COUSINS
Another week or two sped by, very happily and very busily. Most of
the neighbouring families, though they all lived at considerable
distances, had come to visit the O'Briens and to express their
pleasure at seeing them established at Kilshane. But by those who
were nearest to them both in kinship and propinquity no notice of
their existence had been taken--no sign had come from Moyross Abbey
of any desire for truce or reconciliation, and it seemed only too
clear that Roderick had been right when he said that Nicholas O'Brien
could not forgive his brother even in his grave for the wrong that he
had done him.
The old rector of the church which stood on the cliff's midway
between Moyross Abbey and Kilshane--a weather-beaten, gray building
which seemed as though it had been specially built to withstand the
wild Atlantic winds--Mr. Lynch, and his wife, had been the first to
call, and they remained the O'Briens' chiefest friends. From them
the new-comers learned that matters were not running altogether
smoothly upon the Moyross property. New machinery had recently been
introduced at the mine, the great undertaking which Mr. O'Brien had
built up from its first commencement, and of which he was justly
proud, and with the machinery had came a Scotch manager to assume the
control, which Mr. O'Brien had hitherto kept in his own hands, but
which was beginning to prove too heavy a burden to him. The new
functionary had loudly expressed his scorn of the easy-going fashion
of working which had prevailed hitherto, and his intention of
introducing an entirely new system. The ire of the whole country
side had been roused, and reprisals of a sort but too common in
Ireland had followed: the new machinery had been broken, and a skull
and cross-bones painted on the manager's hall-door.
"If Nicholas O'Brien were the man he was ten years ago, it would not
have happened," Mr. Lynch said, with a shake of his head. "He
understood the people and how to deal with them, but they've put his
back up now, and he'll uphold M'Bain through thick and thin. A
thoroughly determined man Nicholas O'Brien always was--there's no
turning him aside when once his mind is made up--and M'Bain is
another of the same sort. But if they're as tough as steel, the
people are like tinder, and between them I shouldn't wonder if there
was a big flare-up one of these days."
"Oh, Mr. Lynch, do tell us something about the Wyndhams who live at
Moyross Abbey!" called out Norah, who was perched on the window sill,
and had not understood much of the previous conversation. "They are
a kind of cousins of ours, you know, and we have never even seen
them; it is so funny."
"Cousins of yours? Of course they are," said the old clergyman
briskly. "Their grandmother was Jess O'Brien, the eldest of the
family. She married and went out to India while your father was in
petticoats. I knew your father before he was the height of that,"
holding up his walking-stick for Norah's inspection, "and I'd have
known you for his child anywhere: you've just got his eyes and the
cock of his nose. As to the Wyndhams, Harry and Ella, why, they are
a nice, pleasant-mannered pair of young people. I shouldn't wonder
but there might be trouble in that quarter too. Your uncle has been
drawing the rein too tight with the boy--just the mistake he made
long ago with your father, Roderick. He thinks no will but his is to
prevail, and he has made up his mind that Master Harry is to
undertake the management of the mine some day; but I've a notion that
that young gentleman has different views of life for himself.
However, he's been sent off to some Austrian mining works to be
trained for a couple of years, and we'll see what comes of it."
"It must be very lonely for Ella, poor child, living in that big
house at Moyross with no other society than old Mr. O'Brien, and that
good soul they call Brownie," said Mrs. Lynch, a very trim little old
lady in the neatest of black silk mantles and bonnets. "She was the
children's governess years ago, and came home with them from India
after their mother died. She manages the servants and the
housekeeping, and is quite wrapped up in Ella."
"She's as little like a brownie as anyone I ever saw," laughed the
old rector. "Come along, my dear, it's time for old folks like us to
be getting home. Miss Anstace, you and your brother and sister are
to dine with us to-morrow after church--nonsense, we'll take no
excuse! We're not new acquaintances to be paying calls and leaving
our pasteboards on each other. Bless me, we're old friends! I boxed
your father's ears over his Latin grammar forty years ago!"
And the kindly old pair trotted off together.
Anstace and Norah, and indeed Roderick too, had a great curiosity to
see the relatives of whom they had heard so much and who were so
closely connected with themselves, but there did not seem much
likelihood of their desire being gratified. In the church the
Moyross family occupied a pew in a recess of the chancel, where they
were invisible to most of the congregation, and passed in and out by
a side-door, and nowhere else was there much chance of their meeting.
The trio at Kilshane were at breakfast one morning when the post
brought a letter to Roderick addressed in Manus's round schoolboy
hand. Roderick opened it, and a look of some vexation gathered on
his face.
"There is nothing wrong with Manus, I hope?" asked Anstace, pausing
in her occupation of pouring out the tea.
"Not with Manus himself, but it is a most unfortunate business, and
worse for other people than ourselves. Diphtheria has broken out at
the school, and the doctor has ordered all the boys to be sent home
at once."
Norah let her bread and butter fall, and jumped to her feet, clapping
her hands.
"Then Manus will be coming home, coming here at once! How splendid!"
she cried. "Oh, Roderick, don't sit with that terrible long face, as
if it was a misfortune."
"It is certainly a misfortune for poor Dr. and Mrs. Ford, and for the
boys who are ill," said Anstace. "Does Manus say whether any of the
cases are serious?"
"No; the young rascal is so taken up with the idea of coming over
here that he does not seem to have been able to think of anything
else."
Roderick picked up Manus's letter, and read it through again with a
frown.
"Really, Manus's writing is disgraceful, the lines are all up and
down the paper. Surely a boy of twelve ought to know better than to
spell 'diftheria' with an _f_, and 'hollidays' with two _ll_'s. I
must try and find time to give him some teaching while he is here,
for I suppose we shall have him on our hands for three months at
least."
"Oh, but Manus need not begin lessons at once. I'm sure after all
the hard work he's had at school a little rest will be good for him,"
said Norah, with the funny old-fashioned manner she put on at times.
"I don't think Manus is likely to have worked hard enough to injure
himself," said Roderick grimly; "it's about the last thing we need be
afraid of."
"It is very unlucky this interruption coming just after Dr. Ford had
written to you that Manus was beginning to settle down properly to
his school work. However, we can only be thankful that he has not
fallen ill himself," remarked Anstace. "Does he say what day he will
be over?"
"He speaks of starting 'to-morrow', whatever day that may be," said
Roderick, turning over the leaf. "I suppose as usual he has not
dated his letter, so that we might know what he meant. Yes, he has
though--'Monday!' Why, that's two days ago. The letter hasn't been
posted in time, of course. Then in that case--"
"He must have started yesterday, and he'll be here to-day, this very,
very day!" cried Norah, jumping from her seat and skipping round the
table, almost beside herself with joy.
"My dear Norah, do sit down and finish your breakfast like a
reasonable mortal," said Anstace. "I suppose she is right, Roderick,
and Manus will arrive this evening. Someone must drive into Ballyfin
to meet him. Will you go?"
Roderick shook his head.
"I have to go off with Tom after breakfast to arrange about letting
the grazing of a couple of the fields for the summer, and there's
that article for the _Piccadilly_ besides, which must be finished
to-night."
Roderick had inherited a considerable share of his father's talent as
a writer, and his contributions to newspapers and periodicals
promised in time to bring in material aid to the slender resources of
the family.
"I don't think I can go either," said Anstace. "Mrs. Lynch is
bringing Lady Louisa Butler over to tea this afternoon. She knew
Father in old times, and wants to make our acquaintance."
"But there's not the least necessity for anyone to go to Ballyfin.
I'll tell Connor, who drove us here the night we came, to meet Manus
at the station; that's all that's needful."
"But I can go. Oh, Roderick, do let me drive in to meet Manus,"
cried Norah eagerly.
"Well, I suppose there is no reason why you should not," said her
brother good-naturedly. "You won't tumble off the outside-car, I
suppose?"
"Of course not. How can you be so silly?" returned Norah, drawing
her little self up with much dignity.
"All right, I didn't mean to offend your ladyship. I'll tell Connor
to be here with his car at three."
And Roderick left the room laughing.
Probably there was no prouder little girl in all Connaught than Norah
that afternoon, as she drove from the door, sitting up very straight
on one side of the car, her hands folded on the rug which Roderick
had wrapped round her before starting. She and Connor, who was sole
occupant of the other side, had become quite confidential before the
ten miles' drive was accomplished. Connor had acquainted her with
all his family affairs, and Norah had promised to pay a visit on the
earliest opportunity, partly to his old mother, but more especially
to the litter of a dozen little pigs which had been born only a few
days before.
Very important Norah felt, too, as she went in and out of the two or
three shops of which Ballyfin boasted, executing various small
commissions with which Anstace had entrusted her. She had more than
an hour in which to wander about the little country town, as Connor's
horse required rest and a feed before commencing the homeward
journey. And as Ballyfin did not possess very many attractions and
objects of interest, she found herself at the station a full
half-hour before there was any possibility of the train's arrival. A
porter pointed it out obligingly to her at last, almost at vanishing
point upon the track that stretched away with undeviating
straightness through the flat bog-land. Norah watched its gradual
approach, a prey to fears that after all it might not contain Manus,
that he might have arrived late at Euston or been left behind
somewhere on the journey. Her mind was relieved of this anxiety,
however, long before the train reached the station, by seeing Manus's
close-cropped, bullet head protruding from one of the windows. Norah
ran to the end of the platform to meet the train, and then had to run
back for her pains, keeping up with the carriage at the door of which
Manus was standing. Almost before Manus had time to alight she had
thrown her arms round his neck and was kissing him with all the
fervour that was possible, seeing that she had to stand on tiptoe
even to reach the point of his chin.
"There, hold on, don't squeeze the breath out of a fellow!" said
Manus, striving to disengage himself from Norah's embraces, and
looking round rather sheepishly to see if anyone was observing their
meeting.
"Oh, Manus, and I haven't seen you for such an age, not since
Christmas!" said Norah reproachfully, withdrawing her arms, but
continuing to devour her brother with her eyes.
"You needn't make a gazabo of yourself all the same!" retorted Manus.
"Come along, and let's see after my traps. I suppose you have some
sort of shandrydan outside?"
And Manus sauntered towards the luggage-van with an easy
man-of-the-world air which filled Norah with admiration, but accorded
none too well, if the truth be told, with his broad, sunburnt face
and squat schoolboy figure. As for Norah, she danced along by his
side, for in her present ecstasy of delight it was quite impossible
for her feet to pace along at an ordinary walk.
Once, however, that they were seated side by side on the car and
driving over the bog road, Manus condescended to relax in some degree
from his new-born dignity and to become more like his former self.
He even permitted Norah to hold one of his hands under cover of the
rug, but rebelled when in an outburst of affection she rubbed her
cheek against his sleeve.
"The driver fellow is looking," he muttered ungraciously, jerking her
off with his shoulder.
Connor, however, who occupied the other side of the car conjointly
with the carpet-bag and large brown-paper parcel, which contained all
Manus's worldly goods, and were by him somewhat grandly designated
his "traps", kept his eyes stolidly fixed upon his horse's ears, and
seemed to take no heed of the pair across the well. The drive home
was a very silent one for him, for Norah and Manus had so much to
tell each other that their tongues never once ceased wagging during
the whole of the drive, and Connor did not seem called upon to take
any part in the conversation. It was after dark when they drove up
to Kilshane, and found Roderick and Anstace at the door waiting to
welcome the traveller.
"This is a long way jollier than school," observed Manus half an hour
later, when he was seated at the supper-table with Anstace smiling at
him from behind the tea-urn, and Norah hovering round, herself unable
to eat in her excitement, and her desire to pile his plate with
dainties.
That brief remark brought balm to his little sister's heart, for
Norah had been troubled by terrible misgivings that the brother who
had come back to her would prove quite different from the Manus of
old. She had feared that after a term of school-life and of the
companionship of other boys he would look down upon her as being
"only a girl"--an inferiority which Norah fully recognized and the
irremediableness of which she most deeply deplored--and refuse her
the place in his affections and his confidence which she had hitherto
enjoyed.
The next day was wild and boisterous, with fierce rain squalls
sweeping in from the Atlantic and beating on the window-panes. To
venture on any distant expedition was therefore out of the question,
and Norah had to content herself with showing off the house and
garden to Manus, and taking him down to gaze over the cliffs into the
wonderful clearness of the green depths below, where the great
forests of sea-weed could be traced lying like purple shadows far
beneath the water. Upon the following day, however, she proposed
that he should accompany her upon her promised visit to old Mrs.
Connor and the family of infant pigs, and Manus was graciously
pleased to accede to the suggestion.
The Connors' abode was situated at the end of a long boreen or lane,
very narrow and muddy, with high furze-topped banks on either side.
It had originally been a tolerably well-built and comfortable cabin,
but was much impaired by dirt and neglect. The thatched roof was
fastened down by ropes elaborately interlaced, and weighted with
stones to prevent its being swept bodily off in the wild Atlantic
gales, and the approach to the house was by a causeway with a
manure-heap on one hand and a pool of stagnant filth upon the other.
Mrs. Connor, an old woman in a wondrously-quilled night-cap, came to
the door on hearing steps and voices outside, and welcomed the
children with great heartiness and good-will. It was quite
unnecessary to express a wish to be taken to see the interesting
family of pigs, since on entering the kitchen they and their grunting
old mother were found to be in possession of the most comfortable
place in front of the fire. Mrs. Connor, whilst edging them to one
side with her foot to enable her to set chairs for the visitors,
explained that this was necessitated by the cannibalistic tastes of
the old sow, who had on one or two previous occasions demolished some
of her offspring soon after their birth.
"It takes Thady an' me, turn an' turn, day an' night, to kape an eye
on her, the ould villin; but glory be to goodness the craythers is
growin' that fast they'll put it beyant her to ait them soon."
Then, whilst Norali eyed the unnatural parent with horror, Mrs.
Connor proceeded to hang a griddle--a round iron plate--above the
turf fire, and to arrange upon it a goodly supply of potato scones,
in the kneading of which she had been engaged when interrupted by the
children's arrival.
"Thady--that's the boy that dhruv ye, Miss Norah--'ull be fit to
break his heart he wasn't here, but he's away to the bog to cut turf
since cockshout, an' I was gettin' his tay ready agin he'd come home.
Yez'll take bite an' sup now afore yez go."
Looking at the table on which the cakes had been prepared, and the
smoky interior of the cabin, Norah had some qualms about accepting
the proffered hospitality. She hardly saw her way to refusing it
with politeness, however, and Manus manifestly was not troubled by
any inconvenient fastidiousness, for he was sniffing the fragrant
smell of the potato bread, as the old woman moved it to and fro and
turned it in the griddle, with evident satisfaction. Norah thanked
Mrs. Connor, therefore, with the best grace that she could, and
having once overcome her scruples, was fain to admit that she had
never tasted anything more delicious than potato scones buttered hot
from the fire, and accompanied by draughts of new milk, the seasoning
imparted by a previous walk in the sea-breezes not being omitted. It
was with promises of paying another visit before long to see the
progress of the little pink porkers that Manus and Norah took their
leave at last.
They had reached the confines of Kilshane, and were discussing
whether to go round in orderly fashion by the gate, or to attempt a
short cut by scrambling through the hedge, when they heard the sound
of horse hoofs coming full gallop down the road.
"Whoever that is, they're going a stunning pace," observed Manus.
The next instant a black pony, stretched out like a greyhound, came
tearing round a bend in the road. The girl who rode it was sitting
back in the saddle, pulling with all her might on the reins. Her hat
was gone, and her fair hair had become loose and was flying in a
cloud about her. As she flashed past them, Manus and Norah had an
instant's glimpse of a white, set face and eyes wide with terror.
Even to their inexperience the peril of the situation was manifest.
A few hundred yards farther on, the road ran steeply downhill,
turning sharply at the foot of the descent over a bridge which
spanned a little stream. Going at its present pace, it would be
little short of miraculous if the pony took that turn in safety.
"That girl will be killed, she will indeed!" gasped Norah, clutching
her brother by the arm. "Oh, Manus, can't something be done?"
"Nothing whatever," said Manus, from whose ruddy face the colour had
faded. "Cart ropes wouldn't stop that pony." Then in a tone of
sudden relief: "Oh look, Norah, there's Roderick; he's rushing across
the field! Oh, I say, I do hope he'll be in time."
Norah said nothing, she only tightened her hold on Manus's arm, and
in silence both children strained their eyes on their brother as he
raced at top speed towards the road. Would he reach it before the
pony in its frantic gallop had passed him by? Another minute would
bring it to the brow of the hill. There was a second or two of
sickening suspense, then they saw Roderick vault over the gate of the
field and almost in the same instant catch the pony by the bridle.
He let himself be dragged along by it for a few paces, then with a
sudden jerk brought it up short in its career. The terrified animal
made an attempt to rear, but Roderick's hand was at its nostrils,
squeezing them with an iron grip, and feeling itself mastered it
dropped on its forefeet and stood still, panting and quivering all
over.
"She's saved! Hooray! hooray, three cheers! Well done, Roderick!"
cried Manus, beginning to run, and Norah ran too, keeping up with him
as well as she could.
When they came up, the stranger was sitting in her saddle, deadly
pale and trembling from head to foot. It was evidently only by a
great effort that she succeeded in keeping back her tears. Roderick,
somewhat out of breath, and hardly less pale, stood at the pony's
head.
"You saved my life, I think," the girl said tremulously, as soon as
she had regained sufficient self-control to speak; "I should have
thrown myself off in another minute if you had not caught Sheila, I
knew it was my only chance. I am very, very grateful to you."
"There is nothing to be grateful about," Roderick returned lightly.
"It was most fortunate I was near enough to reach the road in time;
anyone who had been where I was would have done just the same."
"You saved me all the same," the girl repeated; "and poor little
Sheila, too, she must have been killed. Even if I had escaped, she
never would have got over the bridge safely." And she leant forward
to pat the pony's mane.
"The little brute hardly deserves so much commiseration after running
away with you," said Roderick.
"Oh, but it was not Sheila's fault," the girl cried eagerly, "it was
mine quite as much as hers. She has not been out of the stable for
two or three days, and that made her fresh and fidgety; she is
generally as quiet as a mouse. I was riding carelessly, not keeping
a look-out as I ought to have done. A wheel-barrow which someone had
left upside down on the road frightened her and made her shy, and
before I knew what I was about she had got her head and was tearing
down the road."
She stopped short with a shiver she could not repress.
"Don't think any more about it," Roderick said cheerily. "Our house
is close by, and you must let me lead the pony there and give you
into my sister's charge till you have recovered from the shock you
have had."
"Oh, thank you, I must go home. Brownie--Miss Browne, I mean--would
be so frightened if I did not come back at the right time; she is
always nervous when I am out by myself, and she would be sure
something dreadful had happened to me," and the stranger laid her
hands on the reins as if she wished to take them into her own keeping
again.
Roderick, however, held them fast.
"Something dreadful very nearly did happen," he said gravely, "and
you are quite too much shaken to attempt riding anywhere at present.
I can send a message to Miss Browne to assure her of your safety, and
meanwhile you must rest at Kilshane."
"But--but," and the girl's eyes grew big with alarm, "you must be Mr.
Roderick O'Brien."
This time Roderick could not forbear laughing.
"So I am, but I am not a very formidable personage notwithstanding."
"Oh, indeed, it is not that," and confusion and distress brought the
colour back into her cheeks, "but I ought to tell you who I am; my
name is Wyndham--Ella Wyndham--and I live at Moyross Abbey."
"In that case, Miss Wyndham," said Roderick courteously, but making
no attempt to claim relationship, "the best arrangement will be to
have a carriage sent for you from Moyross Abbey. You are really not
fit to ride back, and I hope you will not mind waiting at our house
till it comes. Manus, run up the road and see if you can find Miss
Wyndham's hat."
Perhaps Ella was too shy to make any further resistance, perhaps in
her secret soul she was not sorry that fate had willed that she
should make acquaintance under their own roof with the kinsfolk from
whom she had hitherto been kept apart. At any rate she offered no
opposition when Roderick turned the pony's head towards Kilshane. He
kept a careful hand on the bridle all the way to the house, though
Mistress Sheila, who had had the fire taken out of herself very
effectively by her wild race, walked along very soberly and evinced
no inclination for any further pranks. With a thoughtfulness which
Ella fully appreciated, he left her to herself to recover her
composure in some degree, and chatted gaily with Norah as they walked
along, questioning that small personage about her ramble and her
visit to old Mrs. Connor.
Anstace was nailing up a rose-tree on the porch when the party
arrived, but she took prompt possession of Ella, and conveyed her
upstairs to the quiet of her own room, where she made her lie down
upon the bed. Ella submitted very docilely; she was very young and
evidently still accustomed to be looked upon and treated as a child.
When, however, Anstace, having seen her comfortably settled, was
about to leave the room, she stretched out imploring hands to detain
her.
"Do stay with me," she pleaded, "and don't call me Miss Wyndham, it
sounds so cold and distant. We are cousins, you know, though we have
never seen each other before, and why should we not be friends, you
and I?"
"Why not indeed?" said Anstace pleasantly; "that is, if you will do
as you are told, and not talk or excite yourself, otherwise I shall
have to be angry and scold you, as I do Norah."
"I don't think I should mind being scolded by you," returned Ella,
looking up into Anstace's face. "Norah is your little sister, I
suppose, and you are Anstace. I heard your brother call you so
downstairs. It is such a pretty, quaint name, and it suits you so
well. No, I will not talk any more if you will sit where I can see
you."
And with a sigh of contentment Ella lay back amongst her pillows.
Roderick meanwhile had written a hasty note to Miss Browne at Moyross
Abbey to tell her what had occurred. Pride forbade his thrusting
himself in any way upon the notice of the uncle, who hitherto had not
deigned to take any notice of his existence. A messenger to convey
the note to Moyross Abbey was found in the person of Lanty Hogan,
Biddy's red-headed nephew, who, since Manus's arrival at Kilshane,
was generally to be found hanging about the back door or the
out-offices.
Lanty had already fired Manus's imagination full by the accounts he
gave of the breeding-places of the sea-birds upon the coast,
well-nigh inaccessible spots all of them, where the gannets, the
gulls, and the kittiwakes in thousands laid their eggs on narrow
ledges high above the boiling surf--fastnesses which could only be
scaled by the most experienced and most daring climbers.
Manus saw himself in fancy returning to school the possessor of a
collection of birds' eggs which should make him the envy of every
other boy there. Lanty threw out other hints, too, that were no less
alluring, about the enormous trout which peopled a trout stream a
couple of miles away, real "breedhauns" in Lanty's speech, who seemed
acquainted with the exact haunts of each of these monsters of the
finny tribe and with the fly that would infallibly land him in the
angler's basket.
"He knows a good deal more about it than he has any business to do,
I'll be bound, the poaching young rascal!" was Roderick's comment
when some of these wondrous tales were repeated to him by Manus; but
that did not cause Manus to take any less delight in Lanty's society.
Half an hour's rest had so far composed Ella's nerves that she would
not allow Anstace to bring tea up to her as she proposed, but
insisted on accompanying her down to the little drawing-room, where
she was received with general acclamation. Roderick pulled the most
luxurious chair which the room boasted of forward beside the
tea-table for her, and Norah, who was always ready to strike up
friendships upon the briefest acquaintance, established herself upon
a footstool at her side, with her small black head on a level with
the arm of Ella's chair and her eyes fixed admiringly upon her.
Manus had returned triumphant from his search after Ella's hat, which
he had found reposing in a pool by the roadside.
As he and Norah had already had their afternoon repast at Mrs.
Connor's, and as not even Manus's powers, though prodigious in that
direction, were equal to commencing a second meal after so short an
interval, they were able to contribute even more than their usual
share to the conversation, and their tongues ran on so persistently
that Anstace asked Ella, laughing, if she had ever heard so much
nonsense talked before, and Roderick proposed to banish them both
summarily from the room.
"Oh, don't stop them, please don't!" Ella said earnestly, laying her
arm round Norah's shoulders. "I like to listen to them. I wish I
had a little sister like Norah to live with me at home. It's so
quiet and so silent at Moyross since Harry--that's my brother--went
away. Uncle Nicholas lives almost entirely in his own rooms, and
there are only Brownie and I to sit together in the evenings."
She stopped short and flushed painfully, afraid that she had betrayed
more than she had intended of her home life to these strangers. In
truth, she had been contrasting the cosy, home-like air of the little
drawing-room, shabby and faded though its furniture might be, with
the chill stateliness of the great rooms at Moyross Abbey, where
tables and chairs and ornaments were set out with the formality and
precision which Miss Browne deemed correct.
Before another word could be said, the crunching of wheels was heard
outside, and an open carriage, with a gray-haired lady as its
solitary occupant, drew up at the door.
"That is Brownie; she has come for me herself. Oh, I do hope she has
not been frightened about me!" exclaimed Ella, starting up anxiously.
Miss Browne on her part had alighted almost before the carriage had
drawn up. She entered the house without any of the ordinary
formalities of knocking or ringing, and came straight into the
drawing-room. She was a tall, thin woman with a slight stoop, and
light blue, near-sighted eyes which compelled her to wear glasses.
She would have been a ludicrous figure had it not been for her
manifest anxiety and distress, for her bonnet was put on backwards,
and in her haste she had caught up a table-cover to put about her in
place of a shawl.
"Oh, Ella, my darling child, then you are not so very badly hurt
after all!" she exclaimed, seizing her by both hands and peering
nervously into her face. "I was so afraid I had not been told the
worst, and that you were seriously injured--or even killed."
"Brownie, dear, why will you always worry yourself for nothing?" Ella
returned, smiling. "I am not the very least bit hurt, and you have
not spoken to Miss O'Brien yet, and to Mr. O'Brien, who caught Sheila
and stopped her."
"You must never ride her again, never. I should not have an easy
moment if I knew you were on her back," declared poor Miss Browne
vehemently.
She drew a long breath of relief notwithstanding, and her eye
wandered round the room, taking in the paraphernalia of the
tea-table, and the family group which her unceremonious entry had
disturbed.
"Dear me! I think I did allow myself to be alarmed needlessly. I am
always so nervous where dear Ella is concerned. How do you do, Miss
O'Brien; we have not met before. How do you do, Mr. O'Brien. I am
most obliged to you for your services to Ella."
It was all said very jerkily and awkwardly, for as poor Miss Browne's
fears and anxieties subsided, she became painfully aware of the
eccentricities of her attire, and of the open-eyed amazement with
which Norah was regarding her, while Manus had only too evident
difficulty in suppressing his laughter. Ella, too, looked annoyed,
and made one or two furtive but vain attempts to pull the unlucky
bonnet right. Miss Browne prided herself on her neatness and her
habits of order, and to have appeared in such guise before strangers
was therefore to her unspeakably mortifying.
"No, thank you, we cannot stay," in answer to Anstace's invitation to
sit down and partake of tea. "We must not keep the horses standing,
and Ella's uncle is coming from Dublin by the evening train, and will
expect to find us at home. If you have finished your tea, dear, we
had better start at once. I must thank you once again, Mr. O'Brien,
for the assistance you rendered Ella this afternoon."
"It is quite unnecessary, I assure you," Roderick said rather
loftily, as he escorted Miss Browne to the carriage. "I am very glad
to have been of service to Miss Wyndham; my being at the spot was a
mere accident."
Ella had lingered in the drawing-room to say good-bye to Anstace and
Norah.
"Thank you so much for all your kindness to me," she said, holding
out both her hands to Anstace. "It was so nice to be here with you
all."
"Then I hope you will come and pay us another visit before very
long," said Anstace cordially, as she kissed her. "We shall always
be very glad to see you."
"Oh yes, you must come back very soon!" chimed in Norah, holding up
her face in turn to be kissed; "and when you do, I will show you the
bantam cock and hen which Mrs. Lynch gave me, and the cliffs, and the
garden--oh, and lots of things besides!"
"I should like dearly to come and see you again," said Ella, but as
she spoke she looked round the little room into which the westering
sun was streaming, and wondered if she would be allowed to enter it
again.
"Ella, my dear, make haste, I am waiting for you," came from the
carriage, in which Miss Browne was already seated, and with a brief
nod of farewell the girl hurried out.