Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl Part 4

"Yes. Well, I am going tomorrow night; the moon is at the full. You will come over and go with me--won't you?"

"Oh! I wish I could."

"But why can't you? Don't let us worry about fathers and mothers. We're a pair of girls, and must have our own larks. There's Neil and there's Mike; they will get the boat all ready, and we can start off for the cave just when the tide is high; we can only get in then. We'll run the boat in as far as it will go, and we'll see what we'll see. You will come--won't you, Nora?"

"I should like it of all things in the world," said Nora.

"Well, why not? You can come over tomorrow afternoon, and stay the night here. Just say that I have asked you."

"But mother does not much like my sleeping out."

"You mean that she does not like you to sleep at the house of the wild Murphys--that's what you mean, Nora. Then, get away; I don't want to force my company on you. I am as good as any other girl in Ireland; I have the blood of the old Irish kings in my veins; but if you are too proud to come, why----"

"I am not, and you know it," said Nora; "but mother is an Englishwoman, and she thinks we are all a little rough, you and I into the bargain.

All the same, I'll come to-morrow. I do want to explore that cave. Yes, I'll come if you give me a proper invitation before mother."

"Oh, mercy me!" said the girl, "must I go back to the house? I am so precious shabby, and your lady-mother has got such piercing eyes. But there, we can smuggle in the back way. I'll go up to my room and put on my bits of finery. Bedad! but I look as handsome as the best when I am dressed up. Come along, Nora; we'll get in the back way, and I'll give the invitation in proper style."

CHAPTER IV.

THE INVITATION.

Bridget and Nora began to climb up a very steep and narrow winding path.

It was nothing more than a gra.s.s path in the midst of a lot of rock and underwood, but the girls were like young chamois, and leaped over such obstacles with the lightness of fawns. Presently they arrived at the back entrance of Cronane, the Murphys' decidedly dilapidated residence.

They had to cross a courtyard covered with rough cobbles and in a sad state of neglect and mess. Some pigs were wallowing in the mire in one corner, and a rough pony was tethered to a post not far off; he was endeavoring, with painful insistence, to reach a clump of hay which was sticking out of a hayrick a foot or two away. Nora, seeing his wistful eyes, sprang forward, pulled a great handful of the hay, and held it to his mouth. The little creature almost whinnied with delight.

"There you are," said Bridget. "What right have you to give our hay to that pony?"

"Oh, nonsense," said Nora; "the heart in him was starving." She flung her arms round the pony's neck, pressed a kiss on his forehead, and continued to cross the yard with Biddy. Two or three ragged urchins soon impeded their path; one of them was the redoubtable Neil, the other Mike.

"Is it to-morrow night you want the boat, Miss Biddy?" said Neil.

Bridget dropped her voice to a whisper.

"Look here, Neil," she said, "mum's the word; you are not to let it out to a soul. You and Mike shall come with us, and Miss Nora is coming too."

Neil cast a bashful and admiring glance at handsome Nora, as she stood very erect by Biddy's side.

"All right, miss," he said.

"At ten o'clock," said Bridget; "have the boat in the cove then, and we'll be down there and ready."

"But they say, miss, that the Banshee is out on the nights when the moon is at the full."

"The O'Shanaghgans' Banshee," said Biddy, glancing at Nora, whose face did not change a muscle, although the brightness and wistfulness in her eyes were abundantly visible. She was saying to herself:

"I would give all the world to speak to the Banshee alone--to ask her to get father out of his difficulty."

She was half-ashamed of these thoughts, although she knew and almost gloried in the fact that she was superst.i.tious to her heart's core.

She and Biddy soon entered the house by the back entrance, and ran up some carpetless stairs to Biddy's own room. This was a huge bedroom, carpetless and nearly bare. A little camp-bed stood in one corner, covered by a colored counterpane; there was a strip of carpet beside the bed, and another tiny strip by a wooden washhand-stand. The two great parliament windows were dest.i.tute of any curtain or even blind; they stared blankly out across the lovely summer landscape as hideous as windows could be.

It was a perfect summer's evening; but even now the old frames rattled and shook, and gave some idea of how they would behave were a storm abroad.

Biddy, who was quite accustomed to her room and never dreamed that any maiden could sleep in a more luxurious chamber, crossed it to where a huge wooden wardrobe stood. She unlocked the door, and took from its depths a pale-blue skirt trimmed with quant.i.ties of dirty pink flounces.

"Oh, you are not going to put _that_ on," said Nora, whose own training had made her sensitive to incongruity in dress.

"Yes, I am," said Biddy. "How can I see your lady-mother in this style of thing?"

She went and stood in front of Nora with her arms akimbo.

"Look," she said, "my frock has a rent from here to here, and this petticoat is none of the best, and my stockings--well, I know it is my own fault, but I _won't_ darn them, and there is a great hole just above the heel. Now, this skirt will hide all blemishes."

"But what will your mother say?"

"Bless her!" said Biddy, "she won't even notice. Here, let's whip on the dress."

She hastily divested herself of her ragged cotton skirt, and put on the pale blue with the dirty silk flounces.

"What are you looking so grave for?" she said, glancing up at Nora. "I declare you're too stately for anything, Nora O'Shanaghgan! You stand there, and I know you criticise me."

"No; I love you too much," replied Nora. "You are Biddy Murphy, one of my greatest friends."

"Ah, it's sweet to hear her," said Biddy.

"But, all the same," continued Nora, "I don't like that dress, and it's terribly unsuitable. You don't look ladylike in it."

"Ladylike, and I with the blood of----"

"Oh, don't begin that," said Nora; "every time I see you you mention that fact. I have not the slightest doubt that the old kings were ruffians, and dressed abominably."

"If you dare," said Biddy. She rushed up to the bed, dragged out her pillow, and held it in a warlike att.i.tude. "Another word about my ancestors, and this will be at your devoted head!" she cried.

Nora burst into a merry laugh.

"There, now, that's better," said Biddy. She dropped the pillow and proceeded with her toilet. The dirty skirt with its tawdry flounces was surmounted by a bodice of the same material, equally unsuitable.

Biddy brushed out her mop of jet-black hair, which grew in thick curls all over her head and stood out like a mop round her shoulders. She was a plain girl, with small, very black eyes, a turned-up nose, and a wide mouth; but there was an irresistible expression of drollery in her face, and when she laughed, showing her milk-white teeth, there were people who even thought her attractive. Nora really loved her, although the two, standing side by side, were, as far as appearances were concerned, as the poles asunder.

"Now, come along," said Biddy. "I know I look perfectly charming. Oh, what a sweet, sweet blue it is, and these ducky little flounces! It was Aunt Mary O'Flannagan sent me this dress at Christmas. She wore it at a fancy ball, and said it might suit me. It does, down to the ground. Let me drop a courtesy to you, Nora O'Shanaghgan. Oh, how proper we look!

But I don't care! Now I'm not afraid to face anyone--why, the old kings would have been proud of me. Come along--do."

She caught Nora's hand; they dashed down the wide, carpetless stairs, crossed a huge hall, and entered a room which was known as the drawing room at Cronane. It was an enormous apartment, but bore the same traces of neglect and dirt which the whole of the rest of the house testified to. The paper on the walls was moldy in patches, and in one or two places it had detached itself from the wall and fell in great sheets to the ground. One loose piece of paper was tacked up with two or three huge tacks, and bulged out, swaying with the slightest breeze. The carpet, which covered the entire floor, was worn threadbare; but, to make up for these defects, there were cabinets of the rarest and most exquisite old china, some of the pieces being worth fabulous sums. Vases of the same china adorned the tall marble mantelpiece, and stood on brackets here and there about the room. There were also some exquisite and wonderfully carved oak, a Queen Anne sofa, and several spindle-legged chairs. An old spinet stood in a distant window, and the drab moreen curtains had once been handsome.