WILD HAWK.
The boys Patrick and Gerald were jolly, good-humored, handsome lads,
with not a scrap of affectation, but with rather more than the average
amount of boy mischief in their compositions. They were quite inclined
to be friendly with the two English girls whom they found established
at Castle Mahun, but that fact would by no means prevent their taking a
rise out of them at the first opportunity which offered.
Sophy was full of little nervous terrors. She shrank back when they
offered to help her into the boat; she uttered a succession of little
shrieks as she was conveyed to her seat in the stern. Patrick winked
at Gerald when she did this, and they both made a mental resolution to
cajole the unfortunate Sophy into the boat some day when they could
have her all to themselves. They would not endanger her life on that
occasion, but unquestionably they would give her an exciting time.
They meant to play some pranks on Sophy; but at the same time they
regarded the pretty, helpless, nervous little English girl with a
certain chivalrous good nature, which by no means animated the feelings
with which they looked at Janet.
Janet was not at all to their taste. She had a supercilious manner
toward them, which was most riling. They were shrewd enough to guess,
too, that Bridget, notwithstanding her gentleness and politeness, in
her heart of hearts could not bear Janet. As Patrick and Gerald would
both of them have almost died for their cousin Bridget, the knowledge
that she was not fond of Janet was likely to give that young lady some
unpleasant experiences in the future.
Although Bridget was in apparently gay spirits during the morning
of this day, she was in her heart of hearts extremely anxious and
unhappy. The fatal letter had arrived; the story of her deceit and
underhand ways would soon be known to her father and to Aunt Kathleen.
Aunt Kathleen might, and probably would, quickly forgive her; but
Squire O'Hara, although he forgave, would, at least, never forget.
Forever and forever, all through the rest of his days, the shadow of
Bridget's dishonor would cloud his eyes, and keep back the old gay and
heart-whole smile from his lips. He would love her, and pity her, and
be sweet to her, but never again would she be as the old Biddy to him.
Now he looked upon her as a pearl without a flaw, as the best of all
created beings; in the future there would be a dimness over her luster.
While the poor young girl was laughing with her cousins, and trying to
make her visitors happy, these thoughts darkened and filled her mind.
She had also another care.
She must discover if Janet had really taken the two pounds. It would be
too awful if she were really proved to be nothing better than a common
thief. Bridget intended to ask Janet to accompany her to Pat's cottage
on the hills that afternoon. The postal order might all the time be
safely tucked away in the envelope of the unread letter. If so, all
would be well; but if, on the other hand, it was nowhere to be found,
Bridget felt sure that she could, to a great extent, read the truth in
Janet's face. It would be impossible for her to speak to Janet on the
subject while she was in her father's house, or even in any part of the
grounds; but out on the hills, away from the O'Hara estate, she might
tell her plainly what she thought of her conduct.
When the early dinner was over, Bridget called Janet aside and spoke to
her.
"I am going to ride on my pony Wild Hawk," she said. "I am going to see
some poor people who live up in the hills. I don't want the boys to
come, but they can amuse Sophy if you like to ride with me, Janet. You
told me once at school that you were very fond of riding."
"That is true," replied Janet. "I used to ride in Hyde Park when I was
a very little girl, but that, of course, is some years ago."
"Oh, that doesn't matter, the knowledge will remain with you. We have a
very nice, quiet lady's horse, called Miss Nelly, in the stables; you
shall ride her."
"But I haven't a habit," said Janet.
"I have a nice little one which I have quite outgrown. Come to my room,
and let me try if it will fit you; I am almost sure it will."
"All right," replied Janet; "I should enjoy a ride very much."
She hoped that during this ride she would be able to tell Bridget that
she had secured the obnoxious letter, and the first step of putting
the young girl completely in her power would begin.
She went with Miss O'Hara to her bedroom--an enormous room furnished
with oak, and strewn all over with costly knickknacks and ornaments.
The three large windows commanded an extensive view. They were wide
open, and Bridget when she entered the room went straight up to the
center one, and, clasping her hands, said in a low voice of passion:
"How I love you!"
"What do you love, Bridget?" asked Janet.
"My land--my Ireland," she said. "Oh, you can't understand. Please help
me to open this long drawer. I'll soon find your habit."
Janet assisted her with a will; the heavy drawer was tugged open, and a
neat dark blue habit, braided with silver, was pulled into view.
Janet slipped it on, and found that it fitted her perfectly.
"Take it to your room," said Bridget. "I am very glad it fits you; you
may want it many times while you are here."
"Yes, and I may want to take it away with me, too," murmured Janet in a
whisper to herself.
She went to her room, put on the dark, prettily made habit, and
looked at herself with much satisfaction in the glass. With a little
arrangement, Bridget's childish habit fitted Janet's neat figure like
a glove. She had never looked better than she did at this moment. The
rather severe dress gave her a certain almost distinguished appearance.
She ran downstairs in high spirits. Bridget was standing in the hall,
and the squire was also present to help the two girls to mount their
horses. He looked with pleasure at Janet, and said in a hearty tone:
"I am very glad that you can ride, my little girl. It isn't often that
Bridget gets anyone at all her equal in horsemanship to accompany her."
"Oh, father, you make a great mistake," exclaimed Bridget; "I have you."
"What's an old boy worth to a young colleen," he replied; but he smiled
at her with fond affection, and the horses being led up by a shabbily
dressed groom, Bridget sprang lightly into her seat on Wild Hawk's back.
He was a thoroughbred little Arab, with an eye of fire, a sensitive
mouth, and a jet-black shining skin. Miss Nelly was a pretty
roan-colored horse, but not a thoroughbred like Wild Hawk.
"You'll be thoroughly safe on Miss Nelly," said the squire to Janet.
"Yes, that's right, now take the reins, so! You had better not use the
whip, but here is one in case you happen to require it."
Janet nodded, smiled, and cantered after Bridget down the avenue.
Her heart was beating fast. She was not exactly nervous, but as her
riding in old times had been of the slightest and most superficial
kind, she was truly thankful to find that Miss Nelly was gentle in
temperament, and not thoroughbred, if to be thoroughbred meant starting
at every shadow, and turning eyes like dark jewels to look at the
smallest obstruction that appeared on the road.
"It's all right," said Bridget, noticing the uneasiness in Janet's
face. "Wild Hawk is a bit fresh, the beauty, but he'll quiet down and
go easily enough after I have taken it out of him a bit."
"What do you mean by 'taking it out of him,' Bridget? He does not seem
to care much for this easy sort of trot, and he really does start so
that he is making Miss Nelly quite nervous."
"Substitute Miss Janet for Miss Nelly," said Bridget, with a saucy curl
of her lips, "and you will get nearer to the truth. As to its being
taken out of the horse, you don't call this little easy amble anything?
Wait until we get on to the breezy hill, and then you will see what
kind of pranks Wild Hawk and I will play together."
"But nowhere near Miss Nelly, I hope," said Janet.
"Nowhere near Miss Nelly?" replied Bridget. "Dear me, Janet, you don't
suppose I am taking you out like this to lead you into any sort of
danger? I am not mean enough for that."
"Some girls would be mean enough," said Janet, almost in a whisper.
"Would they? Not the sort of girls I would have anything to do with.
Now, here we are on the top of the hill. Do you see these acres
and acres of common land which surround us, and do you notice that
small cottage or hovel which looks something like a speck in the far
distance? It is in that hovel that the poor people live whom I am going
to see. Now I mean to ride for that hovel straight as an arrow from a
bow. There are fences and sunk ditches in the way, but Wild Hawk and
I care for none of these things. You, my dear Janet, will follow this
little stony path on Miss Nelly's back; it is a considerable round to
the hovel over there on the horizon, but it is very safe, and you can
amble along as slowly as you please. I shall be at the cottage nearly
half an hour before you get to it, but what matter? Now then, Wild
Hawk, cheer up, my king; go like the wind, or like the bird after whom
you are named, my darling."
Bridget rode on a few paces in front of Janet; then she suddenly bent
forward, until her lips nearly touched Wild Hawk's arched neck. Janet
thought that the wild Irish girl had whispered a word to the wild
horse; the next moment the two were seen flying through space together.
The horse seemed to put wings to his feet, his slender feet scarcely
touched the ground. With the lightness and sureness of a bird he
cleared the fences which came in this way. Janet could not help drawing
in her breath with a deep sigh--half of envy, half of admiration.
"How splendid Bridget O'Hara is," she murmured; "such a figure, such a
face, such a bold, brave spirit! There is something about her which,
if the Fates were at all fair, even I could love. But they are not
fair," continued Janet, an angry flush filling her cheeks; "they have
given her too much, and me too little. I must help myself out of her
abundance, and there's noway of doing it but by humbling her."
So Janet rode gently along the stony path, and in the course of time
found herself drawing in her reins by the low mud hovel, which looked
to her scarcely like a human habitation.
The moment she appeared in sight two lean dogs of the cur species came
out and barked vociferously. Miss Nelly was, however, accustomed to the
barking of dogs, and did not take any notice. At the same instant a
stoutly built, gray-headed woman rushed out of the cabin and helped her
to alight.
Janet felt a slight sense of discomfort when she recognized in this
woman the person who had warned her not to drink the water of the Holy
Well. It was not in her nature, however, to show her discomfort, except
by an extra degree of pertness.
"How do you do?" she said, nodding to the woman, and springing to the
ground as she spoke. "I have not begun to dwindle yet, you see."
"Why, me dear, it is to be hoped not," answered Norah, in quick retort;
"for, faix! then, you are so small already that if you grow any less
there'll be nothing for the eye to catch hould of. But come into the
cottage, missy; Miss Biddy is sitting by Pat, and comforting the boy a
bit with her purty talk."
"Pat!" whispered Janet to herself. Her feeling of discomfort did not
grow less. The name of Pat seemed in some queer way familiar, but it
did not occur to her to connect it with the friends about whom Bridget
had cried at Mulberry Court.
She had to stoop her head to enter the hovel, and could not help
looking round the dirty little place with disgust.
"I have come, Biddy," she exclaimed. "I don't suppose you want to stay
long; this cottage is very, very close. I don't care to stop here
myself, but I can walk about while you are talking to your friends."
"Oh, pray, don't!" said Bridget, springing to her feet; "I want to
introduce you to Pat. Come here, please!" She seized Janet's small
wrist, and pulled her forward. "Mr. Patrick Donovan--Miss Janet May.
This man, Janet, whom I have introduced to you as Patrick Donovan, is
one of my very dearest friends."
"At your sarvice, miss," said Pat, blushing a fiery red, and pulling
his forelock awkwardly with one big, rather dirty hand.
He was a powerfully built man, with great shoulders, long legs, and
grisly hair curling round his chin and on his head. His eyes were dark
and deep-set; capable of ferocity, but capable also of the affectionate
devotion which characterizes the noblest sort of dog. He looked askance
at Janet, read the contempt in her glance, and turned to look at
Bridget with a humble, respectful, but adoring glance.
Norah had also entered the room; she was standing looking alternately
from Pat to Biddy. She was as plain as Patrick was the reverse, but the
love-light in her eyes, as she glanced at her suffering hero, would
have redeemed and rendered beautiful a far uglier face than hers.
"It's all right then, Pat," said Bridget, "we'll have the wedding next
week; you'll be fit to be moved then, and you shall come down from the
hills on a litter, and the wedding shall be at Castle Mahun, and the
feast shall be in our kitchen, and I'll give you your bride my own
self."
"Oh, Miss Biddy, long life to ye; the Heavens above presarve ye,"
murmured poor Norah, in a voice of ecstasy. "Oh, me boy, me boy, to
think as in the long last we'll be wed!"
"It's all right, Norah," said Pat, touching her forehead for a moment
with his big hand; "don't make a fuss, colleen, before the quality.
Keep yourself to yourself when there's strangers looking on."
"Who talks of Miss Biddy as a stranger?" said Norah, with fierce
passion.
"No one," said Pat; "but there's the young Englisher lady; may the God
above bless her, if she's a friend of yours though, Miss Biddy."
Bridget made no response to this. She rose and offered her chair to
Janet.
"Sit, Janet," she exclaimed; "there's a little matter I want to talk
over before we leave the cottage. You remember my telling you at
Mulberry Court about Pat's accident; you remember how troubled I was.
I wrote a letter to Pat and Norah, and you posted it. I gave you two
sovereigns to get a postal order to put into the letter. Now, a very
queer thing has happened. The letter arrived quite safely; here is the
letter; you see how neatly Pat has framed it; but the postal order
never arrived."
"That's thrue, Miss Biddy," exclaimed Norah. "Here's all as was in the
letter, as sure as I'm standing up in my stockinged feet this minute."
"I put the postal order in," said Janet, in a careless voice; "what
else should I do? I suppose your postmen here aren't honest."
"Why then, miss, that's a bould thing to say of Mike Carthy," answered
Pat, in a low, angry voice, which resembled a growl.
"I thought you might be able to throw some light on the matter," said
Bridget, "but it seems you cannot. We must be going home now, so I
shall have to say good-by, Pat. Norah, you can come down to the Castle
for some fresh eggs to-morrow, and I'll get Molly Malone to make up a
basket of all sorts of good things to strengthen Pat for his wedding."
"You won't forget a wee dhrop of the crathur, lady?" muttered the
giant, looking up into Biddy's face.
"No, no, that I won't, Pat, my poor fellow."
Bridget wrung her retainer's hand, and a moment or two later she and
Janet were on their homeward way.
"Now, look here," said Bridget, when the girls had gone a little
distance in almost unbroken silence; "I wish to say something; I shan't
talk about it when we get home, but out here we are both on equal
ground, and I can talk my mind freely and fully. I watched your face
when we were in that little cottage, Janet, and I am quite certain you
know something about those two sovereigns which I gave you to post to
Pat Donovan."
"What if I do?" retorted Janet.
"You have got to tell me the truth," answered Bridget. "If what I
suspect is the case, I shall not ask Aunt Kathleen to do anything to
shorten your stay at Castle Mahun; I shall not breathe the knowledge
that is given to me, to a soul in the house; but I myself will never
speak to you again. A few bare civilities it will be necessary for me
to offer, but beyond this I shall never address you. My silence will
not be noticed, for everyone else will be kind; but I--I tell you
plainly that, if what I suspect is true, I will _not_ associate with
you."
"Will you kindly tell me your suspicions?" replied Janet.
"I think--oh! it's an awful thing to say--I think that you took those
two sovereigns and put them into your own pocket."
"And because of that, supposing it to be true, you will not speak to
me?"
"I will not!"
"But I tell you that you will; you will speak to me, and pet me, and
fawn on me, even though you regard me as a thief--there!"
"I won't, Janet; I am a proud Irish girl, and I can't."
"You are a very cowardly, mean Irish girl. You are not a bit the sort
of creature that people imagine you to be!" replied Janet, who was now
almost overcome by the passion which choked her. "You talk of speaking
quite openly and frankly, because we are on the hills together. I, too,
will give you a piece of my mind out here, with no one to listen to us."
"No one to listen to us!" said Bridget, her face growing pale; "oh,
you forget, you must forget, there is Nature herself, her voice in the
breeze, and in the twitter of the birds, and her face looking up at us
from the earth, and her smile looking down at us from the sky. I should
be awfully afraid to tell a lie out here, alone with Nature."
"My dear, I have no intention of telling any lies to you. I do breathe
tarradillies now and then; I am not too proud to confess it. You would,
too, if you were situated like me; but I don't waste them on people
whom it is necessary to be honest with. I did keep that money; it was
far more useful to me than it would be to that Patrick of yours. He
didn't want it, and I did. You were full of pity for him, but you had
not a scrap of pity to bestow on me, so I had to pity myself, and I did
so by taking your money. I found it most useful. But for it, Sophy and
I would not now be at Castle Mahun. I hoped what I did would never be
discovered. Well, it has been, but it does not greatly matter, as you
are the one to make the discovery."
"What do you mean? what can you mean?"
"What I say; you can send me to prison, of course, and ruin me for
life, but you won't, for your own sake. See what I have done to save
you!"
Janet put her hand into her pocket and pulled out the Eastcliff letter.
She held it aloft, and laughed in her companion's face. "You won't be
hard on me now, Biddy," she said, in the tones of one addressing an
equal. "If I have been a thief--it is an ugly word, and there is no
use in speaking it again; if I have been a thief, you, too, have done
something which you are ashamed of. That something has been discovered
at Mulberry Court, and this letter contains a full account of it. Your
aunt, Lady Kathleen, was to read it first, and then, of course, in the
ordinary course, your father would have heard the whole disgraceful
story. Little as you think of me, I have saved you from disgrace,
Biddy, my love. You are fond of Nature, but Nature won't tell tales. If
you will promise to respect the secret you have discovered about me, I
will respect your secret; I will tear up this letter, here on this wild
hilltop, and Nature shall bury the tell-tale pieces as she wills and
where she likes. Here is the letter, Biddy; I have saved you. Ought you
not to be obliged to me?"
A queer change came over Bridget while Janet was speaking; a certain
nobleness seemed to go out of her figure; she looked less like part of
Wild Hawk than she had done five minutes ago; the color receded from
her cheeks; her eyes lost their proud fire, her lips their proud smile.
"How did you manage to get that letter?" she whispered in a low tone.
"I am not going to tell you, my darling; I have got it, and that ought
to be enough for you. Now, are we each to respect the secret of the
other, or not?"
"Oh, I don't know; it seems so dreadful."
"It is rather dreadful, dear; I admit that. If you go and tell your
father and Lady Kathleen about me, and about what I have just confessed
to you, I shall have a very uncomfortable time. I shall be thoroughly
and completely ruined, but in my ruin I shall pull you down too,
Bridget, from the pedestal which you now occupy. It would be easy for
me to put this letter back where Lady Kathleen will be able to lay her
hands on it; in that case she will read it, and your father will know
everything. I shall be ruined, and you will have a very unpleasant
time. You must choose now what you will do; shall we both go on
appearing what we are not? I, a modest, good-natured little girl, who
never did an underhand trick in my life, and you--you, Biddy, the soul,
the essence of what an Irishman calls honor."
"Oh, don't," said Bridget, "you make my eyes burn; you make me feel
so small and wicked. Janet, why do you tempt me so awfully? Janet, I
wish--I wish that I had never, never known you."
"My dear, I can't echo your wish. I am glad that I have met you, for
you can be very useful to me; but now you have got to choose; shall I
put the letter back in Lady Kathleen's room, or shall I tear it up?"
"But, even if you do tear it up," said Bridget, "the evil day is only
delayed. When my aunt does not reply to Mrs. Freeman's letter, she will
soon write her another, and Aunt Kathleen will perhaps find out that
you took the letter."
"I don't think she will; she is the kind of erratic person who won't in
the least remember where she put her letter, and not having a clew, why
should she suspect me of taking it?"
"But Mrs. Freeman will write again."
"When she does there will be time enough to consider the right steps to
take. She won't write for a week or a fortnight, and a great deal can
happen in that time. If the worst comes to the worst, it will be quite
possible for me to obtain possession of her next letter."
"O Janet, I can't listen to you; your suggestions are too dreadful."
"All right, my dear." Janet slipped the letter into her pocket. "I
know Lady Kathleen's room," she continued, "and I shall manage to put
this letter back on her dressing table when I go in. Who's that coming
to meet us? Oh, I declare, it is Squire O'Hara! How well your father
rides, Bridget! what a handsome man he is!"
Bridget felt as if she should choke; the squire's loud, hearty voice
was heard in the distance.
"Hullo, colleens; there you are!" he shouted. "I thought I'd bring the
General round in this direction; I had a curiosity to see how you were
managing Miss Nelly, my dear." He bowed as he spoke to Janet. "I see
you keep your seat very nicely. And you, Biddy--eh, my jewel--why, you
look tired. Has Wild Hawk been too much for you?"
"Not a bit, father; I am as right as possible." Bridget turned swiftly
to Janet as she uttered these words.
"I will give you your answer to-morrow," she said in a low tone; "give
me until to-morrow to decide."