[Illustration: With these words, he left the somewhat desolate little
girl.--_Page 30._]
A GIRL OF HIGH ADVENTURE
BY
MRS. L. T. MEADE
AUTHOR OF "OCEAN'S GIRLHOOD," "A WILD IRISH GIRL," "THE GIRLS
OF MERTON COLLEGE," "FOR DEAR DAD," "KITTY O'DONOVAN,"
"PEGGY FROM KERRY," "THE CHESTERTON GIRL GRADUATES,"
"THE GIRLS OF KING'S ROYAL," "THE
LADY OF JERRY BOY'S DREAMS," "A
PLUCKY GIRL," "THE QUEEN
OF JOY," ETC., ETC.
_WITH FOUR HALF-TONE DRAWINGS
BY CHARLES L. WRENN_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1914,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
With these words, he left the somewhat desolate
little girl _Frontispiece_
She nestled more snugly than ever into her
grandfather's arms 100
Never was there anything quite so delightful as
that ride 207
They did find wonderful mosses and * * *
snow drops and even primroses 349
My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
Let this my First Epistle beg ye,
At dawn of morn, and close of even,
To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.
In double duty say your prayer;
"Our Father" first, then "_Notre Père_."
And, dearest child, along the day,
In everything you do and say,
Obey and please my lord and lady,
So God shall love and angels aid ye.
If to these precepts you attend,
No second letter need I send,
And so I rest your constant friend.
MATTHEW PRIOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CHILD WHO WON HEARTS 1
II. A VISIT TO IRELAND 13
III. AN IRISH CHIEFTAIN AT HOME 31
IV. OLD YOUNG PEOPLE 49
V. "I'LL EXPLAIN TO YOURSELF" 68
VI. M. LE COMTE 88
VII. THE LITTLE COMTESSE 100
VIII. BROWN HATS AND FANS 115
IX. THE ENGLISH GIRLS AT THE SCHOOL OF LA PRINCESSE 131
X. THOU ART FAITHFUL AND SO ARE MY BEES 148
XI. THUNDER STORM 164
XII. GEM OF THE OCEAN 180
XIII. THE PINES 197
XIV. STARLIGHT AND TILLY 216
XV. I CANNOT TALK PARLEY-VOUS 231
XVI. THE FEAR OF THE SHILLELAGH 247
XVII. IF IT MUST BE, IT MUST 264
XVIII. THE GREEN HAT 280
XIX. LE CABINET DE BEAUTÉ 299
XX. A CONSPIRACY 314
XXI. THE PALACE OF TRUTH 330
XXII. IT IS JOYFUL TO BEHOLD THEE, MY PUSHKEEN 342
XXIII. THE GLORIOUS SOFTNESS OF IRELAND 349
XXIV. A POUND A DAY--A PICTURE AND A WEDDING 368
A GIRL OF HIGH ADVENTURE
CHAPTER I.
THE CHILD WHO WON HEARTS.
Marguerite St. Juste was Irish on her mother's side, who was born of
the Desmonds of Desmondstown in the County Kerry. Marguerite's father
was a French Comte, whose grandfather had been one of the victims of
the guillotine.
Little Marguerite lived with an uncle, who was really only that
relation by marriage; his name was the Reverend John Mansfield. He had
a large living in a large town about fifty miles from London, and he
adopted Marguerite shortly after the death of her parents. This tragedy
happened when she was very young, almost a baby. She did not in the
least remember her father, whose dancing black eyes and merry ways had
endeared him to all who knew him. Nor did she recall a single fact with
regard to her mother--one of those famous Desmonds, who had joined the
rebels in the great insurrection of '97, and whose people still lived
and prospered and were gay and merry of the merry on their somewhat
tattered and worn-out country estate.
Marguerite adored "Uncle Jack," as she called her supposed uncle. She
had a knack of turning this grave and esteemed gentleman, so to speak,
round her little finger. It was the Rev. John and his wife Priscilla
who taught little Marguerite all she knew. She adored her uncle; she
did not like his wife. A sterner or stricter woman than Priscilla
Mansfield it would be hard to find. Her husband, it is true, considered
her admirable, for she discovered whenever his parishioners tried to
impose upon him, and kept the women of his parish well up to the mark.
Mrs. Mansfield was really a good woman, but her goodness was of a
kind which must surely try such a nature as little Marguerite's, or
Margot's, as her uncle called her. Mrs. Mansfield did her duty, it
is true, but her good husband's parishioners dreaded her although
they obeyed her. Her husband praised her, but wondered in his heart
of hearts why more people did not love her. In especial he could not
understand why little Margot objected to her. As a matter of fact, if
it were not for Uncle Jack, this small girl would have found her life
intolerably dull. She had managed, nobody quite knew how, to get into
the very centre of the heart of the grave, patient-looking clergyman
and, because of this fact which she knew and he knew, she got on quite
well, otherwise--but little Margot did not dare to think of otherwise.
Was she not herself a mixture of both Irish and French, and could there
be any two nations more sure to produce a child like Margot--a child
full of life and fearlessness, of fun and daring?
She longed inexpressibly for companionship, but young people were not
permitted to visit at the Rectory. She dreamed long dreams of her
father's people in the Château St. Juste, an old place near Arles, in
South France, and of her mother's people at Desmondstown--an old estate
gone almost to rack and ruin, for where was the money to keep it up?
Mr. Mansfield was well aware of the state to which both families
had been reduced, but when his little darling, as he called Margot,
liked to talk about her father's and mother's people, he invariably
encouraged her; that is, provided her aunt was not present. Mrs.
Mansfield snapped up the child whenever her own people were talked of.
She assured her that both families had gone to the dogs and did not
even remember her existence.
"You ought to be very thankful to have an uncle and aunt like myself
and your Uncle John," said the good woman. "If my John was not what
he is, you would be nothing more nor less than a miserable little
beggar. See that you obey us both and do your best to return the great
kindnesses that we show you."
Little Margot St. Juste found it quite easy to respond to her uncle's
kindness, but her aunt's was a totally different matter. Mrs.
Mansfield's kindness consisted of "Don't, don't, _don't_," repeated
with increasing energy from morning to night.
"Don't attempt to stand on the hearth-rug, you bad child." "Don't look
so silly; get your seam and begin to sew." "Don't stare at me out of
those eyes of yours; you make me quite sick when you do, and above all
things don't make a fool of your poor, overworked uncle. He has no
right to teach you Latin and Greek. Such languages are not meant for
women and I shall tell him so, if you don't do it yourself. Do you hear
me?"
But Margot was always coming across what she called "last straws" and
this happened to be one. She was not afraid of her aunt, she only hated
her. Now she went straight up to her and stared fully into her eyes.
"What's the matter with you, you nasty, rude little beggar?"
"I'm _not_ a beggar, auntie," replied Margot. "I'm going to ask Uncle
Jack about that. He always tells me the truth."
Now Mrs. Mansfield, severe as she was, had a certain wholesome fear of
her good husband.
"You dare not repeat what I say," was her remark. "I--I'll whip you if
you do."
"Then I'll have that, also, to tell Uncle Jack," replied Margot.
"Auntie, you had best leave me alone. I intend to learn Latin and
Greek, and I won't say a word of what you said just now to Uncle Jack
if you'll let me alone. See, auntie, you had best for your own sake."
Margot gave the angry woman a bright glance of triumph and walked
out of the room with the air of a small conqueror. At this time she
was eleven years of age but looked younger and not the least like
the ordinary English girl. Her little round face was slightly, very
slightly, brown in tint, with a brilliant rose colour on each small
cheek. Her eyes were large, soft, and black as night. Her eyebrows
were well arched and also black. She had a charming little mouth and
quantities of thick curly black hair.
This was the small child who, to a great extent, ruled the Rectory. It
is true that Mrs. Mansfield stormed at her a great deal, but Margot
was accustomed to her harsh words and by degrees took little notice of
them. She was naturally very brave; she did not know what fear meant.
She tried to do her best for auntie, but as auntie would never be
satisfied she comforted herself with Uncle Jack. It was easy to get on
with him for Uncle Jack and Margot loved each other with a great love.
The study at the Rectory was a very shabby and small room, but to
Margot it seemed like Heaven. She sat there day after day for several
hours, busy over her Latin and Greek. She did not care in the least for
these languages, but they ensured her being for some little time with
Uncle Jack, and then, when the lessons were over, the treat followed.
It was that treat which supported Margot through the many trials of her
small life.
She had arranged this treat for herself some little time ago and Mrs.
Mansfield knew nothing about it. Always when the last Greek verb was
finished, and the lesson books put away on a shelf which Margot kept
in perfect order for the purpose, the little girl used to skip away to
the kitchen and there coax Hannah, the cook, to give her two cups of
tea and two slices of cake. With these she returned to the study and
then deliberately locked the door. The tea and the cakes were placed
close to Uncle Jack. Margot swept his books and manuscripts carefully
to one side and then, having carefully fed him first with tea and cake,
proceeded to munch her own portion.
She was always rather quick in eating her slice of very plain cake.
Then she put all signs of the feast away behind a newspaper, knowing
that the cook would fetch them by-and-bye. After this she climbed on
her uncle's knee, clasped her little arms round his neck and began her
invariable request,
"Now, Jacko, darling----"
"You oughtn't to call me Jacko, little heart's love."
"I like it," repeated the child. "I wouldn't say it for all the world
before her, but it makes us sort of equal, don't you understand? You're
Jacko and I'm Margot. We are playmates, you know. You are not a great
learned clergyman any longer. You are just the playmate of little
Margot. Come along, Jacko, don't let's waste time. I know she's out.
She's visiting all the poor people; it's her day for collecting their
pennies. We'll have a whole lovely hour if you don't waste time. It's
the Irish turn to-day; tell me all you can about the Desmonds. My
mother was a Desmond, wasn't she?"
"She was, sure," said the Rector, who happened to be an Irishman
himself, but was careful to keep that fact a secret except when he and
Margot talked together.
"And the Desmonds were mighty chiefs--great warriors?" continued
Margot. "They feared nobody nor nothing. All the women were beautiful
and all the men were brave. Now go on, Jacko, go on."
"The castle had a portcullis," said Uncle Jack, and then he burst into
imaginary stories of the Desmonds, whom he hardly knew at all.
"You forget what you are talking about to-day," said Margot, taking
up the thread. "As you enter by the front door you find yourself in a
great hall, covered all over with armour--perfect suits of armour."
"Yes, of course I forget," said Uncle Jack, "and the hall goes up as
high as the roof, and there is the ingle nook, where the fire is never
let out day nor night."
"Never--never let out," muttered Margot. "Tell me about the men now,
Uncle Jack."
"Oh, bless your heart, puss, they are fine fellows, those Desmonds--big
and broad and with sparkling eyes."
"And the chief is called 'The Desmond'?" interrupted little Margot.
"Yes, that's true enough. It's a very fine title to be sure."
"And what sort are the ladies?" asked Margot.
"Bless you, child, something like yourself, only perhaps not quite
so dark, but to hear 'em laugh and to hear 'em sing would make the
water stand in your eyes, that it would--just for the joy of it; you
understand, Margot."
"Yes, uncle, and my mother was one?"
"She was that, and the best of 'em all."
"Now, describe every inch of her, Uncle Jack," said Margot.
"Begin--begin, go on--go on."
Now it so happened that the Rev. John Mansfield was not famous for
descriptions, but he did draw a certain picture of Kathleen Desmond
which was not in the least like that young lady, but which abundantly
satisfied her child. Her cheeks grew redder than ever as she listened
and she panted slightly as she snuggled against her beloved uncle.
"My mother must have been quite perfect," said little Margot. "Are
there any of them left now, Uncle Jack?"
"Any of them left, child? Why, there is Norah and Bridget and Eileen,
and there are three fine boys as well, and there's 'himself' as strong
as ever, and madam, his wife, who has the finest lace in the county."
"I _would_ like to know them," said Margot. "Why can't I get to know
them, Uncle Jack?"
"Because they are just too poor to have ye with them, my little
_asthore_--that's the truth of the matter. You have got to stay with
Uncle Jack and make the best of it."
"But if I went for one week--couldn't I stay with them for one week,
uncle? I do so dreadfully want to know Norah and Bridget and Eileen."
"'Tis aunts they are to ye, my pretty."
"Yes, and what are the names of the boys, and what are they to me?"
"Uncles to be sure, _acushla machree_. There's Fergus, called after The
Desmond, and there's Bruce and there's Malachi."
"Malachi--that does sound a funny name," said Margot.
"It belonged to the finest of the old Irish kings," said Uncle Jack,
and he began to hum the well-known tune "_When Malachi Wore His Collar
of Gold_."
"There now, that's enough," said Margot. "You are wonderful to-day,
Jacko, you are quite wonderful. But can't we go to see them while
auntie is away?"
"There's no money. _Acushla machree_, there isn't a penny."
"Look here, Jacko, and don't talk about there being no money. These are
mine--they belong to me."
The child thrust her hand into her little pocket.
"Auntie thinks she keeps them for me, but I took them away my lone
self ages and ages back and she has never missed them. They belonged
to my father, who was the young Comte St. Juste. See, this seal and
this watch and chain and this necklet he bought for mother, and
these bracelets. We can sell 'em and get plenty of money to go to
Desmondstown."
"Why to be sure, so we could," said Uncle Jack, "but you make me feel
like a wicked old man, little puss."
"No, no, you are a perfect darling. Promise faithful and true that
you'll take me to Desmondstown when auntie goes away to visit her sick
friend. She's going in a week or fortnight and she'll be away for a
whole fortnight at least. I was naughty, last night, Jacko, and I
eavesdropped when she was telling cook. She's going Friday week and
we're going to Desmondstown on Friday week."
"Listen to me, Margot. I can't lie to you, child; it is a thing that
couldn't be. I have to stay here to attend to my parochial work and I
cannot leave even if I want to, but I'll tell you what I'll do, little
puss. I'll sell just as many of these things as are required--not
nearly all, for all won't be wanted, and I'll take you myself and I'll
put you on board the steamer and look out for a kind Irish lady, who'll
put you into the right train for Desmondstown. Now, for goodness' sake,
let me sweep these things into a drawer. I hear herself coming in.
We mustn't let a word on to her, child, and you must be back with me
faithful and true before she returns."
"That I will, Jacko, you may be sure of that."
The treasures were locked into one of Uncle Jack's drawers. The door of
the study was unlocked and little Margot ran out into the garden. She
kept singing in her high, clear voice, "_When Malachi Wore His Collar
of Gold_." She felt beside herself with happiness.