North, South and over the Sea Part 42

"The Misthress--Miss Rorke!"

"Oh, aye, of course, Miss Rorke is the Misthress now," mused Mike to himself.

"Well, if ye was to see her in her black silky dress an' the beautiful feathers in her hat, an' her gould watch and chain an' all--'pon me word, ye'd think it was the Queen."

Clancy did not answer, and McEvoy, more and more anxious to retrieve his former error, waxed eloquent on the subject of Roseen, her beauty, her wealth, and the bounties she lavished all round her.

"Look at the way she whipped off your father and mother there," he remarked at last, "and the comfort she keeps them in! I b'lieve the improvement in them since they went up above there is somethin'"--Jack paused for an adjective and finally selected "outrageous." "Tay, they do be tellin' me, at two and thruppence a pound no less, an' mate wanst and twice in the day, an' a sup o' punch at night the way they'd sleep sound! Sure, it's somethin' altogether"--again a pause--"unmintionable!"

Jack actually leaned across the well of the car to peer into Mike's face, but alas! the more choice and picturesque was his language, the deeper seemed to be the gloom of Michael Clancy. At last, when within a few yards of Donoughmor, Mike abruptly requested to be set down there, and after thanking the man in somewhat tremulous tones, walked away rapidly in the direction of his former home.

"Sure, what's the good of your going there?" shouted McEvoy, "the roof is off of it yet, an' not a soul about. Come on home wid ye, can't ye?"

"No, thank ye," said Mike, without turning his head. The car drove on, and soon Mike stood within his dismantled home. There had been some delay in procuring wood for the new rafters and the poor roofless, smoked-begrimed walls looked very forlorn. Mike glanced round him and groaned aloud; he could have wept, so great was the turmoil in his heart and in his mind. Everything was changed, it seemed to him; everything was gone. Could this poor little place ever be home again?

How silent it was now that the old father was not cracking his jokes in the corner! How empty now that the mother's spare form was absent!

They were safe and sound at Monavoe, he knew, "well looked after," as the driver had told him, by "Miss Rorke" herself, but for the time being it almost seemed to him as though they were dead. As for Roseen, she was Miss Rorke now, the Mistress, the owner of Monavoe--_his_ Roseen was gone too!

His heart was still sore at the recollection of his bitter disappointment on the fateful evening when the rick was burnt. She had not come to meet him on that night of all nights in the year! He knew, through Jack McEvoy, that she had promised her grandfather never to speak to him again. She had broken faith with him. All through these weary weeks in prison, the anguish of this thought had deadened all his other sufferings and anxieties, but in any case, how could he ever expect her, amid her new grandeurs, to think of him as she used to do?

She had the best heart in the world, he knew that, and wouldn't ask to do anything that was not kind; she'd try to make up as well as she could for the "differ of things" by doing all in her power for his father and mother and by befriending him. It had been mainly through her exertions that he had been released, and she had sent her own car to meet him--oh, to be sure she had done that! But as to consenting to be his sweetheart again, sure, goodness knew, Michael could never expect that.

"Afther me bein' in prison an' all!" he said to himself mournfully. "I had a right to be givin' up thinkin' of her altogether."

He left the cabin presently and climbed the hill, entering the ruins and seating himself on the great stone slab on one side of the banqueting-hall. By-and-by, he would have to go to Monavoe to see his parents, but he would wait for a little while first; he shrank from the meeting with Roseen. He intended to convey to her straightway his sense of the distance between them, and his determination to take no advantage of their former intimacy; but it was hard, and Mike, crushed and shaken by the trouble and anxiety of mind which he had recently undergone, suffering in every fibre from an unaccountable sense of desolation, felt that his heart failed him.

But all at once a light foot sounded on the stone steps behind him, and Roseen came quickly forward to the rocky recess. Her face was pale, and there were tears in her eyes; her attire, by no means so magnificent as that which Michael had depicted to himself, was somewhat disordered; she had not even taken the trouble to a.s.sume a hat, and her curly hair was blown about her brow, so that she looked very like the little Roseen of old.

"Michael Clancy," she cried, "what did I do to ye that ye wouldn't come to see me?"

Mike rallied all his self-possession.

"Ye never done anything that was not kind, Miss Rorke," he said, standing up and removing his hat, "and I am truly grateful."

Roseen's face quivered. "Why are ye talkin' to me that way, Mike? I'm no more Miss Rorke to you now nor I have ever been. Sure, ye are not angry," she added piteously, "at me not goin' to meet ye on the car? I was afeard that every wan would be talkin' an' tormentin' us."

"Indeed, it wouldn't have become you at all," responded Mike, still standing, hat in hand, and speaking with a kind of aggressive humility, "and it 'ud be far from me to be expectin' such a thing."

Roseen knit her brows and tapped her foot impatiently, the angry tears now standing on her cheeks.

"What is it ye are driving at at all?" she cried; "I can't for the life of me make out what it is ye be up to. It 'ud have become me well enough to go meet ye, if it wasn't for the way people 'ud be goin'

on."

"Indeed, of coorse, ye'll have to be mindin' yourself," agreed Mike, with cold politeness. "People's always ready enough to be gossipin'

and gabbin' about any young lady."

"Young lady, fiddlesticks!" cried Roseen. "If ye go on that way I'll take ye by the two shoulders an' shake ye--it's all I can do now to keep me hands off o' ye! What in the name of goodness would ye be at?

I'm not a young lady no more nor ye are, I am just Roseen, the same as ever I was. It's you that's turned nasty and contrairy."

"Not at all!" replied Mike, still frostily. "I'm only wishful to let ye understand that I know me place, miss, an' would never think of being presumptious."

Roseen suddenly collapsed on the stone slab and began to sob, making a good deal of noise over it and drying her eyes with the corner of her skirt, not being at that moment equipped with an ap.r.o.n.

"Ye're a nasty, bitther, disagree'ble ould fellow," she remarked inarticulately, "an' I hate ye."

Mike had turned his back to her the better to intrench himself in his fortress of reserve, but now he could not help stealing a glance at her from over his shoulder. There sat Roseen, still vigorously sobbing, her feet dangling downward as she sat on her high perch, her shoulders heaving, her ruffled brown head drooping, the tears forcing their way through fingers that were just as sunburnt as of old. Many a time had Mike seen her give way to paroxysms of childish woe, and comforted her with loving words and no less loving kisses. The recollection flashed across him now, and he immediately looked away again, stiffening himself more than ever.

"I thought the day 'ud never come," lamented Roseen, "when ye would be back wid me. I never closed an eye last night countin' the time an' me heart leppin' that much for joy, that the bed shook undher me--an'

this is the way ye go trate me when ye do come home!"

Mike turned round quickly. "Ah, Roseen, can't ye whisht?" he cried; "sure it's twice as bad for me as for you. Sure, asth.o.r.e,"--he couldn't for the life of him prevent that little word from slipping in--"it's only thrying to do me duty I am; it 'ud never do at all for you an' me to be goin' on the same as we used to do, and I wouldn't like yourself nor any wan to be thinkin' I'd be forgettin' the differ there is between the two of us now."

Roseen looked up, her blue eyes still drowned in tears, but just the suspicion of a smile beginning to creep about her mouth.

"Troth!" she said with a toss of her head, "the on'y differ there is in it is that I am the same as ever I was, an' you have turned crabby an' cranky."

"'Deed then, I'm not," rejoined Mike, adding hotly, "I'd have ye remember, Roseen, it's you that changed first. Why didn't ye come to me that evenin' at the haggard gate the way you always did? And me in throuble wi' all an' breaking me heart for a word from ye!"

The dignified hero was gone for the nonce, and look and tone were those of a youthful and offended lover. Roseen immediately fired up too.

"G.o.d give me patience!" she cried, "I never come acra.s.s such a contrairy boy in me life! Didn't I nearly lep out o' the windy to come to ye? Sure, me grandfather had me locked in!"

"Oh that, indeed!" said Mike, his face brightening for a moment, but immediately clouding over again, "but a man told me that same night, that he h'ard ye sayin' ye'd never spake to me agin nor so much as look at me."

"He tould you a lie then," said Roseen with flas.h.i.+ng eyes; "I never said that--oh, aye, to be sure, I believe I did though, but ye have no call to be castin' that up at me, Mike; if I did itself, I done it for love of you. Now! When me grandfather tould me he was goin' to put your father and mother out on the road I begged and prayed an' done everythin' I could to persuade him to give up the notion, an' at last says I, 'Well, grandfather,' says I, 'I'll promise never to speak to Mike agin,' says I,' nor so much as look at him,' says I, 'if ye'll only let them stop in it.' Sure, whoever it was went carryin' stories to ye must have been hard set to find somethin' to say if they brought up that, an' you had no call to be listenin' to them. I'd soon stop the mouth of any wan that went about makin' out tales about you."

Never had she looked more bewitching than in her anger; her great blue eyes, open to their fullest extent, were flas.h.i.+ng with scorn and wrath though the big tears still hung on their long lashes. The little curled upper lip showed glistening white teeth, the colour came and went in the pretty dimpled cheeks--cheeks that looked so soft and inviting. Mike bit his lips and thrust his hands in the depths of his ragged pockets, clenching them in the effort to preserve his self-control. He could not help a flash of joy lighting up his face for a moment, but he turned away to hide it. Wasn't she the jewel of the world altogether, an' how could he ever have been such a gomeril as to doubt her? But all the same he must mind himself. It was not for the likes of him to be thinking of her that way. Sure, what matter if she had been his sweetheart twenty times over in days gone by--she could never be his sweetheart now. Stiffening himself therefore and again resuming his lofty tone, he proceeded: "Indeed I am truly grateful to you, Miss Rorke, for all your goodness an' all ye done for me father and mother. Jack McEvoy's afther tellin' me that they are in the height o' comfort. Indeed I'd never have thought of lookin' for them there at all; I never have expected you to be puttin' yourself about that way for them."

"An' why wouldn't they be with me?" cried Roseen quickly. "Isn't it the right place for them to be? They had a right to be stoppin' there altogether, on'y that they are that fond of their own little place I don't think they 'ud ever contint themselves."

Mike suddenly sat down on the slab, but at a very discreet distance from Roseen. He cleared his throat and looked towards her, but seemed to find a difficulty in speaking. Roseen began to swing one of the little pendant feet and looked away into the blue distance.

"Sure," she resumed in an indifferent tone, after a moment's pause, "when their own house is not ready for them, the best place for them to be in is their son's."

The colour rushed over Mike's cheek and brow; his heart began to beat violently, and his limbs to tremble. There was a long silence, broken only by the old familiar song of the lark sounding jubilantly from above their heads; the rustling of the tall fawn-coloured gra.s.ses that grew among the stones, and the distant faint lowing of cattle.

The outline of Roseen's pretty face and head stood out cameo-like against the background of sunlit stone; Mike's gaze fastened itself there and could not detach itself. There was a long pause, then with a great effort he forced himself to speak.

"Roseen, darlint, there's not a ha'porth of good the two of us goin'

on this a-way; we may as well talk out plain. Ye're the best-natured an' kindest-hearted little girl in the wide world, G.o.d bless ye!--"

Roseen drooped her head a little demurely, the colour mantling in her face now, and dimples coming and going about her mouth.

"But," resumed the young man, steadying his voice, "I wouldn't take advantage of ye, alanna, an' let ye do what ye'd be apt to be sorry for afther a while. It wouldn't do at all for ye to be takin' up wid the likes o' me now. Sure ye'd be the laughingstock of the place, if ye went an' got married to a poor fellow like meself that hasn't a rag to his back nor a penny in his pocket, an' just stepped out o' prison more by token--sure, that alone 'ud make a deal o' differ!"

"Aye, indeed," interrupted Roseen, throwing up her head, "it 'ud make that much differ, Mike, that if a girl was fond of a boy before, she'd be apt to be ten times fonder after. Now lookit here, Mike Clancy, I have had enough of this--'pon me word, isn't it too bad for a poor girl to have to go beggin' an' prayin' a fellow this way! Ye ought to be ashamed of yourself! Saints presarve us, this is the third time I am afther axing ye! I declare I'm out o' patience wid ye altogether.

Sure, didn't we have each other bespoke ever since we could say a word at all, an' what matter in the name of goodness, if ye haven't a penny in your pocket? Haven't I plenty for the two of us? And sure, good gracious, if me poor grandfather, G.o.d rest him! put ye in gaol for what ye never done, isn't it me that ought to be ashamed an' not yourself? There now, I'll never say another word to ye, good or bad, if ye don't make up your mind at wanst an' lave off talkin' that rubbis.h.!.+"

Apparently Mike did make up his mind, for he left his particular corner of the stone bench and came close to Roseen, his face aglow with happiness and his arms outstretched. And there they sat and talked among the ruins till the birds flew twittering to roost and the golden light faded from the hill-top: yet, as hand in hand they came down the path and wandered homewards through the dewy gra.s.s, it seemed to them that they still were walking in a glorified world.