Luttrell Of Arran Part 38

"Nothing of the kind."

"He never suspected you would," said Georgina, but in a very cautious whisper, which this time escaped Malone.

"I'll not be ten minutes, your honour," said he, as he moved towards the door.

"Take as much time as you please."

"He'll not part with her, I see that," said Lady Vyner, as the man withdrew.

Georgina gave a saucy laugh, and said, "He never so much as dreamed of taking her away; his whole mind was bent upon a hard bargain; and now that he has got the best terms he could, he'll close the contract."

"You don't believe too implicitly in humanity," said Sir Within, smiling.

"I believe in men only when they are gentlemen," said she; and there was a very gracious glance as she spoke, which totally effaced all unpleasant memory of the past.

CHAPTER XXIV. A QUIET TALK IN A GARDEN.

Much as the magnificence and comfort in-doors had astonished Malone, he was far more captivated by the beauty of the garden. Here were a vast variety of objects which he could thoroughly appreciate. The luxuriant vegetation, the fruit-trees bending under their fruit, the proffusion of rare and rich flowers, the trim order of the whole, that neatness which the inexperienced eye has seldom beheld, nor can, even when seeing, credit, struck him at every step; and then there were plants utterly new and strange to him--pines and pomegranates, and enormous gourds, streaked and variegated in gorgeous colours, and over and through all a certain pervading odour that distilled a sense of drowsy enjoyment very captivating. Never, perhaps, in his whole life, had he so fully brought home to him the glorious prerogative of wealth, that marvellous power that culls from life, one by one, every attribute that is pleasure-giving, and surrounds daily existence with whatever can charm or beguile.

When he heard from the gardener that Sir Gervais seldom or never came there, he almost started, and some vague and shadowy doubt shot across his mind that rich men might not be so triumphantly blessed as he had just believed them.

"Sure," he muttered, "if he doesn't see this he can't enjoy it, and if he sees it so often that he doesn't mind, it's the same thing. I wondher, now, would that be possible, and would there ever come a time to myself when I wouldn't think this was Paradise."

He was musing in this wise, when a merry burst of childish laughter startled him, and at the same instant a little girl bounded over a melon-frame and ran towards him. He drew aside, and took off his hat with respectful deference, when suddenly the child stopped, and burst into a ringing laugh, as she said, "Why, grandfather, don't you know me?"

Nor even then did he know her, such a marvellous change had been wrought in her by one of Ada's dresses, and a blue ribbon that fastened her hair behind, and fell floating down her back with the rich golden tresses.

"Sure it isn't Kitty?" cried he, shading his eyes with his hand.

"And why wouldn't it be Kitty?" replied she, tartly, and piqued that her own attractions were not above all advent.i.tious aid. "Is it a white frock makes me so grand that ye wouldn't know me again?"

"May I never," cried he, "but I thought you was a young lady."

"Well, and what's the differ, I wonder? If I look like one, couldn't I be one?"

"Ay, and do it well, too!" said he, while his eyes glistened with a look of triumph. "Come here, Kitty, darlin'," said he, taking her hand, and leading her along at his side, "I want to spake a word to you. Now, Kitty, though you're only a child, as one may say, you've more wit in your head nor many a grown woman, and if you hadn't, it's the heavy heart I'd have this day leavin' you among strangers."

"Don't fret about that, grandfather; it's an elegant fine place to be in. Wait till I show you the dairy, that's grander inside than ever I seen a house in Ireland; and if you saw the cowhouse, the beasts has straps with buckles round their necks, and boords under their feet, just like Christians, only betther."

"A long sight betther nor Christians!" muttered he, half savagely.

Then recovering, he went on: "You see, here's how it is. 'Twas out of a 'conceit'--a sort of fancy--they took you, and out of the same, my honey, they may leave you some fine mornin' when you've got ways that would be hard to give up, and used to twenty things you couldn't do without; and I was tellin' them that, and askin' how it would be if that day was to come?"

"Ah," cried she, with an impatient toss of her head, "I wish you hadn't put such thoughts into their heads at all. Sure, ain't I here now?

Haven't they tuk me away from my home, and where would I go if they turned me out? You want to make it asy for them, grandfather, isn't that it?"

"Faix, I believe you're right, Kitty."

"Sure, I know I am. And why would they send me away if I didn't displase them, and you'll see that I'll not do that."

"Are you sure and certain of that?"

"As sure as I'm here. Don't fret about it, grandfather."

"Ay, but darlin', what will plase one wouldn't, may be, be plasin' to another; there's the mistress and her sister--and they're not a bit like each other--and there's the master and that ould man with the goold chain round his neck--he's your guardian."

"Oh, is he?" cried she; "see what he gave me--he took it off his watch-chain. He said, 'There's a little sweetheart for you.'" And she drew from her bosom her handkerchief, in which she had carefully rolled up a small figure of a man in armour, of fine gold and delicate workmans.h.i.+p. "And the little girl here--Ada, they call her--tells me that he is far richer than her papa, and has a house ten times grander."

"That's lucky, anyhow," said the old man, musing. "Well, honey, when I found that I couldn't do any better, I said I'd go and talk to yourself, and see whether you were set upon stayin' with all your heart, or if you'd like to go back again."

"Is it back to Derryvaragh?"

"Yes; where else?"

"Catch me at it, Peter Malone, that's all! Catch me goin' to eat potatoes and lie on straw, work in the fields and go barefoot, when I can be a lady, and have everything I can think of."

"I wonder will ye ever larn it?"

"Larn what?"

"To be a lady--I mane a raal lady--that n.o.body, no matter how cute they were, could find you out."

"Give me two years, Peter Malone, just two years--maybe not so much, but I'd like to be sure--and if I don't, I'll promise you to go back to.

Derryvaragh, and never lave it again."

"Faix, I think you'd win!"

"Sure, I know it."

And there was a fierce energy in her look that said far more than her words.

"Oh, Kitty, darlin', I wondher will I live to see it?"

Apparently, this consummation was not which held chief sway over her mind, for she was now busy making a wreath of flowers for her head.

"Won't the gardener be angry, darlin', at your pluckin' the roses and the big pinks?"

"Let him, if he dare. Miss Ada told him a while ago that I was to go everywhere, and take anything just like herself; and I can eat the fruit, the apples, and the pears, and the grapes that you see there, but I wouldn't because Ada didn't," said she, gravely.

"You'll do, Kitty--you'll do," said the old man; and his eyes swam with tears of affection and joy.

"You begin to think so now, grandfather," said she, archly.

"And so I may go in now and tell them that you'll stay."

"You may go in, Peter Malone, and tell them that I won't go, and that's better."