into the sitting-room, -hand-in-hand, she whispered again:— - -“Aunt has gone to buy groceries, so we are all alone. You must tell me -all about everything.” - -We sat down close together, still hand-in-hand, and I told her all that -we had done since I had left. When I had finished the Paris part of the -story, she put up her hands before her face, and I could see the tears -drop through her fingers. - -“Norah! Norah! Don’t cry, my darling! What is it?” - -“Oh, Arthur, I can’t help it! It is so wonderful—more than all I ever -longed or wished for!” Then she took her hands away, and put them in -mine, and looked me bravely in the face, with her eyes half-laughing -and half-crying, and her cheeks wet, and said:— - -“Arthur, you are the Fairy Prince! There is nothing that I can wish -for that you have not done—even my dresses are ready by your sweet -thoughtfulness. It needs an effort, dear, to let you do all this—but -I see it is quite right—I must be dressed like one who is to be your -wife. I shall think I am pleasing you afresh, every time I put one of -them on; but I must pay for them myself. You know I am quite rich now. -I have all the money you paid for the Cliff Fields; father says it -ought to go in such things as will fit me for my new position, and will -not hear of taking any of it.” - -“He is quite right, Norah, my darling—and you are quite right, too—all -shall be just as you wish. Now tell me all about everything since I -went away.” - -“May I bring in Turco? he is so quiet with me; and he must learn to -know you and love you, or he wouldn’t be any friend of mine.” She -looked at me lovingly, and went and brought in the mastiff, by whom I -was forthwith received into friendship. - -That was indeed a happy day! We had a family consultation about the -school; the time of beginning was arranged, and there was perfect -accord amongst us. As Dick and I drove back through the darkness, I -could not but feel that, even if evil were looming ahead of us, at -least some of us had experienced what it is to be happy. - -It had been decided that after a week’s time—on the 28th October—Norah -was to leave for school. Her father was to bring her as far as London, -and Mr. Chapman was to take her over to Paris. This was Joyce’s own -wish; he said:— - -“‘Twill be betther for ye, darlin’, to go widout me. Ye’ll have quite -enough to do for a bit, to keep even wid the girls that have been -reared in betther ways nor you, widout me there to make little iv ye.” - -“But, father,” she remonstrated, “I don’t want to appear any different -from what I am! And I am too fond of you, and too proud of you, not to -want to appear as your daughter.” - -Her father stroked her hair gently as he answered:— - -“Norah! my darlin’, it isn’t that. Ye’ve always been the good and -dutiful daughter to me; an’ in all your pretty life there’s not wan -thing I wish undone or unsaid. But I’m older than you, daughter, an’ -I know more iv the world; an’ what I say, is best for ye—now, and in -yer future. I’m goin’ to live wid Eugene; an’ afther a while I suppose -I, too, ’ll be somethin’ different from what I am. An’ thin, whin I’ve -lived awhile in a city, and got somethin’ of city ways, I’ll come an’ -see ye, maybe. Ye must remimber, that it’s not only of you we’ve to -think, but of th’ other girls in the school. I don’t want to have any -of them turnin’ up their noses at ye—that’s not the way to get the best -out iv school, me dear; for I suppose school is like everywhere else in -the world—the higher ye’re able to hould yer head, the more others’ll -look up to ye!” - -His words were so obviously true, that not one of us had a word to -say, and the matter was acquiesced in _nem. con._ I myself got leave -to accompany the party as far as London—but not beyond. It was further -arranged that Joyce should take his daughter to Galway, to get some -clothes for her—just enough to take her to Paris—and that when in Paris -she should have a full outfit under the direction of Madame Lepechaux. -They were to leave on Friday, so as to have the Saturday in Galway; and -as Norah wanted to say good-bye on the Sunday to old schoolfellows and -friends in the convent, they would return on Monday, the 25th October. -Accordingly, on the morning after next, Joyce took a letter for me to -Mr. Caicy, who was to pay to him whatever portion of the purchase-money -of his land he should require, and whom I asked to give all possible -assistance in whatever matters either he or Norah might desire. I would -have dearly liked to have gone myself with them, but the purpose and -the occasion were such that I could not think of offering to go. On the -day fixed they left on the long car from Carnaclif. They started in -torrents of rain, but were as well wrapped up as the resources of Dick -and myself would allow. - -When they had gone, Dick and I drove over to Knockcalltecrore. Dick -wished to have an interview with Murdock, regarding his giving up -possession of the land on the 27th, as arranged. - -We left Andy as usual at the foot of the hill, and went up to Murdock’s -house. The door was locked; and although we knocked several times, we -could get no answer. We came away, therefore, and went up the hill, as -Dick wished me to see where, according to old Moynahan, was the last -place at which the Frenchmen had been seen. As we went on and turned -the brow of the mound, which lay straight up—for the bog-land lay in a -curve round its southern side—we saw before us two figures at the edge -of the bog. They were those of Murdock and old Moynahan. When we saw -who they were, Dick whispered to me:— - -“They are at the place to which I changed the mark, but are still on -Joyce’s land.” - -They were working just as Dick and I had worked with Murdock, when -we had recovered the gun-carriage, and were so intent on the work at -which they toiled with feverish eagerness, that they did not see us -coming; and it was only when we stood close beside them that they were -conscious of our presence. Murdock turned at once with a scowl and a -sort of snarl. When he saw who it was, he became positively livid with -passion, and at once began to bombard us with the foulest vituperation. -Dick pressed my arm, as a hint to keep quiet and leave the talking to -him, and I did nothing; but he opposed the Gombeen Man’s passion with -an unruffled calm. Indeed, he seemed to me to want even to exasperate -Murdock to the last degree. When the latter paused for a second for -breath, he quietly said:— - -“Keep your hair on, Murdock! and just tell me quietly why you are -trespassing; and why, and what, you are trying to steal from this -property?” - -Murdock made no answer, so Dick went on:— - -“Let me tell you that I act for the owner of this land, who bought it -as it is, and I shall hold you responsible for your conduct. I don’t -want to have a row needlessly, so if you go away quietly, and promise -to not either trespass here again, or try to steal anything, I shall -not take any steps. If not, I shall do as the occasion demands.” - -Murdock answered him with the most manifestly intentional insolence:— - -“You! ye tell me to go away! I don’t ricognize ye at all. This land -belongs to me frind, Mr. Joyce, an’ I shall come on it whin I like, -and do as I like. Whin me frind tells me not to come here, I shall -shtay away. Till then I shall do as I like!” - -Said Dick:— - -“You think that will do to bluff me because you know Joyce is away -for the day, and that, in the meantime, you can do what you want, and -perhaps get out of the bog some property that does not belong to you. I -shall not argue with you any more; but I warn you that you will have to -answer for your conduct.” - -Murdock and Moynahan continued their pulling at the rope. We waited -till the haul was over, and saw that the spoil on this occasion was a -part of the root of a tree. Then, when both men were sitting exhausted -beside it, Dick took out his note-book, and began to make notes of -everything. Presently he turned to Murdock, and said:— - -“Have you been fishing, Mr. Murdock? What a strange booty you have -brought up! It is really most kind of you to be aiding to secure the -winter firing for Mr. Joyce and my friend. Is there anything but -bogwood to be found here?” - -Murdock’s reply was a curse and a savage scowl; but old Moynahan joined -in the conversation:— - -“Now, I tould ye, Murtagh, that we wur too low down!” - -“Shut up!” shouted the other, and the old man shrank back as if he had -been struck. Dick looked down, and seemed to be struck by the cross of -loose stones at his feet, and said:— - -“Dear me! that is very strange—a cross of stones. It would almost seem -as if it were made here to mark something; but yet”—here he lifted one -of the stones—“it cannot have been long here; the grass is fresh under -the stones.” Murdock said nothing, but clenched his hands and ground -his teeth. Presently, however, he sent Moynahan back to his house to -get some whiskey. When the latter was out of earshot, Murdock turned to -us, and said:— - -“An’ so, ye think to baffle me! do ye? Well! I’ll have that money -out—if I have to wade in yer blood. I will, by the livin’ God!” and he -burst into a string of profanities that made us shudder. - -He was in such deadly earnest that I felt a pity for him, and said -impulsively:— - -“Look here! if you want to get it out, you can have a little more time -if you like, if only you will conduct yourself properly. I don’t want -to be bothered looking for it. Now, if you’ll only behave decently, and -be something like a civilized being, I’ll give you another month if you -want it!” - -Again he burst out at me with still more awful profanities. He didn’t -want any of my time! He’d take what time he liked! God Himself—and -he particularized the persons of the Trinity—couldn’t balk him, and -he’d do what he liked; and if I crossed his path it would be the worse -for me! And, as for others, that he would send the hard word round -the country about me and my leman!—I couldn’t be always knocking the -ruffian down, so I turned away and called to Dick:— - -“Coming!” said Dick, and he walked up to Murdock and knocked him down. -Then, as the latter lay dazed on the grass, he followed me. - -“Really,” he said, apologetically, “the man wants it. It will do him -good!” - -Then we went back to Carnaclif. - -These three days were very dreary ones for me: we spent most of the -time walking over Knockcalltecrore and making plans for the future. -But, without Norah, the place seemed very dreary! - -We did not go over on the Monday, as we knew that Joyce and Norah would -not get home until late in the evening, and would be tired. Early, -however, on the day after—Tuesday—we drove over. Joyce was out, and -Dick left me at the foot of the boreen, so when I got to the house I -found Norah alone. - -The dear girl showed me her new dresses with much pride; and presently -going to her room put on one of them, and came back to let me see how -she looked. Her face was covered with blushes. Needless to say that I -admired the new dress, as did her father, who just then came in. - -When she went away to take off the dress Joyce beckoned me outside. -When we got away from the house he turned to me; his face was very -grave, and he seemed even more frightened than angry. - -“There’s somethin’ I was tould while I was away, that I think ye ought -to know.” - -“Go on, Mr. Joyce!” - -“Somebody has been sayin’ hard things about Norah!” - -“About Norah! Surely there is nobody mad enough or bad enough to speak -evil of her.” - -“There’s wan!” He turned as he spoke, and looked instinctively in the -direction of Murdock’s house. - -“Oh, Murdock! as he threatened—what did he say?” - -“Well, I don’t know. I could only get it that somebody was sayin’ -somethin’, an’ that it would be well to have things so that no wan -could say anythin’ that we couldn’t prove. It was a frind tould me—and -that’s all he would tell! Mayhap he didn’t know any more himself; but I -knew him to be a frind!” - -“And it was a friendly act, Mr. Joyce. I have no doubt that Murdock has -been sending round wicked lies about us all! But thank God! in a few -days we will be all moving, and it doesn’t matter much what he can do.” - -“No! it won’t matter much in wan way, but he’s not goin’, all the same, -to throw dirt on me child. If he goes on I’ll folly him up!” - -“He won’t go on, Mr. Joyce. Before long, he’ll be out of the -neighbourhood altogether. To tell you the truth, I have bought the -whole of his land, and I get possession of it to-morrow; and then I’ll -never let him set foot here again. When once he is out of this, he -will have too much other wickedness on hand to have time to meddle with -us!” - -“That’s thrue enough! Well! we’ll wait an’ see what happens—but we’ll -be mighty careful all the same.” - -“Quite right,” I said, “we cannot be too careful in such a matter!” -Then we went back to the house, and met Norah coming into the room in -her red petticoat, which she knew I liked. She whispered to me! oh so -sweetly:— - -“I thought, dear, you would like me to be the old Norah, to-day. It is -our last day together in the old way.” Then hand-in-hand we went down -to the Cliff Fields, and sat on the table-rock for the last time, and -feasted our eyes on the glorious prospect, whilst we told each other -our bright dreams of the future. - -In the autumn twilight we came back to the house; Dick had, in the -meantime, come in, and we both stayed for tea. I saw that Dick had -something to tell me, but he waited until we were going home before he -spoke. - -It was a sad parting with Norah that night; for it was the last day -together before she went off to school. For myself, I felt that -whatever might be in the future—and I hoped for much—it was the last -time that I might sit by the firelight with the old Norah. She, too, -was sad, and when she told me the cause of her sadness, I found that it -was the same as my own. - -“But oh! Arthur, my darling, I shall try—I shall try to be worthy of my -great good fortune—and of you!” she said, as she put her arms round my -neck, and leaning her head on my bosom, began to cry. - -“Hush! Norah. Hush, my darling!” I said, “you must not say such things -to me. You, who are worthy of all the good gifts of life. Oh, my dear! -my dear! I am only fearful that you may be snatched away from me by -some terrible misfortune—I shall not be happy till you are safely away -from the shadow of this fateful mountain and are beginning your new -life.” - -“Only one more day!” she said. “To-morrow we must settle up -everything—and I have much to do for father—poor father! how good he is -to me. Please God! Arthur, we shall be able some day to repay him for -all his goodness to me!” How inexpressibly sweet it was to me to hear -her say “we” shall be able, as she nestled up close to me. - -Ah! that night! Ah! that night!—the end of the day when, for the last -time, I sat on the table-rock with the old Norah that I loved so well. -It almost seemed as if Fate, who loves the keen contrasts of glare and -gloom, had made on purpose that day so bright, and of such flawless -happiness! - -As we went back to Carnaclif Dick told me what had been exercising his -mind all the afternoon. When he had got to the bog he found that it had -risen so much that he thought it well to seek the cause. He had gone at -once to the place where Murdock had dammed up the stream that ran over -into the Cliff Fields, and had found that the natural position of the -ground had so far aided his efforts that the great stones thrown into -the chine had become solidified with the rubbish by the new weight of -the risen bog into a compact mass, and unless some heroic measure, such -as blowing up the dam, should be taken, the bog would continue to rise -until it should flow over the lowest part of the solid banks containing -it. - -“As sure as we are here, Art,” he said, “that man will do himself to -death. I am convinced that if the present state of things goes on, with -the bog at its present height, and with this terrible rainfall, there -will be another shifting of the bog—and then, God help him, and perhaps -others too! I told him of the danger, and explained it to him—but he -only laughed at me and called me a fool and a traitor—that I was doing -it to prevent him getting his treasure—his treasure, forsooth!—and then -he went again into those terrible blasphemies—so I came away; but he is -a lost man, and I don’t see how we can stop him.” I said earnestly:— - -“Dick, there’s no danger to them—the Joyces—is there?” - -“No!” he answered, “not the slightest—their house is on the rock, high -over the spot, and quite away from any possible danger.” - -Then we relapsed into silence, as we each tried to think out a solution. - -That night it rained more heavily than ever. The downfall was almost -tropical—as it can be on the West Coast—and the rain on the iron roof -of the stable behind the hotel sounded like thunder; it was the last -thing in my ears before I went to sleep. - -That night again I kept dreaming—dreaming in the same nightmare fashion -as before. But although the working of my imagination centred round -Knockcalltecrore and all it contained, and although I suffered dismal -tortures from the hideous dreams of ruin and disaster which afflicted -me, I did not on this occasion arouse the household. In the morning -when we met, Dick looked at my pale face and said:— - -“Dreaming again, Art! Well, please God, it’s all nearly over now. One -more day, and Norah will be away from Knockcalltecrore.” - -The thought gave me much relief. The next morning—on Thursday, 28th of -October—we should be on our way to Galway _en route_ for London, whilst -Dick would receive on my behalf possession of the property which I had -purchased from Murdock. Indeed his tenure ended at noon this very day; -but we thought it wiser to postpone taking possession until after Norah -had left. Although Norah’s departure meant a long absence from the -woman I loved, I could not regret it, for it was after all but a long -road to the end I wished for. The two years would soon be over. And -then!—and then life would begin in real earnest, and along its paths of -sorrow as of joy Norah and I should walk with equal steps. - -Alas! for dreaming! The dreams of the daylight are often more delusive -than even those born of the glamour of moonlight or starlight, or of -the pitchy darkness of the night! - -It had been arranged that we were not on this day to go over to -Knockcalltecrore, as Norah and her father wanted the day together. -Miss Joyce, Norah’s aunt, who usually had lived with them, was coming -back to look after the house. So after breakfast Dick and I smoked and -lounged about, and went over some business matters, and we arranged -many things to be done during my absence. The rain still continued to -pour down in a perfect deluge—the roadway outside the hotel was running -like a river, and the wind swept the rain-clouds so that the drops -struck like hail. Every now and again, as the gusts gathered in force, -the rain seemed to drive past like a sheet of water; and looking out of -the window, we could see dripping men and women trying to make headway -against the storm. Dick said to me:— - -“If this rain holds on much longer it will be a bad job for Murdock. -There is every fear that if the bog should break under the flooding -he will suffer at once. What an obstinate fool he is—he won’t take -any warning! I almost feel like a criminal in letting him go to his -death—ruffian though he is; and yet what can one do? We are all -powerless if anything should happen.” After this we were silent. I -spoke the next:— - -“Tell me, Dick, is there any earthly possibility of any harm coming to -Joyce’s house in case the bog should shift again? Is it quite certain -that they are all safe?” - -“Quite certain, old fellow. You may set your mind at rest on that -score. In so far as the bog is concerned, she and her father are in -no danger. The only way they could run any risk of danger would be by -their going to Murdock’s house, or by being by chance lower down on the -hill, and I do not think that such a thing is likely to happen.” - -This set my mind more at ease, and while Dick sat down to write some -letters I continued to look at the rain. - -By-and-by I went down to the tap-room, where there were always a lot -of peasants, whose quaint speech amused and interested me. When I came -in one of them, whom I recognized as one of our navvies at Knocknacar, -was telling something, for the others all stood round him. Andy was the -first to see me, and said as I entered:— - -“Ye’ll have to go over it all agin, Mike. Here’s his ’an’r, that is -just death on to bogs—an’ the like,” he added, looking at me slyly. - -“What is it?” I asked. - -“Oh, not much, yer ’an’r, except that the bog up at Knocknacar has run -away intirely. Whin the wather rose in it, the big cuttin’ we med tuk -it all out, like butthermilk out iv a jug. Begor! there never was seen -such a flittin’ since the wurrld begun. An’ more betoken, the quare -part iv it is that it hasn’t left the bit iv a hole behind it at all, -but it’s all mud an’ wather at the prisint minit.” - -I knew this would interest Dick exceedingly, so I went for him. When -he heard it he got quite excited, and insisted that we should go off -to Knocknacar at once. Accordingly Andy was summoned, the mare was -harnessed, and with what protection we could get in the way of wraps, -we went off to Knocknacar through the rain storm. - -As we went along we got some idea of the damage done—and being done—by -the wonderful rainfall. Not only the road was like a river, and the -mountain streams were roaring torrents, but in places the road was -flooded to such a dangerous depth that we dared not have attempted the -passage only that, through our repeated journeys, we all knew the road -so well. - -However, we got at last to Knocknacar, and there found that the -statement we heard was quite true. The bog had been flooded to such a -degree that it had burst out through the cutting which we had made, and -had poured in a great stream over all the sloping moorland on which we -had opened it. The brown bog and black mud lying all over the stony -space looked like one of the lava streams which mark the northern side -of Vesuvius. Dick went most carefully all over the ground wherever -we could venture, and took a number of notes. Indeed, the day was -beginning to draw in, when, dripping and chilled, we prepared for our -return journey through the rain. Andy had not been wasting his time in -the sheebeen, and was in one of his most jocular humours; and when we -too were fortified with steaming hot punch we were able to listen to -his fun without wanting to kill him. - -On the journey back, Dick—when Andy allowed him speech—explained to me -the various phenomena which we had noticed. When we got back to the -hotel it was night. Had the weather been fine we might have expected -a couple more hours of twilight; but with the mass of driving clouds -overhead, and the steady downpour of rain, and the fierce rush of the -wind, there was left to us not the slightest suggestion of day. - -We went to bed early, for I had to rise by daylight for our journey on -the morrow. After lying awake for some time listening to the roar of -the storm and the dash of the rain, and wondering if it were to go on -for ever, I sank into a troubled sleep. - -It seemed to me that all the nightmares which had individually -afflicted me during the last week returned to assail me collectively -on the present occasion. I was a sort of Mazeppa in the world of -dreams. Again and again the fatal hill and all its mystic and terrible -associations haunted me!—Again the snakes writhed around and took -terrible forms! Again she I loved was in peril! Again Murdock seemed to -arise in new forms of terror and wickedness! Again the lost treasure -was sought under terrible conditions; and once again I seemed to sit -on the table-rock with Norah, and to see the whole mountain rush down -on us in a dread avalanche, and turn to myriad snakes as it came! And -again Norah seemed to call to me, “Help! help! Arthur! Save me! Save -me!” And again, as was most natural, I found myself awake on the floor -of my room—though this time I did not scream—wet and quivering with -some nameless terror, and with Norah’s despairing cry in my ears. - -But even in the first instant of my awakening I had taken a resolution -which forthwith I proceeded to carry into effect. These terrible -dreams—whencesoever they came—must not have come in vain! The grim -warning must not be despised! Norah was in danger, and I must go to her -at all hazards! - -I threw on my clothes and went and woke Dick. When I told him my -intention he jumped up at once and began to dress, whilst I ran -downstairs and found Andy, and set him to get out the car at once. - -“Is it goin’ out agin in the shtorm ye are? Begor! ye’d not go widout -some rayson, an’ I’m not the bhoy to be behind whin ye want me. I’ll be -ready, yer ’an’r, in two skips iv a dead salmon!” and Andy proceeded -to make, or rather complete, his toilet, and hurried out to the stable -to get the car ready. In the mean time Dick had got two lanterns and a -flask, and showed them to me. - -“We may as well have them with us. We do not know what we may want in -this storm.” - -It was now past one o’clock, and the night was pitchy dark. The rain -still fell, and high overhead we could hear the ceaseless rushing of -the wind. It was a lucky thing that both Andy and the mare knew the -road thoroughly, for otherwise we never could have got on that night. -As it was, we had to go much more slowly than we had ever gone before. - -I was in a perfect fever. Every second’s delay seemed to me like an -hour. I feared—nay more, I had a deep conviction—that some dreadful -thing was happening, and I had over me a terrible dread that we should -arrive too late. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - THE CATASTROPHE. - - -As we drew closer to the mountain, and recognized our whereabouts by -the various landmarks, my dread seemed to grow. The night was now well -on, and there were signs of the storm abating; occasionally the wind -would fall off a little, and the rain beat with less dreadful violence. -In such moments some kind of light would be seen in the sky—or, to -speak more correctly, the darkness would be less complete—and then the -new squall which followed would seem by contrast with the calm to smite -us with renewed violence. In one of these lulls we saw for an instant -the mountain rise before us, its bold outline being shown darkly -against a sky less black. But the vision was swept away an instant -after by a squall and a cloud of blinding rain, leaving only a dreadful -memory of some field for grim disaster. Then we went on our way even -more hopelessly; for earth and sky, which in that brief instant we had -been able to distinguish, were now hidden under one unutterable pall of -gloom. - -On we went slowly. There was now in the air a thunderous feeling, and -we expected each moment to be startled by the lightning’s flash or the -roar of Heaven’s artillery. Masses of mist or sea fog now began to be -borne landward by the passing squalls. In the time that elapsed between -that one momentary glimpse of Knockcalltecrore and our arrival at the -foot of the boreen a whole lifetime seemed to me to have elapsed, and -in my thoughts and harrowing anxieties I recalled—as drowning men are -said to do before death—every moment, every experience since I had -first come within sight of the western sea. The blackness of my fears -seemed only a carrying inward of the surrounding darkness, which was -made more pronounced by the flickering of our lanterns, and more dread -by the sounds of the tempest with which it was laden. - -When we stopped in the boreen, Dick and I hurried up the hill, whilst -Andy, with whom we left one of the lanterns, drew the horse under -the comparative shelter of the wind-swept alders, which lined the -entrance to the lane. He wanted a short rest before proceeding to Mrs. -Kelligan’s, where he was to stop the remainder of the night, so as to -be able to come for us in the morning. - -As we came near Murdock’s cottage Dick pressed my arm. - -“Look!” he called to me, putting his mouth to my ear so that I could -hear him, for the storm swept the hill fiercely here, and a special -current of wind came whirling up through the Shleenanaher. “Look! he -is up even at this hour. There must be some villainy afloat!” - -When we got up a little farther he called to me again in the same way. - -“The nearest point of the bog is here; let us look at it.” We diverged -to the left, and in a few minutes were down at the edge of the bog. - -It seemed to us to be different from what it had been. It was raised -considerably above its normal height, and seemed quivering all over in -a very strange way. Dick said to me very gravely:— - -“We are just in time. There’s something going to happen here.” - -“Let us hurry to Joyce’s,” I said, “and see if all is safe there.” - -“We should warn them first at Murdock’s,” he said. “There may not be a -moment to lose.” We hurried back to the boreen and ran on to Murdock’s, -opened the gate, and ran up the path. We knocked at the door, but there -was no answer. We knocked more loudly still, but there came no reply. - -“We had better make certain,” said Dick, and I could hear him more -easily now, for we were in the shelter of the porch. We opened the -door, which was only on the latch, and went in. In the kitchen a candle -was burning, and the fire on the hearth was blazing, so that it could -not have been long since the inmates had left. Dick wrote a line of -warning in his pocket-book, tore out the leaf, and placed it on the -table where it could not fail to be seen by anyone entering the room. -We then hurried out, and up the lane to Joyce’s. - -As we drew near we were surprised to find a light in Joyce’s window -also. I got to the windward side of Dick, and shouted to him:— - -“A light here also! there must be something strange going on.” We -hurried as fast as we could up to the house. As we drew close the door -was opened, and through a momentary lull we heard the voice of Miss -Joyce, Norah’s aunt:— - -“Is that you, Norah?” - -“No!” I answered. - -“Oh! is it you, Mr. Arthur? Thank God ye’ve come! I’m in such terror -about Phelim an’ Norah. They’re both out in the shtorm, an’ I’m nigh -disthracted about them.” - -By this time we were in the house, and could hear each other speak, -although not too well even here, for again the whole force of the gale -struck the front of the house, and the noise was great. - -“Where is Norah? Is she not here?” - -“Oh no! God help us! Wirrastru! wirrastru!” The poor woman was in such -a state of agitation and abject terror that it was with some difficulty -we could learn from her enough to understand what had occurred. The -suspense of trying to get her to speak intelligibly was agonizing, for -now every moment was precious; but we could not do anything or make any -effort whatever until we had learned all that had occurred. At last, -however, it was conveyed to us that early in the evening Joyce had -gone out to look after the cattle, and had not since returned. Late at -night old Moynahan had come to the door half drunk, and had hiccoughed -a message that Joyce had met with an accident and was then in Murdock’s -house. He wanted Norah to go to him there, but Norah only was to go -and no one else. She had at once suspected that it was some trap of -Murdock’s for some evil purpose, but still she thought it better to go, -and accordingly called to Hector, the mastiff, to come with her, she -remarking to her aunt “I am safe with him, at any rate.” But Hector -did not come. He had been restless, and groaning for an hour before, -and now on looking for him they had found him dead. This helped to -confirm Norah’s suspicions, and the two poor women were in an agony of -doubt as to what they should do. Whilst they were discussing the matter -Moynahan had returned—this time even drunker than before—and repeated -his message, but with evident reluctance. Norah had accordingly set to -work to cross-examine him, and after a while he admitted that Joyce was -not in Murdock’s house at all—that he had been sent with the message -and told when he had delivered it to go away to mother Kelligan’s and -not to ever tell anything whatever of the night’s proceedings—no matter -what might happen or what might be said. When he had admitted this -much he had been so overcome with fright at what he had done that he -began to cry and moan, and say that Murdock would kill him for telling -on him. Norah had told him he could remain in the cottage where he -was, if he would tell her where her father was, so that she could go -to look for him; but that he had sworn most solemnly that he did not -know, but that Murdock knew, for he told him that there would be no -chance of seeing him at his own house for hours yet that night. This -had determined Norah that she would go out herself, although the storm -was raging wildly, to look for her father. Moynahan, however, would not -stay in the cottage, as he said he would be afraid to, unless Joyce -himself were there to protect him; for if there were no one but women -in the house Murdock would come and murder him and throw his body into -the bog, as he had often threatened. So Moynahan had gone out into the -night by himself, and Norah had shortly after gone out also, and from -that moment she—Miss Joyce—had not set eyes on her, and feared that -some harm had happened. - -This the poor soul told us in such an agony of dread and grief that -it was pitiful to hear her, and we could not but forgive the terrible -delay. I was myself in deadly fear, for every kind of harrowing -possibility rose before me as the tale was told. It was quite evident -that Murdock was bent on some desperate scheme of evil; he either -intended to murder Norah or to compromise her in some terrible way. I -was almost afraid to think of the subject. It was plain to me that by -this means he hoped, not only to gratify his revenge, but to get some -lever to use against us, one and all, so as to secure his efforts in -searching for the treasure. In my rage against the cowardly hound, -I almost lost sight of the need of thankfulness for one great peril -avoided. - -However, there was no time at present for further thought—action, -prompt and decisive, was vitally necessary. Joyce was absent—we had no -clue to where he could be. Norah was alone on the mountain, and with -the possibility of Murdock assailing her, for he, too, was abroad—as we -knew from the fact of his being away from his house. - -We lost not a moment, but went out again into the storm. We did not, -however, take the lantern with us, as we found by experience that its -occasional light was in the long run an evil, as we could not by its -light see any distance, and the grey of the coming dawn was beginning -to show through the abating storm, with a faint indication that before -long we should have some light. - -We went down the hill westward until we came near the bog, for we had -determined to make a circuit of it as our first piece of exploration, -since we thought that here lay the most imminent danger. Then we -separated, Dick following the line of the bog downward whilst I went -north, intending to cross at the top and proceed down the farther side. -We had agreed on a signal, if such could be heard through the storm, -choosing the Australian “coo-ee,” which is the best sound to travel -known. - -I hurried along as fast as I dared, for I was occasionally in utter -darkness. Although the morning was coming with promise of light, the -sea-wind swept inland masses of swiftly-driving mist, which, whilst -they encompassed me, made movement not only difficult and dangerous, -but at times almost impossible. The electric feeling in the air had -become intensified, and each moment I expected the thunderstorm to -burst. - -Every little while I called, “Norah! Norah!” in the vain hope that, -whilst returning from her search for her father, she might come within -the sound of my voice. But no answering sound came back to me, except -the fierce roar of the storm laden with the wild dash of the breakers -hurled against the cliffs and the rocks below. - -Even then, so strangely does the mind work, the words of the old song, -“The Pilgrim of Love,” came mechanically to my memory, as though I had -called “Orinthia” instead of “Norah:”— - - “Till with ‘Orinthia’ all the rocks resound.” - -On, on I went, following the line of the bog, till I had reached the -northern point, where the ground rose and began to become solid. I -found the bog here so swollen with rain that I had to make a long -detour so as to get round to the western side. High up on the hill -there was, I knew, a rough shelter for the cattle; and as it struck -me that Joyce might have gone here to look after his stock, and that -Norah had gone hither to search for him, I ran up to it. The cattle -were there, huddled together in a solid mass behind the sheltering wall -of sods and stones. I cried out as loudly as I could from the windward -side, so that my voice would carry:— - -“Norah! Norah! Joyce! Joyce! Are you there? Is anyone there?” - -There was a stir amongst the cattle and one or two low “moos” as they -heard the human voice, but no sound from either of those I sought; so I -ran down again to the further side of the bog. I knew now that neither -Norah nor her father could be on this point of the hill, or they would -have heard my voice; and as the storm came from the west, I made a -zigzag line going east to west as I followed down the bog so that I -might have a chance of being heard—should there be anyone to hear. When -I got near to the entrance to the Cliff Fields I shouted as loudly as -I could, “Norah! Norah!” but the wind took my voice away as it would -sweep thistles down, and it was as though I made the effort but no -voice came, and I felt awfully alone in the midst of a thick pall of -mist. - -On, on I went, following the line of the bog. Lower down there was some -shelter from the storm, for the great ridge of rocks here rose between -me and the sea, and I felt that my voice could be heard further off. -I was sick at heart and chilled with despair, till I felt as if the -chill of my soul had extended even to my blood; but on I went with set -purpose, the true doggedness of despair. - -As I went I thought I heard a cry through the mist—Norah’s voice! It -was but an instant, and I could not be sure whether my ears indeed -heard, or if the anguish of my heart had created the phantom of a -voice to deceive me. However, be it what it might, it awoke me like -a clarion; my heart leaped and the blood surged in my brain till I -almost became dizzy. I listened to try if I could distinguish from what -direction the voice had come. - -I waited in agony. Each second seemed a century, and my heart beat like -a trip-hammer. Then again I heard the sound—faint, but still clear -enough to hear. I shouted with all my power, but once again the roar of -the wind overpowered me; however, I ran on towards the voice. - -There was a sudden lull in the wind—a blaze of lightning lit up the -whole scene, and, some fifty yards before me, I saw two figures -struggling at the edge of the rocks. In that welcome glance, -infinitesimal though it was, I recognized the red petticoat which, -in that place and at that time, could be none other than Norah’s. I -shouted as I leapt forward; but just then the thunder broke overhead, -and in the mighty and prolonged roll every other sound faded into -nothingness, as though the thunderclap had come on a primeval -stillness. As I drew near to where I had seen the figures, the thunder -rolled away, and through its vanishing sound I heard distinctly Norah’s -voice:— - -“Help! Help! Arthur! Father! Help! Help!” Even in that wild moment my -heart leaped, that of all names, she called on mine the first—Whatever -men may say, Love and Jealousy are near kinsmen! - -I shouted in return, as I ran, but the wind took my voice away—and then -I heard her voice again, but fainter than before:— - -“Help! Arthur—Father! Is there no one to help me now!” And then the -lightning flashed again, and in the long jagged flash we saw each -other, and I heard her glad cry before the thunderclap drowned all -else. I had seen that her assailant was Murdock, and I rushed at him, -but he had seen me too, and before I could lay hands on him he had let -her go, and with a mighty oath which the roll of the thunder drowned, -he struck her to the earth and ran. - -I raised my poor darling, and, carrying her a little distance, placed -her on the edge of the ridge of rocks beside us, for by the light in -the sky, which grew paler each second, I saw that a stream of water -rising from the bog, was flowing towards us. She was unconscious—so I -ran to the stream and dipped my hat full of water to bring to revive -her. Then I remembered the signal of finding her, and putting my hands -to my lips I sounded the “Coo-ee,” once, twice. As I stood I could -see Murdock running to his house, for every instant it seemed to grow -lighter, and the mist to disperse. The thunder had swept away the -rain-clouds, and let in the light of the coming dawn. - -But even as I stood there—and I had not delayed an unnecessary -second—the ground under me seemed to be giving way. There was a strange -shudder or shiver below me, and my feet began to sink. With a wild -cry—for I felt that the fatal moment had come—that the bog was moving, -and had caught me in its toils, I threw myself forward towards the -rock. My cry seemed to arouse Norah like the call of a trumpet. She -leaped to her feet, and in an instant seemed to realize my danger, and -rushed towards me. When I saw her coming I shouted to her:— - -“Keep back! keep back.” But she did not pause an instant, and the only -words she said were:— - -“I am coming, Arthur! I am coming!” - -Half way between us there was a flat-topped piece of rock, which raised -its head out of the surrounding bog. As she struggled towards it, her -feet began to sink, and a new terror for her was added to my own. But -she did not falter a moment, and, as her lighter weight was in her -favour, with a great effort she gained it. In the meantime I struggled -forward. There was between me and the rock a clump of furze bushes; on -these I threw myself, and for a second or two they supported me. Then -even these began to sink with me, for faster and faster, with each -succeeding second, the earth seemed to liquify and melt away. - -Up to now I had never realized the fear, or even the possibility, of -death to myself—hitherto all my fears had been for Norah. But now came -to me the bitter pang which must be for each of the children of men on -whom Death has laid his icy hand. That this dread moment had come there -was no doubt; nothing short of a miracle could save me! - -No language could describe the awful sensation of that melting away of -the solid earth—the most dreadful nightmare would be almost a pleasant -memory compared with it. - -I was now only a few feet from the rock whose very touch meant safety -to me—but it was just beyond my reach! I was sinking to my doom!—I -could see the horror in Norah’s eyes, as she gained the rock and -struggled to her feet. - -But even Norah’s love could not help me—I was beyond the reach of her -arms, and she no more than I could keep a foothold on the liquifying -earth. Oh! that she had a rope and I might be saved! Alas! she had -none—even the shawl that might have aided me had fallen off in her -struggle with Murdock. - -But Norah had, with her woman’s quick instinct, seen a way to help me. -In an instant she had had torn off her red petticoat of heavy homespun -cloth and thrown one end to me. I clutched and caught it with a -despairing grasp—for by this time only my head and hands remained above -the surface. - -“Now, O God! for strength!” was the earnest prayer of her heart, and my -thought was:— - -“Now, for the strong hands that that other had despised!” - -Norah threw herself backward with her feet against a projecting piece -of the rock, and I felt that if we could both hold out long enough I -was saved. - -Little by little I gained! I drew closer and closer to the rock! -Closer! closer still! till with one hand I grasped the rock itself, -and hung on, breathless, in blind desperation. I was only just able to -support myself, for there was a strange dragging power in the viscous -mass that held me, and greatly taxed my strength, already exhausted -in the terrible struggle for life. The bog was beginning to move! But -Norah bent forward, kneeling on the rock, and grasped my coat collar in -her strong hands. Love and despair lent her additional strength, and -with one last great effort she pulled me upward—and in an instant more -I lay on the rock safe and in her arms. - -During this time, short as it was, the morning had advanced, and the -cold grey mysterious light disclosed the whole slope before us dim in -the shadow of the hill. Opposite to us, across the bog, we saw Joyce -and Dick watching us, and between the gusts of wind we faintly heard -their shouts. - -To our right, far down the hill, the Shleenanaher stood out boldly, -its warder rocks struck by the grey light falling over the hill-top. -Nearer to us, and something in the same direction, Murdock’s house rose -a black mass in the centre of the hollow. - -But as we looked around us, thankful for our safety, we grasped -each other more closely, and a low cry of fear emphasized Norah’s -shudder—for a terrible thing began to happen. - -The whole surface of the bog, as far as we could see it in the dim -light, became wrinkled, and then began to move in little eddies, such -as one sees in a swollen river. It seemed to rise and rise till it grew -almost level with where we were, and instinctively we rose to our feet -and stood there awestruck, Norah clinging to me, and with our arms -round each other. - -The shuddering surface of the bog began to extend on every side to even -the solid ground which curbed it, and with relief we saw that Dick and -Joyce stood high up on a rock. All things on its surface seemed to -melt away and disappear, as though swallowed up. This silent change or -demoralization spread down in the direction of Murdock’s house—but when -it got to the edge of the hollow in which the house stood, it seemed to -move as swiftly forward as water leaps down a cataract. - -Instinctively we both shouted a warning to Murdock—he, too, villain -though he was, had a life to lose. He had evidently felt some kind of -shock or change, for he came rushing out of the house full of terror. -For an instant he seemed paralyzed with fright as he saw what was -happening. And it was little wonder! for in that instant the whole -house began to sink into the earth—to sink as a ship founders in a -stormy sea, but without the violence and turmoil that marks such a -catastrophe. There was something more terrible—more deadly in that -silent, causeless destruction than in the devastation of the earthquake -or the hurricane. - -The wind had now dropped away; the morning light struck full over the -hill, and we could see clearly. The sound of the waves dashing on the -rocks below, and the booming of the distant breakers filled the air—but -through it came another sound, the like of which I had never heard, -and the like of which I hope, in God’s providence, I shall never hear -again—a long, low gurgle, with something of a sucking sound; something -terrible—resistless—and with a sort of hiss in it, as of seething -waters striving to be free. - -Then the convulsion of the bog grew greater; it almost seemed as if -some monstrous living thing was deep under the surface and writhing to -escape. - -By this time Murdock’s house had sunk almost level with the bog. He had -climbed on the thatched roof, and stood there looking towards us, and -stretching forth his hands as though in supplication for help. For a -while the superior size and buoyancy of the roof sustained it, but then -it too began slowly to sink. Murdock knelt, and clasped his hands in a -frenzy of prayer. - -And then came a mighty roar and a gathering rush. The side of the hill -below us seemed to burst. Murdock threw up his arms—we heard his wild -cry as the roof of the house, and he with it, was in an instant sucked -below the surface of the heaving mass. - -Then came the end of the terrible convulsion. With a rushing sound, and -the noise of a thousand waters falling, the whole bog swept, in waves -of gathering size, and with a hideous writhing, down the mountain-side -to the entrance of the Shleenanaher—struck the portals with a sound -like thunder, and piled up to a vast height. And then the millions -of tons of slime and ooze, and bog and earth, and broken rock swept -through the Pass into the sea. - -Norah and I knelt down, hand-in-hand, and with full hearts thanked God -for having saved us from so terrible a doom. - -The waves of the torrent rushing by us at first came almost level with -us; but the stream diminished so quickly, that in an incredibly short -time we found ourselves perched on the top of a high jutting rock, -standing sharply up from the sloping sides of a deep ravine, where but -a few minutes before the bog had been. Carefully we climbed down, and -sought a more secure place on the base of the ridge of rocks behind -us. The deep ravine lay below us, down whose sides began to rattle -ominously, here and there, masses of earth and stones deprived of their -support below where the torrent had scoured their base. - -Lighter and lighter grew the sky over the mountain, till at last one -red ray shot up like a crack in the vault of heaven, and a great light -seemed to smite the rocks that glistened in their coat of wet. Across -the ravine we saw Joyce and Dick beginning to descend, so as to come -over to us. This aroused us, and we shouted to them to keep back, and -waved our arms to them in signal; for we feared that some landslip -or some new outpouring of the bog might sweep them away, or that the -bottom of the ravine might be still only treacherous slime. They saw -our gesticulations, if they did not hear our voices, and held back. -Then we pointed up the ravine, and signalled them that we would move up -the edge of the rocks. This we proceeded to do, and they followed on -the other side, watching us intently. Our progress was slow, for the -rocks were steep and difficult, and we had to keep eternally climbing -up and descending the serrated edges, where the strata lapped over each -other; and besides we were chilled and numbed with cold. - -At last, however, we passed the corner where was the path down to the -Cliff Fields, and turned eastwards up the hill. Then in a little while -we got well above the ravine, which here grew shallower, and could -walk on more level ground. Here we saw that the ravine ended in a deep -cleft, whence issued a stream of water. And then we saw hurrying up -over the top of the cleft Joyce and Dick. - -Up to now, Norah and I had hardly spoken a word. Our hearts were too -full for speech; and, indeed, we understood each other, and could -interpret our thoughts by a subtler language than that formulated by -man. - -In another minute Norah was clasped in her father’s arms. He held her -close, and kissed her, and cried over her; whilst Dick wrung my hand -hard. Then Joyce left his daughter, and came and flung his arms round -me, and thanked God that I had escaped; whilst Norah went up to Dick, -and put her arms round him, and kissed him as a sister might. - -We all went back together as fast as we could; and the sun that rose -that morning rose on no happier group—despite the terror and the -trouble of the night. Norah walked between her father and me, holding -us both tightly, and Dick walked on my other side with his arm in -mine. As we came within sight of the house, we met Miss Joyce—her face -grey with anxiety. She rushed towards us, and flung her arms round -Norah, and the two women rocked each other in their arms; and then we -all kissed her—even Dick, to her surprise. His kiss was the last, and -it seemed to pull her together; for she perked up, and put her cap -straight—a thing which she had not done for the rest of us. Then she -walked beside us, holding her brother’s hand. - -We all talked at once and told the story over and over again of the -deadly peril I had been in, and how Norah had saved my life; and here -the brave girl’s fortitude gave way. She seemed to realize all at once -the terror and the danger of the long night, and suddenly her lips grew -white, and she would have sunk down to the ground only that I had seen -her faint coming and had caught her and held her tight. Her dear head -fell over on my shoulder, but her hands never lost their grasp of my -arm. - -We carried her down toward the house as quickly as we could; but before -we had got to the door she had recovered from her swoon, and her first -look when her eyes opened was for me, and the first word she said was— - -“Arthur! Is he safe?” - -And then I laid her in the old arm-chair by the hearth-place, and took -her cold hands in mine, and kissed them and cried over them—which -I hoped vainly that no one saw. Then Miss Joyce, like a true -housekeeper, stirred herself, and the flames roared up the chimney, and -the slumbering kettle on the chain over the fire woke and sang again; -and it seemed like magic, for all at once we were all sipping hot -whiskey punch, and beginning to feel the good effects of it. - -Then Miss Joyce hurried away Norah to change her clothes, and Dick -and I went with Joyce, and we all rigged ourselves out with whatever -came to hand; and then we came back to the kitchen and laughed at each -other’s appearance. We found Miss Joyce already making preparations for -breakfast, and succeeding pretty well, too. - -And then Norah joined us, but she was not the least grotesque; she -seemed as though she had just stepped out of a band-box—she seemed so -trim and neat, with her grey jacket and her Sunday red petticoat. Her -black hair was coiled in one glorious roll round her noble head, and -there was but one thing which I did not like, and which sent a pang -through my heart—a blue and swollen bruise on her ivory forehead where -Murdock had struck her that dastard blow! She saw my look and her eyes -fell, and when I went to her and kissed the wound and whispered to her -how it pained me, she looked up at me and whispered so that none of the -others could hear:— - -“Hush! hush! Poor soul, he has paid a terrible penalty; let us forget -as we forgive!” And then I took her hands in mine and stooped to kiss -them, whilst the others all smiled happily as they looked on; but she -tried to draw them away, and a bright blush dyed her cheeks as she -murmured to me:— - -“No! no, Arthur! Arthur dear, not now! I only did what anyone would do -for you!” and the tears rushed to her eyes. - -“I must! Norah,” said I, “I must! for I owe these brave hands my life!” -and I kissed them and she made no more resistance. Her father’s voice -and words sounded very true as he said:- - -“Nay, daughter, it is right that he should kiss those hands this -blessed mornin’, for they took a true man out of the darkness of the -grave!” - -And then my noble old Dick came over too, and he raised those dear -hands reverently to his lips, and said very softly:— - -“For he is dear to us all!” - -By this time Miss Joyce had breakfast well under way, and one and all -we thought that it was time we should let the brightness of the day and -the lightness of our hearts have a turn; and Joyce said heartily:— - -“Come now! Come now! Let us sit down to breakfast; but first let us -give thanks to Almighty God that has been so good to us, and let us -forgive that poor wretch that met such a horrible death. Rest to his -soul!” - -We were all silent for a little bit, for the great gladness of our -hearts, that came through the terrible remembrance thus brought home to -us, was too deep for words. Norah and I sat hand in hand, and between -us was but one heart, and one soul, and one thought—and all were -filled with gratitude. - -When once we had begun breakfast in earnest a miniature babel broke -out. We had each something to tell and much to hear; and for the latter -reason we tacitly arranged, after the first outbreak, that each should -speak in turn. - -Miss Joyce told us of the terrible anxiety she had been in ever since -she had seen us depart, and how every sound, great or small—even the -gusts of wind that howled down the chimney and made the casements -rattle—had made her heart jump into her mouth, and brought her out -to the door to see if we or any of us were coming. Then Dick told us -how, on proceeding down the eastern side of the bog, he had diverged -so as to look in at Murdock’s house to see if he were there, but had -found only old Moynahan lying on the floor in a state of speechless -drunkenness, and so wet that the water running from his clothes had -formed a pool of water on the floor. He had evidently only lately -returned from wandering on the hillside. Then as he was about to go on -his way he had heard, as he thought, a noise lower down the hill, and -on going towards it had met Joyce carrying a sheep which had its leg -broken, and which he told him had been blown off a steep rock on the -south side of the hill. Then they two had kept together after Dick had -told him of our search for Norah, until we had seen them in the coming -grey of the dawn. Next Joyce took up the running, and told us how he -had been working on the top of the mountain when he saw the signs of -the storm coming so fast that he thought it would be well to look after -the sheep and cattle, and see them in some kind of shelter before the -morning. He had driven all the cattle which were up high on the hill -into the shelter where I had found them, and then had gone down the -southern shoulder of the hill, placing all the sheep and cattle in -places of shelter as well as he could, until he had come across the -wounded one, which he took on his shoulders to bring it home, but which -had since been carried away in the bursting of the bog. He finished by -reminding me jocularly that I owed him something for his night’s work, -for the stock was now all mine. - -“No!” said I, “not for another day. My purchase of your ground and -stock was only to take effect from after noon of the 28th, and we are -now only at the early morning of that day; but at any rate I must thank -you for the others,” for I had a number of sheep and cattle which Dick -had taken over from the other farmers whose land I had bought. - -Then I told over again all that had happened to me. I had to touch on -the blow which Norah had received, but I did so as lightly as I could; -and when I said “God forgive him!” they all added softly, “Amen!” - -Then Dick put in a word about poor old Moynahan:— - -“Poor old fellow, he is gone also. He was a drunkard, but he wasn’t all -bad. Perhaps he saved Norah last night from a terrible danger. His -life mayhap may leaven the whole lump of filth and wickedness that went -through the Shleenanaher into the sea last night!” - -We all said “Amen” again, and I have no doubt that we all meant it with -all our hearts. - -Then I told again of Norah’s brave struggle and how, by her courage and -her strength, she took me out of the very jaws of a terrible death. She -put one hand before her eyes—for I held the other close in mine—and -through her fingers dropped her welling tears. - -We sat silent for a while, and we felt that it was only right and -fitting when Joyce came round to her and laid his hand on her head and -stroked her hair as he said:— - -“Ye have done well, daughter—ye have done well!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - THE FULFILMENT. - - -When breakfast was finished, Dick proposed that we should go now and -look in the full daylight at the effect of the shifting of the bog. I -suggested to Norah that perhaps she had better not come as the sight -might harrow her feelings, and, besides, that she would want some rest -and sleep after her long night of terror and effort. She point blank -refused to stay behind, and accordingly we all set out, having now had -our clothes dried and changed, leaving only Miss Joyce to take care of -the house. - -The morning was beautiful and fresh after the storm. The deluge of rain -had washed everything so clean that already the ground was beginning -to dry, and as the morning sun shone hotly there was in the air that -murmurous hum that follows rain when the air is still. And the air was -now still—the storm seemed to have spent itself, and away to the West -there was no sign of its track, except that the great Atlantic rollers -were heavier and the surf on the rocks rose higher than usual. - -We took our way first down the hill, and then westward to the -Shleenanaher, for we intended, under Dick’s advice, to follow, if -possible, up to its source the ravine made by the bog. When we got to -the entrance of the Pass we were struck with the vast height to which -the bog had risen when its mass first struck the portals. A hundred -feet overhead there was the great brown mark, and on the sides of the -Pass the same mark was visible, declining quickly as it got seaward and -the Pass widened, showing the track of its passage to the sea. - -We climbed the rocks and looked over. Norah clung close to me, and my -arm went round her and held her tight as we peered over and saw where -the great waves of the Atlantic struck the rocks three hundred feet -below us, and were for a quarter of a mile away still tinged with the -brown slime of the bog. - -We then crossed over the ravine, for the rocky bottom was here laid -bare, and so we had no reason to fear waterholes or pitfalls. A small -stream still ran down the ravine and, shallowing out over the shelf -of rock, spread all across the bottom of the Pass, and fell into the -sea—something like a miniature of the Staubach Fall, as the water -whitened in the falling. - -We then passed up on the west side of the ravine, and saw that the -stream which ran down the centre was perpetual—a live stream, and not -merely the drainage of the ground where the bog had saturated the -earth. As we passed up the hill we saw where the side of the slope had -been torn bodily away, and the great chasm where once the house had -been which Murdock took from Joyce, and so met his doom. Here there was -a great pool of water—and indeed all throughout the ravine were places -where the stream broadened into deep pools, and again into shallow -pools where it ran over the solid bed of rock. As we passed up, Dick -hazarded an explanation or a theory:— - -“Do you know it seems to me that this ravine or valley was once before -just as it is now. The stream ran down it and out at the Shleenanaher -just as it does now. Then by some landslips, or a series of them, or -by a falling tree, the passage became blocked, and the hollow became -a lake, and its edges grew rank with boggy growth; and then, from one -cause and another—the falling in of the sides, or the rush of rain -storms carrying down the detritus of the mountain, and perpetually -washing down particles of clay from the higher levels—the lake became -choked up; and then the lighter matter floated to the top, and by -time and vegetable growth became combined. And so the whole mass -grew cohesive and floated on the water and slime below. This may -have occurred more than once. Nay, moreover, sections of the bog may -have become segregated or separated by some similarity of condition -affecting its parts, or by some formation of the ground, as by the -valley narrowing in parts between walls of rock so that the passage -could be easily choked. And so, solid earth formed to be again softened -and demoralized by the later mingling with the less solid mass above -it. It is possible, if not probable, that more than once, in the -countless ages that have passed, this ravine has been as we see it—and -again as it was but a few hours ago!” - -No one had anything to urge against this theory, and we all proceeded -on our way. - -When we came to the place where Norah had rescued me, we examined the -spot most carefully, and again went over the scene and the exploit. -It was almost impossible to realize that this great rock, towering -straight up from the bottom of the ravine, had, at the fatal hour, -seemed only like a tussock rising from the bog. When I had climbed to -the top I took my knife and cut a cross on the rock, where my brave -girl’s feet had rested, to mark the spot. - -Then we went on again. Higher up the hill we came to a place, where, on -each side a rocky promontory, with straight deep walls, jutted into the -ravine, making a sort of narrow gateway or gorge in the valley. Dick -pointed it out:— - -“See! here is one of the very things I spoke of, that made the bog -into sections or chambers, or tanks, or whatever we should call them. -More than that, here is an instance of the very thing I hinted at -before—that the peculiar formation of the Snake’s Pass runs right -through the hill! If this be so!—but we shall see later on.” - -On the other side was, we agreed, the place where old Moynahan had said -the Frenchmen had last been seen. Dick and I were both curious about -the matter, and we agreed to cross the ravine and make certain, for, -if it were the spot, Dick’s mark of the stones in the Y shape would be -a proof. Joyce and Norah both refused to let us go alone, so we all -went up a little further, where the sides of the rock sloped on each -side, and where we could pass safely, as the bed was rock and quite -smooth with the stream flowing over it in a thin sheet. - -When we got to the bottom, Joyce, who was looking round, said suddenly:— - -“What is that like a square block behind the high rock on the other -side?” He went over to it, and an instant after, gave a great cry and -turned and beckoned to us. We all ran over—and there before us, in -a crescent-shaped nook, at the base of the lofty rock, lay a wooden -chest. The top was intact, but one of the lower corners was broken, -as though with a fall; and from the broken aperture had fallen out a -number of coins, which we soon found to be of gold. - -On the top of the chest we could make out the letters R. F. in some -metal, discoloured and corroded with a century of slime, and on its -ends were great metal handles—to each of which something white was -attached. We stooped to look at them, and then Norah, with a low cry, -turned to me, and laid her head on my breast, as though to shut out -some horrid sight. Then we investigated the mass that lay there. - -At each end of the chest lay a skeleton—the fleshless fingers grasping -the metal handle. We recognized the whole story at a glance, and our -hats came off. - -“Poor fellows!” said Dick, “they did their duty nobly. They guarded -their treasure to the last.” Then he went on. “See! they evidently -stepped into the bog, straight off the rock, and were borne down -at once, holding tight to the handles of the chest they carried—or -stay”—and he stooped lower and caught hold of something:— - -“See how the bog can preserve! this leather strap attached to the -handles of the chest each had round his shoulder, and so, willy nilly, -they were dragged to their doom. Never mind! they were brave fellows -all the same, and faithful ones—they never let go the handles—look! -their dead hands clasp them still. France should be proud of such sons! -It would make a noble coat of arms, this treasure chest sent by freemen -to aid others—and with two such supporters!” - -We looked at the chest and the skeletons for a while, and then Dick -said:— - -“Joyce, this is on your land—for it is yours till to-morrow—and you may -as well keep it—possession is nine points of the law—and if we take the -gold out, the government can only try to claim it. But if they take it, -we may ask in vain!” Joyce answered:— - -“Take it I will, an’ gladly; but not for meself. The money was sent for -Ireland’s good—to help them that wanted help, an’ plase God! I’ll see -it doesn’t go asthray now!” - -Dick’s argument was a sensible one, and straightway we wrenched the top -off the chest, and began to remove the gold; but we never stirred the -chest or took away those skeleton hands from the handles which they -grasped. - -It took us all, carrying a good load each, to bring the money to -Joyce’s cottage. We locked it in a great oak chest, and warned Miss -Joyce not to say a word about it. I told Miss Joyce that if Andy came -for me he was to be sent on to us, explaining that we were going back -to the top of the new ravine. - -We followed it up further, till we reached a point much higher up on -the hill, and at last came to the cleft in the rock whence the stream -issued. The floor here was rocky, and it being so, we did not hesitate -to descend, and even to enter the chine. As we did so, Dick turned to -me:— - -“Well! it seems to me that the mountain is giving up its secrets -to-day. We have found the Frenchmen’s treasure, and now we may expect, -I suppose, to find the lost crown! By George! though, it is strange! -they said the Snake became the Shifting Bog, and that it went out, by -the Shleenanaher!—as we saw the bog did.” - -When we got well into the chine, we began to look about us curiously. -There was something odd—something which we did not expect. Dick was the -most prying, and certainly the most excited of us all. He touched some -of the rock, and then almost shouted:— - -“Hurrah! this a day of discoveries.—Hurrah! hurrah!” - -“Now, Dick, what is it?” I asked—myself in a tumult, for his -enthusiasm, although we did not know the cause, excited as all. - -“Why! man, don’t you see! this is what we have wanted all along.” - -“What is? Speak out, man dear! We are all in ignorance!” Dick laid his -hand impressively on the rock:— - -“Limestone! There is a streak of it here, right through the -mountain—and, moreover, look! look!—this is not all nature’s work—these -rocks have been cut in places by the hands of men!” We all got very -excited, and hurried up the chine; but the rocks now joined over our -heads, and all was dark beyond, and the chine became a cave. - -“Has anyone a match—we must have a light of some kind here,” said Joyce. - -“There is the lantern in the house. I shall run for it. Don’t stir -until I get back,” I cried; and I ran out and climbed the side of the -ravine, and got to Joyce’s house as soon as I could. My haste and -impetuosity frightened Miss Joyce, who called in terror:— - -“Is there anything wrong—not an accident I hope?” - -“No! no! we only want to examine a rock, and the place is dark. Give us -the lantern quick, and some matches.” - -“Aisy! aisy, alanna!” she said. “The rock won’t run away!” - -I took the lantern and matches and ran back. When we had lit the -lantern, Norah suggested that we should be very careful, as there might -be foul air about. Dick laughed at the idea. - -“No foul air here, Norah; it was full of water a few hours ago,” and -taking the lantern, he went into the narrow opening. We all followed, -Norah clinging tightly to me. The cave widened as we entered, and we -stood in a moderate sized cavern, partly natural and partly hollowed -out by rough tools. Here and there, were inscriptions in strange -character, formed by straight vertical lines something like the old -telegraph signs, but placed differently. - -“Ogham!-one of the oldest and least known of writings,” said Dick, when -the light fell on them as he raised the lantern.” - -At the far end of the cave was a sort of slab or bracket, formed of a -part of the rock carven out. Norah went towards it, and called us to -her with a loud cry. We all rushed over, and Dick threw the light of -the lantern on her; and then exclamations of wonder burst from us also. - -In her hand she held an ancient crown of strange form. It was composed -of three pieces of flat gold joined all along one edge, like angle -iron, and twisted delicately. The gold was wider and the curves bolder -in the centre, from which they were fined away to the ends and then -curved into a sort of hook. In the centre was set a great stone, that -shone with the yellow light of a topaz, but with a fire all its own! - -Dick was the first to regain his composure and, as usual, to speak:— - -“The Lost Crown of Gold!—the crown that gave the hill its name, and was -the genesis of the story of St. Patrick and the King of the Snakes! -Moreover, see, there is a scientific basis for the legend. Before this -stream cut its way out through the limestone, and made this cavern, -the waters were forced upwards to the lake at the top of the hill, and -so kept it supplied; but when its channel was cut here—or a way opened -for it by some convulsion of nature, or the rending asunder of these -rocks—the lake fell away.” - -He stopped, and I went on:— - -“And so, ladies and gentlemen, the legend is true, that the Lost Crown -would be discovered when the water of the lake was found again.” - -“Begor! that’s thrue, anyhow!” said the voice of Andy in the entrance. -“Well, yer ’an’r, iv all the sthrange things what iver happened, this -is the most sthrangest! Fairies isn’t in it this time, at all, at all!” - -I told Andy something of what had happened, including the terrible -deaths of Murdock and Moynahan, and sent him off to tell the head -constable of police, and any one else he might see. I told him also of -the two skeletons found beside the chest. - -Andy was off like a rocket. Such news as he had to tell would not come -twice in a man’s lifetime, and would make him famous through all the -country-side. When he was gone, we decided that we had seen all that -was worth while, and agreed to go back to the house, where we might be -on hand to answer all queries regarding the terrible occurrences of -the night. When we got outside the cave, and had ascended the ravine, -I noticed that the crown in Norah’s hands had now none of the yellow -glare of the jewel, and feared the latter had been lost. I said to her:— - -“Norah, dear! have you dropped the jewel from the crown?” - -She held it up, startled, to see; and then we all wondered again—for -the jewel was still there, but it had lost its yellow colour, and -shone with a white light, something like the lustre of a pearl seen in -the midst of the flash of diamonds. It looked like some kind of uncut -crystal, but none of us had ever seen anything like it. - -We had hardly got back to the house when the result of Andy’s mission -began to be manifested. Every soul in the country-side seemed to come -pouring in to see the strange sights at Knockcalltecrore. There was a -perfect babel of sounds; and every possible and impossible story, and -theory, and conjecture was ventilated at the top of the voice of every -one, male and female. - -The head constable was one of the first to arrive. He came into the -cottage, and we gave him all the required details of Murdock’s and -Moynahan’s death, which he duly wrote down, and then went off with Dick -to go over the ground. - -Presently there was a sudden silence amongst the crowd outside, the -general body of which seemed to continue as great as ever from the -number of new arrivals—despite the fact that a large number of those -present had followed Dick and the head constable in their investigation -of the scene of the catastrophe. The silence was as odd as noise would -have been under ordinary circumstances, so I went to the door to see -what it meant. In the porch I met Father Ryan, who had just come from -the scene of the disaster. He shook me warmly by the hand, and said -loudly, so that all those around might hear:— - -“Mr. Severn, I’m real glad and thankful to see ye this day. Praise be -to God, that watched over ye last night, and strengthened the arms of -that brave girl to hold ye up.” Here Norah came to join us; and he took -her warmly by both hands, whilst the people cheered:— - -“My! but we’re all proud of ye! Remember that God has given a great -mercy through your hands—and ye both must thank Him all the days of -your life! And those poor men that met their death so horribly—poor -Moynahan, in his drunken slumber! Men! it’s a warning to ye all! -Whenever ye may be tempted to take a glass too much, let the fate of -that poor soul rise up before ye and forbid ye to go too far. As for -that unhappy Murdock, may God forgive him and look lightly on his sins! -I told him what he should expect—that the fate of Ahab and Jezebel -would be his. For as Ahab coveted the vineyard of his neighbour -Naboth, and as Jezebel wrought evil to aid him to his desire, so this -man hath coveted his neighbour’s goods and wrought evil to ruin him. -And now behold his fate, even as the fate of Ahab and Jezebel! He went -without warning and without rites—and no man knows where his body lies. -The fishes of the sea have preyed on him, even as the dogs on Jezebel.” -Here Joyce joined us, and he turned to him:— - -“And do you, Michael Joyce, take to heart the lesson of God’s goodness! -Ye thought when yer land and yer house was taken that a great wrong was -done ye, and that God had deserted ye; and yet so inscrutable are His -ways that these very things were the salvation of ye and all belonging -to ye. For in his stead you and yours would have been swept in that -awful avalanche into the sea!” - -And now the head constable returned with Dick, and the priest went -out. I took the former aside and asked him if there would be any need -for Norah to remain, as there were other witnesses to all that had -occurred. He told me that there was not the slightest need. Then he -went away after telling the people that we all had had a long spell of -trouble and labour, and would want to be quiet and have some rest. And -so, with a good feeling and kindness of heart which I have never seen -lacking in this people, they melted away; and we all came within the -house, and shut the door, and sat round the fire to discuss what should -be done. Then and there we decided that the very next day Norah should -start with her father, for the change of scene would do her good, and -take her mind off the terrible experiences of last night. - -So that day we rested. The next morning Andy was to drive Joyce and -Norah and myself off to Galway, en route for London and Paris. - -In the afternoon Norah and I strolled out together for one last look -at the beautiful scene from our table-rock in the Cliff Fields. Close -as we had been hitherto, there was now a new bond between us; and when -we were out of sight of prying eyes—on the spot where we had first -told our loves, I told her of my idea of the new bond. She hung down -her head, but drew closer to me as I told her how much more I valued -my life since she had saved it for me—and how I should in all the two -years that were to come try hard that every hour should be such as she -would like me to have passed. - -“Norah, dear!” I said, “the bar you place on our seeing each other in -all that long time will be hard to bear, but I shall know that I am -enduring for your sake.” She turned to me, and with earnest eyes looked -lovingly into mine as she said:— - -“Arthur! dear Arthur, God knows I love you! I love you so well that I -want to come to you, if I can, in such a way that I may never do you -discredit; and I am sure that when the two years are over—and, indeed, -they will not go lightly for me—you will not be sorry that you have -made the sacrifice for me. Dear! I shall ask you when we meet on our -wedding morning if you are satisfied.” - -When it was time to go home we rose up, and—it might have been that -the evening was chilly—a cold feeling came over me, as though I still -stood in the shadow of the fateful hill. And there in the Cliff Fields -I kissed Norah Joyce for the last time! - - * * * * * - -The two years sped quickly enough, although my not being able to see -Norah at all was a great trial to me. Often and often I felt tempted -almost beyond endurance to go quietly and hang round where she was -so that I might get even a passing glimpse of her; but I felt that -such would not be loyal to my dear girl. It was hard not to be able -to tell her, even now and again, how I loved her, but it had been -expressly arranged—and wisely enough too—that I should only write -in such a manner as would pass, if necessary, the censorship of the -schoolmistress. “I must be,” said Norah to me, “exactly as the other -girls are—and, of course, I must be subject to the same rules.” And so -it was that my letters had to be of a tempered warmth, which caused me -now and again considerable pain. - -My dear girl wrote to me regularly, and although there was not any of -what her schoolmistress would call “love” in her letters, she always -kept me posted in all her doings; and with every letter it was borne in -on me that her heart and feelings were unchanged. - -I had certain duties to attend to with regard to my English property, -and this kept me fairly occupied. - -Each few months I ran over to the Knockcalltecrore, which Dick was -transforming into a fairyland. The discovery of the limestone had, as -he had conjectured, created possibilities in the way of building and of -waterworks of which at first we had not dreamed. The new house rose on -the table-rock in the Cliff Fields. A beautiful house it was, of red -sandstone with red tiled roof and quaint gables, and jutting windows -and balustrades of carven stone. The whole Cliff Fields were laid out -as exquisite gardens, and the murmur of water was everywhere. None of -this I ever told Norah in my letters, as it was to be a surprise to her. - -On the spot where she had rescued me we had reared a great stone—a -monolith whereon a simple legend told the story of a woman’s strength -and bravery. Round its base were sculptured the history of the mountain -from its legend of the King of Snakes down to the lost treasure and the -rescue of myself. This was all carried out under Dick’s eye. The legend -on the stone was:— - - NORAH JOYCE - a Brave Woman - on this spot - by her Courage and Devotion - saved a man’s life. - -At the end of the first year Norah went to another school at Dresden -for six months; and then, by her own request to Mr. Chapman, was -transferred to an English school at Brighton, one justly celebrated -amongst Englishwomen. - -These last six months were very, very long to me; for as the time drew -near when I might claim my darling the suspense grew very great, and I -began to have harrowing fears lest her love might not have survived the -long separation and the altered circumstances. - -I heard regularly from Joyce. He had gone to live with his son -Eugene, who was getting along well, and was already beginning to -make a name for himself as an engineer. By his advice his father had -taken a sub-section of the great Ship Canal, then in progress of -construction, and with the son’s knowledge and his own shrewdness and -energy was beginning to realize what to him was a fortune. So that the -purchase-money of Shleenanaher, which formed his capital, was used to a -good purpose. - -At last the long period of waiting came to an end. A month before -Norah’s school was finished, Joyce went to Brighton to see her, having -come to visit me beforehand. His purpose and mine was to arrange all -about the wedding, which we wanted to be exactly as she wished. She -asked her father to let it be as quiet as possible, with absolutely no -fuss—no publicity, and in some quiet place where no one knew us. - -“Tell Arthur,” she said, “that I should like it to be somewhere near -the sea, and where we can get easily on the Continent.” - -I fixed on Hythe, which I had been in the habit of visiting -occasionally, as the place where we were to be married. Here, high -over the sea level, rises the grand old church where the bones of so -many brave old Norsemen rest after a thousand years. The place was so -near to Folkestone that after the wedding and an informal breakfast we -could drive over to catch the mid-day boat. I lived the requisite time -in Hythe, and complied with all the formalities. - -I did not see my darling until we met in the church-porch, and then -I gazed on her with unstinted admiration. Oh! what a peerless beauty -she was! Every natural grace and quality seemed developed to the full. -Every single grace of womanhood was there—every subtle manifestation of -high breeding—every stamp of the highest culture. There was no one in -the porch—for those with me delicately remained in the church when they -saw me go out to meet my bride—and I met her with a joy unspeakable. -Joyce went in and left her with me a moment—they had evidently arranged -to do so—but when we were quite alone she said to me with a very -serious look:— - -“Mr. Severn, before we go into the church answer me one question—answer -me truthfully, I implore you!” A great fear came upon me that at the -last I was to suffer the loss of her I loved—that at the moment when -the cup of happiness was at my lips it was to be dashed aside—and it -was with a hoarse voice and a beating heart I answered:— - -“I shall speak truly, Norah! What is it?” She said very demurely:— - -“Mr. Severn! are you satisfied with me?” I looked up and caught the -happy smile in her eyes, and for answer took her in my arms to kiss -her: but she said:— - -“Not yet, Arthur! not yet! What would they say? And besides, it would -be unlucky.” So I released her, and she took my arm, and as we came up -the aisle together I whispered to her:— - -“Yes, my darling! Yes! yes! a thousand times. The time has been long, -long; but the days were well spent!” She looked at me with a glad, -happy look as she murmured in my ear:— - -“We shall see Italy soon, dear, together. I am so happy!” and she -pinched my arm. - -That was a very happy wedding, and as informal as it was happy. As -Norah had no bridesmaid, Dick, who was to have been my best man, was -not going to act; but when Norah knew this she insisted on it, and said -sweetly:— - -“I should not feel I was married properly unless Dick took his place. -And as to my having no bridesmaid, all I can say is, if we had half so -good a girl friend, she would be here, of course!” - -This settled the matter, and Dick with his usual grace and energy -carried out the best man’s chief duty of taking care of his principal’s -hat. - -There were only our immediate circle present, Joyce and Eugene, Miss -Joyce—who had come all the way from Knocknacar, Mr. Chapman, and Mr. -Caicy—who had also come over from Galway specially. There was one -other old friend also present, but I did not know it until I came out -of the vestry, after signing the register, with my wife on my arm. - -There, standing modestly in the background, and with a smile as -manifest as a ten acre field, was none other than Andy—Andy so well -dressed and smart that there was really nothing to distinguish him from -any other man in Hythe. Norah saw him first, and said heartily:— - -“Why, there is Andy! How are you, Andy?” and held out her hand. Andy -took it in his great fist, and stooped and kissed it as if it had been -a saint’s hand and not a woman’s:— - -“God bless and keep ye, Miss Norah darlin’—an’ the Virgin and the -saints watch over ye both.” Then he shook hands with me. - -“Thank you, Andy!” we said both together, and then I beckoned Dick and -whispered to him. - -We went back to breakfast in my rooms, and sat down as happy a party as -could be—the only one not quite comfortable at first being Andy. He and -Dick both came in quite hot and flushed. Dick pointed to him:— - -“He’s an obstinate, truculent villain, is Andy. Why, I had to almost -fight him to make him come in. Now, Andy, no running away—it is Miss -Norah’s will!” and Andy subsided bashfully into a seat. It was fully -several minutes before he either smiled or winked. We had a couple of -hours to pass before it became time to leave for Folkestone; and when -breakfast was over, one and then another said a few kindly words. Dick -opened the ball by speaking most beautifully of our own worthiness, -and of how honestly and honourably each had won the other, and of the -long life and happiness that lay, he hoped and believed, before us. -Then Joyce spoke a few manly words of his love for his daughter and -his pride in her. The tears were in his eyes when he said how his one -regret in life was that her dear mother had to look down from Heaven -her approval on this day, instead of sharing it amongst us as the best -of mothers and the best of women. Then Norah turned to him and laid her -head on his breast and cried a little—not unhappily, but happily, as a -bride should cry at leaving those she loves for one she loves better -still. - -Of course both the lawyers spoke, and Eugene said a few words -bashfully. I was about to reply to them all, when Andy got up and -crystallized the situation in a few words:— - -“Miss Norah an’ yer ’an’r, I’d like, if I might make so bould, to say -a wurrd fur all the men and weemen in Ireland that ayther iv yez iver -kem across. I often heerd iv fairies, an’ Masther Art knows well how he -hunted wan from the top iv Knocknacar to the top iv Knockcalltecrore, -and I won’t say a wurrd about the kind iv a fairy he wanted to find—not -even in her quare kind iv an eye—bekase I might be overlooked, as the -masther was; and more betoken, since I kem here Masther Dick has tould -me that I’m to be yer ’an’r’s Irish coachman. Hurroo! an’ I might get -evicted from that same houldin’ fur me impidence in tellin’ tales iv -the Masther before he was married; but I’ll promise yez both that -there’ll be no man from the Giant’s Causeway to Cape Clear what’ll -thry, an’ thry hardher, to make yer feet walk an’ yer wheels rowl in -aisy ways than meself. I’m takin’ a liberty, I know, be sayin’ so much, -but plase God! ye’ll walk yer ways wid honour an’ wid peace, believin’ -in aich other an’ in God—an’ may He bless ye both, an’ yer childher, -and yer childher’s childher to folly ye. An’ if iver ayther iv yez -wants to shtep into glory over a man’s body, I hope ye’ll not look past -poor ould Andy Sullivan!” - -Andy’s speech was quaint, but it was truly meant, for his heart was -full of quick sympathy, and the honest fellow’s eyes were full of tears -as he concluded. - -Then Miss Joyce’s health was neatly proposed by Mr. Chapman and -responded to in such a way by Mr. Caicy that Norah whispered me that -she would not be surprised if Aunt took up her residence in Galway -before long. - -And now the hour was come to say good-bye to all friends. We entered -our carriage and rolled away, leaving behind us waving hands, loving -eyes, and hearts that beat most truly. - -And the great world lay before us with all the possibilities of -happiness that men and women may win for themselves. There was never a -cloud to shadow our sun-lit way; and we felt that we were one. - - - [Colophon] - - - CHISWICK PRESS:—C. 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