keep this plate to ourselves, for I am prepared to eat a very good half,
and you must be hungry after your exertions. I can't tell how much I
have enjoyed this evening. It will stand out in my memory as unlike any
other I have ever spent. I shall often recall it when I am back in
town."
"When--when are you going back?" asked Esmeralda, with an anxiety which
she made no effort to conceal. "Not very soon, I hope. Jack goes to-
morrow, and that is quite enough at one time. Oh, I do hate the end of
the Christmas season! Everyone seems to go away. In a fortnight or so
Pixie will be off, and Mademoiselle with her. It has been so delightful
having a visitor in the house, and she has been so kind and useful. She
made most of the things on the table to-night,--all those pretty iced
cakes."
"Ah, yes! Very clever, I'm sure," said Hilliard absently. It was easy
to see that he had no attention to spare for Mademoiselle or her
confectionery, and presently he added in a lower tone, "There is no
immediate hurry for my return. I can just as well stay another three or
four days, but I must be back in town before this day week. I fear
there is no getting out of that."
"Glue?" queried Esmeralda saucily. They were sitting together at a
little table behind most of the other guests, and she lay back in her
chair looking up at him with a roguish smile. "Glue?"
"Glue principally. It is a very--er--engrossing occupation," returned
Hilliard, nobly resisting the inclination to pun; "but I think it could
manage without me for a few days longer, and perhaps we could have
another ride together. There is a meet somewhere near the day after to-
morrow. Shall you be there?"
Esmeralda hesitated, seized with a sudden mysterious disinclination to
say "No," a desperate longing to say "Yes," and yet--and yet,--how could
it decently be done?
"I--don't know! It's Bridgie's turn. We have only one horse between
us, and I have been the last three times. I don't like to ask her
again. It seems so mean."
"But if you did ask, she would let you go. She would not mind taking
her turn later on?"
"Oh no, or not at all, for the matter of that. There's nothing Bridgie
wouldn't give away if anyone else wanted it. She's an angel. It's just
because she's so sweet that I'm ashamed to be selfish."
"I can understand that, but--just for once! If you were to ask her very
nicely to change places with you this time, because--because--er--"--
Hilliard hesitated and pulled his moustache in embarrassment--"because
you--"
"Yes, that's just it. What can I say? Because what?" laughed Esmeralda
gaily, then suddenly met the gaze of a pair of deep blue eyes, twinkling
no longer, but fixed upon her in intent, earnest scrutiny, and flushed
in mysterious embarrassment.
"Because it was my last chance, and I had asked you especially to be
there. Because I had stayed on purpose to have another ride with you!
That's the true reason, so far as I am concerned. I am sure, if you
told Miss Bridgie the truth, she wouldn't have the heart to say No."
Esmeralda looked down at the table and crumbled bread thoughtfully. She
was by no means so sure. Bridgie was enough of a mother to take fright
at such an open declaration of interest. She would not be so rash as to
repeat the conversation _verbatim_, but go to that meet she would, let
Bridgie refuse ten times over, let every horse disappear from the
stable. Go she would, if she had to borrow the pedlar's pony and ride
barebacked all the way. Such was the mental decision; aloud she said
languidly--
"Don't know, I'm sure! Perhaps I may be too tired. I'll see when the
time comes," and stretched out her hand to beckon Pixie to her side.
Hilliard smiled quietly. He had an extraordinary way of seeing through
Esmeralda's pretences, and he welcomed Pixie as genially as if the
_tete-a-tete_ were of no consequence in his eyes.
"Well, little white New Year, are you coming to sit down beside us?
Have you had no supper yet? I am sure you must be hungry after all your
exertions. Let me wait upon you now, in return for all the pleasure you
have given me by your charming singing."
But no, Pixie refused to sit down or to eat any of the good things
pressed upon her. For once in her life jellies and creams, even
meringues themselves, failed to tempt her appetite, for she was feasting
on an even sweeter diet--that of unlimited flattery and praise. As she
strolled to and fro among the guests she was greeted on every side with
words of commendation for her singing, her charming impersonation of the
character assigned to her, and by the more facetious members of the
party implored to smile kindly upon them, to promise them her favour,
and to remember their especial desires. It was not likely that she was
going to sit down in a corner of the room with no one but her sister and
that stupid Mr Hilliard, who did nothing but stare at Esmeralda, as if
he had never seen a girl before. She shook her head as he pointed to a
chair, but lingered a moment to allow him to examine her costume and pay
the proper tribute of praise.
"It's charming--quite charming--so simple, and yet so effective. Those
few loose flowers are much better than a formal bouquet, and the
scroll--who made the scroll? It is most professional, and I see you
have a pencil hanging by the side,--white,--to match the rest." He
lifted it as he spoke, and made as though about to write, but at that
Pixie drew back in dismay.
"No, you mustn't! Be careful,--you must be careful. It won't rub out."
She walked hastily away, and the two who were left looked at each other,
half sad, half smiling, for the words went home with a meaning deeper
than any which the speaker had intended to convey.
"Be careful. It won't rub out," repeated Hilliard slowly. "That's a
good motto for the New Year. I don't know that one could have a better.
I shall remember that, and the scroll all white and unmarked. I wonder
what will be written there before the year is done?"
"A great deal, I hope--a great many happenings. I am tired of jogging
along in the same old way. I would like a sensational headline in big
print, and that as soon as possible!" cried Esmeralda recklessly.
Poor Esmeralda! The day was near at hand when she recalled her words,
and winced at the remembrance in sorrow and misery.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
THE LAST RUN.
"Me dear," said Bridgie to Mademoiselle, the next morning, showing all
her dimples at once in the most mischievous of smiles, "what do you
think Mr Hilliard said to me last night before he left? He has made
arrangements to stay a few days later to have another ride with the
hounds. He believed it would be a very good meet on Thursday, and how
wonderfully my sister did ride, to be sure. It's my belief he started
with the intention of asking me to let Esmeralda go in my place, but I
looked so innocent at him that he hadn't the heart. `Indeed,' I said,
`she did so, and I feared he would think I made but a poor show in
comparison.' Wasn't it cruel of me now, and the poor thing looking at
me speechless, with those lovely, humbugging eyes! I had to turn away
and laugh in a corner, but I wouldn't relent, for, says I to myself, if
I have to give up my run, I'll get some fun another way--and it is
amusing, isn't it now, when a man shows you so plainly that he doesn't
want you?"
"Indeed that is a form of humour I do not understand!" returned
Mademoiselle, with her nose in the air. "But you will give way, of
course--that goes without saying--and let Esmeralda go once again. You
will not stand out to the end!"
"How could I? Suppose it was myself, and--someone I told you about.
How should I feel if I had the chance of seeing him, and she would not
allow me? I believe they are really beginning to care for each other,
and he is a nice man. I should like him well enough."
"A week ago you were alarmed at the thought! I confess he makes on me a
pleasant impression, but surely you know very little about him, and it
is rather rash to accept him at once as a possible suitor. What do you
know beyond that he is handsome, and appears amiable and kind?"
"His uncle was one of the Hilliards of Nanabeg. My father knew him
well, and he was a fine, old-fashioned gentleman. That was what made
this Mr Geoffrey come here for the hunting. He had heard his uncle
speak of Bally William, and the Trelawneys take paying guests for the
hunting season, so he arranged to come to them. He is not very well
off, I'm afraid, for Joan tells me that he has to make his money out of
glue, poor creature! But he must be nice, if he is the old squire's
nephew."
Mademoiselle's eyes rolled upward with an eloquent glance. It was a new
article of faith that a nephew must needs be exemplary because his uncle
had been a popular country squire, but she held her peace and amused
herself by watching the play which went on between the two sisters
during the next twenty-four hours. Esmeralda was plainly anxious and
ill at ease, and made tentative allusions to the coming meet, which
Bridgie received with bland obtuseness. She had not the courage to make
her request in so many words, but instead brought forward a succession
of gloomy prophecies calculated to dampen expectation in the mind of any
but the most enthusiastic rider.
"It will be a heavy run to-morrow," she said, shaking her head dismally
as she glanced out of the window on the quickly melting snow. "I
wouldn't wonder if it poured with rain! It's a fine draggled set the
women will look before they get home."
"I prefer the ground soft, and as for sunshine, it's a thing I detest,--
dazzling your eyes, and the poor mare's into the bargain. Dull weather
and a cloudy sky is what I hope to see, and for once it looks as if I
should get my wish."
"Well, it's good weather you need, to get safely over that country. Mr
O'Brien was saying only last season that it was the worst we had. There
are some nasty bits of water this side of Roskillie, and they will be
swollen with all this snow. Now next week over at Aughrin it really
will be pleasant and comfortable."
"I'm so glad, darling! I hope you will enjoy it!" Bridgie put her head
on one side, with a smile of angelic sweetness. Then, as Esmeralda
flounced from the room in disgust, turned back to Mademoiselle,
laughingly penitent.
"Isn't it wicked of me now, but I do enjoy it! She must care very much
to be so shy about asking, for in an ordinary way she would have blurted
it out long ago. Well, I shall just wait until to-morrow, and then I'll
say I am--" she paused to laugh over the word--"indisposed!"
There is many a true word spoken in jest, and Bridgie was reminded of
the proverb when the next morning arrived, and her inclination for
hunting or any other amusement died a sudden death through an incident
which happened at the breakfast-table. The Major was the only one of
the party who received a letter, and when he had perused it he gave an
exclamation of dismay, and leant back in his chair with an expression of
bewilderment. "It can't be! It isn't possible!" he muttered to
himself, and when Bridgie inquired the reason of his distress, he threw
the letter across the table with an impatient movement.
"That wretched bank! They say I have overdrawn. It's impossible,--
there was a decent balance only a few months back! They have made some
mistake. I am positive it is a mistake."
He left the room as he spoke, for breakfast had come to an end at last,
after the usual long-drawn-out proceedings, and he had waited until he
had finished his meal before opening the uninteresting looking envelope,
and only Bridgie was left, sitting patiently behind the urn, with
Mademoiselle to keep her company. She also rose as if to go, feeling
that she might be _de trop_ under the circumstances, but Bridgie raised
a pale face, and said flatly--
"Don't run away, Therese, I'd rather you stayed! I knew it must come
some day. It's only a little sooner than I expected."
"But, _ma cherie_--don't look like that, Bridgie dear! Your father says
there is a mistake. He seemed surprised like yourself. If, as he says,
the bank is mistaken--"
But at this Bridgie shook her head with doleful conviction.
"The bank is never wrong! Oh, I've been through this before, and every
time father declares it's a mistake, but it never is! I've been
disappointed so often that I can't hope any more. Poor dear father
seems to have no idea how quickly money goes, and he is so extravagant
with his horses. He bought a new hunter this autumn, and made
alterations in the stables. I have tried to be careful, but, as I said
before, it is so little I can do! Well, this is the last stage but one.
There are a few more shares that can be sold to keep us going for a
little longer, and then out we go. Poor father, he won't be able to
carry out his programme at this rate. Esmeralda's duke has not come
forward, and neither has my millionaire. When we leave the Castle we
shall have to squeeze into a cottage, and live on potatoes and
buttermilk. I am glad I am not going to the meet. I should have been
wretched all the time, but Joan need not know until she comes back."
Bridgie's pale cheeks seemed sufficient explanation of her determination
to stay at home, and Esmeralda was sweetly sympathetic and concerned,
but quite decided that exertion must at all costs be avoided.
"Me dear, you must not think of going! It would be madness. I'll keep
father company, so don't you worry a bit, but just lie down and take it
easy the whole day long," she cried gushingly; and Bridgie smiled,
despite her heartache, and felt comforted by the reflection that two
people would owe their happiness to her absence.
The Major looked very handsome in his "pink" coat, but his brow was
clouded, and he sighed profoundly as he came into the dining-room to
light his cigar, and saw his eldest daughter standing disconsolately by
the window.
"So you are not coming after all, Bride? Letting Joan take your place?
Well, everyone to his taste. I feel as if it would do me good to have a
hard run and let off steam that way. I'll show them some riding to-day,
if they have never seen it before. There won't be much that will stand
in my way, but you prefer to stay at home and eat your heart out in
quiet. Your mother was the same; she couldn't throw it off. It's a
pity for your own sake you don't take after me instead." Then suddenly,
as he looked at her, his face altered, and he put his arms round her
with a rare tenderness. "Poor little woman! Poor little anxious
Martha, this is rough on you! I've brought about this ill day by my
thoughtlessness. If I'd been as careful as you, we might have lasted
out until the children were grown up, but I was like Micawber--always
expecting something to `turn up.' You must try to forgive me, Bride.
You must not be hard on your old father!"
Ah, and it was a lovely sight to see Bridget O'Shaughnessy's face at
that moment--the sweetness of it, and the pity and tenderness, and the
deep, unselfish love! Her father was touched by the sight, and lingered
by her side, stroking her soft hair and murmuring fond, regretful words.
"I haven't treated you well. That minx Joan has twisted me round her
finger, and you have suffered for it. You have had a hard time these
last two years. Never mind, we'll make a fresh start. I'll turn over a
new leaf from this day, and you shall take me in hand. Who knows but we
may pull through yet?"
He went off waving his hand in adieu, and Bridgie stood watching the two
riders until they disappeared from sight, and repeating his loving words
with fond appreciation. Hard time! Who had had a hard time? She was a
fortunate girl to have had so much love and kindness, to possess such a
dear, gallant, handsome father. What if they had to leave the Castle?
Happiness did not depend upon the walls by which they were surrounded.
So long as they were all together, they might laugh at poverty!
Meanwhile Esmeralda and her father were gently trotting along towards
the park at Roskillie, from whence, in hunting parlance, they were to
proceed to "draw Long Gorse," and on their way were enjoying the
picturesque surroundings of a meet in the country. Along every high
road, footpath, and byroad came horses and riders of various sorts and
sizes, walking or jogging along towards the central point. Schoolboys
were coming on ponies to see the start, farmers on clever nags; neatly
dressed grooms riding, or leading horses conspicuous for shape and
beauty. Down the cross-road approached the hounds themselves, headed by
their whipper-in and surrounding the picturesque figure of the huntsman.
They took up their position in the park, and presently from every point
of the compass the scarlet coats came trotting forward, followed by a
string of drags, dogcarts, and gigs. The Major and his daughter came in
for greetings on every side, for they were among old friends, and the
girl's beauty and daring had made her popular with all. There were
other ladies present, but they looked colourless and insignificant
beside the glowing young Amazon, and she was quite conscious of the
fact, and of the becoming correctness of the new habit. While yet
twenty yards distant her quick eye had distinguished Geoffrey Hilliard,
but she affected not to see him until he rode up to her side, his face
aglow with pleasure.
"You managed it, then? You managed to get here?"
"My sister is not feeling very well. She begged to be excused," replied
Esmeralda demurely, and Hilliard laughed and muttered something about
"blessed Saint Bridget," which on the whole she thought it wiser not to
hear. When the signal was given to move on, he kept beside her as the
horsemen proceeded to cross several grassy fields; and, contrary to his
usual custom, her father lagged behind, as though relieved to leave her
to the care of another. Esmeralda turned lightly in her saddle, saw him
riding at the farther end of the long line, and looked wonderingly at
her companion.
"Something's wrong with the Major. He was so glum all the way here, and
look at him now with his head hanging forward! It's not like him to be
down-hearted at a meet."
"Perhaps he is tired. He'll waken up presently when we get to business.
It would only worry him if we took any notice."
"That's true. Perhaps the mare fidgets him. It's the one he bought a
short time since, and she has an awkward temper. Sometimes she is a
paragon and does everything that she ought, but at others she is fidgety
and uncertain. Father thinks she has been badly ridden at the start,
but that she is good enough to take trouble with still."
"She looks a beauty, and she has not had any time to annoy him to-day.
I think it can hardly be that. Did not your brother return to town
yesterday? I stayed away on purpose, because I feared that on his last
day you would not care to be disturbed; but isn't it very likely that
Major O'Shaughnessy is depressed at being without him?"
Esmeralda looked up with a brightening glance. "Why, of course, I never
thought of that! Father hates saying good-bye to Jack, hates him being
in town at all, for he is the first O'Shaughnessy who has ever gone into
business. There was a great scene when Jack was twenty, because he
insisted on doing something for himself. `Have you no pride?' cries my
father. `Faith I have!' cries Jack. `Too much of it to spend all my
life starving in a ruin.' `You will be the first of your race to soil
your hands with trade.' `Honest work,' says Jack, `will soil no man's
hands, and please God, I'll touch nothing that isn't honest.' `You'll
be falling into English ways and selling the old place as not fit for
you to live in. I know the ways of your purse-proud English.' Then
Jack went white all over his face, and he says, `It's never a stone of
Knock I'd sell if I could keep it with my own heart's blood, but it's
time it had a master who could spend money on it instead of seeing it
fall to pieces before his eyes.' Then it was the Major's turn to go
white, and mother said softly, `Jack dear--Jack!' You never knew my
mother. Bridgie is like her, she always made peace--and after that
father made no more objections. I think, in a curious sort of way, he
was proud of Jack because he would have his will, and he is doing well.
He will retrieve our fortunes some fine day. There! there go the
hounds! They are over into the covert, and see! see! there's that old
shepherd holding up his hat. The fox is off! Now for it!"
Now for it indeed! From that time forth there was little chance of
connected conversation, but all his life long Geoffrey Hilliard looked
back upon that morning with the fond, yearning tenderness with which we
recall the sunshine which precedes a storm. It was so delightful to be
mounted upon a fine horse galloping lightly across country with that
beautiful figure by his side, the dark eyes meeting his with a flash of
understanding at every fresh incident of the run. As time wore on and
the ground became more difficult, the other ladies dropped behind one by
one, but Esmeralda never wearied, never flinched before any obstacle.
It was the prettiest thing in the world to see her trot slowly but
straightly towards gate or fence, loosen the reins, and soar like a bird
over the apparently formidable obstacle, and Hilliard privately admitted
that it took him all his time to keep level with her. The Major still
rode apart, and seemed to take pleasure in choosing the most difficult
jumps that came in his way; but his mare behaved well, and no one felt
any anxiety about the safety of one of the cleverest riders present.
Danger was close at hand, however, in one of those nasty "bits of water"
of which Esmeralda had spoken to her sister. The hounds doubled
suddenly, and the huntsmen, wheeling their horses to follow, saw before
them at a distance of some quarter of a mile a line of those well-known
willows which to the practised eye so plainly bespeak the presence of a
brook. Esmeralda pointed towards them and spoke a few warning words.
"A bad bit, swollen, I expect, after the snow. A fence this side.
There's the Master taking a view. He will tell us if it's safe, if not,
we must try the meadow. Ride over here towards him."
She swerved to the side as she spoke, and a moment later was within
short enough distance to hear the warning cry. The Master pointed with
his whip in the direction of the meadow, of which Esmeralda had spoken,
and the next moment the whole hunt was galloping after him. The whole
hunt, we have said, but there was one exception, for one rider refused
to take warning or to turn aside from the direct line across country.
The sudden change of course had left him in the rear, and so it happened
that his absence was not noted by his companions, and it was only when
several moments had passed that Esmeralda, looking from side to side,
began to draw her delicate brows into a frown as she asked Hilliard--
"Where's father? I can't see him. He is not here."
"I don't see him either, but he was with us five minutes ago before we
turned back. I saw him in the last field."
"So did I, but where is he now? He can't--" Esmeralda reined in
suddenly and turned startled eyes upon her companion--"he can't have
tried that brook?"
"No, no! Certainly not." But even as he spoke Hilliard had a prevision
of the truth. Although he would not admit as much as Esmeralda, there
had been something in the Major's bearing which had struck him
unpleasantly since the moment of meeting, and his reckless riding had
deepened the impression. "You go on," he said earnestly, "and I will
ride back and see. Perhaps he took a look at the brook and then had to
come round after all, which would make him late. Please go on, Miss
Joan."
But Esmeralda looked him full in the eyes and turned her horse back
towards the brook.
"I am going back myself. If there has been an accident, it is I who
should be there. Don't hinder me, Mr Hilliard. I must go to my
father."
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
TROUBLE AT KNOCK.
The Major was lying on the bank of the stream, white and motionless,
while Black Bess was pawing the air in agony a few yards away.
Esmeralda slipped from her saddle and ran to his side, and he opened his
eyes and smiled at her feebly.
"Joan, my girl! That's right. My--own--fault! I had no business to
try it, but I was--mad, I think. That poor beast!" and he turned away
his head, unable to look upon the animal's struggles. "I can't move.
Get a cart--O'Brien's farm."
"I'll go! I can see the chimneys. I'll bring help at once. I'll bring
back men with me, and we'll lift him with less pain."