Honor hastens down the avenue, looking neither to the right nor left.
Her head is dizzy, her heart beating heavily in this nervous dread that
has come upon her. She starts at every shadow that crosses her path;
the sound of the wind in the pine-trees almost makes her scream, and
when, just as she reaches the ruins, a low whistle breaks the quiet, a
sharp cry of terror escapes her lips.
"Whist, miss! It's a friend," a deep voice whispers close beside her,
though she can see no one; and the next moment Power Magill comes out
from the low doorway and calls her gently by name.
"My darling, this has been too much for you!" he says, seeing the dread
on her face as she stands close beside him. "I should not have asked
you to come here; but I felt that I could not go away till I had seen
your face, and heard you tell me with your own lips that you have
forgiven me."
He has led her across the great paved court to a corner where they can
stand together without being seen by any one passing along the avenue.
There is something awful in the silence that broods round them; but the
girl's nerves are too much shaken for her to be quite conscious of her
surroundings. The man standing beside her is no less agitated.
"Honor, you know that, in acting as I did, I brought suffering upon
myself--horrible suffering--apart from all social considerations! You
have never doubted my love? You are true to me still; and I'm thankful
for it. I would rather see you dead at my feet than know you were false
to your solemn promise!"
The passionate voice, speaking so close to her ear that she can feel
his hot breath on her cheek, the pale eager face peering into hers, as
if to read its secret even in the darkness, strikes a sudden chill
through the girl. For the first time personal fear--fear of the man
before her--assails her.
"Have you no word for me?" the man pleads wistfully. "You stand there
like a spirit, and say no word of comfort or of pity! By heavens, if I
did not know all that you dared for my sake, I should swear that you
had no love in your heart for me!"
"Love for you!" she cries at last, speaking on the impulse of the
moment, as it is in her nature to speak. "Why should I love you? What
love had you for me when you shot my father--when----"
But he steps her almost savagely.
"I fired only one shot that night; but-- [lack in the text] ses on my
false aim!--that missed the man I hated."
"And that man was Brian Beresford?"
"Yes," he answers slowly, defiantly, even, "it was Brian Beresford. It
is no fault of mine he is alive to-night."
"And you would have killed him?" she cries, drawing back from him.
"Why not? He would have sent me to Kilmainham."
He is changed already--the girl divines this instinctively, and shrinks
still farther away from him against the damp wall. This life that he
has led--separated from friends and equals--has done its work.
"And now, Honor, we have no time to lose. Everything is ready for me to
get away to-night, but"--with a sudden break in the passionate
voice--"oh, my love, I cannot go without you!"
"You cannot go without me, Power?" the girl gasps. In her wildest
dreams no such fancy as this had risen to trouble her. "But you must go
without me! I cannot go with you!"
"And why not, if you love me?"
"But I do not love you," the girl says calmly. "I am very sorry for
you; but all love is done with between us. Surely, Power, after that
night you knew it would be so?"
He does not answer her, and his silence fills her with more anxiety and
fear than could any passionate outburst.
He has walked to the end of the court, and stands there, looking over
the broken parapet. Once she fancies that he raises his hand, as though
beckoning to some one, but she is not certain, because it is so dark
and he is so far off. As she stands shivering, she hears a step go
slowly past. Surely it is Brian's step? Oh, what would she not give for
the sight of his face now? And then his warning comes back to
her--"He's a dangerous man--a man not to be trusted." Can it be that he
knew him better than she did? Power himself has not been careful to
keep this meeting from his friends. More than once she has caught a
glimpse of dark figures passing to and fro at the farther end of the
court, where the pillars are still standing; and, as she realizes the
fact that she is alone, a helpless girl, in the midst of these men,
desperate and lawless as she knows them to be, it is only by an immense
effort she keeps from screaming aloud. It would be useless, she
knows--it might even bring about the very results she has most to dread.
"Honor," her lover says, coming back to her, "I have no time to plead
with you, and sure I have no need to tell you again how I love you. I
thought and hoped you would have come with me this night of your own
free will; but since you will not do that, by St. Joseph, you shall
come without it!"
From the road comes a sudden shrill whistle, and the girl's heart sinks
within her. Oh, how mad she has been to put herself in the power of
this man and his associates!
For an instant, as she leans against the wall behind her, a faintness
steals over her. Her eyes grow dim, and there is a sound in her ears
like the rush and roar of the weir down the river.
When this feeling has passed away she hears Power's voice speaking, as
it seems to her dizzy brain, out of great darkness.
"There is a car waiting to take us to Boyne. Once there we are with
friends, and you can make all needful preparations for our journey."
She does not answer him; she could not. Her lips are dry and quivering
with the terror that has come upon her.
At this moment some one glides from behind a pillar and touches Power
on the arm. With an impatient gesture he moves back a little way to
listen to the man's message; and in this one second Honor sees her only
chance of escape.
With a slow gliding motion she gains the end of the wall, and sees the
open square of the old court before her.
Some one may be watching from behind those broken buttresses, she
knows; but she is desperate, and has no time to count the chances. With
a rapid step she crosses the square, and is almost at the open gateway
when a man steps forward and holds her back by the arm.
"Not so fast, miss! Shure ye'd not be for forgetting the masther!"
With a sharp cry of fear she struggles to get free; but she might as
well try to fly as to loose her arm from the grip of those grimy
fingers.
Surely the steps she heard a little while ago are coming back
again--more slowly this time, but still coming! Yes, and it is
Brian--she knows it; she cannot be mistaken, and, yielding to a sudden
impulse, she calls his name aloud, calls it again and again, in her
utter helplessness and misery.
She does not think that he will hear and come to her. She has no hope
of help from any quarter, as she looks round upon the dark menacing
faces of the men who have gathered so noiselessly and rapidly about
her. She is in their power--she realizes that; and, as a Blake of
Donaghmore, she expects but little mercy, unless it be granted her for
Power Magill's sake.
He has come up to her now, and the men fall back a little at a sign
from him.
"Are you mad, Honor?" he asks hoarsely. "Is it your own death or is it
mine that you seek this night?"
"Oh, let me go home!" she moaned, looking at him piteously. "If ever
you loved me, Power, let me go home!"
But a threatening murmur rises from the men about them.
"If I would trust you to carry our secret back to Donaghmore they would
not," he said curtly. "No, no, Honor--there is no turning back for
either of us!"
The steps--the slow, heavy tread, as of a man in deep thought--are
close at hand now. She can hear them plainly; so does Power, for he
pauses and seems almost to hold his breath in the deep stillness that
has fallen upon the place.
Through this quiet Honor's despairing cry--"Brian--oh, Brian, come to
me!"--rings sharply out.
She hears a shout as if in answer; and the hoarse murmur of threatening
voices fills her heart with fear. She has twisted her ankle on the
rough stones, and now, when she tries to move, she cannot, so she
crouches back against the wall and waits for the help that she is sure
is coming in an agony that is fast merging into unconsciousness.
"Honor, where are you? Speak!"
She tries to answer: but her voice has failed her; she can only moan
faintly in her great pain.
And clearly, above all the sounds of this terrible night, she hears a
man's voice saying sternly:
"Back, Magill! Would yez risk the lives of your friends for the sake of
a woman?"
Then comes silence--a great silence--and darkness; and the terror and
the pain and the longing for Brian all fade away together.
* * * * *
Fortunately Honor's swoon does not last long. The cold night air
revives her, and she opens her eyes to see Brian Beresford kneeling
beside her. He had almost stumbled over her in his eager search for
her, and at the first glance he thought that she was dead.
Everything is intensely quiet as the girl raises her head from his
shoulder and looks round her with terrified eyes. There is not a sound
to tell that the place has so lately been filled with armed men.
"Where are they?" she whispers, trembling. "Oh, Brian, if they come
back they will kill us both!"
The same thought is in his own mind; but not for worlds would he put it
into words. The men fled in a panic, thinking he was not alone; but let
them discover that they have only one man to face, and they will soon
return and make short work of him.
He knows it well; but what can he do? He cannot leave Honor, and, with
his wounded arm, it would be impossible for him to carry her so far as
the house. And as he holds her there, her cheeks against his shoulder,
her little cold hands in his, he thinks that death itself with her
might not be so very terrible after all.
"They will not come back," he tells her--"at least not yet. They will
be afraid."
But even as he speaks a stealthy footfall breaks the quiet, and a man's
voice says low and guardedly, yet distinct enough for them to hear:
"Have they had time to get to the house, Neil?"
"Troth an' they have, sor--twice over! I'd take my oath they didn't let
the grass grow under their feet, once they got free!"--and the man
laughs grimly, a low mocking laugh that echoes through the lonely place.
Honor clings more close to Brian, and shivers like one stricken with
ague. So far they have not been seen; and the men--Power Magill and his
servant--must have passed close to them. But any moment a stir, a heavy
breath may betray them.
"If I thought there was a chance of overtaking them, I would follow
them even now," Power Magill says fiercely. "To think a fellow like
that should have baffled us at the last moment! If it were not for the
men's cowardly fear that the police were with him, he couldn't have
done it."
"Faith, and that's true for yer honor!"
Very slowly they come back again, talking earnestly. It is evident from
what they way that Power Magill has offended his friends by to-night's
rashness and, though his companion speaks respectfully there is a
veiled threat in his words that Power cannot but feel.
"I would do it over again," Power answers sternly, "if it was my life
that I was risking in place of my liberty."
"But the boys don't care to risk their liberty--why should they, the
cratures?--even for a beautiful young lady like Miss Honor--Heaven
bless her!" the other man says sturdily.
His master retorts angrily; but they are too far off now for their
words to be heard; and again silence reigns.
It is long before Brian and Honor dare to move, though the girl is
trembling with cold and the man's arm is paining him intensely--longer
still before they venture out of their hiding-place.
Honor will never forget that walk up to the house in the chill damp
night, the dread of pursuit making her heart throb wildly. Her
companion is very silent; and, when he does speak, his voice sounds
cold and harsh. More than once she tries to thank him for coming to her
help so bravely; but the words die away on her lips. She finds it hard
to believe that this man spoke tenderly to her only a little time ago.
His very words ring in her ears and serve to make his grim silence more
oppressive.
"He is sorry already for having spoken then," she says to herself; "but
he need not be. I shall never remind him of them--never!"
They are within sight of the house before she can summon up courage to
thank him for coming to her aid.
"It was so brave of you," she adds simply; "for of course you did not
know how many you might have to face! I'm afraid I am very stupid--I
don't know how to thank you as you deserve."
"No, no," he says hastily, almost impatiently. "Pray do not thank me at
all; I deserve no thanks, I assure you! I would have done as much for
any woman!"
There is something almost cruel in the way in which he says it, and
tears well up in the girl's eyes.
"I know you would," she says, with cold gentleness; "but that does not
make the act less brave."
Suddenly he turns on her with unexpected passion.
"I was not half so courageous as you were, Honor! I would not have met
Power Magill at such an hour and in such a place for any consideration.
You were--if you will let me say so--recklessly brave to do such a
thing."
The light from the open door streams out, and she looks up at him as he
speaks. His face is ghastly pale, and his tone is angry and scornful.
She realizes for the first time how strange her rash act must appear in
the eyes of this fastidious Englishman. The women of his world would
never have done such a thing, she knows; but that does not trouble
her--it is the scornful surprise on his face that cuts her so cruelly.
"Never mind," she says to herself, suppressing a sob as they go up the
steps together. "I am not a fine London lady, and I don't wish to be;
if the pater and the boys are content with me as I am that is enough.
It is nothing to me what this man thinks."
Brian is almost past conscious thought just now; but he hides his pain
bravely till they get into the house and he has seen the great doors
fastened securely; then he sinks down exhausted, and Honor sees, by the
blood on his sleeve, that he has been wounded.
Instantly the whole place is in confusion. A messenger is sent off at
once to the chief constable at Drum and another fetches Doctor
Symmonds, who when he arrives finds his patient very low indeed.
"It is not the wound," he explains to the squire, "it is the loss of
blood that has done the mischief. A little longer, and the poor fellow
would have bled to death; as it is, he will need the greatest care to
pull him through."
* * * * *
"My dear Honor, I do wish you would try to like him!" Belle Delorme
says, looking up at her friend with pretty pleading eyes. "I'm sure
he's awfully fond of you--any one can see that."
"And he's rich--why don't you tell me that?" Honor returns scornfully.
"Every one's head seems to be turned by the man's money--even the
pater's."
"Your head is not turned," Belle observes dryly, "nor your heart
either, unfortunately."
"Tell me one thing," says Honor, facing her friend suddenly--"do you
think this George Cantrill is as nice as Launce?"
"As nice as Launce? Well, no, I don't; but then"--gravely--"you don't
often see any one who is quite as nice as Launce, do you, dear?"
"I intend to wait till I do, then," Honor retorts.
"Brian Beresford was nearly as nice," Belle says demurely, looking
innocently at Honor; "but then he was English, and he had an awful
temper--hadn't he?--and----" But she stops with a little gap of
surprise, for the man himself, very worn and gaunt-looking, is walking
toward them. "Why, Honor, did you know he was coming?"
Honor turns and looks at her tranquilly.
"Did I know who was coming, dear? Aren't you just a trifle vague this
morning?"
"I'm awfully glad," the girl answers, with a curious smile; "and I
think I'll go home now. Dad is sure to want me; and---- How do you do,
Mr. Beresford?"--turning swiftly. "I'm delighted to see you back in
Ireland."
"Thanks, Miss Delorme," a deep voice answers; and Honor looks round and
sees him standing on the grass quite close to her--this grave, bearded
man who left Donaghmore four months ago, looking so very ill and worn.
He looks ill now, for that matter; but at the sight of him her heart
gives a great leap and the color comes into her face.
"An unexpected guest, I can claim no welcome," he says, looking at her
almost wistfully.
"But you are as welcome as unexpected," Honor answers, holding her hand
and smiling graciously.
He barely touches the slim white fingers; he looks away from her, as if
the sight of her beauty pained him.
Belle has disappeared; they can hear her singing as she flits between
the great tree-trunks, a dainty figure in her gay print gown.
"You have been ill again?" Honor says gently. She is feverishly
excited, but no one could imagine that from her manner. Her voice
trembles a little, but that is the only sign she gives of the
tumultuous emotion that the sight of this man has roused in her.
And she thought she had forgotten him--that if he never came to
Donaghmore it would not matter in the least. His scornful words had
hurt her cruelly; she had never forgiven them, and he knew that she had
not.
Though she had been so kind to him all those weeks that he lay hovering
between life and death he had not been deceived. He left Donaghmore
fully conscious that he was not forgiven.
But that did not trouble him. He had been strong in his resentment
then; he had judged her, and disapproved of her in his calm judicial
way, and there was an end of it.
"I've had a nasty touch of low-fever, that is all."
"And you never let us know!"
"No. Why should I? You had trouble enough with me!"
"Trouble!" the girl says passionately; and at the sudden change in her
voice he raises his head. "Do you forget it was through my fault you
were suffering--that if I had not acted so foolishly that night you
would not have been shot? Oh, I think of it sometimes till it almost
turns my brain!"
It is an exquisite April day, the air is keen and sweet here in the
heart of the old-fashioned garden, full of the odor of budding leaves
and freshly-turned earth, mingled with the perfume of the great
lilac-trees, which are one mass of bloom.
To Honor's Celtic beauty-loving nature such a day as this is full of
delights; it soothes her.
"If you have forgotten me," she says more calmly, "for all the pain I
brought upon you, I have never forgiven myself."
"I don't know that I have forgiven you," he says, looking at her almost
sternly. "There are things a man like me finds it hard to forgive; but
as for that stray bullet--it was a mere accident--I have never blamed
you in the least for that."
"Then what else had you to forgive me for?"
He laughs, and moves a little way from her--a restless black figure
among all his morning freshness.
"Oh, we won't talk of it!" he says, almost awkwardly. "I was a fool to
come back, though, and, by Jove, I ought to have known it!"
"No, you are not a fool," the girl answers bitterly; "but you are
certainly the worst-tempered man I ever met."
"Thank you for your good opinion!"
"You are welcome; it's an honest opinion so far as it goes. And now we
had better go in; you will want something to eat, and you are tired, I
dare say."
"Yes, I am tired of a good many things," he replies, with a short laugh.
They walk together back to the house, between the beds of early
wall-flowers and the Lent lilies nodding in the sunshine.
"I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Honor."
"Congratulate me," the girl repeats, looking at him with some surprise;
then a sudden thought comes to her, and she smiles; but he does not see
the smile.
"Yes--on your engagement to this fellow from Dublin. He is very rich, I
hear."
"Immensely rich," the girl agrees calmly. "And then he is clever too;
he writes--I'm sure I don't know what he writes; but he is literary."
"I'm glad you think so highly of him, and I hope you will be happy," he
says after a pause.
"Thanks. I could do with a little happiness for a change, you know!
I've not had too much of it in my life, have I?"
"And yet you ought to be happy, if ever a woman ought! You are young
and beautiful--I think sometimes you hardly know how beautiful you are;
and perhaps that is your greatest charm."
"Oh, yes, I do!" she answers, showing her white teeth and her dimples
in a sudden smile. "But, after all, as you said once, if you remember,
I am only an Irish girl; and the wonder is that such a fine gentleman
as this George Cantrill should look at me! Don't you think so?"
"No, I do not," he returns frigidly. "I think you are a fit wife for
any man!"
"And since when have you thought that, Brian? Tell me the truth," the
girl says, stopping on the narrow path, and looking up at him with
lovely imperious eyes.
The man's heart yearns for her, as she stands there in her grace and
beauty, and the passionate love he has tried so hard to subdue rises
and masters him.
"What does that matter? I know it now!" he says hoarsely. "Should I be
here to-day if I did not?"
"And what brought you here to-day, Brian?" She is looking at him, and
he feels his cheeks burn under her glance.
"It's too late to talk of that now," he says, trying not to look at her.
"Let me be judge of that; tell me"--coaxingly--"why you came all this
way, and you so ill--not fit to travel?"
"I came to ask you to be my wife, Honor. I fought against it as long as
I could; but my love was stronger than my pride, and I came, even at
the risk of being mocked at for my folly. But I had not been five
minutes in the house before I heard you were going to marry this fellow
from Dublin, and even then I was fool enough to come out to look at
you. I could not go away without one glance at your face."
"I should think not," Honor says softly.
"Oh, it was very stupid of me!" he answers, with a grim smile. "But
there's not much harm done, and I shall go by the next train."
"But"--with a swift hot blush--"you have not done what you came to do!"
He looks at her angrily. He sees nothing but mockery in her face, and
his heart is sore, for all his pride resents it.
"Of course not! Why should I ask another man's betrothed to marry me?"
"But I am not another man's betrothed," the girl says, with a little
sob. She is acting in a very unlady-like manner; but this is not the
time to stand on etiquette; a little false pride now, and this man whom
she loves with all her heart would slip out of her life never to
return. She trembles and turns pale at the mere thought. "And I do
think, if you came all the way from England to ask me that, you should
ask me," she stammers, and turns rosy red again.
"Good heavens, Honor, are you making a fool of me?"
She does not speak; all her sweet audacity has fled before the passion
in his eyes, in his voice, in his touch as he clasps her hand.
But, looking into her face, he needs no words to tell him that at last
he has won the desire of his heart. He knows now what he has gained in
winning her love, and how empty the years would have been without it.
She is the one "good gift" that can crown his life, this beautiful
willful woman whom once, in his ignorance, he called ONLY AN IRISH GIRL.
THE END.
Typographical errors silently corrected:
Chapter 1: _eying_ silently corrected as _eyeing_
Chapter 1: _Delorne_ silently corrected as _Delorme_
Chapter 1: _ward_s silently corrected as _words_
Chapter 2: _contrve_ silently corrected as _contrive_
Chapter 2: _'How sweet_ silently corrected as _"'How sweet_
Chapter 2: _speech!"_ silently corrected as _speech!'"_
Chapter 3: _Alleen_ silently corrected as _Aileen_
Chapter 3: _his letters_ silently corrected as _his letters._
Chapter 4: _nothiug but scare_ silently corrected as _nothing but
scare_
Chapter 4: _It ever he thought_ silently corrected as _If ever he
thought_
Chapter 4: _Honor foels_ silently corrected as _Honore feels_
Chapter 5: _answered_ silently corrected as _answers_
Chapter 5: _burst into tears_ silently corrected as _bursts into tears_
Chapter 5: _some with it_ silently corrected as _come with it_
Chapter 5: _corriders_ silently corrected as _corridors_
Chapter 5: _to see anythng_ silently corrected as _to see anything_
Chapter 5: _for you, Honor._ silently corrected as _for you, Honor,_
Chapter 6: _when he think himself_ silently corrected as _when he
thinks himself_
Chapter 6: _Mr. Hunter is an Englishman_ silently corrected as _"Mr.
Hunter is an Englishman_
Chapter 6: _he should think so._ silently corrected as _he should
think so."_
Chapter 6: _If harm_ silently corrected as _if harm_
Chapter 7: _I never new_ silently corrected as _I never knew_
Chapter 7: _frightens her. I was_ silently corrected as _frightens
her. "I was_
Chapter 7: _throughly_ silently corrected as _thoroughly_
Chapter 7: _in its earnestness._ silently corrected as _in its
earnestness,_
Chapter 9: _perferred to him_ silently corrected as _preferred to him_
Chapter 9: _Then promise me_ silently corrected as _"Then promise me_
Chapter 10: _rush and rour_ silently corrected as _rush and roar_
Chapter 10: _the crosses the square_ silently corrected as _she
crosses the square_
Chapter 10: _but you are certainly_ silently corrected as _"but you
are certainly_
Chapter 10: _replies. with_ silently corrected as _replies, with_
Chapter 10: _short laugh."_ silently corrected as _short laugh._
Chapter 10: _harm done. and_ silently corrected as _harm done, and_