“rode he on barbary? tell me, gentle friend,

how went he under him?”

“this is the prettiest low-born lass——”

“and so she gave you a great fright? well, now, wasn’t that too bad? i wish i’d caught her at her tricks, and i’d soon have packed her about her business. you know, they say she was the best step-dancer in the country when she was a girl; and to think of her going dancing under your window, and you taking her for a ghost!{98}”

willy’s amusement overcame his sympathy, and he laughed loud and long.

i had been impelled to confide my alarm of sunday night to him when we were on our way round to the stables to see the horses, on the following morning, and i now rather resented his refusal to see anything but the ludicrous side of the incident.

“you are very unsympathetic. i am sure you would have been just as frightened as i was,” i said. “she looked exactly like a ghost; and in any case i should like to know why she selected my window to dance under?”

“she meant it for a compliment, of course. i suppose she thought you’d be a good audience. i’ve seen her now and again jack-acting there in front of the house, but i’m afraid all i said was to tell her go home. but then, i’m not sympathetic like you!{99}”

we had stopped to discuss the point at the spot whence i had seen moll emerge, and now walked on past the untidy old flower-garden to the yard.

it was a large square, of which three sides were formed by stables and cowhouses, the house itself being the fourth, and was only redeemed from absolute ugliness by a row of four great horse-chestnut trees, which grew out of a grassy mound in the middle. we arrived in time to surprise the two little fox terriers, pat and jinny, in the clandestine enjoyment of a meal with the pig, whose trough was conveniently placed by the scullery door. on seeing us, they at once endeavoured to dissemble their guilty confusion by an unworthy attack on their late entertainer. this histrionic display did not, however, deceive willy in the least. the dogs were ignominiously called off, and the pig was left master of the situation.{100}

i wondered, as i looked round, if all irish yards were like this one. certainly i had never before seen anything like the mixture of prosperity and dilapidation in these solid stone buildings, with their ricketty doors and broken windows. through the open coach-house door i saw an unusual amount of carriages, foremost among them the landau in which i had driven from moycullen, with a bucket placed on its coach-box in order to catch a drip from the roof. a donkey and a couple of calves were roaming placidly about, and, though there was evidently no lack of stable-helpers and hangers-on, everything was inconceivably dirty and untidy.

the horses were, however, well housed and cared for. my future mount, “blackthorn,” was the first to be displayed. he was a big black horse, with an arched back and an ugly head; but he had a look of{101} power and intelligence which provided me with materials for a sufficiently laudatory criticism. in the next box, the bay mare willy had bought in cork was pushing her nose through the bars over the door to attract our attention.

“that’s the one kept me from going to meet you at queenstown,” said willy, opening the door, and catching the mare by the head. “she’s a nice little thing, but i’ll know better another time than to throw you over for her. stand, mare!”—as that animal made a vigorous remonstrance at being deprived of her sheet.

“she looks as if she knows how to go,” i said. “what are you going to call her?”

“don’t you think you might christen her for me?” willy answered, with an insinuating glance at me from under his{102} black eyelashes. “just to show you don’t bear malice for my leaving you to cross cork all alone.”

notwithstanding the access of brogue with which this was said, there was something in the look which accompanied it at which, to my extreme annoyance, i felt my colour rise.

“of course i don’t bear malice. i never even expected you to meet me,” i said, turning to stroke the mare’s shoulder. “if you really want a name for her, suppose you call her ‘alaska.’ that was the steamer i came over in, and they say she’s the fastest on the line.”

willy received this moderate suggestion with enthusiasm. “if she turns out half as good as she looks,” he said, as we walked out of the yard, “you shall have her for yourself to ride.”

“i think you are very rash to put me{103} up on your horses when you don’t in the least know how i can ride.”

“ah! well, i’ll trust you; though, indeed, after the funk you were put into by poor old moll, i suppose i may expect to see you turning back at the first fence.”

to this sally i vouchsafed no reply.

“i must take the mare out this afternoon,” he continued, “to try can she jump. blackthorn wants shoeing, or you should ride him; but i thought perhaps you’d like to walk up to the farm to see me schooling the mare. it’s only as far as those fields opposite the lodge that i’ll go.”

this was, i thought, a very good suggestion. a prospective day with the hounds made me anxious to see what irish fences were like, and we settled to start early in the afternoon.

at lunch uncle dominick was more conversational than i had yet seen him.{104}

“what have you been doing with yourself this morning, theo, my dear?”—for the first time adopting the more familiar form of my name. “the roses in your cheeks do credit to our irish air.”

uncle dominick’s faded gallantry always had the effect of making me shy and constrained. i laughed nervously, and before i could reply willy struck in—

“she was round to the stables with me, sir.”

“oho! so that was it, was it?” said my uncle, with the smile i disliked so much; and i felt that at that moment my cheeks more resembled peonies than roses.

“i was showing her the new mare,” said willy, “and we’re going to call her ‘alaska,’ because that’s the ship that”—here he stopped—“because that’s the fastest ship between this and america.”

“why, is not that the vessel that{105} brought you to us from america?” said uncle dominick, pursuing his advantage with unexpected facetiousness. “i think it is an admirable name, and will always have pleasant associations for you and me, eh, willy?”

willy made no reply, and my uncle rose from the table, apparently well satisfied with himself, and left the room humming a tune.

it was a softly brilliant afternoon. i thought, as i started for the farm where i was to see alaska put through her paces, that i had never, even in america, seen anything like the glow of the yellow leaves against the blue sky—a blue so intense that it seemed to press through the half-stripped branches. the thick drifts of fallen leaves rustled like water about my feet, and floated on the surface of the pools which the rain of yesterday had formed in{106} the low swampy ground under the clump of elms at the bend of the avenue. just here a deep dyke ran parallel with the drive, separating it from the turf bog which i had seen from my bedroom window. across it was a rough bridge of logs, from which a raised cart-track wound over the bog like a long brown serpent. i crossed the bridge and leaned upon the rusty iron gate that closed the approach to the bog road. the keen scent of the sea came to me across the heathery expanse, mingled with the pure perfume of the peat, and i regretted that my promise to willy prevented me from following the meandering course of the cart-track over the headland, to where i heard the hollow draw of the sea on the rocks at the other side.

retracing my steps, i went up the avenue, and found willy with the two dogs waiting for me outside the gate. in{107} the fence on the other side of the road was an opening partially filled by a low wall of loose stones—locally called a gap.

“i’ll take her in at this gap,” willy said, turning the mare to give her room, and then putting her at the gap. alaska, however, had probably her own reasons for preferring the road, for she refused with a vicious swerve, and a lively contest between her and her rider ensued.

the latter’s difficulties were considerably complicated by pat and jinny, who, with ostentatious activity, insisted on crossing and recrossing the gap at the most critical moments. when jinny at length took up a commanding position on its top-most stone, in order to watch, with palpitating interest and ejaculatory yelps, alaska’s misbehaviour, willy’s temper gave way.

“theo,” he said, with suppressed fury,{108} “will you for goodness’ sake take that—that infernal dog out of my way?”

i captured jinny, and held her wriggling in my arms, until at length alaska, with a bound that would have cleared a five-barred gate, went into the field.

i climbed on to a gate-post, from whence i could conveniently see the schooling process. willy was a fine rider, and alaska acquitted herself very creditably; but after a quarter of an hour spent on my gate-post, i began to find it rather cold, and, willy having gone to more distant fields in search of further educational difficulties, i decided to go home without him. outside the gates was a large gravel sweep, with high flanking walls, forming a semicircular approach, and in these, at some height from the ground, several niches had been made, large enough to hold life-sized figures. as i turned to get down, i saw that a{109} young girl was standing in one of the niches. she was leaning slightly forward, steadying herself with one hand on the wall, while with the other she shaded her eyes, as if looking after willy’s departing figure.

on seeing me, she jumped quickly down, and ran to open one of the small gates. i recognized the shy, pretty face of anstey brian, and stopped inside the gate to speak to her.

“if mr. sarsfield comes, will you tell him i have gone home?” i said; and was turning away, when anstey, with a nervous blush, said, in a soft, deprecating voice—

“oh, miss, i beg your pardon! i was very sorry to hear you got anny sort of a fright from my mother last night. it’s just a little restless she is, those last few nights, and my father’d be greatly vexed if he thought you got anny annoyance by her.{110}”

i assured her that my alarm had only been momentary, wondering vaguely how she had heard anything about it.

“indeed, miss, she’d hurt no one. she’s this way, foolish-like, this long time.”

“how long is it since it began?” i said, with interest.

“i never remember her anny other way, miss, though my father says she was once a fine, handsome girl, and as sensible as yourself, miss.”

“did her mind go from an accident?” i asked.

“why, then, indeed, miss, i don’t rightly know. she had some strange turn in her always, and afther i was born she got quare altogether; and that’s the way she is ever since. dumb, like she couldn’t spake, and silly in her mind.”

i was looking in the direction of the lodge while she spoke, half unconsciously{111} noting how thickly the ivy trails hung over its small windows, when i became aware of a face looking out at me through one of them.

i could distinguish little of it beyond the wide-open, pale eyes, which were fixed upon me with a concentrated, half-terrified intentness; but with a momentary return of last night’s unreasoning panic, i knew it to be the face of the woman of whom we were speaking. something of this must have been shown in my expression, for anstey, following the direction of my eyes, said—

“don’t be frightened at all, miss. sure that’s only poor mother. will i bring her out here for your honour to see?”

but i had no wish for any close acquaintance, so hastily saying that, as it was already dark, i had no time to stay, i wished anstey good night.{112}

i must confess that, as i walked away from the lodge, i was haunted by the frightened glare of moll hourihane’s eyes. there had been something in their expression which, beneath the oblivion of insanity, seemed almost to struggle into recognition. at the remembrance of them, i felt the same unconquerable dread creep over me again, and i hurried along the avenue towards home. to my imagination, the patches of grey lichen on the trees repeated in the growing twilight the effect of the grey face at the darkened window. the dead leaves awoke as i trod on them, and followed me with whisperings and cracklings. it was a relief to leave the little wood behind, and to see in the library windows the flickering glow which told of a good fire, and suggested tea.

i was surprised and annoyed by the unwonted nervousness which had lately{113} affected me. i prided myself upon being a singularly practical, unimaginative person; and yet now, for the third time since my arrival at durrus, my self-possession had been disturbed by a trivial event, which i should formerly have laughed at. i walked rapidly to the house, determined for the future to give no toleration to my foolish fancy, and to——

“here you are!” said willy’s voice from the hall door. “come on and have some tea.”