XXVII

'Ah, _ce cher Milord, comme il est beau, comme il est parfait!_'

exclaimed Mrs. Barton, as she led him to his chair and poured out his

glass of sherry.

But there was a gloom on his face which laughter and compliments failed

for a moment to dissipate--at last he said:

'Ah, Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Barton! if I hadn't this little retreat to take

refuge in, to hide myself in, during some hours of the day, I should not

be able to bear up--Brookfield has prolonged my life for--'

'I cannot allow such sad thoughts as these,' said Mrs. Barton laughing,

and waving her white hands. 'Who has been teasing _notre cher_ Milord?

What have dreadful Lady Jane and terrible Lady Sarah been doing to him?'

'I shall never forget this morning, no, not if I lived to a thousand,'

the old gentleman murmured plaintively. 'Oh, the scenes--the scenes I

have been through! Cecilia, as I told you yesterday, has been filling

the house with rosaries and holywater-fonts; Jane and Sarah have been

breaking these, and the result has been tears and upbraidings. Last

night at dinner I don't really know what they didn't say to each other;

and then the two elder ones fell upon me and declared that it was all my

fault, that I ought never to have sent my daughter to a Catholic

convent. I was obliged to shut myself up in the study and lock the door.

Then this morning, when I thought it was all over, it began again worse

than ever; and then in the middle of it all, when Jane asked Cecilia how

many Gods there were in the roll of bread she was eating if the priest

were to bless it--if a Papist wasn't one who couldn't worship God till

somebody had turned Him into a biscuit--a most injudicious observation,

I said so at the time, and I must apologize to you, my dear Mrs. Barton,

for repeating it, but I am really so upset that I scarcely know what I

am saying. Well, Jane had no sooner spoken than Cecilia overthrew the

teacups and said she wasn't going to stay in the house to hear her

religion insulted, and without another word she walked down to the

parish priest and was baptized a Catholic; nor is that all. She returned

with a scapular round her neck, a rosary about her waist, and a Pope's

medal in her hand. I really thought Jane and Sarah would have fainted;

indeed I am sure they would have fainted if Cecilia hadn't declared that

she was going to pack up her things and return at once to St. Leonards

and become a nun. Such an announcement as this was, of course, far

beyond fainting, and . . . but no, I will not attempt to describe it, but

I can assure you I was very anxious to get out of the house.'

'Cecilia going to be a nun; oh, I am so glad!' exclaimed Olive. 'It is

far the best thing she could do, for she couldn't hope to be married.'

'Olive, Olive!' said Mrs. Barton, 'you shouldn't speak so openly. We

should always consider the religious prejudices of others. Of course, as

Catholics we must be glad to hear of anyone joining the true Church, but

we should remember that Milord is going to lose his daughter.'

'I assure you, my dear Mrs. Barton, I have no prejudices. I look upon

all religions as equally good and equally bad, but to be forced to live

in a perpetual discussion in which teacups are broken, concerning

scapulars, bacon and meal shops, and a school which, putting aside the

question of expense, makes me hated in the neighbourhood, I regard as

intolerable; and when I go home this evening, I shall tell Jane that the

school must be put down or carried on in a less aggressive way. I assure

you I have no wish to convert the people; they are paying their rents

very well now, and I think it absurd to upset them; and the fact of

having received Cecilia into the Church might incline the priest very

much towards us.'

'And Cecilia will be so happy in that beautiful convent!' suggested Mrs.

Barton.

'_C'est le génie du Catholicisme de nous débarrasser des filles

laides._'

And upon this expression of goodwill towards the Church of Rome

Cecilia's future life was discussed with much amiability. Mrs. Barton

said she would make a sweet little nun; Olive declared that she would

certainly go to St. Leonard's to see her 'professed'; and Milord's

description of Lady Sarah's and Lady Jane's ill-humour was considered

very amusing, and just as he was about to recount some new incident--one

that had escaped his memory till then--the door opened and the servant

announced Dr. Reed.

'Now, what can he want? Olive is quite well. He looks at her tongue and

feels her pulse. How do you do, Dr. Reed? Here is your patient, whom you

will find in the best health and spirits.'

As he was about to reply, Alice came into the room, and she tried to

carry on the conversation naturally. But the silence of Mrs. Barton and

Milord made this difficult; Dr. Reed was not a ready talker, and this

morning his replies were more than ever awkward and constrained. At last

it dawned on Alice that he wanted to speak to her alone; and in answer

to a remark he had made concerning the fever dens in Gort she said:

'I wanted to ask you a question or two about typhoid fever, Dr. Reed;

one of my heroines is going to die of it, and I should like to avoid

medical impossibilities. May I show you the passage?'

'Certainly, Miss Barton; I shall be delighted to help you--if I can.'

As soon as Alice left the room to fetch her manuscript the doctor

hurriedly bade his patient, Milord, and Mrs. Barton, good-bye.

'Aren't you going to wait to see Alice?' Mrs. Barton asked.

'I have to speak to the boy in charge of my car; I shall see Miss Barton

as she comes downstairs.'

Mrs. Barton looked as if she thought this arrangement not a little

singular, but she said nothing; and when Alice came running downstairs

with a roll of MSS. in her hand, she attempted to explain her difficulty

to the doctor. He made a feeble attempt to listen to the passage she

read aloud to him; and when their eyes met across the paper she saw he

was going to propose to her.

'Will you walk down the drive with me? and we will talk of that as we go

along.'

Her hat was on the hall-table; she took it up, and in silence walked

with him out on the gravel.

'Will I put the harse up, sor?' cried the boy from the outside car.

'No; follow me down the avenue.'

It was a wild autumn evening, full of wind and leaves. The great green

pasture-lands, soaked and soddened with rain, rolled their monotonous

green turf to the verge of the blown beech-trees, about which the rooks

drifted in picturesque confusion. Now they soared like hawks, or on

straightened wings were carried down a furious gust across the

tumultuous waves of upheaved yellow, and past the rift of cold crimson

that is tossed like a banner through the shadows of evening.

'I came here to tell you that I am going away; that I am leaving Ireland

for ever. I've bought the practice I spoke to you of in Notting Hill.'

'Oh, I am so glad!'

'Thank you! But there is another and more important matter on which I

should like to speak to you. For a long time back I had resolved to

leave Ireland a sad or an entirely happy man. Which shall it be? You are

the only woman I ever loved--will you be my wife?'

'Yes, I will.'

'I was afraid to ask you before. But,' he added, sighing, 'I shan't be

able to give you a home like the one you are leaving. We shall have to

be very economical; we shall not have more than three hundred a year to

live upon. Will you be satisfied with that?'

'I hope, indeed--I am sure we shall get on very well. You forget that I

can do something to keep myself,' she added, smiling. 'I have two or

three orders.'

She passed her arm through Dr. Reed's; and as he unfolded his plans to

her, he held her hand warmly and affectionately in his: and as the

twilight drifted it was wrapped like a veil about them. The rooks in

great flitting flocks passed over their heads, the tempestuous crimson

of the sky had been hurled further away, and only the form of the grey

horse, that the boy had allowed to graze, stood out distinctly in the

gloom that descended upon the earth.