Afterward he inquired, frowning: "Where's McTee? I met him an' he
started back to find you."
"He's gone off with his thoughts, Dan."
Harrigan sighed, looking up to the stainless blue of the sky: "Aye,
that's the way of the Scotch. When they're happy in love, they go off
by themselves an' brood like a dog that's thinking of a fight. But were
I he, I'd never be leavin' your side, colleen."
His head tilted back in the way she had come to know, and she waited
for the soft dialect: "I'd be singin' songs av love an' war-r-r, an'
braggin' me hear-rt out, an' talkin' av the sea-green av your eyes,
colleen. Look at him now!"
For the great form of McTee left the circle of the trees and approached
them.
"He's got his head down between his shoulders like a whipped cur. He's
broodin', an' his soul is thick in a fog."
"Dan, I trust you to cheer him up; but you'll not speak of me?"
"Not I. He's a proud man, Black McTee, an' he'd be angered to the core
of him if he thought you'd talked about him an' his love to Harrigan.
Whisht, Kate, I'll handle him like fire!
"The wood," he began, as McTee came in. "Did you find it on top of the
hill, lad?"
McTee rumbled after a pause, and without looking at Harrigan: "There's
plenty of it there. I made a little heap of the driest on the crown of
the hill."
"Then the next thing is to move our fire up there."
"Move our fire?" cried Kate. "How can you carry the fire?"
"Easy. Take two pieces of burnin' wood an' walk along holdin' them
close together. That way they burn each other an' the flame keeps
goin'. Watch!"
He selected two good-sized brands from the fire and raised them,
holding one in either hand and keeping the ignited portions of the
sticks together. McTee looked from Kate to Harrigan.
"Sit down and talk to Kate. I'll carry the sticks; I know where the
pile of timber is."
Harrigan made a significant and covert nod and winked at McTee with
infinite understanding.
"Stay here yourself, lad. I wouldn't be robbing you----"
Kate coughed for warning, and he broke off sharply.
"You've made one trip to the hill. This is my turn. Besides, you
wouldn't know how to keep the stick burnin'. I've done it before."
McTee stared, agape with astonishment. The meaning of that wink still
puzzled his brain. He turned to Kate for explanation, and she beckoned
him to stay. When Harrigan disappeared, he said: "What's the meaning?
Doesn't Harrigan want to be with you?"
She allowed her eyes to wander dreamily after Harrigan.
"Don't you see? He's like a big boy. He's overflowing with happiness
and he has to go off to play by himself."
McTee watched her with deep suspicion.
"It's queer," he pondered. "I know the Irish like a book, and when
they're in love, they're always singing and shouting and raising the
devil. It looked to me as if Harrigan was making himself be cheerful."
He went on: "I'll take him aside and tell him that I understand.
Otherwise he'll think he's fooling me."
"Please! You won't do that? Angus, you know how proud he is! He will be
furious if he finds out that I've spoken to you about--about--our love.
Won't you wait until he tells you of his own accord?"
He ground his teeth in an ugly fury.
"You understand? If I find you've been playing with me, it'll mean
death for Harrigan, and worse than that for you?"
She made her glance sad and gentle.
"Will you never trust me, Angus?"
He answered, with a sort of wonder at himself: "Since I was a child,
you are the first person in the world who has had the right to call me
by my first name."
"Not a single woman?" and she shivered.
"Not one."
She pondered: "No love, no friendship, not even pity to bring you close
to a single human being all your life?"
"No child has ever come near me, for I've never had room for pity. No
man has been my friend, for I've spent my time fighting them and
breaking them. And I've despised women too much to love them."
The tears rose to her eyes as she spoke: "I pity you from the bottom of
my soul!"
"Pity? Me? By God, Kate, you'll teach me to hate you!"
"I can't help it. Why, if you have never loved, you have never lived!"
"You talk like a girl in a Sunday school! Ha, have I never lived? Men
were made strong so that a stronger man should be their master; and
women--"
"And women, Angus?"
"All women are fools; one woman is divine!"
The yearning of his eyes gave a bitter meaning to his words, and she
was shaken like a leaf blown here and there by contrary winds.
Unheeded, the sudden tropic night swooped upon them like the shadow of
a giant bird, and as the dark increased, they saw the glimmering of the
fire upon the hill. She rose, and he followed her until they reached
the upward slope.
Then he said: "You will want to be alone with him for a time. Can you
find the rest of the way?"
"Yes. You'll come soon?"
"I'll come soon, but I have to be by myself for a while. I may hate you
for it afterward, but now I'm weak and soft inside--like a child--and I
only wish for your happiness."
"God bless you, Angus!"
"God help me," he answered harshly, and stepped into the blank night of
the shadow of the trees.
Harrigan shook his head in wonder when he saw her coming alone. He had
built up the fire and heaped fresh fuel in towering piles nearby. The
flames shot up twenty and thirty feet, making a wide signal across the
sea.
"He's gone off by himself again?" questioned the Irishman.
She complained: "I can't understand him. Will he be always like this?
What shall I do, Dan?"
He met her appeal with a smile, but the blue eyes went cold at once and
he sighed. It would never do to have the two sitting silent beside that
fire. The brooding of McTee would excite no suspicions in the mind of
Harrigan, but the quiet of the Irishman would be sure to excite the
suspicions of the other.
"Will you do something for me, Dan?"
He looked up with a whimsical yearning.
"Teach McTee manners? Aye, with all me heart!"
She laughed: "No; but cheer him up. You said that if you were in his
place, you'd be singing all the time."
"And I would."
"Then sing for me--for Angus and me--tonight when we're sitting by the
fire. He's fallen into a brooding melancholy, and I can't altogether
trust him. Can you understand?"
"And I'm to do the cheering up?"
"You won't fail me?"
He turned and occupied himself for a moment by hurling great armfuls of
wood upon the fire. The flames burst up with showering sparks, roaring
and leaping. Then, as if inspired by the sight, he came to her with his
head tilting back in the way he had.
"I'll do it--I'll sing my heart out for you."
As McTee came up, the three sat down; a strange group, for the two men
stared fixedly before them at the fire, conscientiously avoiding any
movement of the eyes toward Kate and the other; and she sat between
them, watching each of them covertly and humming all the while as if
from happiness. Each of them thought the humming a love song meant for
the ears of the other. Finally McTee turned and stared curiously, first
at Kate and then at Harrigan. Manifestly he could not understand either
their silence or their aloofness. It was for the Scotchman that she
would have to play her role; Harrigan was blind. The Irishman also, as
if he felt the eyes of McTee, turned his head. Kate nodded
significantly and moved closer to him.
Obedient to his promise, he turned away again and raised his head to
sing. Alternate light and shadow swept across his face and made fire
and dark in his hair as the wind tossed the flame back and forth. At
the other side of her McTee rested upon one elbow. Whenever she turned
her head, she caught the steel-cold glitter of his eyes.
The first note from Harrigan's lips was low and faltering and off key;
she trembled lest McTee should understand, but the Scotchman attributed
the emotion to another cause. As his singing continued, moreover, it
increased in power and steadiness. One thing, however, she had not
counted on, and that was the emotion of Harrigan. Every one of his
songs carried on the theme of love in a greater or less degree, and now
his own singing swept him beyond the bounds of caution; he turned
directly to Kate and sang for her alone "Kathleen Mavourneen." There
was love and farewell at once in his singing, there was yearning and
despair.
She knew that a crisis had come, and that McTee was pressed to the
limits of his endurance. The game had gone too far, and yet she dared
not appear indifferent to the singing. That would have been too direct
a betrayal, so she sat with her head back and a smile on her lips.
There was a groan and a stifled curse. McTee rose; the song died in the
throat of Harrigan.