Peg Intervenes
Peg listened until she heard the faint sounds in the distance of the
automobile being started--then silence.
She crept softly upstairs. Just as she reached the top Ethel appeared
from behind the curtains on her way down to the room. She was fully
dressed and carried a small travelling bag.
Peg looked at her in amazement.
"Ethel!" she said in a hoarse whisper.
"You!" cried Ethel, under her breath and glaring at Peg furiously.
"Please don't tell anyone ye've seen me!" begged Peg.
"Go down into the room!" Ethel ordered.
Peg went down the stairs into the dark room, lit only by the stream of
moonlight coming in through the windows at the back. Ethel followed her:
"What are you doing here?"
"I've been to the dance. Oh, ye won't tell me aunt, will ye? She'd send
me away an' I don't want to go now, indade I don't."
"To the dance?" repeated Ethel, incredulously. Try as she would she
could not rid herself of the feeling that Peg was there to watch her.
"To the DANCE?" she asked again.
"Yes. Mr. Jerry took me."
"JERRY took you?"
"Yer mother wouldn't let me go. So Jerry came back for me when ye were
all in bed and he took me himself. And I enjoyed it so much. An' I
don't want yer mother to know about it. Ye won't tell her, will ye?"
"I shall most certainly see that my mother knows of it."
"Ye will?" cried poor, broken-hearted Peg.
"I shall. You had no right to go."
"Why are ye so hard on me, Ethel?"
"Because I detest you."
"I'm sorry," said Peg simply. "Ye've spoiled all me pleasure now. Good
night, Ethel."
Sore at heart and thoroughly unhappy, poor Peg turned away from Ethel
and began to climb the stairs. When she was about half-way up a thought
flashed across her. She came back quickly into the room and went
straight across to Ethel.
"And what are YOU doin' here--at this time o' night? An' dressed like
THAT? An' with that BAG? What does it mane? Where are ye goin'?"
"Go to your room!" said Ethel, livid with anger, and trying to keep her
voice down and to hush Peg in case her family were awakened.
"Do you mean to say you were going with--"
Ethel covered Peg's mouth with her hand.
"Keep down your voice, you little fool!"
Peg freed herself. HER temper was up, too. The thought of WHY Ethel was
there was uppermost in her mind as she cried:
"HE was here a minnit ago an' Mr. Jerry took him away."
"HE?" said Ethel, frightenedly. "Mr. BRENT," answered Peg.
Ethel went quickly to the windows. Peg sprang in front of her and
caught her by the wrists. "Were ye goin' away with him? Were ye?"
"Take your hands off me."
"Were ye goin' away with him? Answer me?" insisted Peg.
"Yes," replied Ethel vehemently. "And I AM."
"No ye're not," said the indomitable Peg holding her firmly by the
wrist.
"Let me go!" whispered Ethel, struggling to release herself.
"Ye're not goin' out o' this house to-night if I have to wake everyone
in it."
"Wake them!" cried Ethel. "Wake them. They couldn't stop me. Nothing
can stop me now. I'm sick of this living on CHARITY; sick of meeting
YOU day by day, an implied insult in your every look and word, as much
as to say: 'I'M giving you your daily bread; I'M keeping the roof over
you!' I'm sick of it. And I end it to-night. Let me go or I'll--I'll--"
and she tried in vain to release herself from Peg's grip.
Peg held her resolutely:
"What d'ye mane by INSULT? An' yer DAILY BREAD? An' kapin' the roof
over ye? What are ye ravin' about at all?"
"I'm at the end--to-night. I'm going!" and she struggled with Peg up to
the windows. But Peg did not loose her hold. It was firmer than before.
"You're not goin' away with him, I tell ye. Ye're NOT. What d'ye
suppose ye'd be goin' to? I'll tell ye. A wakin' an' sleepin'
HELL--that's what it would be."
"I'm going," said the distracted girl.
"Ye'd take him from his wife an' her baby?"
"He hates THEM! and I hate THIS! I tell you I'm going--"
"So ye'd break yer mother's heart an' his wife's just to satisfy yer
own selfish pleasure? Well I'm glad _I_ sinned to-night in doin' what I
wanted to do since it's given me the chance to save YOU from doin' the
most shameful thing a woman ever did!"
"Will you--" and Ethel again struggled to get free.
"YOU'LL stay here and HE'LL go back to his home if I have to tell
everyone and disgrace yez both."
Ethel cowered down frightenedly.
"No! No! You must not do that! You must not do that!" she cried,
terror-stricken.
"Ye just told me yer own mother couldn't stop ye?" said Peg.
"My mother mustn't know. She mustn't know. Let me go. He is
waiting--and it is past the time--"
"Let him wait!" replied Peg firmly. "He gave his name an' life to a
woman an' it's yer duty to protect her an' the child she brought him."
"I'd kill myself first!" answered Ethel through her clenched teeth.
"No, ye won't. Ye won't kill yerself at all. Ye might have if ye'd gone
with him. Why that's the kind of man that tires of ye in an hour and
laves ye to sorrow alone. Doesn't he want to lave the woman now that he
swore to cherish at the altar of God? What do ye suppose he'd do to one
he took no oath with at all? Now have some sense about it. I know him
and his kind very well. Especially HIM. An' sure it's no compliment
he's payin' ye ayther. Faith, he'd ha' made love to ME if I'd LET him."
"What? To YOU?" cried Ethel in astonishment.
"Yes, to ME. Here in this room to-day. If ye hadn't come in when ye
did, I'd ha' taught him a lesson he'd ha' carried to his grave, so I
would!"
"He tried to make love to you?" repeated Ethel incredulously, though a
chill came at her heart as she half realised the truth of Peg's
accusation.
"Ever since I've been in this house," replied Peg. "An' to-day he comes
toward me with his arms stretched out. 'Kiss an' be friends!' sez
he--an' in YOU walked."
"Is that true?" asked Ethel.
"On me poor mother's memory it is, Ethel!" replied Peg.
Ethel sank down into a chair and covered her eyes.
"The wretch!" she wailed, "the wretch!"
"That's what he is," said Peg. "An' ye'd give yer life into his kapin'
to blacken so that no dacent man or woman would ever look at ye or
spake to ye again."
"No! That is over! That is over!"
All the self-abasement of consenting to, or even considering going
with, such a creature as Brent now came uppermost. She was disgusted
through and through to her soul. Suddenly she broke down and tears for
the first time within her remembrance came to her. She sobbed and
sobbed as she had not done since she was a child.
"I hate myself," she cried between her sobs. "Oh, how I hate myself"
Peg was all pity in a moment. She took the little travelling bag away
from Ethel and put it on the table. Then with her own hands she
staunched Ethel's tears and tried to quiet her.
"Ethel acushla! Don't do that! Darlin'! Don't! He's not worth it. Kape
yer life an' yer heart clane until the one man in all the wurrld comes
to ye with HIS heart pure too, and then ye'll know what rale happiness
means."
She knelt down beside the sobbing girl and took Ethel in her arms, and
tried to comfort her.
"Sure, then, cry dear, and wash away all the sins of this night. It's
the salt of yer tears that'll cleanse yer heart an' fall like Holy
Wather on yer sowl. Ssh! There! There! That's enough now. Stop now an'
go back to yer room, an' slape until mornin', an' with the sunlight the
last thought of all this will go from ye. Ssh! There now! Don't! An'
not a wurrd o' what's happened here to-night will cross my lips."
She helped her cousin up and supported her. Ethel was on the point of
fainting, and her body was trembling with the convulsive force of her
half-suppressed sobs.
"Come to MY room," said Peg in a whisper, as she helped Ethel over to
the stairs. "I'll watch by yer side till mornin'. Lane on me. That's
right. Put yer weight on me."
She picked up the travelling-bag and together the two girls began to
ascend the stairs.
Ethel gave a low choking moan.
"Don't, dear, ye'll wake up the house," cried Peg anxiously. "We've
only a little way to go. Aisy now. Not a sound! Ssh, dear! Not a morsel
o' noise."
Just as the two girls reached the landing, Peg in her anxiety stepped
short, missed the top step, lost her footing and fell the entire length
of the staircase into the room, smashing a tall china flower-vase that
was reposing on the post at the foot of the stairs.
The two girls were too stunned for a moment to move.
The worst thing that could possibly have happened was just what DID
happen.
There would be all kinds of questions and explanations. Peg instantly
made up her mind that they were not going to know why Ethel was there.
Ethel must be saved and at any cost.
She sprang to her feet. "Holy Mother!" she cried, "the whole house'll
be awake! Give me yer hat! Quick! An' yer cloak! An' yer bag!" Peg
began quickly to put on Ethel's hat and cloak. Her own she flung out of
sight beneath the great oak table.
"Now remember," she dictated, "ye came here because ye heard me. Ye
weren't goin' out o' the house at all. Ye just heard me movin' about in
here. Stick to that."
The sound of voices in the distance broke in on them.
"They're comin'," said Peg, anxiously. "Remember ye're here because ye
heard ME. An' ye were talkin--an'--I'll do the rest. Though what in the
wurrld I am GOIN' to say and do I don't know at all. Only YOU were not
goin' out o' this house! That's one thing we've got to stick to. Give
me the bag."
Wearing Ethel's hat and cloak and with Ethel's travelling-bag in her
hand, staunch little Peg turned to meet the disturbed family, with no
thought of herself, what the one abiding resolution to, at any and at
all costs, save her cousin Ethel from disgrace.