IN a space of time that was very brief, owing to the resolution with
which Lady Innisfail declined to accept the suggestion of short cuts
by Brian, the whole party found themselves standing breathless at the
beginning of the line of cliffs. A mist saturated with moonlight had
drifted into the lough from the Atlantic. It billowed below their eyes
along the surface of the water, and crawled along the seared faces of
the cliffs, but no cold fingers of the many-fingered mist clasped the
higher ridges. The sound of the crashing of the unseen waves about the
bases of the cliffs filled the air, but there was no other sound.
“Impostor!” said Edmund Airy, turning upon Brian. “You heard no White
Lady to-night. You have jeopardized our physical and your spiritual
health by your falsehood.”
“You shall get no half sovereign from me,” said Lady Innisfail.
“Is it me that’s accountable for her coming and going?” cried Brian,
with as much indignation as he could afford. Even an Irishman cannot
afford the luxury of being indignant with people who are in the habit
of paying him well, and an Irishman is ready to sacrifice much to
sentiment. “It’s glad we should all be this night not to hear the voice
of herself.”
Lady Innisfail looked at him. She could afford to be indignant, and
she meant to express her indignation; but when it came to the point she
found that it was too profound to be susceptible of expression.
“Oh, come away,” she said, after looking severely at Brian for nearly a
minute.
“Dear Lady Innisfail,” said Mr. Durdan, “I know that you feel indignant,
fancying that we have been disappointed. Pray do not let such an idea
have weight with you for a moment.”
“Oh, no, no,” said Miss Stafford, who liked speaking in public quite
as well as Mr. Durdan. “Oh, no, no; you have done your best, dear Lady
Innisfail. The dance was lovely; and though, of course, we should have
liked to hear a native bard or two, as well as the Banshee--”
“Yet bards and Banshees we know to be beyond human control,” said Mr.
Airey.
“We know that if it rested with you, we should hear the Banshee every
night,” said Mr. Durdan.
“Yes, we all know your kindness of heart, dear Lady Innisfail,” resumed
Miss Stafford.
“Indeed you should hear it, and the bard as well,” cried Lady Innisfail.
“But as Mr. Airey says--and he knows all about bard and Banshees and
such like things Great heaven! We are not disappointed after all, thank
heaven!”
Lady Innisfail’s exclamation was uttered after there floated to the
cliffs where she and her friends were standing, from the rolling white
mist that lay below, the sound of a long wail. It was repeated, only
fainter, when she had uttered her thanksgiving, and it was followed by a
more robust shout.
“Isn’t it lovely?” whispered Lady Innisfail.
“I don’t like it,” said Miss Stafford, with a shudder. “Let us go
away--oh, let us go away at once.”
Miss Stafford liked simulated horrors only. The uncanny in verse was
dear to her; but when, for the first time, she was brought face to face
with what would have formed the subject of a thrilling romance with a
suggestion of the supernatural, she shuddered.
“Hush,” said Lady Innisfail; “if we remain quiet we may hear it again.”
“I don’t want to hear it again,” cried Miss Stafford. “Look at the man.
He knows all about it. He is one of the natives.”
She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering
petitions for the protection of all the party.
He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might
happen. Miss Stafford’s remark was reasonable. Brian should know all
about the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief.
“Get up, you fool!” said Edmund Airey, catching the native by the
shoulder. “Don’t you know as well as I do that a boat with someone
aboard is adrift in the mist?”
“Oh, I know that you don’t believe in anything.” said Brian.
“I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition,” said Edmund.
“I’m very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere with your
entertainment, but it’s perfectly clear to me that someone is in
distress at the foot of the cliffs.”
“How can you be so horrid--so commonplace?” said Lady Innisfail.
“He is one of the modern iconoclasts,” said another of the group.
“He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me that he
considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler.”
“Dear Mr. Airey,” said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less timid as the
wail from the sea had not been repeated. “Dear Mr. Airey, let us entreat
of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take from us.”
“There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be governed by
a phrase,” sneered Mr. Durdan.
“Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them,” said Edmund,
preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track.
He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from
Miss Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for
expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her
recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail’s arms.
“Great heavens!” cried Lady Innisfail. “It is the White Lady herself’!”
“We’re all lost, and the half sovereign’s nothing here or there,” said
Brian, in a tone of complete resignation.
Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She
stood for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the
group on the cliff watched her--some of them found it necessary to cling
together--another white figure floated through the mist to the side of
the first, and then came another figure--that of a man--only he did not
float.
“I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can’t see
anything of what’s going on,” said Lady Innisfail to Miss Stafford,
whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail.
With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom
to her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she
cried out, “Helen Craven!”
“Helen Craven?” said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her head in a
moment.
“Yes, it’s Helen Craven or her ghost that’s standing there,” said Lady
Innisfail.
“And Harold Wynne is with her. Are you there, Wynne?” sang out Mr.
Durdan.
“Hallo?” came the voice of Harold from below. “Who is there?”
“Why, we’re all here,” cried Edmund, emerging from the mist at his side.
“How on earth did you get here?--and Miss Craven--and--he looked at the
third figure--he had never seen the third figure before.
“Oh, it’s a long story,” laughed Harold. “Will you give a hand to Miss
Craven?”
Mr. Airey said it would please him greatly to do so, and by his kindly
aid Miss Craven was, in the course of a few minutes, placed by the side
of Lady Innisfail.
She took the place just vacated by Miss Stafford on Lady Innisfail’s
bosom, and was even more embarrassing to Lady Innisfail than the other
had been. Helen Craven was heavier, to start with.
But it was rather by reason of her earnest desire to see the strange
face, that Lady Innisfail found Helen’s head greatly in her way.
“Lady Innisfail, when Miss Craven is quite finished with you, I shall
present to you Miss Avon,” said Harold.
“I should be delighted,” said Lady Innisfail. “Dearest Helen, can you
not spare me for a moment?”
Helen raised her head.
It was then that everyone perceived how great was the devastation done
by the mist to the graceful little curled fringes of her forehead.
Her hair was lank, showing that she had as massive a brow as Miss
Stafford’s, if she wished to display it.
“It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, Miss Avon; I’m sure that I
have often heard of you from Mr. Wynne and--oh, yes, many other people,”
said Lady Innisfail. “But just now--well, you can understand that we are
all bewildered.”
“Yes, we are all bewildered,” said Miss Avon. “You see, we heard the cry
of the White Lady--”
“Of course,” said Harold; “we heard it too. The White Lady was Miss
Craven. She was in one of the boats, and the mist coming on so suddenly,
she could not find her way back to the landing place. Luckily we were
able to take her boat in tow before it got knocked to pieces. I hope
Miss Craven did not over-exert herself.”
“I hope not,” said Lady Innisfail. “What on earth induced you to go out
in a boat alone, Helen--and suffering from so severe a headache into the
bargain?”
“I felt confident that the cool air would do me good,” said Miss Craven.
somewhat dolefully.
Lady Innisfail looked at her in silence for some moments, then she
laughed.
No one else seemed to perceive any reason for laughter.
Lady Innisfail then turned her eyes upon Miss Avon. The result of her
observation was precisely the same as the result of Harold’s first sight
of that face had been. Lady Innisfail felt that she had never seen so
beautiful a girl.
Then Lady Innisfail laughed again.
Finally she looked at Harold and laughed for the third time. The space
of a minute nearly was occupied by her observations and her laughter.
“I think that on the whole we should hasten on to the Castle,” said she
at length. “Miss Craven is pretty certain to be fatigued--we are, at
any rate. Of course you will come with us, Miss Avon.”
The group on the cliff ceased to be a group when she had spoken; but
Miss Avon did not move with the others. Harold also remained by her
side.
“I don’t know what I should do,” said Miss Avon. “The boat is at the
foot of the cliff.”
“It would be impossible for you to find your course so long as the mist
continues,” said Harold. “Miss Avon and her father--he is an old friend
of mine--we breakfasted together at my college--are living in the White
House--you may have heard its name--on the opposite shore--only a mile
by sea, but six by land,” he added, turning to Lady Innisfail.
“Returning to-night is out of the question,” said Lady Innisfail. “You
must come with us to the Castle for to-night. I shall explain all to
your father to-morrow, if any explanation is needed.” Miss Avon shook
her head, and murmured a recognition of Lady Innisfail’s kindness.
“There is Brian,” said Harold. “He will confront your father in the
morning with the whole story.”
“Yes, with the whole story,” said Lady Innisfail, with an amusing
emphasis on the words. “I already owe Brian half a sovereign.”
“Oh, Brian will carry the message all for love,” cried the girl.
Lady Innisfail did her best to imitate the captivating freshness of the
girl’s words.
“All for love--all for love!” she cried.
Harold smiled. He remembered having had brought under his notice a toy
nightingale that imitated the song of the nightingale so closely that
the Jew dealer, who wanted to sell the thing, declared that no one on
earth could tell the difference between the two.
The volubility of Brian in declaring that he would do anything out of
love for Miss Avon was amazing. He went down the cliff face to bring the
boats round to the regular moorings, promising to be at the Castle in
half an hour to receive Miss Avon’s letter to be put into her father’s
hand at his hour of rising.
By the time Miss Avon and Harold had walked to the Castle with Lady
Innisfail, they had acquainted her with a few of the incidents of the
evening--how they also had been caught by the mist while in their boat,
and had with considerable trouble succeeded in reaching the craft in
which Miss Craven was helplessly drifting. They had heard Miss Craven’s
cry for help, they said, and Harold had replied to it. But still they
had some trouble picking up her boat.
Lady Innisfail heard all the story, and ventured to assert that all was
well that ended well.
“And this is the end,” she cried, as she pointed to the shining hall
seen through the open doors.
“Yes, this is the end of all--a pleasant end to the story,” said the
girl.
Harold followed them as they entered.
He wondered if this was the end of the story, or only the beginning.