EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS.
The next day the Squire and Terence went off together. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan
was very angry with her husband for going, as she expressed it, to amuse
himself in Dublin. Dirty Dublin she was fond of calling the capital of
Ireland.
“What do you want to go to Dirty Dublin for?” she said. “You'll spend
a lot of money, and God knows we have little enough at the present
moment.”
“Oh, no, I won't, Ellen,” he replied. “I'll be as careful as careful can
be; the colleen can witness to that. There's a little inn on the banks
of the Liffey where I'll put up; it is called the 'Green Dragon,' and
it's a cozy, snug little place, where you can have your potheen and
nobody be any the wiser.”
“I declare, Patrick,” said his lady, facing him, “you are becoming
downright vulgar. I wish you wouldn't talk in that way. If you have no
respect for yourself and your ancient family, you ought to remember your
daughter.”
“I'm sure I'm not doing the colleen any harm,” said the Squire.
“That you never could, father,” replied Nora, with a burst of
enthusiasm.
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan surveyed her coldly.
“Go upstairs and help Terence to pack his things,” she said; and Nora
left the room.
The next day the travelers departed. As soon as they were gone Mrs.
O'Shanaghgan sent for Nora to come and sit in the room with her.
“I have been thinking during the night how terribly neglected you
are,” she said; “you are not getting the education which a girl in your
position ought to receive. You learn nothing now.”
“Oh, mother, my education is supposed to be finished,” answered Nora.
“Finished indeed!” said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan.
“Since Miss Freeman left I have had no governess; but I read a good bit
alone. I am very fond of reading,” answered Nora.
“Distasteful as it all is to me,” said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, “I must take
you in hand myself. But I do wish your Uncle George would invite you
over to stay with them at The Laurels. It will do Terence a wonderful
lot of good; but you want it more, you are so unkempt and undignified.
You would be a fairly nice-looking girl if any justice was done to you;
but really the other day, when I saw you with that terrible young person
Bridget Murphy, it gave my heart quite a pang. You scarcely looked a
lady, you were laughing in such a vulgar way, and quite forgetting your
deportment. Now, what I have been thinking is that we might spend some
hours together daily, and I would mark out a course of instruction for
you.”
“Oh, mammy,” answered Nora, “I should be very glad indeed to learn; you
know I always hated having my education stopped, but father said--”
“I don't want to hear what your father said,” interrupted Mrs.
O'Shanaghgan.
“Oh, but, mother dear, I really must think of father, and I must respect
what he says. He told me that my grandmother stopped her schooling at
fourteen, and he said she was the grandest lady, and the finest and
bonniest, in the country, and that no one could ever put her to shame;
for, although she had not much learning to boast of, she had a smart
answer for every single thing that was said to her. He said you never
could catch her tripping in her words, never--never; and he thinks,
mother,” continued Nora, sparkling and blushing, “that I am a little
like my grandmother. There is her miniature upstairs. I should like to
be like her. Father did love her so very, very much.”
“Of course, Nora, if those are your tastes, I have nothing further to
say,” answered Mrs. O'Shanaghgan; “but while you are under my roof and
under my tuition, I shall insist on your doing a couple of hours' good
reading daily.”
“Very well, mother; I am quite agreeable.”
“I suppose you have quite forgotten your music?”
“No, I remember it, and I should like to play very much indeed; but the
old piano--you must know yourself, mother dear, that it is impossible to
get any music out of it.”
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan uttered a groan.
“We seem to be beset with difficulties at every step,” she said. “It is
such a mistake your father going to Dublin now, and throwing away his
little capital. Has he said anything to you about the mortgage, by the
way, Nora?”
Nora colored.
“A little,” she answered in a low voice.
“Ah, I see--told it as a secret; so like the Irish, making mysteries
about everything, and then blabbing them out the next minute. I don't
want, my dear, to encroach upon your father's secrets, so don't be
at all afraid. Now, bring down your Markham's History of England and
Alison's History of Europe, and I will set you a task to prepare for me
for to-morrow.”
Nora went slowly out of the room. She hated Markham's History of
England. She had read it five or six times, and knew it by heart. She
detested George and Richard and Mary, and their conversations with their
mother were simply loathsome to her. Alison's History, however, was
tougher metal, and she thought she would enjoy a good stiff reading of
it. She was a very intelligent girl, and with advantages would have done
well.
She returned with the books. Her mother carelessly marked about twenty
pages in each, told her to read them in the course of the day, and to
come to her the next morning to be questioned.
“You can go now,” she said. “I was very busy yesterday, and have a
headache. I shall lie down and go to sleep.”
“Shall I draw down the blind, mother?”
“Yes, please; and you can put that rug over me. Now, don't run shouting
all over the house; try to remember you are a young lady. Really and
truly, no one would suppose that you and Terence were brother and
sister. He will do great credit to my brother George; he will be proud
of such a handsome young fellow as his nephew.”
Nora said nothing; having attended to her mother's comforts, she left
the room. She went out into the sunshine. In her hand she carried the
two books. Her first intention was to take them down to one end of the
dilapidated garden and read them steadily. She was rather pleased than
otherwise at her mother's sudden and unlooked-for solicitude with regard
to her education. She thought it would be pleasant to learn even under
her mother's rather peculiar method of tutelage; but, as she stood on
the terrace looking across the exquisite summer scene, two of the dogs,
Creena and Cushla, came into view. They rushed up to Nora with cries
and barks of welcome. Down went the books on the gravel, and off ran the
Irish girl, followed by the two barking dogs. A few moments later she
was down on the shore. She had run out without her hat or parasol. What
did that matter? The winds and sea-breezes had long ago taken their
own sweet will on Nora's Irish complexion; they could not tan skin like
hers, and had given up trying; they could only bring brighter roses into
her cheeks and more sweetness into her dark-blue eyes. She forgot
her troubles, as most Irish girls will when anything calls off their
attention, and ran races with the dogs up and down the shore. Nora was
laughing, and the dogs were barking and gamboling round her, when the
stunted form of Hannah Croneen was seen approaching. Hannah wore her
bedgown and her short blue serge petticoat; her legs and feet were bare;
the breezes had caught up her short gray locks, and were tossing them
wildly about. She looked very elfin and queer as she approached the
girl.
“Why, then, Miss Nora, it's a word I want with you, a-colleen.”
“Yes--what is it, Hannah?” answered Nora. She dropped her hands to her
sides and turned her laughing, radiant face upon the little woman.
“Ah, then, it's a sight for sore eyes you are, Miss Nora. Why, it is a
beauty you are, Miss Nora honey, and hondsomer and hondsomer you gets
every time I see yez. It's the truth I'm a-telling yez, Miss Nora; it's
the honest truth.”
“I hope it is, Hannah, for it is very pleasant hearing,” answered Nora.
“Do I really get handsomer and handsomer? I must be a beauty like my
grandmother.”
“Ah, she was a lady to worship,” replied Hannah, dropping a courtesy to
the memory; “such ways as she had, and her eyes as blue and dark as the
blessed night when the moon's at the full, just for all the world like
your very own. Why, you're the mortal image of her; not a doubt of it,
miss, not a doubt of it. But there, I want to say a word to yez, and
we need not spend time talking about nothing but mere looks. Looks is
passing, miss; they goes by and leaves yez withered up, and there are
other things to think of this blessed morning.”
“To be sure,” answered Nora.
“And it's I that forgot to wish yez the top of the morning,” continued
the little woman. “I hear the masther and Masther Terry has gone to
foreign parts--is it true, miss?”
“It is not true of my father,” replied Nora; “he has only gone to
Dublin.”
“Ah, bless him! he's one in a thousand, is the Squire,” said Hannah.
“But what about the young masther, him with the handsome face and the
ways?--aye, but he aint got your nice, bonny Irish ways, Miss Nora--no,
that he aint.”
“He has gone to England for a time to visit some of my mother's
relations,” replied Nora. “I am, sure it will do him a great deal of
good, and dear mother is so pleased. Now, then, Hannah, what is it?”
Hannah went close to the girl and touched her on her arm.
“What about your promise to Andy Neil?” she asked.
“My promise to Andy Neil,” said Nora, starting and turning pale. “How do
you know about it?”
“A little bird told me,” replied Hannah. “This is what it said: 'Find
out if Miss Nora, the bonniest and handsomest young lady in the place,
has kept her word to Andy.' Have you done it, Miss Nora? for it's word I
have got to take the crayther, and this very night, too.”
“Where?” said Nora. “Where are you going to meet him?”
“In the haunted glen, just by the Druid's Stone,” replied the woman.
“At what hour?”
“Tin o'clock, deary. Aw, glory be to God! it's just when the clock
strikes tin that he'll be waiting for me there.”
“I have no message,” said Nora.
“Are you sure, Miss Nora?”
“Quite sure.”
“When will you have?”
“Never.”
“Miss Nora, you don't mane it?”
“Yes, I do, Hannah. I have nothing to do with Andy Neil. I did what
I could for him, but that little failed. You can tell him that if you
like.”
“But is it in earnest you are, Miss Nora? Do you mane to say that you'll
let the poor crayther have the roof taken off his cabin? Do you mane it
miss?”
“I wouldn't have the roof taken off his cabin,” said Nora; “but father
is away, and he is Andy's landlord, and Andy has done something to
displease him. He had better come and talk to father himself. I kept
my word, and spoke; but I couldn't do anything. Andy had better talk to
father himself; I can do no more.”
“You don't guess as it's black rage is in the crayther's heart, and
that there's no crime he wouldn't stoop to,” whispered Hannah in a low,
awestruck voice.
“I can't help it, Hannah; I am not going to be frightened. Andy would
not really injure me, not in cold blood.”
“Oh, wouldn't he just? The man's heart is hot within him; it's the
thought of the roof being taken off his cabin. I have come as his
messenger. You had best send some sort of message to keep him on the
quiet for a bit. Don't you send a hard message of that sort, heart
asthore; you'll do a sight of mischief if you do.”
“I can only send him a true message,” replied the girl.
“Whisht now, Miss Nora! You wouldn't come and see him yourself tonight
by the Druid's Stone?”
Nora stood for a moment considering. She was not frightened; she had
never known that quality. Even in the cave, when her danger was extreme,
she had not succumbed to fear; it was impossible for her to feel it now,
with the sunlight filling her eyes and the softest of summer breezes
blowing against her cheeks. She looked full at Hannah.
“I won't go,” she said shortly.
“Miss Nora, I wouldn't ask yez if I could help myself. It's bothered I
am entirely, and frightened too. You'll come with me, Miss Nora--won't
yez?”
“I will not come,” answered Nora. “My mother is alone, and I cannot
leave her; but I tell you what I will do. Just to show Andy that I am
not afraid of him, when father returns I will come. Father will be back
in a couple of days; when he returns I will speak to him once more about
Andy, and I will bring Andy the message; and that is all I can promise.
If that is all you want to say to me, Hannah, I will go home now, for
mother is all alone.”
Hannah stood with her little, squat figure silhouetted against the
sky; she had placed both her arms akimbo, and was gazing at Nora with a
half-comical, half-frightened glance.
“You're a beauty,” she said, “and you has the courage of ten women. I'll
tell Andy what you say; but, oh, glory! there's mischief in that man's
eyes, or I'm much mistook.”
“You can't frighten me,” said Nora, with a laugh. “How are the
children?”
“Oh, bless yez, they're as well and bonny as can be. Little Mike, he
said he'd stand and wait till you passed by the gate, he's that took up
with you, Miss Nora. You'd be concaited if you heard all he says about
you.”
Nora thrust her hand into her pocket.
“Here,” she said, “is a bright halfpenny; give it to Mike, and tell him
that Nora loves him very much. And now I am going home. Hannah, you'll
remember my message to Andy, and please let him understand that he is
not going to frighten me into doing anything I don't think right.”