The ground is rough, and I'm afraid you will have a fall," interposed
Hilliard mildly; not that he was in truth the least bit anxious about
this strange child's safety, or could not have witnessed her downfall
with equanimity, but in pity for Esmeralda's embarrassment she could not
be allowed to continue her tirade indefinitely. He was rewarded by a
melting glance, as the beauty sighed once more, and said, in a tone of
sweet forbearance--
"She does not understand! She has been away, and that's not the sort of
work I meant; and besides--"
She stopped short, for she could not think how to finish the sentence,
and the fear of Pixie was ever before her eyes. It was in a different
and much more natural voice that she again took up her explanation.
"Perhaps I was mistaken in saying it was work I wanted, but it is
certainly interest. I have never been farther away than Dublin, and I
get so tired and weary of it all, and have such a longing for something
fresh. The others don't feel it, for they are so fond of the place; but
I'm restless. I feel pent in, knowing the world is moving on and on,
all the time, and I am shut up here, and sometimes the longing comes
over me so strongly that it's more than I can bear, and I fall into--"
"A rage!" said Pixie calmly. Esmeralda had paused just long enough to
draw that short eloquent breath which adds so largely to the eloquence
of a peroration, and was preparing to roll out a tragic "despair," when
that tiresome child must needs interfere and spoil everything by her
suggestion. Esmeralda's anger was quickly roused, but fortunately even
quicker still was her sense of humour. For a moment clouds and sunshine
struggled together upon her face, then the sunshine prevailed, she
looked at Hilliard, beheld him biting his lips in a vain effort to
preserve composure, and went off into peal after peal of rich, melodious
laughter.
"Next time I wish to talk at my ease, it's not bringing you out with me
I'll be, Pixie O'Shaughnessy!" she cried between her gasps; and
Hilliard's merry "Ho! ho! ho!" rang out in echo.
"She is indeed a most painfully honest accompanist. I am thankful that
I have no small brothers to give me away in return. You give your
sister a very bad character, Miss Pixie; but you seem very little in awe
of her, I notice. She must possess some redeeming qualities to make up
for the bad ones you have quoted."
Pixie bent her head in benignant assent, as one bound by honesty to see
both sides of a question and to deal out praise with blame.
"She's idle," she said judicially, "and she's hasty, but she's sorry
afterwards. The more awful her temper, the quicker she's sorry. The
night after you left--"
"Thank you, Pixie, you can spare us further domestic revelations!" cried
Esmeralda, flushing in lovely confusion, and keeping her face turned
away from the merry blue eyes so persistently bent upon her. "There's
one comfort, Mr Hilliard. You know the worst of me now, and there is
nothing more to dread. Pixie has spoiled my chance of posing as a
blighted genius, and shown me as just a bad-tempered, discontented girl
who has not the sense to be satisfied with her position. I'm sorry, for
it would have been interesting to hear you talk like the clever,
intellectual people in books, and perhaps, if I had kept very quiet and
agreed with all you said, you wouldn't have discovered my ignorance for
quite a long time to come."
"But, dear me, you would have discovered mine! I couldn't have kept it
up for an hour. You surely don't expect me to lecture on improving
topics!" cried Hilliard, in such transparent amaze that Esmeralda could
not but be convinced of his sincerity.
"Then you are not clever either!" she exclaimed. "What a relief! Now
we can just talk comfortably, and not pretend any more. But at any rate
you have seen more than we have. Have you travelled much? What have
you seen? What countries have you been in?"
"I can hardly say straight off. Let me count. France, Belgium,
Switzerland, Germany, Italy, Greece, Turkey--"
The "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of astonishment had been steadily gaining in
volume, but at the sound of this last name they reached a perfect shriek
of delight. There was something so very strange and mysterious about
Turkey that even to see a man who had visited its borders gave one a
thrill of excitement. Pixie's premeditated boast that she had been in
Surbiton died upon her lips, and Esmeralda's eyes grew soft with wonder.
"Turkey! Oh, you are a traveller! What on earth made you go to
Turkey?"
"It was part of a tour on which my uncle took me after leaving the
University, and I went even farther afield than that,--to Palestine and
Egypt. You would like Egypt even better than Turkey, Miss Joan, for
there, thanks to our rule, you have picturesqueness without squalor,
whereas Turkey does not stand a close inspection. We were thankful to
leave Constantinople after a very few days, but were sad indeed to turn
our backs on fascinating Cairo. If I had the seven-leagued boots, I
should be a frequent visitor over there."
The two sisters linked arms, and gazed at him with awe-stricken eyes.
"And you have seen veiled women," sighed Esmeralda softly, "and Mont
Blanc, and the Pyramids, and the desert, and the Red Sea, and Saint
Peter's at Rome, and all the things I have dreamt about ever since I was
a child! Oh, you are lucky! I think I should die with joy if anyone
offered to take me a trip like that. Did you have any adventures? What
did you like best? Begin at the beginning, and tell us all about it!"
Well, as our American cousins would say, this was rather a large order;
but Hilliard could refuse nothing to such an audience, and, if the truth
must be told, had his full share of the traveller's love of relating his
experiences. He passed lightly over days spent in countries near home,
but grew even more and more animated as he went farther afield, and
reached the Eastern surroundings in which he delighted.
"Shall I tell you about Palestine? I never knew anything stranger than
arriving at that railway station and seeing `Jerusalem' written up on
the hoardings. It seemed extraordinary to have a station there at all,
and such a station! It was in autumn, and everything was white with
dust. Outside in the road were a number of the most extraordinary-
looking vehicles you can possibly imagine, white as if they had been
kept in a flour mill, and as decrepit as if a hundred years had passed
since they were last used. How they kept together at all was a marvel
to me, and as for the harness, there was more string than leather to be
seen. The drive from the station to the hotel was one of the most
exciting things I ever experienced. I am not nervous, and have had as
much driving as most fellows, but that was a bit too much even for me.
The road is very hilly, turns sharply at many corners, and is, of
course, badly made to the last degree, so that it would have seemed
difficult enough to manage suck crazy vehicles even at a foot-pace; but
our fellow drove as if the Furies were at his back, as if it were a
question of life and death to get to the hotel before any of his
companions. He stood up on the box and shouted to his horses; he lashed
at them with his whip; he yelled imprecations to the rivals who were
galloping in pursuit. When an especially dangerous corner came in view,
two drivers made for it in a reckless stampede, which made it seem
certain that one or other must be hurled to the bottom of the hill. A
lady inside our carriage burst into a flood of tears, and I believe her
companions were all clinging to one another in terror. As for me, I was
on the box, and I never passed a more exciting ten minutes. We were
told afterwards that we had had the best driver in Jerusalem, but I
never engaged his services again.
"That same night in the hotel I was introduced to a dragoman, whom we
engaged to take us about. I am sure you will like to hear about Salim,
for, apart from himself, he had a great claim to attention, for he had
been Gordon's dragoman years ago when he was in Egypt. Yes! I knew
that would interest you, and you would have loved Salim for his own sake
too. He had a gentle, sad face, with the beautiful dark eyes of the
Eastern, and he spoke English remarkably well. He was unmarried, and
lived with his mother and a married brother. Sixteen years he and his
sister-in-law had lived in the same house, but he had never seen her
face. He had been unlucky in money matters, but accepted his poverty
with the placid acquiescence of the Oriental. I remember one day when
he told me of a piece of good fortune which had befallen a fellow-
dragoman, and I said that I hoped he might be similarly fortunate. He
bowed his head with quiet dignity, and waved a brown hand in the air.
`That is with God, sahib--that is with God!' I used to question him
about Gordon, and he loved to talk of him. `He was a good man, sahib,
better than any bishop. When we were camping in the desert he was up
every morning before it was light, kneeling to pray before his tent, and
his heart was so great that he could not bear to see anyone in trouble.
I must always keep with me a bag with small moneys, and he would not
wait to be asked. Everyone who needed must be helped. When he went
away he gave me his two best horses, but my heart was sore. He was a
great chief--a great chief; but I heard afterwards that when he came to
die he was quite poor--the same as Christ!'"
Hilliard told a story well, and now, as he repeated the words, his voice
softened into the deep cadence of the Eastern tones, in which they had
first been said; his hand waved and his eye kindled with emotion.
Esmeralda looked at him, and her heart gave a throb of admiration. The
manner in which he had spoken was unmistakably reverent, and if young
men only knew it, there is nothing which a girl loves more than a
mingling of manliness and reverence in the man who singles her out for
attention.
"He is a good man; I like him," was the mental comment. Aloud she said
dreamily, "Gordon is my hero. I love to hear about him. He was too
generous to others to heap up money for himself. I suppose he didn't
care about it. I wish I didn't, but I do. It's so very distressing to
be always short of money. All the good people in books are poor, but
for myself I think it's bad for the temper. They talk about the peril
of riches, but I should like to try it for myself, wouldn't you, Mr
Hilliard?"
Hilliard smiled--a quiet, amused smile.
"Well, I don't know. Everything is comparative. If some people would
think us poor, others would most certainly consider us very rich indeed.
We have all that we need, and for myself I'm quite content. I manage
to have a very good time."
"And you get away for holidays like this. That must make it easier.
Have you to work very hard? What is your work? In what way do you make
your living?"
Once more Hilliard smiled in amusement, and in truth there was a
directness about Esmeralda's questionings which was as unusual as it was
unconscious. He put up his hand and stroked one end of his curly
moustache.
"Glue!"
"Glue!" echoed Esmeralda shrilly.
"Glue!" shrieked Pixie in even shriller echo.
The two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him in horrified incredulity. The
pity, the commiseration of their expressions was touching to behold.
"Oh, poor fellow!" sighed Esmeralda softly. "You _must_ be poor! How
can anyone manage to make a living out of--glue?"
"But you know, Esmeralda darling, it is useful! We break such heaps of
things ourselves. We often use it," urged Pixie anxiously; and at this
her sister brightened visibly.
"We do. That's true for you, Pixie. Perhaps it's your glue we use, Mr
Hilliard. Dear me, it will be quite cheering when we break anything
after this! We shall feel we are helping a friend by our misfortune."
"That's very kind of you. I'll remember that you said that, and it will
cheer me too," replied Hilliard gallantly, and at that very moment a
sound came to the ears of all. "The gong! It must be tea-time. They
are sounding it to let us hear. I hope I have not kept you out too
long."
Ten minutes later they were all seated in the hall enjoying tea and
scones, while Bridgie smiled sweetly on their flushed, animated faces.
"You look well after your walk," she said. "And what did Mr Hilliard
think of our tame ruins?"
Pixie looked at Esmeralda; Esmeralda looked at Mr Hilliard; Mr
Hilliard looked at his boots. One and all they had forgotten all about
the ruins!
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE UNWRITTEN PAGE.
The New Year gathering was a great success, and justified Esmeralda's
boast that she would organise an entertainment which should be both
original and striking. Mademoiselle was not admitted to the secret
conferences, for she was to be surprised with the other guests; but she
could not shut her ears, and would not have done so if she could, for
the sound of the music which rose to her ears was too melodious to lose.
One and all the O'Shaughnessys possessed beautiful singing voices, and
though the carols which they rehearsed were simple in themselves, they
were practised with a care which made them a joy to hear. Over and over
again the Major made his choir repeat a certain phrase, until the
_diminuendo_ or _crescendo_ was rendered to his satisfaction, until
opening and closing notes sounded together to the instant, and due
expression was given to every mark. Music he loved, and over music
would spend time and trouble which he would have grudged in almost every
other way; but he rubbed his hands with satisfaction when the last
rehearsal was over, and boasted gleefully that for carol-singing not
many choirs could be found to beat his own.
By eight o'clock the girls were dressed and strutting up and down the
hall to exhibit themselves to the gaze of their companions. Bridgie
wore her coming-out dress--not so white as it had once been, but
carefully chalked at the worst places, and swathed in lovely old lace
round the shoulders. Esmeralda sported a pink moire dress which had
once belonged to her mother, with a voluminous sash of white muslin,
since nothing more elaborate was to hand, a wreath of roses out of last
summer's hat pinned over one shoulder, with all the crunched-up leaves
ironed out smooth and flat, and white gloves cleaned with benzoline
until you could hardly tell them from new. She was a vision of
elegance, or looked so at least to the ordinary observer; for when a
girl is eighteen, and a beauty at that, she is bound to look charming,
whatever be her clothes.
At nine o'clock the guests were asked, and the hour had barely struck
before they began to arrive. The sound of horses' feet was heard from
without, wheels drew up before the door, and in they came, one party
after another, having driven across country in the cold and the dark for
five, for six, and in one instance for ten long miles, but arriving
fresh and radiant for all that, and brimming over with good humour.
Mademoiselle thought that she had not seen such a merry assembly since
leaving her own dear land, or heard such a babel of tongues. Everyone
seemed to know everyone else, and to be on terms of closest intimacy and
affection; everyone talked at once and exclaimed with rapture and
admiration at the preparations for the entertainment. It was easy to
amuse such a company, and dancing and games were carried on with gusto
in the long drawing-room, which had been prepared for the occasion, and
looked comparatively festive with great fires burning in the fireplaces
at either end.
Soon after eleven o'clock the different members of the O'Shaughnessy
family began to slip out of the room, but almost before their absence
was noted, the Major was ringing a bell to attract attention and
marshalling the company to the far end of the room. At the same signal
two servants entered the room, turned out the lamps, and drew aside the
curtains from the mullioned windows, through which the grounds could be
seen, lying white and still in the moonlight. There was a rustle of
expectation among the guests, for evidently something was about to
happen, something appropriate to the day and the hour, yet what it could
be no one had the ghost of an idea. That was the best of those dear
O'Shaughnessys, a smiling lady confided to Geoffrey Hilliard--no one
could tell what they would be up to next! They were different from
everybody else, and their ways were so much more amusing and charming
than the ordinary stereotyped usages of society.
Hilliard agreed with fervour, and found an additional proof of the
assertion as, one by one, a picturesque band of carollers entered the
room by the farthest door and took up their position in a semicircle
facing the audience. They were uniformly robed in black, with cowl-like
hoods hanging loosely round the face, and each bore a stick, on the end
of which waved a brilliant Japanese lantern. The lights lit up the
features of the singers, and seldom indeed had "the beautiful
O'Shaughnessys" appeared to greater advantage than at this moment.
Jack's handsome features and commanding stature made him appear a type
of young manhood, Miles for once forgot to grimace, and Pat's misleading
air of innocence was even more guileless and touching than usual. As
for the girls, Esmeralda looked like a picture by Rossetti, and
Bridgie's halo of golden hair was more bewitching than ever in its
sombre setting. No one looked at Pixie until the signal was given and
the choristers burst into song, when she came in for even more than her
own share of admiration, for the treble solos were without exception
given to her to sing, and the piercing sweetness of the young voice
moved some of the more emotional of the audience to surreptitious tears.
Several carols were sung, interspersed with part-songs suitable to the
occasion, and then the singers formed up in rank two and two, and at the
Major's request the guests followed their example, making a long
procession in the rear. Another song was started, something slow and
plaintive in tone, its subject being the dying year, with regret for all
that it had brought of joy and gladness, and to its strains the
procession started on a strange and charming expedition. Down one long
corridor, unlit save by the cold light from without and the warm flicker
of lantern ahead along a deserted wing, where dust lay thick on the
walls and the faces of departed ancestors looked down sadly from their
tarnished frames, finally down the circular staircase, from which
Esmeralda had had her first glimpse of Geoffrey Hilliard, and so into
the great hall beneath. At the end farthest from the door the Major
halted, raised one hand, and called aloud in slow, solemn tones.
"Prithee, silence!" he said. That was all--"Prithee, silence!" and at
the sound there was another flutter of excitement among the guests. The
hands of the clock pointed to four minutes to twelve, and it was evident
that the last item in the charming programme was about to take place.
Ladies moved about on tiptoe, mounting the first steps of the staircase,
or standing on stools to ensure a better view. Men moved politely to
the rear. There was a minute's preoccupation, and when the general gaze
was once more turned to the doorway, it was seen that a significant
change had taken place in the scene.
Against a background of screens stood the figure of an old man--a very
old man, it would appear, since his back was bowed and his head and
beard white as the snow on the ground outside. His brown cloak hung in
tatters, and he leant heavily upon his staff. A deep-toned "Ah-h!"
sounded through the assembly, and showed that the onlookers were at no
loss to understand the character which he was intended to represent.
"The Old Year," murmured one voice after another.
Then a solemn hush fell over all as the clock ticked out the last
minutes, and through the opened door came a blast of icy air and a few
flakes of snow, blown inwards by the wind. Only another minute, and
then there it came--the slow, solemn chiming of the clock on the tower.
One, two, three. Good-bye, Old Year! What if you have brought troubles
in your wake, you have brought blessings too, and sunny summer hours!
Four, five, six--Dear old friend, we are sorrier to part with thee than
we knew! We have not appreciated thee enough, made enough of thy
opportunities. If we have ever reproached thee, thou hast cause to
reproach us now. Seven, eight, nine. Going so soon? We were used to
thee, and had been long companions, and of the new and untried there is
always a dread. Good-bye, Old Year! Take with thee our blessings and
our thanks, our sorrowful regrets for all wherein we have been amiss.
Ten, eleven, _twelve_.
It is here! The New Year has come, and to greet its arrival such a
clashing of bells, such an outburst of strange and jangling sounds as
fairly deafened the listening ears. Molly, grinning from ear to ear,
was running the broom-handle up and down the row of bells outside the
servants' hall. Mike was belabouring the gong as if his life depended
on his exertions. The stable-boy was blowing shrilly through a tin
whistle, and the fat old cook was dashing trays of empty mustard-tins on
the stone floor, and going off into peals of laughter between each
movement.
Perhaps it was owing to the stunning effect of this sudden noise that
what had happened at the doorway seemed to have something of the
quickness of magic to the astonished onlookers, but a good deal of the
credit was still due to the castors, on which the screens had been
mounted, to an ingenious arrangement of strings, and to many and careful
rehearsals. Certain it is that, whereas at one moment the figure of the
Old Year was visible to all, at the next he had disappeared, and the
sound of that last long chime had hardly died away before another figure
stood in his place. No need to ask the name of the visitor. It was
once more patent to the most obtuse beholder. A small, girlish figure
with dark locks falling loosely over the shoulders, with a straight
white gown reaching midway between the knees and the ankles, and showing
little bare feet encased in sandals. A few white blossoms were held
loosely in one hand, and in the other a long white scroll--the page on
which was to be inscribed the history of an untried path.
Pixie's face was white and awed, for the solemnity of the occasion and
the poetry of the impersonation alike appealed to her emotional nature,
and there was an expression upon the plain little face which was more
impressive than any mere pink and white prettiness, as more than one of
the onlookers remarked with astonishment.
"Who could have believed that that child could look like that?" cried
Geoffrey Hilliard to Mademoiselle, and that young lady tossed her head
with an impatient movement.
"Why not, pray? If Pixie is not pretty, she is something better--she is
_spirituelle_!" for it had come to this, that Mademoiselle could not
endure to hear Pixie adversely criticised, and resented a depreciating
remark as hotly as if it had had reference to herself.
At this point the formal programme came to an end, and the guests
hurried forward to shake hands with their hosts and thank them over and
over again for the entertainment which they had provided, while the
choristers shed their monk-like robes, (nothing after all but mackintosh
cloaks with hoods cut out of black calico!) and appeared once more in
evening dress. The way was led to the dining-room, where refreshments
were spread out on the long table, and there was much drinking of
healths and exchanging of good wishes for the New Year. Everyone was
hungry and happy, and Mademoiselle's cakes and jellies were much
appreciated; but Esmeralda sighed as she looked around, and ate
sandwiches with such a pensive air that Hilliard demanded the reason of
her depression.
"This!" she sighed, holding out the half-eaten fragment, on which was
plainly circled the mark of small white teeth. "It hurts my sense of
fitness. We should have had boar's head and venison, and a sheep
roasted whole. We have some lovely old silver dishes which would have
held them, but--" the "but" was significant, and she raised her
beautiful shoulders with a shrug--"those days have departed. We have to
be content with sandwiches now."