PEACE AND HARMONY
It was many days before Norah did speak or move, and many more before
she recovered consciousness sufficiently to take notice of the
strange room in which she found herself, and to ask how she came to
be there; and during that time some very surprising and unlooked-for
things had happened.
Roderick presented himself in his uncle's study later on that same
day. Mr. O'Brien sat at his writing-table, a pile of heavy
leather-bound ledgers and account-books before him, looking weary and
listless after the excitement and the fatigue of the previous day. A
quick flush mounted to his forehead as Roderick crossed the room and
stood looking down at him.
"I would like to tell you, sir," he said frigidly, "that we will not
intrude upon you more than we can possibly avoid. I had hoped that
we should have been able to move Norah to Kilshane, but the doctor,
who has just been here, has absolutely forbidden our attempting it.
Of course, so long as she is here, Anstace must remain to nurse her;
and I hope you will not object to Manus and me coming over every day
to see her--"
He got no further, for Mr. O'Brien started forward and gripped his
hand with a force that was almost painful.
"My boy, what are you talking about?" he cried. "As if I had not
wanted you all along!"
Roderick could not conceal his astonishment.
"You did not give me any reason to think so, sir," he said, and
stopped short once more, for his glance had fallen on the little
water-colour portrait that hung above the writing-table, as Ella's
had done months before.
Mr. O'Brien saw the direction of his gaze.
"You don't need to ask who that is, Roderick," he said. "It is your
mother as she was in the days when I thought she would have been my
wife. It is an old story, over and done with twenty-three years ago,
but she was the one woman whom I ever loved, and when she broke faith
with me, it went near breaking my heart too. Perhaps you can
understand how I dreaded, and yet wished, to see her children. It
has been in my mind half a hundred times since I knew you were living
in Ansey O'Brien's house to have myself driven over there, and walk
in amongst you all. I never could bring myself to do it though. It
seemed to me that I had forfeited the right of claiming kinship with
you when I let your father die without any effort at reconciliation."
"We would have welcomed you at any time that you had come, Uncle
Nicholas," Roderick said earnestly.
"Would you, my boy? I used to doubt it, and so I waited on in the
hope that chance would bring us together, till, as you see, it was
left for little Norah to act as _dea ex machina_, and end the great
family feud."
Roderick could not forbear laughing.
"Norah did it in a manner peculiarly her own," he said. "I only hope
it will not be at too great cost to herself, poor child. Dr. Hanlon
says she is going on as well as he could hope for at present, but he
will not be able to pronounce her out of danger for some days to
come."
Outside his uncle's door Roderick encountered Harry Wyndham,
evidently lying in wait for him.
"Look here, I'm awfully glad you've come, and I want you to say a
good word for me to the governor--Uncle Nicholas, you know," the lad
began eagerly and confidentially. "I haven't ventured to show my
nose to him to-day, but I want you to persuade him that it's no good
trying to make me work on at this mine business. I hate the whole
thing, stock, lock, and barrel, and I've cut it, once and for all."
"Is that what you wish me to tell Uncle Nicholas?" enquired Roderick
mildly.
"Oh well, just put it to him the best way you can, like a good
fellow; he'll take it better from you than from me," said the
ingenuous youth. "The fact is, I mean to be a soldier," and
unconsciously he drew himself erect, and threw his chest out. "It's
what my father was before me, and what I've wanted to be all my life;
but then, you see, Uncle Nicholas had done such a lot for Ella and
me, and he's getting old, and--oh, hang it all, you understand what I
mean--I felt he'd a sort of claim upon me, and that I was bound to do
what he wanted--at least, that I ought to give it a try. It's no go,
I can't do it. I wouldn't have come back at all, I'd have struck out
for myself, only it would have been behaving scurvily to Uncle
Nicholas after all I owe him. And if one's going to be a soldier,
one oughtn't to begin by shirking things, ought one?"
"Certainly not," said Roderick, much amused, but not wishing to point
out to Harry that now that he had come home, he did not appear very
desirous of facing his irate uncle himself.
"Well, if you'd just tell Uncle Nicholas that if he'll help me to get
into the army it's all I'll ever ask of him, I'll manage for myself
after that. Of course, I know I've no right to expect it, and if he
won't do it I'll enlist and work my way up, as many a better chap has
done. That's why I'm so awfully glad that you've turned up, for of
course you're the right man in the right place to look after the mine
and keep things straight for Uncle Nicholas, and it makes it all
plain sailing for me to go off. I shan't feel that I'm fighting shy
of my duty."
It was quite clear that Miss Browne's ambitious schemes had found no
entrance into Harry's boyish mind, and that to him a life of
soldiering and adventure far outweighed the O'Brien heritage which
she coveted so ardently on his behalf.
"I have no reason to imagine that Uncle Nicholas desires my services
in any capacity," said Roderick, "but I think he owes you a good deal
for defending his house last night. But for you he would have found
the mob in possession on his return, and so I dare say he may be
induced to let you follow your own bent."
Roderick's anticipations proved correct, and Mr. O'Brien showed
himself even more complaisant than had been expected.
"If the boy's determined to wear a red coat he'll do better in it
than he would in one of any other colour, and so it's best to let him
have his way."
The days of late summer went by, one by one, and still Norah lay in
the same heavy stupor, varied only by occasional outbreaks of
wandering and delirium. Ella had begged to be allowed to share the
duties of sick-nurse, and she proved as unwearied and devoted in her
attendance on Norah as even Anstace herself. Mr. O'Brien paid at
least one visit every day to the sick-room, and displayed the
liveliest anxiety about the little patient. It was he who despatched
the mounted messenger to Ballyfin and thence by rail to Ennis, to
procure the ice which the doctor had ordered to be placed on Norah's
head; and on the day on which Dr. Hanlon looked his gravest, Mr.
O'Brien, without a word to either Roderick or Anstace, telegraphed
for the doctor who was most highly thought of in the county, to come
to the local practitioner's aid. He would have summoned a surgeon
from Dublin if Norah had not taken a favourable turn, which enabled
the doctor to pronounce her in a fair way of recovery.
The story of the attack made by the miners upon Moyross Abbey, and
the manner in which they had been put to flight by Norah, quickly
spread through the neighbourhood, and it was quite wonderful what
interest it aroused.
Carriages and cars rolled up the avenue constantly with enquiries for
the little girl. Foremost of those who came was Lady Louisa Butler,
a stately white-haired old lady, who drove all the way from Dromore
and insisted on going up into the darkened sick-chamber, where
Anstace kept her anxious watch.
"Me dear," she said, with just the sweetest, softest touch of brogue
in her voice, as she stooped to kiss her, "don't you be fretting
yourself to fiddle-strings, the child will be well again, you'll see,
in next to no time. I'd have known she was Piers O'Brien's daughter
just by her planning out that trick, it's what he'd have loved to do
himself. Dear, dear, but he was the boy for pranks and mischief. No
sooner out of one scrape than he was into another, and how fond we
were of him in spite of it all!"
But the interest was by no means confined to the gentry and the
county magnates; the house was beset by humbler friends of Norah,
who, as they said themselves, "slipped up to git a bit of word" how
she was progressing. Amongst the rest was the orator of the trolly,
Malachy Flanagan himself, who marched up one windy, blustering
afternoon, reckless of all consequences to himself, and careless
whether it had become known that it was his eloquence which had fired
the recalcitrant miners with the thought of attacking Moyross House.
He came, too, not modestly to the back-door like the others, but on
up the avenue with his long, swinging gait, the ends of his red beard
blown back against his chest, and sat himself down on the hall
door-steps. Drawing out his scarlet and white handkerchief, he
buried his face in it and broke forth into loud and uncontrolled
weeping, for it was just that day on which the doctors had looked
their gravest, and a rumour had spread abroad that "it's tuk wid a
wakeness since mornin', an' goin' fast the little darlin' is."
"An' if we had knew that 'twas widin the house she was, there wasn't
wan as would ha' riz a stone agin it," Malachy declared, between the
paroxysms of his grief, to Ella, who had come down to speak to him,
and who was somewhat alarmed by his wild and uncouth demeanour. "Or
if she'd as much as come to the windy an' held up the little finger
of her hand, we'd have been as quite that minnit as a flock of ould
lambs."
"She wanted to go out and speak to you, she did indeed," said Ella
sadly. "She said you would go away if she asked you, but Mr. Harry
would not believe it--it seemed so unlikely--and he would not allow
her out."
"An' what call had Miss Norah to be mindin' Misther Harry Wyndham, or
any orders that he'd give her?" demanded Malachy fiercely, forgetting
in his excitement who his interlocutor was. "Didn't she know there
wasn't wan of us that wudn't lie down an' let her walk over us? Yis,
indade, an' wid good right too, seein' what she done for us that same
marnin' as iver was--"
Here, however, Malachy became incoherent, as even in the midst of his
grief it was borne in upon him that the service which Norah had
rendered him was one which it would hardly be well to proclaim aloud.
Happily, as has been already recorded, Norah took a turn for the
better that evening, and from thenceforth made steady though slow
progress towards recovery.
Manus had gone back to school as soon as she was pronounced out of
danger. Mr. O'Brien had announced his intention of sending him to
Harrow in the spring, and Harry had previously departed to a tutor to
be prepared for the entrance examination into the army. The mine was
once more a busy hive of industry, and shipload after shipload of
valuable ore was being despatched from the iron pier at the foot of
the cliffs. Mr. O'Brien, with Roderick and M'Bain, had met the
miners on that very plot of ground behind the mine buildings where
Malachy Flanagan on that notable evening had harangued the crowd, and
terms of peace had been arranged. M'Bain was to continue at his post
for three months till Roderick had gained an insight into the working
of the mine, and then relinquish the management to him. The
hard-headed and energetic Scotchman, whose opinion of Irish peasants
had not been raised by recent events, was not sorry to resign his
charge and return to work amongst his own more congenial countrymen.
"A pack o' grown men rinnin' fra a bit lassie in a white
sheet--peeh!" and volumes could not have expressed as much contempt
as Mr. M'Bain threw into that monosyllable.
Mr. O'Brien promised to overlook the attack made upon Moyross House,
and to take no proceedings for the damage done that night, whilst the
men, through their spokesman, Malachy Flanagan, whose influence had
had a goodly share in bringing about this peaceful settlement, agreed
to return to work and to suffer the introduction of the new
machinery, the original cause of all the ill-will.
It was at this point that Roderick stepped forward.
"Boys," he said, "I know less than any of you about copper-mining,
but I mean to learn. I hope you and I may work together for many a
day to come, and if you'll help me, we'll make Moyross the most
flourishing mine in the county Clare, and if we can, in the whole of
Ireland."
A frantic outburst of cheering answered him; hats and arms were
waving wildly, whilst women poured out blessings on him; and when the
tumult subsided for an instant, Malachy, his hat held aloft upon his
blackthorn, shouted:
"God bless Moyross Abbey, and them that's in it, an' the blue sky
over it, an' little Miss Norah, the first o' them all!"
Another roar, louder and more vociferous than the first, rose and
rolled out over the Atlantic, and before its echoes had died away Mr.
O'Brien and Roderick had mounted the car that was in waiting for them
and driven swiftly away.
The car with its two occupants had become a familiar sight on the
roads in the neighbourhood of Moyross by this time. Mr. O'Brien took
Roderick for long drives through the wide-spreading property,
visiting each portion of it in turn; and as they passed, the women at
the cabin doors said to each other: "'Tis the ould masther an' the
young masther; the blessin' of God be in their company this day."
No one acquiesced in the altered aspect of affairs with more cheerful
complacency than did Miss Browne, and the cause of her contentment
was twofold. The first was that Roderick, meeting Ella one evening
in the Monk's Walk--as it chanced, upon the very spot where the dread
white spectre had menaced Manus and Norah--had taken her hand in his
own and told her that he loved her, that he had loved her for a long
time--ever since that evening, indeed, when he had caught her pony on
the road and she had come down afterwards and sat in the little
drawing-room at Kilshane amongst them all. He had asked her if she
cared enough for him to trust herself to him and give her life into
his keeping, and Ella, though fluttered and taken by surprise, had
yet given him an answer that satisfied him; and when they came up the
path and past the ruins of the old abbey, it was hand in hand, with
the light of a great happiness shining in their eyes. Miss Browne
was quite content to relinquish her hopes for Harry Wyndham and to
see Roderick acknowledged as his uncle's heir, if Ella was to be his
wife; and she had another reason for her satisfaction at the turn
which matters had taken. Ever since the night of the onslaught on
Moyross House, poor Miss Browne had been in constant trepidation and
alarm. She could not sleep at night without fancying that she heard
the shouts and cries of the mob under her windows, and in every
frieze-coated countryman whom she encountered on the road she saw a
possible blood-thirsty assailant. Whilst Ella needed her, nothing
would have induced Miss Browne to quit her post; but since Ella had
found another protector, there was nothing to hinder her from leaving
Moyross and Ireland altogether, and establishing herself upon her
modest savings in security and in the trimmest of little suburban
dwellings.
Roderick and Anstace still remained at Moyross pending Norah's
recovery. It had been arranged that Roderick and Ella should take up
their abode at Kilshane after their marriage, whilst Anstace and
Norah were to live at Moyross with Mr. O'Brien in Ella's place.
It was upon this changed condition of affairs that Norah opened her
eyes, in the early days of autumn, when the trees were beginning to
assume tints of russet and gold. The very first wish to which she
gave utterance, after coming back to full and clear consciousness,
was that Lanty Hogan might be brought up to see her.
Lanty, who had been among the most assiduous of the enquirers at
Moyross, was greatly gratified, but also somewhat embarrassed, on
hearing of Norah's desire, and he came upstairs treading gingerly on
the carpets, and wiping his hobnailed shoes with much care on the mat
outside Norah's bedroom door.
"How do you do, Lanty? I am very glad to see you," said Norah,
stretching out her small white hand to him as he stood just within
the door, turning his hat awkwardly round and round in his hands.
Her short black hair had been cut shorter still during her illness,
and her face seemed to Lanty to have become all eyes, so thin and
wasted was it.
"An' faix an' I'm glad to see you, Miss Norah," he stammered, "if
'twas but a bit heartier ye wor lookin'. But niver fear, ye'll be
pickin' up noo, an' it's gran' toimes we'll be havin' whin Masther
Manus comes home agin; yis, indade, sale-huntin' an' all else."
In his shyness Lanty hardly knew what he was saying. Norah turned to
her sister, who was sitting at the other side of her bed.
"Please, Anstace, what I want to say to Lanty is a secret. Will you
let me be alone with him for a little while?"
Anstace got up with less demur than might have been expected.
"Very well, Norah; you may talk to Lanty for five minutes, but not
longer. I shall come back then."
"Lanty, you haven't been making any more of that stuff--I forget what
you called it--the stuff you and the other men made, up in that
little house on Drinane Head?" enquired Norah, when the door had
closed behind Anstace.
"Is't the potheen, Miss Norah? Sorra sup's been made since ye saw't
yerself spillin' out like dirty dish wather. Nor it's not like there
will be, nayther, up there anyways, since the polis has their eye on
us, and we'd not be knowin' when they'd be happenin' down--bad scran
to them! 'Tis another shnug little hidin' place we'll have to be
lookin' out for, I'm thinkin', for it's not always we'd have yerself
comin' up an' bringin' us warnin'."
"Lanty," said Norah earnestly, "I want you to promise me that you
won't make any more potheen, neither on Drinane Head nor anywhere
else. I thought about you nearly all the time I was ill," she went
on, as Lanty stared at her in undisguised amazement, "you and Malachy
and the other men up there, but you especially. I couldn't think
quite straight, all my ideas were upside down and mixed together,
like when one's not quite asleep and not quite awake, don't you know,
but you were in my head somehow or other all through. I didn't quite
understand about the potheen. When I went up to tell you about
Captain Lester's coming, it didn't seem as if the government had any
right to stop you making it if you liked; but I knew there was
something wrong about it the moment I saw you, you looked so
different from what you used to do when you were boating and fishing
with Master Manus: your eyes were so red, and your face was flabby,
and you kept looking about all the time as if you were afraid or
ashamed of something."
Lanty stood with his eyes on the ground shuffling his feet awkwardly.
"Thrue for ye, Miss Norah," he said slowly at last, "an' meself knows
that same roightly. Nor it's not the love of the potheen that takes
me mannefacterin' it, but jist the divvlemint an' the divarsion, an'
the playin' blind hookey wid the polis. I'd niver contint meself to
live workin' hard, wid no variety an' no venturesomeness, not if I
was to be makin' pouns an' pouns a day."
"I'm sure all the devilment and the diversion can't make you happy or
comfortable, Lanty, when you look as you did on Drinane Head that
morning," said Norah sagely. "And then do you remember what Captain
Lester said before he went away, and he talked a lot more about it at
breakfast at Kilshane afterwards. He said people who took to making
potheen always came to ruin sooner or later. I don't want you to be
ruined, Lanty; you were so kind to me, and took care of me that day
of the seal-hunt, and Master Manus likes you so much; he says you're
a broth of a boy, and he'd be so sorry too. That was what kept
worrying me all the time I was ill, that if I didn't get well quick
you'd have been ruined; and the very first moment Anstace would allow
it, I made her bring you upstairs. I want you to promise me that
you'll never make potheen again."
"Sure it's too bad intirely that ye should ha' been throublin'
yerself for the likes o' me, Miss Norah; an' there's nothin' on this
mortial airth I wudn't do for yer axin'--" he hesitated, but the eyes
that seemed to have grown so large of late were fixed pleadingly upon
him, and with desperate resolve he added: "Divil resave the dhrop o'
potheen I'll make nor swally from this oot, not if Malachy an' the
rest o' the boys curshed till they broke their hearts. I've promised
that, Miss Norah, an' troth I'll kape it."
"I'm so glad," said Norah gratefully. "I won't have to trouble any
more about you; and now I must say good-bye, Lanty, for I'm not
strong enough yet to talk a great deal, and it makes me tired."
Lanty touched the thin morsel of a hand which she held out to him
cautiously and reverently, as if it were an egg-shell, or costly
china, which would break with rough handling. He was brushing his
hand across his eyes as he came out into the corridor, and he nearly
ran against Roderick, who was on his way to his little sister's room.
"Hullo, Lanty!" exclaimed the latter in some astonishment. "Have you
taken to the doctoring trade, or what brings you up into Miss Norah's
room?"
"Sure yer honour's always for havin' yer joke," said Lanty, grinning
confusedly. "Miss Norah tuk a fancy to see me--'twas a little
thransacsheeon her an' me was consarned about."
"Had the transaction anything to do with your making potheen on
Drinane Head, and her going up there to tell you the police were
coming?" asked Anstace quietly, from the window in which she had
stood looking out on the pleasure-ground and waiting for the minutes
allotted to the interview to be over.
Lanty faced round quickly.
"An' how did yer honour know that?"
Anstace laughed softly.
"I only guessed it before, Lanty; but I know it now. Miss Norah
talked about it almost always when she was delirious, but what she
said was so incoherent and confused we could not make much of it.
Mr. Roderick would not believe that she could really have gone up to
warn you, and thought it was only a delusion that had got hold of
her, but I remembered two or three little things which happened that
morning which made me suspect it was true; and now, Lanty, you have
admitted it to me yourself."
"Yer honour's too cute for a poor boy like me," said Lanty in
wheedling tones; "but sure it's not yerself, Miss Anstace, that wud
inform agin us, an' me jist afther promisin' Miss Norah that I'd quit
out of the business wanst an' for all?"
"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at any rate, Lanty; and if you do turn
over a new leaf and settle down steadily to some honest trade, you
may be quite sure that neither Mr. Roderick nor I will ever breathe a
word of what we know."
"I'll thry me livin' best," protested Lanty earnestly; "but whin
ye're used to sthravagin' over the counthry wid ne'er a thing to do
but plaze yerself, settlin' down to work stiddy is the mischief's own
job."
And Lanty heaved a prodigious sigh.
"I'll make you an offer," said Roderick, who had been listening to
the colloquy with much amusement. "Old Pat Lannigan, the gamekeeper,
is getting past his work, and Mr. O'Brien has been talking of
engaging some strapping young fellow as under-keeper to assist him.
Now if you're really going to turn over the new leaf Miss Anstace
talks of, and will promise to keep from drink and potheen-making and
poaching for the future, I'll try to induce my uncle to give the
berth to you. That will give you the sort of roving, outdoor life
that you like; and if you are steady and give Mr. O'Brien
satisfaction, there will be every likelihood that when old Pat
finally gives up work you will become gamekeeper in his stead."
Lanty flushed up under his freckles, and his eyes beamed with
pleasure.
"Thank ye, Misther Roderick; sure that's what I'd rather be nor
nothin' besides."
"One thing I'm sure of," and Roderick looked at him with a twinkle in
his eyes, "that there's not a boy in the country that knows the ways
of every creature that has feathers or fur, and where to find it,
better than yourself. But remember, Lanty," he added more gravely,
"if I speak to my uncle on your behalf I shall expect you not to
disgrace my recommendation."
"No fear, yer honour, not the taste of a fear," asseverated Lanty
joyfully, as he vanished in the direction of the backstairs.
* * * * * * *
"And when you are married, Ella will be my sister--my real, own
sister, like Anstace? Oh, I do think it's the most wonderful and the
very jolliest thing that ever happened!"
It was a few days later, and Norah had been moved for the first time
from her bed to a sofa.
"I quite agree with you, Norah," said Roderick, who, with Anstace and
Ella, had gathered in her room for afternoon tea, and who was sitting
on the arm of the sofa looking down at his little sister. "What you
have to do now is to get well and strong as quickly as possible, for
Ella is determined not to be married till you can be her bridesmaid.
The very first day you are able to go out of the house I will take
you down and show you the Monk's Walk, where this most wonderful and
jolly thing came to pass, and Ella promised to bestow herself on my
unworthy self."
"But Norah has seen the Monk's Walk before, surely?" exclaimed Ella.
Roderick laughed.
"You forget what strangers we all were to each other till Norah broke
the ice for us, and her own head into the bargain, by tumbling down
from the abbey window. She had never even set foot inside Moyross
till she ran over that night with Manus to give you warning that the
miners were coming, had you, little woman?"
To Roderick's astonishment, Norah's pale face crimsoned slowly from
chin to brow.
"Yes, I was in Moyross before--once," she said, after a few minutes'
painful hesitation; "and I came up the Monk's Walk, only it was so
dark we couldn't see anything, Manus and I. I've wanted to tell
about it ever so often since I've been ill, only I was afraid it
would make Uncle Nicholas so dreadfully angry that perhaps he'd have
another quarrel with us. But there can't be a family feud now, can
there, when Roderick and Ella are going to be married?"
"No, dear, of course not; and now lie quiet and try to go to sleep,"
said Anstace soothingly. She thought this strange talk on Norah's
part must mean that she had been over-excited and that her mind was
beginning to wander as it had done during her illness.
But Norah's eyes were far too wide and bright for any possibility of
sleep.
"Not even when Uncle Nicholas hears that it was Manus and I who shot
holes into his table-cloth?" she asked anxiously.
"Norah, you are not in earnest surely?" said Roderick sternly, whilst
Anstace laid her hand quickly on her little sister's forehead. She
was quite certain now that Norah was suffering from a sudden return
of fever.
Norah, however, shook herself from under the cool, quieting clasp.
"It is true, it is indeed!" she said piteously. "It was that night
when we were coming back after killing the seal in Ballintaggart
Cave, and Lanty put us ashore out of his coracle in the cove, because
he was in a hurry-- Oh, but I forgot," interrupting herself; "that
was a secret too!"
Roderick looked even more grave.
"I think we know pretty well about Master Lanty and his doings,
Norah," he said; "betraying them is not of much consequence. But I
confess I don't like to hear of all this underhand work and keeping
of secrets which seems to have gone on behind Anstace's and my back.
Let us have the rest of the story now, please; we have not heard
about the table-cloth yet."
Very falteringly and tremulously it was told, for Norah, though she
was very fond of Roderick, stood also in some awe of him and of his
displeasure.
"And why did you not come forward at once when you saw Miss Browne
and Ella, and tell them how it had happened, and how sorry you were
for the mischief you had done?" demanded Anstace at the end of the
recital.
Poor Norah hung her head.
"We were so much ashamed, and we were afraid, too, because Miss
Browne seemed so angry about the table-cloth. And Manus said
everyone would laugh at us so dreadfully if they heard that we had
thought a table-cloth hanging on a tree was a ghost, so we agreed to
keep it a secret; but, oh dear! I'm glad it's told, for secrets do
weigh on one so much."
Ella stooped quickly to kiss her.
"Never mind, Norah dear, it doesn't matter in the least, not if you
had shot all the table-cloths in Moyross into rags. Roderick, you
are not to frown like that, I won't have it!"
Roderick, in truth, in his efforts to keep the muscles of his face
under control, and to maintain a proper air of severity while Norah
was telling her story, had contracted his forehead into a most
portentous frown. At Ella's command, however, issued with a pretty
air of imperiousness that was quite new to her, he gave up the
struggle to retain his gravity and indulged in a hearty and prolonged
fit of laughter, in which Anstace and Ella were not slow to join.
"Hey! Hullo! What's all this about?" said a voice behind them.
Mr. O'Brien had come in without anyone hearing him, and was standing
leaning on his stick, holding a fine bunch of grapes in his other
hand.
"Norah shall tell you what the joke is," said Roderick. "Yes, Norah,
every word, just as you have told us now, before you touch one of the
grapes Uncle Nicholas has brought you. I ordain that as your
penance."
So the whole story had to be told over again, but this time Norah,
conscious of having the sympathy of the larger part of her audience
with her, was not as nervous as on the first occasion. There was
even a roguish twinkle in her eyes as she finished up with:
"But you see, Uncle Nicholas, if it hadn't been for that table-cloth
ghost, I'd never have thought of being a ghost up in the abbey
window; so it was a good thing it happened after all."
"So it was, my dear, a first-rate thing," said the old man. "And you
deserve your grapes for telling it so well. You were a pretty pair
of cowards, you and that young rascal Manus; but perhaps we'd none of
us have been heroes under the circumstances." And he laughed with as
keen enjoyment as anyone else.
"Norah is getting on so well, Uncle Nicholas," said Anstace, "that I
think we shall not have to trespass on your kindness much longer. In
a few days, if you will lend us the carriage, I think we shall be
able to take her home to Kilshane."
"Eh, what's that?" said Mr. O'Brien, wheeling round upon her. "I
thought, my dear, you understood that 'home' for you was here from
henceforward. I'll lend no carriages to take anyone away from here
till one is needed to drive Mr. and Mrs. Roderick O'Brien on their
wedding-journey. And that wedding is going to be a big affair, I've
made up my mind about that. It shall be remembered in the county
when Miss Norah here is brushing a gray head. There's one thing I
would like you to understand, nephew Roderick," he said after a
pause, fixing his eyes keenly upon him. "Nothing which has occurred
during the last few weeks alters your future prospects in any way.
You only hold the position which you have held since your father's
death. Nothing would have induced me to leave an acre of O'Brien
land away from the rightful heir."
"There, didn't I tell you so, Anstace?" exclaimed Norah triumphantly
from her sofa, before anyone else could speak.
"Told me what, dear? What are you talking about?" asked her elder
sister, somewhat puzzled.
"Don't you remember that first day when you came to Treherne House
and told me that Cousin Ansey had left Kilshane to us, and that we
were all coming over to live here? You said then you were sure that
Uncle Nicholas would not make up the feud, and that he would leave
Moyross Abbey to Harry Wyndham; and I told you he hadn't a right to
leave half a quarter of a yard of O'Brien land to anyone except an
O'Brien."
"Really, Norah, you have become extremely forward since you have been
ill," said Roderick, with considerable annoyance. "No one has asked
for your opinion, and in future please to remember that little girls
should be seen and not heard."
"Just you leave her alone," said Mr. O'Brien gruffly, as the tears
sprang into Norah's eyes at her brother's rebuke, and he patted her
hand kindly. "If she said anything of the sort, it only showed that
she had more sense in her composition than all the rest of her family
put together. She's always been the one to cut the Gordian knot and
find the way out of difficulties for everyone--miners, smugglers, and
quarrelling relatives included." He paused and sighed heavily, then
added as by an overmastering impulse, "I wish your father Piers were
here to see this day."
"I wish indeed that he were, sir, or even that you and he might have
met and made up your quarrel before he died," said Roderick earnestly.
Mr. O'Brien sighed once again.
"You cannot desire it as I do, Roderick. I would gladly give half
the little life that is left to me that he and I had shaken hands
even once. He wronged me deeply, but he was my only brother, and
many a time of late years I should have been glad if any opportunity
had arisen to end the estrangement. But I let the time slip by,
waiting for the chance that never came, and then one day I heard it
was too late."
There was a few minutes' silence, and then Anstace said softly:
"It will be a year next week since he died. How little we thought
then that we should all be here, gathered in his old home."