Never has time passed so slowly to Honor Blake. All the morning she
goes about her work with a listless preoccupied air that could not fail
to attract attention if there were any one to heed the girl or her
moods.
Perhaps Brian Beresford heeds them; but Honor never gives a thought to
him. She would be glad if he would go away and leave her to herself;
but since he makes no such offer, she puts up with him.
And now, in the late afternoon, she sits down at the piano, more to
pass the time than to amuse their guest. In truth, as she plays she
forgets him altogether. The music, now low and sweet, now wild and
martial, soothes her and brings back some of her lost nerve.
Brian Beresford, looking and listening, frowns, and then sighs. She is
an enigma to him, this stately, contradictory Irish girl, with her
moods and her prejudices, and, above all, her reserve. He has met no
one quite like her. The women of his world are of a totally different
type--he can understand them easily; but Honor he cannot understand.
He feels his heart soften as he looks at her. He is proud, and it has
jarred upon his pride terribly that a man like Power Magill should have
been preferred to him.
"And the chances are, now the fellow is in disgrace, she will cling to
him all the closer," he says to himself bitterly. He does not care to
own it, but in his heart he is savagely jealous of Power Magill.
Very softly is Honor playing now--a sort of dirge or lament for the
chief of a clan. Suddenly she stops, and her head droops low over the
keys. She has forgotten everything but the sore pain at her own heart
and the anxious dread that is making every breath a torture to her.
"What if he should be taken to-night?" she is saying to herself. "How
do we know that that child is to be trusted? How dare he trust any one
when there is such a heavy reward out for him--poor Power?"
The tears come into her eyes as she thinks of him. It grows more bitter
to her every moment, the thought of this meeting that is so close at
hand now.
"Honor," Brian says gently, "will you not let me help you? You are in
some trouble, I know." He has crossed the room and is standing beside
her. "You can trust me, surely?"
"I could trust you with my life; but this secret is not my own."
"I know it is not; nevertheless you might trust it to me."
She raises her head and looks at him, and something in his face brings
the color into her own. He is very brave and true, a safe shelter in
trouble--she has proved that--and her heart yearns for the help he
could give her. But it may not be. His sympathies are all on the side
of law and order, and she has ranged herself, for this one night at
least, among the opposite ranks.
"Don't think me curious, Honor," he says earnestly; "but I am sure you
are in need of a friend's help, and I would like you to let me give it."
"No one can help me--not even you," she answers gently, getting up and
looking at him with those troubled eyes that move him so strangely.
"And yet you are so good to me always that I should like to tell you my
trouble if I might. But it is better not, perhaps."
"Let me say one thing, Honor. If this trouble of yours is connected
with Power Magill--and I believe it is--you will not forget that he is
a dangerous man, a man not to be trusted."
"I will not forget," she answers with a shiver, as she thinks of the
meeting that is drawing nigh so rapidly.
The sun has set, and a cold mist is rising. It is very peaceful but
rather dreary outside; and inside, in the familiar pretty room, the
shadows are gathering.
Brian Beresford draws a step nearer. He had not meant to say one word
of love to her--this willful girl who makes so light of him and his
devotion; but, standing so close beside her in this tender gray
twilight, impulse masters his judgment.
"Honor, has my love no power to touch you? Must this man forever stand
between us even in his----" He is going to say disgrace, but the
piteous look on the girl's face stays him.
"Oh, Brian, don't talk to me of love now--I cannot bear it!"
It is the first time she has ever called him Brian, and in her face, as
she turns it from him, crimson from brow to chin, in her very attitude,
as she stands with clasped hands before him, there is some subtle
change that chills him.
"Then promise me that when times are brighter and you are happier you
will listen to me, Honor."
"Perhaps," she stammers; and then, with tears in her eyes: "Oh, how
cruel I am! I'm not worth loving!" And she is gone before he can say
another word.
For so stoical a man, Brian Beresford is strangely excited to-night.
Long after Honor has left him he walks up and down the darkening room,
and, when the old butler comes in to light the lamps, he goes out on to
the terrace and continues his measured tramp to and fro, smoking and
thinking, and watching he scarcely knows for what.
Ever since he saw Honor hide away that scrap of paper in her dress he
has been tormented with jealous fears.
"If the fellow were once out of the country I should feel all right,"
he tells himself. But the fellow is not out of the country--nay, may be
in the immediate neighborhood for all he can tell, and in consequence
he is racked with anxiety.
From the terrace he can see the ruins clearly at first; then the mist
partly blots them out, and presently he can only guess at their
position. But he has no interest in the ruins. He is not in the least
superstitious; and certainly he does not believe in the old abbot.
He has reached the end of the walk and turned to go back, when the
sight of a tall slight figure, coming rapidly down the steps not many
yards away, brings him to a sudden halt.
"Ah!" he says, as he recognizes Honor. "Then it was not without cause
that I've been so uneasy! A warning, these people would call it, I
suppose."
It is a terrible blow to him, striking to the very root of his love. He
hates mystery; and to find this girl, whom he had thought perfect in
her maidenly pride and purity, stealing out in the dark from her
father's house fills him with dismay.
For an instant he feels tempted to follow and speak to her, then he
turns back. He can hardly control himself so far as to speak calmly,
and every faint far-away noise makes him start.
"She is safe enough," he tells himself a dozen times; but he finds no
comfort in his own assertions.
In his heart he feels convinced that she has gone to meet Power Magill;
and in his jealous fury he almost hates her for it.
"Where is Honor?" her father asks fretfully; and then, as time goes on
and she does not come in, he says again, "Where can Honor be?"
"I will go and find her for you," Brian says at last--he can bear the
suspense no longer. "She cannot have strayed very far. I was talking to
her a while ago."
He speaks lightly enough, but his heart is not light. A curious
depression has come upon him. It seems to him that his love for this
girl has died, and that half the brightness of his life has died along
with it. He has not the least idea in what direction to begin his
search.
The heavy iron gates at the end of the avenue are closed, but not
locked, and he opens them and walks out into the high-road. Once, as he
passes a narrow lane, he fancies he hears a slight rustle in the bushes
that grow close and low at the side of the path; but, when he stops to
listen, he can hear nothing, and so sets it down to fancy.
"Surely she has not gone into the village on a night like this," he
says to himself at last, daunted by his want of success; and at the
bare surmise he feels his face burn hotly.
Turning, he walks rapidly back--for the village lies in the opposite
direction, past Donaghmore--and, as he comes near the gates, he is
startled to see a car drawn up by the side of the high wall, and
evidently waiting for somebody.
The driver has been standing beside his horse, and at the sound of
Brian's step he leads the animal slowly forward. Apparently he does not
wish to be seen; and indeed he might easily escape the notice of any
one less quick of sight than Brian Beresford.
"Hallo!" Brian shouts; but he receives no answer; and, taking a stride
or two, he gains the horse's side. The man walks on the other side of
the animal, close by the wall; and, what with the darkness and the way
his hat is pulled down over his eyes, his own mother might be pardoned
for not recognizing him.
"Whose car is this?" Brian demands sternly, "and for whom are you
waiting here?"
"Sorrer a sowl I'm waiting for, your honor! The best face in Derry
wouldn't tempt me this minute. I'm just dead beat meself--and the
baste! It's to Boyne Fair we've been this day, and a terrible time
entoirely we've had of it."
Brian looks at the man and stops. He seems to be speaking the truth;
and, if he is not, Brian knows the Irish peasant too well by this time
to expect to force it from him.
With a short "Good-night," he turns away, and the man looks after him
with a scowl.
"It's a bullet in yer skin that I'd give yez this blessed night if I
dare take my own way," he mutters savagely.
Very slowly Brian Beresford walks back to Donaghmore. He is not so calm
now, not so sure of Honor's safety. His fears are rising with every
step he takes through the murky darkness. He feels that, if she is not
in the house when he reaches it, he shall be able to keep silence no
longer. Even at the risk of betraying her secret the squire must be
told.
As he is passing the ruins a faint sound reaches his ear. He stops
instantly and listens, his head bent, every sense on the alert. He is
not thinking of Honor now--not in his wildest dreams would he connect
her in any way with these weird unholy old ruins; but he is anxious--as
anxious as ever Launce was--to solve the mystery that attaches to the
place. Again it comes, a long-drawn, gasping cry, with this time a ring
of fear in it.
"Good heavens, it is a woman!" he says, and goes quickly, but very
quietly and cautiously, in the direction of the sound.
He has gained the low-browed gateway leading into the great quadrangle,
when a dark figure dashes past him, and the next instant there is a
loud report. He feels a sharp pain in his shoulder, and knows that he
has been hit; but he does not give a thought to that in his intense
excitement. He is conscious of but one thing--Honor's voice calling his
name.
"Brian--oh, Brian, come to me!" The shrill clear tones ring through the
ghostly silence.