DOWN THE IRISH COAST.
When Roderic Owen saw the look of deep concern on his cousin's face
give way to a radiant expression as he entered the door of the hotel,
his heart reproached him.
Here he had been actually reveling in the realms of bliss for the last
three hours or more, while Cleo, judging from her appearance, had been
"plunged in a gulf of dark despair," or at least considerably worried
over the fact of his singular disappearance.
It was really too bad.
Her faithful heart had yearned after him, just as a loving sister's
might for the absent one--the two girls were so entirely unlike in
looks and temperament that it never occurred to him to compare Cleo's
affection with that of Georgia--and yet it was of the kind that lasts
through life.
Feeling that somehow he had caused Cleo considerable anxiety, and being
conscience stricken on account of his own present happiness, Roderic
advanced hastily to ascend the broad stairs and meet her on the landing
above.
"You were worried about me, dear cousin?"
"Naturally so--all day you have been away--and to-morrow we
sail--unless something important has happened, to alter your plans,"
she replied, her face flushing at the eager manner in which he caught
her hand.
"Something important _has_ happened, but it will not delay our leaving
Dublin to-morrow," he replied, mentally deciding that the time had come
for him to confide his secret to this tender heart.
If it brought pain, God forgive him, since he was unwittingly the
cause, but sooner or later Cleo must learn the truth, and the occasion
seemed to demand that he speak now.
They were alone, but it was very public--perhaps a quiet nook in one of
the small parlors would suit better for a confessional.
"Come with me, dear cousin--I have much to tell you--much that concerns
my past and promises to control my future," he said, earnestly.
"Ah," thought Cleo, as she followed his eager steps, "it is coming--he
has seen her again, this Georgia whom he knew and loved in San Juan. I
must crush down my own feelings in the matter and appear just what he
believes me--an affectionate comrade, a loving sister."
That was a heroine for you--it is not given of all women to be Joan of
Arcs, but occasion may arise in any life calling for as much determined
spirit and heroism as the noble Maid of Orleans ever boasted.
The bijou parlor was entirely deserted, though still lighted, and over
in a cozy corner where a pile of cushions invited Oriental comfort they
settled down for a little private talk.
Some men would have opened up in an evasive manner and told as little
as necessity demanded.
Not so Roderic Owen.
When a task was set before him, no matter how unpleasant or
embarrassing, his method was to plunge squarely into it, neither
sparing himself nor seeking glory from the recital.
So he told how he had met the lovely belle of the Porto Rico
capital--the strange and romantic manner in which Providence seemed
to delight in throwing them together, and how he was enabled to save
her great inconvenience, if not her life--of the mutual attachment
that naturally sprang up between them that rapidly ripened into a
passion--of their engagement and the glorious weeks succeeding, when
they lived in Paradise.
Then came the serpent in Eden--coquetry on the girl's part, rank
jealousy on his, without just cause it had proved.
After that, hot words, violent separation--the old, old story of
wounded hearts, so many times repeated in the history of the world--of
two souls intended for each other, wandering about the earth estranged,
because of hasty temper.
To all of this Cleo listened with deepest sympathy marked upon her face.
What pain her heart experienced would never be known to the world, for
she crushed this down with a resolute hand.
Woman was created to withstand most of the suffering in this
world--Providence endowed her with a larger capacity for such endurance
than man; just as the lord of creation was given the spirit of the
chase, of battle, and as the bread-winner in life's strife.
Finally Roderic brought the story to Dublin and told how Georgia
disguised as a Sister of the Holy Grail, warned him, though so well had
she concealed her identity that he had not guessed it until after she
had gone.
This brought him down to the time he was passing on the Rathmine car,
and had a glimpse of the girl he loved in the window of the quaint East
India bungalow.
He was a good story teller, and the subject one in which his whole
heart was engaged, so that he quickly held the girl spell-bound as he
described how the reconciliation was brought about.
When he finally told how Georgia allowed him to take her in his arms,
Cleo smiled to hide the aching heart she carried, and which she feared
might betray its pain upon her face.
Of course she thought that was the end.
"You love her with a deathless devotion, cousin--she has become a _sine
qua non_ to your existence?" she remarked, to hide her little tremor,
her pallor and any confusion that might appear.
"She is the life of my life--I had gone to the point of being an old
bachelor, cousin, without ever falling in love--indeed, I had begun to
doubt seriously whether my nature was capable of any passion, for my
devotion to your cousinly self had been the only affection I had ever
known--when she crossed my path like a brilliant meteor and from that
day to this I have not known the old peace. Yes, I love her with heart
and soul--as you say it truly seems as though this dark-eyed girl had
become an indispensable condition to my existence. I tell you this
knowing how much you care for my happiness--how you sympathize with my
griefs and rejoice when prosperity finds me."
Perhaps it was cruel to say this, but remember that Owen found it
almost impossible to believe Cleo entertained a passion for him beyond
that calm, cousinly affection.
Besides, it was a part of his religion that heroic treatment was always
best.
If he had an unpleasant duty to perform the sooner it was done the
better for his peace of mind.
"You say this happened at about dusk?" she asked.
"Yes, I was hurrying to the hotel to dress so that I might eat dinner
with you."
"Possibly at seven," with an arch glance in the direction of a little
ormolu clock upon the mantel, that was merrily ticking away the minutes.
Roderic laughed in some confusion.
"Pray, do not imagine I forgot the lapse of time, since it is now after
eleven. Truth to tell I have been a prisoner all this time--not a
captive held by Love's silken strands as you suspect."
"A prisoner--oh! Roderic, then that reconciliation was not the end?"
she exclaimed, remembering that his appearance was hardly that of a
gentleman who exhibited as a usual thing some fastidiousness in his
dress.
"Rather it was but the beginning, for at that very moment the gruff old
general, her uncle, rushed like a whirlwind into the house, bellowing
for a chance to annihilate the Yankee spy whom one of his bold
colleagues had seen enter."
"That was exciting enough--I am quite anxious to see that odd old
soldier of whom you have spoken so much. But go on--he recognized you?"
"Not at all--the dim light and his passion blinded eyes prevented that.
At once he demanded that I take my choice of the various swords on the
wall and give him an opportunity to wipe out the insult my presence put
upon his dwelling."
"What a ferocious old firebrand he must be. And did she not
explain--you said she had usually such power over this uncle?"
"He would not let her say anything, but, wild with anger brushed
Georgia aside and swore as only a furious Spaniard could, that unless
I at once accepted his benevolent offer of a fair chance to defend
myself, he would lay the flat of his sword on me, and use his boot in
ejecting me from the premises."
"The old brute--and of course after that, Cousin Roderic, you had to
fight?"
"There was no other way of escaping the dilemma. So I snatched a sword
from the wall and met his attack. Well, we had quite a lively passage
at arms for some minutes. As I had fenced with the old governor often
before I knew he was behind the times. Georgia had fled from the room
to hunt a lamp. Just as she returned fortune allowed me to disarm the
general."
"Ah! yes, it is always fortune and good luck when you manage to
succeed, cousin mine," she exclaimed with some heat, "but I know what
skill you possess with a sword--I have my own opinion on that score.
But go on--Georgia returned with a light at this most interesting
juncture?"
"And the general recognized me--he was almost paralyzed, and was ready
to forgive my miserable treatment of his niece when he learned that she
had done so. Unfortunately his friends rushed in at this juncture, and
taking me unawares made me a prisoner."
"Not before one or more had suffered at your hands, I warrant," she
asserted, stoutly, for since Roderic would not sound his own trumpet it
was necessary that some one else blow it for him.
Ah! the man who has such a faithful heart looking after his interests
is blest indeed.
"Well, I must confess I did not inflict much punishment upon them
because they hung on like so many leeches, quite overpowering me.
Besides, I knew they would hardly dare do me any bodily harm."
Then he told what followed, and how they put him in the cellar to clip
his wings, as they said.
Finally came the last scene in the drama where the door opened and he
had Georgia in his arms again.
Roderic made little of this, for the conviction was now forcing itself
upon even his dull masculine mind that such tender scenes might not be
in the best taste possible, considering the circumstances.
"And thus you see me on deck once more, a little the worse for wear
perhaps, but ready to sail with you to-morrow, if you say the word," he
ended.
"You are happy, Roderic?"
"Yes, God has been very, very good to me. I don't deserve it, cousin."
"You look forward to meeting Georgia in the island beyond the sea?"
"She has already started there, and it would be strange if we did not
meet, either before or after San Juan falls into American hands."
"Is she--_very_ beautiful, Roderic?"
"You shall say for yourself when you see her, for it is my fondest hope
that you may be the dearest of friends. You will promise me that, Cleo?"
Again she resolutely thrust self aside.
"Whom you love must be a sister to me, cousin. Yes, I give you such a
promise willingly."
The rebellion in her heart was kept down with a firm hand--what was
human might struggle and cry out, but it could not overcome the divine
element that came from Calvary--the desire to sacrifice self for the
good of one beloved.
Then they fell to talking of the contemplated ocean voyage and what
pleasures it promised to souls that delighted in travel, and for which
the ever changing boundless deep had charms that were invisible to the
eye of the ordinary tourist.
Finally Roderic realized the lateness of the hour, and declared
he ought to be ashamed to keep his cousin from her beauty sleep,
especially as it was all on account of his own personal business.
Possibly Roderic slept but little that night.
He had much upon his mind.
And yet he was far happier than the girl from Virginia, since there was
a bright future to which he could look forward.
With her that future was a blank.
Many there are fated in this world to love without hope of a reciprocal
affection, but few can bear their cross with the gentle happy spirit
shown by Cleo.
When they met again at an early breakfast, while old Dublin was waking
up, no one would suspect from her smiling face and dancing blue eyes
that Cleo had ever known a serious sorrow, or that a canker lodged
close to her gentle heart.
She took the deepest interest in all the contemplated movements of her
cousin, and entered into the enthusiasm of his plans as though she had
a reason to share in his future happiness.
Matters had been so carefully adjusted on the preceding day that little
remained to be done save have their portable luggage taken down to the
landing stage, and go through with a few forms necessary ere the steam
yacht could depart.
Though Roderic was not sorry to leave Dublin, under the circumstances,
he must always cherish a pleasant recollection for the bright Irish
capital.
It was here the incubus that had pressed upon his shoulders for well
nigh two years had been cast aside, and the sun of hope burst from
behind the clouds of despair.
Yes, the name of Dublin would ever be associated with pleasant
memories, for the little encounter with Don Porfidio was but a romance;
while his capture and imprisonment by the Spanish clique had only been
the means of bringing his beloved sweetheart again to his arms, and he
could not harbor ill feelings against any cause that had brought about
such an effect.
By ten o'clock they were on board the yacht.
Roderic could not help casting many eager glances around at the various
vessels lying at anchor in Kingstown harbor.
He was thinking of the Sterling Castle.
Already he had made inquiries concerning the steamer, and knew her
build.
There were several marked peculiarities about her style, the painting
of her funnel and other things that would stamp her individuality,
so that he was able to declare after searching the harbor, that the
impudent little blockade runner was not present.
Then she had about twelve hours the start and was doubtless far down
the Irish coast.
The anchor was weighed with the usual cheery English chorus, and as
the steam yacht headed into Dublin bay, Roderic, looking back to the
beautiful city thus left behind, could not but be impressed.
It was a glorious summer day and the sight an inspiring one, for
Kingstown harbor at this season of the year is usually thronged with
pleasure craft as well as those of business.
Going out they passed the Holyhead steamer just entering.
Roderic could not but reflect with deep satisfaction what a great
change had taken place in his own life since he trod the hurricane deck
of that same steamer a short time before.
Truly events follow each other in rapid succession in some lives.
Providence seemed to be in an especially favoring mood with regard to
his fortunes just at present.
If it would only continue.
He knew not what the future held--perhaps, could he have lifted the
veil and obtained a glimpse of what adventures and perils lay in his
path, the prospect might have appalled even his stout heart.
How mercifully the future is screened from our inquisitive eyes--could
we but _know_, how idle would our struggles seem, and despair must
often cause us to cease the hopeless contest.
It is this element of uncertainty that keeps hope alive in our hearts,
and many times wrings victory from seeming defeat.
As they passed down the far famed Irish sea the tops of the green hills
could always be seen above the haze that sometimes hid their base and
the fishing villages nestling there from view.
Roderic spent much time in leaning over the rail and watching this
everchanging panorama, while smoking his pipe--for Cleo had made it
distinctly understood that she was very fond of tobacco smoke in the
open air, and that he was at liberty to indulge when and where he
chose; a privilege that caused Miss Becky to lift her eyes in horror,
for she had a special aversion to this self same odor.
However, she never found Roderic other than a gentleman, and he would
always move his seat in order that the fragrant smoke might not blow
across her sacred person, so that in this way he made a firm friend of
the old maid.
When nightfall came they took their last look at old Ireland's green
hills, for unless all calculations failed they would be out on the
broad Atlantic by daylight, headed for the West Indies.
Roderic had by this time thrown off the reserve that weighed down his
spirits at first and become his own sociable self, ready to enter into
any game that promised relaxation and sport.
The shore line faded as the glow left the western sky, and presently
only lights upon the hills told how near they were to the Irish coast.
Thus the voyage was begun, that would bring much of success or grief
to his fortunes--before him like a will-o'-the-wisp flitted the
blockade runner, having on board the beautiful maid of San Juan--and
the game was transferred from the Old to the New World.