by Bram Stoker
“You’re quite right, Mr. Joyce, and I’m afraid I acted like a cad. Here, you clear off! Your very presence seems to infect better men than yourself, and brings them something nearer to your level. Mr. Joyce, forgive me; I promise I’ll take your good lesson to heart.” They both came into the room; and Norah and I looking out of the window — my arm being around her — saw Murdock pass down the path and out at the gate.
We all took our places once again around the fire. When we sat down Norah instinctively put her hands behind her, as if to hide them — that ruffian’s words had stung her a little; and as I looked, without, however, pretending to take any notice, I ground my teeth. But with Norah such an ignoble thought could be but a passing one. With a quick blush she laid her hand open on my knee, so that, as the fire-light fell on it, it was shown in all its sterling beauty. I thought the opportunity was a fairone, and I lifted it to my lips and said:
“Norah, Ithink I maysaya word before yourfatherand myfriend. This hand — this beautiful hand,” and I kissed it again, “is dearer to me a thousand times, because it can do, and has done, honest work; and I only hope that in all my life I may be worthy of it.” I was about to kiss it yet again, but Norah drew it gently away. Then she shifted her stool a little, and came closer to me. Her father saw the movement, and said simply: “Go to him, daughter. He is worth it — he sthruck a good blow for ye this night.” And so we changed places, and she leaned her head against my knee; her other hand — the one not held in mine — rested on her father’s knee.
There we sat and smoked, and talked for an hour or more. Then Dick looked at me and I at him, and we rose. Norah looked at me lovingly as we got our hats. Her father saw the look, and said: “Come, daughter; if you’re not tired, suppose we see them down the boreen.” A bright smile and a blush came in her face; she threw a shawl over her head, and we went all together. She held her father’s arm and mine; but by-and-by the lane narrowed, and her father went in front with Dick, and we two followed.
Was it to be wondered at, if we did lag a little behind them, and if we spoke in whispers? Or, if now and again, when the lane curved and kindly bushes projecting threw dark shadows, our lips met? When we came to the open space before the gate we found Andy. He pretended to see only Dick and Joyce, and saluted them.
“Begor, but it’s the fine night, it is, Misther Dick, though more betoken the rain is comin’ on agin soon. A fine night, Misther Joyce; and how’s Miss Norah? — God bless her! Musha! but it’s sorry I am that she didn’t walk down wid ye this fine night! An’ poor MastherArt — I suppose the fairies has got him agin?” Here he pretended to just catch sight of me. “Yer’an’r, but it’s the sorraful man I was; shure, an’ I thought ye was tuk aff be the fairies — or, mayhap, it was houldin’ a leprachaun that ye wor. An’ my! but there’s Miss Norah, too, comin’ to take care iv her father! God bless ye, Miss Norah, acushla, but it’s glad I am to see ye!” “And I’m always glad to see you, Andy,” she said, and shook hands with him. Andy took her aside, and said, in a staccato whisper intended for us all: “Musha! Miss Norah, dear, may I ax ye somethin’?”
“Indeed you may, Andy. What is it?”
“Well, now, it’s throubled in me mind lam about Masther Art — that young gintleman beyantye, talkin’t’ yerfather;” the hypocritical villain pointed me out, as though she did not know me. I could see in the moonlight the happy smile on her face as she turned towards me.
“Yes; I see him,” she answered. “Well, Miss Norah, the fairies got him on the top iv Knocknacar, and ivir since he’s been wandherin’ round lukin’fur wan iv thim. I thried to timpt him away be tellin’ him iv nice girruls iv these parts — real girruls, not fairies. But he’s that obstinate he wouldn’t luk at wan iv thim — no, nor listen to me, ayther.”
“Indeed!” she said, her eyes dancing with fun.
“An’, Miss Norah, dear, what kind iva girrul d’ye think he wanted to find?”
“I don’t know, Andy. What kind?”
“Oh, begor! but it’s meself can tell ye! Shure, it’s a long, yalla, dark girrul, shtreaky — like — like he knows what — not quite a faymale nagur, wid a rid petticoat, an’ a quare kind ivaneye!”
“Oh, Andy!” was all she said, as she turned to me smiling.
“Get along, you villain!” said I, and I shook my fist at him in fun; and then I took Norah aside, and told her what the “quare kind iv an eye” was that I had sought — and found.
Then we two said “Good-night” in peace, while the others in front went through the gate. We took — afterwards — a formal and perfectly decorous farewell, only shaking hands all round, before Dick and I mounted the car. Andy started off at a gallop, and his “Git up, ye ould corn-crake!” was lost in our shouts of “Goodbye!” as we waved our hats. Looking back, we saw Norah’s hands waving as she stood with her father’s arm around her, and her head laid back against his shoulder, while the yellow moonlight bathed them from head to foot in a sea of celestial light. And then we sped on through the moonlight and the darkness alike, forthe clouds of the coming rain rolled thick and fast across the sky.
But for me the air was all aglow with rosy light, and the car was a chariot flying swiftly to the dawn!
CHAPTER XIV
The next day was Sunday; and after church I came over early to Knockcalltecrore, and had a long talk with Norah about her school project. We decided that the sooner she began the better — she because, as she at first alleged, every month of delay made school a less suitable place for her — I because, as I took care not only to allege but to reiterate, as the period had to be put in, the sooner it was begun the sooner it would end, and so the sooner would my happiness come. Norah was very sweet, and shyly told me that if such was my decided opinion, she must say that she too had something of the same view. “I do not want you to be pained, dear, by any delay,” she said, “made by your having been so good to me; and I love you too well to want myself to wait longer than is necessary;” an admission that was an intoxicating pleasure to me.
We agreed that our engagement was, if not to be kept a secret, at least not to be spoken of unnecessarily. Her father was to tell her immediate relatives, so that there would not be any gossip at herabsence, and I was to tell one or two of my own connections — for I had no immediate relatives — and perhaps one or two friends who were rather more closely connected with me than those of my own blood. I asked to be allowed to tell also my solicitor, who was an old friend of my father’s, and who had always had more than merely professional relations with me. I had reasons of my own for telling him of the purposed change in my life, for I had important matters to execute through him, so as to protect Norah’s future in case my own death should occur before the marriage was to take place. But of this, of course, I did not tell her.
We had a happy morning together, and when Joyce came in we told him of the conclusion we had arrived at. He fully acquiesced; and then, when he and I were alone, I asked him if he would prefer to make the arrangements about the schools himself or by some solicitor he would name, or that should all be done by my solicitor. He told me that my London solicitor would probably know what to do better than anyone in his own part of the world; and we agreed that I was to arrange it with him.
Accordingly I settled with Norah that the next day but one I should leave for London, and that when I had put everything on a satisfactory footing I should return to Carnaclif, and so be for a little longer able to see my darling. Then I went back to the hotel to write my letters in time for the post. That afternoon I wrote to my solicitor, Mr. Chapman, and asked him to have inquiries made, without the least delay, as to what was the best school in Paris to which to send a young lady, almost grown up, but whose education had been neglected. I added that I should be myself in London within two days of my letter, and would hope to have the information.
That evening I had a long talk on affairs with Dick, and opened to him a project I had formed regarding Knockcalltecrore. This was that I should try to
buy the whole of the mountain, right away from where the sandy peninsula united it to the main-land, for evidently it had ages ago been an isolated sea-girt rock-bound island. Dick knew that already we held a large part of it — Norah the Cliff Fields, Joyce the upper land on the sea side, and myself the part that I had already bought from Murdock. He quite fell in with the idea, and as we talked it over he grew more and more enthusiastic.
“Why, my dear fellow,” he said, as he stood up and walked about the room, “it will make the most lovely residence in the world, and will be a fine investment for you. Holding long leases, you will easily be able to buy the freehold, and then every penny spent will return manifold. Let us once be able to find the springs that feed the bog, and get them in hand, and we can make the place a paradise. The springs are evidently high up on the Hill, so that we can not only get water for irrigating and ornamental purposes, but we can get power also! Why, you can have electric light, and everything else you like, at the smallest cost. And if it be, as I suspect, that there is a streak of limestone in the Hill, the place might be a positive mine of wealth as well! We have not lime within fifty miles, and if once we can quarry the stone here we can do anything. We can build a harbor on the south side, which would be the loveliest place to keep a yacht in that ever was known — quite big enough for anything in these parts — as safe as Portsmouth, and of fathomless depth.” “Easy, old man!” I cried, for the idea made me excited too.
“But I assure you, Art, I am within the truth.” “I know it, Dick; and now I want to come to business.” “Eh! how do you mean?” he said, looking puzzled. Then I told him of the school project, and that I was going to London after another day to arrange it. He was delighted, and quite approved. “It is the wisest thing I ever heard of!” was his comment. “But how do you mean about business?” he asked. “Dick, this has all to be done; and it needs some one to do it. I am not a scientist nor an engineer, and this project wants the aid of both, or of one man who is the two. Will you do it for me — and for Norah?” He seemed staggered for a moment, but said heartily:
“That I will; but it will take some time.” “We can do it within two years,” I answered, “and that is the time that Norah will be away. It will help to pass it;” and I sighed.
“A long time, indeed, but oh, what a time, Art! Just fancy what you are waiting for; there need be no unhappy moment, please God, in all those months.” Then I made him a proposition, to which he, saying that myofferwas too good, at first demurred. I reasoned with him, and told him that the amount was little to me, as, thanks to my great aunt, I had more than I ever could use; and that I wanted to make Norah’s country-home a paradise on earth, so far as love and work and the means at command could do it; that it would take up all Dick’s time, and keep him for the whole period from pursuing his studies; and that he would have to be manager as well as engineer, and would have to buy the land for me. I told him also my secret hope that in time he would take all my affairs in hand and manage everything for me. “Buying the land will, I fancy, be easy enough,” he said. “Two of the farms are in the market now, and all round here land is literally going a-begging. However, I shall take the matter in hand at once, and write you to London, in case there should be anything before you get back.” And thus we settled that night that I was, if possible, to buy the whole mountain. Iwrote bythe next post to Mr. Caicy, telling him that I had a project of purchase in hand, and that Mr. Sutherland would do everything for me during myabsence, and that whatever he wished was to be done. I asked him to come over and see Dick before the week was out.
The next day I spoke to Joyce, and asked him if he would care to sell me the lease of the land he now held. He seemed rejoiced at the chance of being able to get away.
“I will go gladly, though, sure enough, I’ll be sad for awhile to lave the shpot where I was born, and where I’ve lived all me life. But whin Norah is gone — an’ sure she’ll never be back, for I’m thinkin’ that after her school ye’ll want to get married at once — ” “That we shall!” I interrupted. “An’ right enough too. But widout her the place will be that lonesome that I don’t think I could a-bear it! Me sister”II go over to Knocknacar to live wid me married sister there, that’ll be only too happy to have herwith her; and I’ll go over to Glasgow, where Eugene is at work. The boy wants me to come, and whin I wrote and tould him of Norah’s engagement, he wrote at once askin’ me to lave the Hill and come to him. He says that before the year is out he hopes to be able to keep himself — and me, too, if we should want it; an’ he wrote such a nice letter to Norah — but the girl will like to tell ye about that herself. I can’t sell ye the Cliff Fields meself, for they belong to Norah; but if ye like to ask her I’m sure she’ll make no objection.” “I should be glad to have them,” I said, “but all shall be hers in two years.” And then and there we arranged for the sale of the property. I made Joyce the offer; he accepted at once, but said it was more than it was worth. “No,” said I, “I shall take the chance. I intend to make improvements.” Norah did not make any objection to her father selling the Cliff Fields. She told me that as I wanted to have them, I might, of course; but she hoped I would never sell the spot, as it was very dear to her. I assured her that in this, as in all other matters, I would do as she wished, and we sealed the assurance with — never mind; we sealed it. I spent the afternoon there, for it was to be my last afternoon with Norah until I came back from Paris. We went down for a while to the Cliff Fields, and sat on the table rock and talked overall our plans. I told her I had a scheme regarding Knockcalltecrore, but that I did not wish to tell her about it, as it was to be a surprise. It needed a pretty hard struggle to be able to keep her in the dark even to this extent — there is nothing more sweet to young lovers than to share a secret. She knew that my wishes were all for her, and was content. When we got back to the cottage I said good-bye. This naturally took some time — a first good-bye always does — and went home to get my traps packed ready for an early start in the morning, more especially as I wished, when in Galway, to give Mr. Caicy instructions as to transferring the two properties — Norah’s and her father’s.
When Dick came home he and I had a long talk on affairs, and I saw that he thoroughly understood all about the purchase of the whole mountain. Then we said goodnight, and I retired. I did not sleep very well. I think I was too happy; and out of the completeness of my happiness there seemed to growa fear — some dim, haunting dread of a change — something which would reverse the existing order of things. And so in dreams the Drowsy God played at ball with me: now throwing me to a dizzy height of joy, and then, as I fell swiftly through darkness, arresting my flight into the nether gloom with some new sweet hope. It seemed to me that I was awake all the night; and yet I knew I must have slept, for I had distinct recollections of dreams in which all the persons and circumstances lately present to my mind were strangely jumbled together. The jumble was kaleidoscopic; there was an endless succession of its phases, but the pieces all remained the same. There were moments when all seemed aglow with rosy light, and hard on them others horrid with the gloom of despair or fear; but in all the dominating idea was the mountain standing against the sunset, always as the embodiment of the ruling emotion of the scene, and always Norah’s beautiful eyes shone upon me. I seemed to live over again in isolated moments all the past weeks; but in such a way that the legends and myths and stories of Knockcalltecrore which I had heard were embodied in each moment. Thus, Murdock had always a part in the gloomy scenes, and got inextricably mixed up with the King of the Snakes. They freely exchanged personalities, and at one time I could see the Gombeen Man defying St. Patrick, while at another the Serpent seemed to be struggling with Joyce, and, after twisting round the mountain, being only beaten off by a mighty blow from Norah’s father, rushing to the sea through the Shleenanaher. Towards morning, as I suppose the needs of the waking day became more present to my mind in the gradual process of awa keni ng, the bent of my thoug hts bega n to be more practical; the Sain
t and His Majesty of the Serpents began to disappear, and the two dim cuirassiers, who, with the money-chest, had through the earlier hours of the night been passing farathwart mydreams, appearing and disappearing equally mysteriously, took a more prominent, or, perhaps, a more real part. Then I seemed to see Murdock working in a grave, whose sides were ever crumbling in as he frantically sought the treasure-chest, while the gun-carriage, rank with the slime of the bog, was high above him on the brink of the grave, projected blackly against the yellow moon. Every time this scene in its myriad variations came round, it changed to one where the sides of the grave began to tumble in, and Murdock in terror tried to scream out, but could make no sound, nor could he make any effort to approach Norah, whose strong hands were stretched out to aid him. Withsucha preparation for waking, is it any wonder that I suddenly started broad awake, with a strong sense of something forgotten, and found that it was four o’clock, and time to get ready for my journey? I did not lose anytime, and after a hot cup of tea, which the cheery Mrs. Keating had herself prepared for me, was on my way under Andy’s care to Recess, where we were to meet the “long-car” to Galway.
