“To Ireland!” she cried. “What for?”
“I want to see my sister Ellen. I feel that I have neglected her too long. I shall run over to O'Shanaghgan, and stay there for two or three nights.”
“Why are you doing this, George?” said Mrs. Hartrick very slowly.
Mr. Hartrick was silent for a moment; then he said gravely:
“I have heard bad news from that child.”
“From Nora?”
“Yes, from Nora.”
“But Terence has never given us bad news.”
“Terence is not a patch upon Nora, my dear Grace.”
“There I cannot agree with you. I infinitely prefer Terence to Nora,” was Mrs. Hartrick's calm reply.
“But I thought you admired the child.”
“Oh, I admire what the child may become,” was the cautious answer. “I cannot admire a perfectly wild girl, who has no idea of self-discipline or self-restraint. And remember one thing, George: whatever she says to you, you must take, to use a vulgarism, with a grain of salt. An Irish girl cannot help exaggerating. She has doubtless exaggerated the condition of things.”
“I only pray God she has,” was Mr. Hartrick's reply.
“If things are even half as bad as she represents them, it is high time that I should pay my sister a visit.”
“Why? What does she say?”
“She has given me a picture of the state of affairs at that house which wrings my heart, Grace. To think that my beautiful sister Ellen should be subjected to such discomforts, to such miseries, is intolerable. I intend to go to O'Shanaghgan to-morrow, and will see how matters are for myself.”
Mrs. Hartrick was again silent for a moment or two; then she said gravely:
“Doubtless you are right to do this; but I hope, while you are away, you will do nothing rash.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that, from the little I have seen of Nora, she is a very impetuous creature, and has tried perhaps to wring a promise from you.”
“I will tell you quite simply what she has said, Grace, and then you will understand. She says her father has mortgaged the Castle evidently up to the hilt. The mortgagees will foreclose in a couple of months, unless money can be found to buy them off. Now, it has just occurred to me that I might buy Castle O'Shanaghgan for ourselves as a sort of summer residence, put it in order, and allow Patrick O'Shanaghgan to live there, and my sister. By and by the place can go to Terence, as we have no son of our own. I have plenty of money. What do you think of this suggestion, Grace?”
“It might not be a bad one,” said Mrs. Hartrick; “but I could not possibly go to a place of that sort unless it were put into proper repair.”
“It is, I believe, in reality a fine old place, and the grounds are beautiful,” said Mr. Hartrick. “A few thousand pounds would put it into order, and we could furnish it from Dublin. You could have a great many guests there, and—”
“But what about the O'Shanaghgans themselves?”
“Well, perhaps they would go somewhere else for the couple of months we should need to occupy the house during the summer. Anyhow, I feel that I must do something for Ellen's sake; but I will let you know more after I have been there.”
Mrs. Hartrick asked a few more questions. After a time she said:
“Is Nora to remain here?”
“Yes. I was going to speak to you about that. It is a sad pity that so pretty a girl should grow up wild. We had better keep her with us for the next two or three years. She will soon tame down and learn our English habits; then, with her undeniable Irish charm and great beauty, she will be able to do something with her life.”
“I shall be quite pleased to have her,” said Mrs. Hartrick in a cordial tone. “I like training young girls, and Nora is the sort who would do me credit if she really were willing to take pains.”
“I am sure she will be; she is an honest little soul.”
“Oh, I see you are bewitched by her.”
“No, not bewitched; but I admire honesty and candor, and the child has got both.”
“Well, well!” said Mrs. Hartrick, “if it is arranged that Nora is to stay here, I will go and see Miss Flowers at Linda's and Molly's school to-morrow, and ask if Nora can be admitted as a pupil. There is no use in losing time, and she may as well start her lessons next week. By all means, George, go and do your best for the poor things. Of course your sister ought not to be allowed to be in money difficulties.”
“I should think not,” said Mr. Hartrick.
The next day Mr. Hartrick bade Nora and his own family good-by, and started on his expedition to Ireland. Nora was quivering with impatience. When she had seen the last of him she turned back into the house, and was there met by her brother Terence.
“Come here, Nora. I want to speak to you,” he said.
She followed him into the nearest room. He closed the door behind them.
“May I ask what you have been saying to Uncle George?”
“You may ask, of course, Terry; but I don't mean to tell you,” answered Nora.
“It is because of you he is going to Ireland?”
“It is because of something I have said.”
“How do you think our mother will like it? You know how proud she is; how all these years she has determined to put a good face on things, and not to allow her relations in England to know the truth. I have followed her cue, and have been careful to make the very best of things at Castle O'Shanaghgan.”
“Oh, it is easy to tell lies,” said Nora, with scorn.
“Nora, you talk in a very silly way, and I often have no patience with you,” answered her brother. “If I have regard to my mother's feelings, why should you despise me? You are supposed to consider our father's feelings.”
“That is very different; the whole thing is different,” said Nora. She flushed, bit her lip, and then turned away.
“You must hear me,” said Terence, looking at her with some impatience; “you must, you shall. You are quite intolerable with your conceit and your silly, silly Irish ways.”
“Well, go on. What have you to say to me?”
“That I think you were guilty of dishonor in talking as you did at dinner last night. You spoke of the place and the poverty in a way which quite put me to the blush. I hope in future, while you are here, you will cease to run the O'Shanaghgans down. It is not worthy of you, Nora, and I am ashamed of you.”
“Run them down—I?” said poor Nora in astonishment.
“Yes, you.”
She was silent for a moment; she was making a great effort to recover her equanimity. Was Terence right? Had she done wrong to speak before her aunt and cousins as she had done? Of course her uncle was different; it was absolutely necessary that he at least should know the truth. A distressful sense of dismay at her own impetuosity came over her. Terence watched her narrowly. He was fond of Nora in his heart of hearts, and also proud of her; and now that he saw she was really sorry he went up to her, put his arm round her neck, and kissed her.
“Never mind, little girl,” he said, “you are young. Try to be guided by me in future, and do not give yourself away. We Irish wear our hearts on our sleeves, and that sort of thing does not go down in England.”
“Oh, how I hate this cold England!” said the Irish girl, with passion.
“There you are again, all your feelings expressed too broadly. You will never endure life if you go on as you have begun, Nora.”
“Terence,” said Nora, looking up at him, “when are you going home?”
“When am I going home? Thank you, I am very comfortable here.”
“Don't you think that just at present, when father is in trouble, his only son, the heir of O'Shanaghgan, ought to be with him?”
“Poor old O'Shanaghgan,” said the lad, with impatience; “you think that it comprises the whole of the world. I tell you what it is, Nora, I am made differently, and I infinitely prefer England. My uncle has been kind enough to offer me a small post in his business. Did I not tell you?”
“No, no; I never knew what my uncle's business was.”
“He is a merchant prince, Nora; an enormously rich man. He owns warehouses upon warehouses. He has offered me a post in one—a very good post, and a certain income.”
“And you mean to accept?” said Nora, her eyes flashing fire.
“Well, I am writing to mother on the subject. I think it would be well to do so.”
“You, an O'Shanaghgan, will descend to trade?” replied the girl.
“Oh, folly! folly! Nora, your ideas are really too antiquated.”
Nora did not speak at all for a moment; then she walked toward the door.
“I cannot understand you,” she said. “I am awfully sorry. I was born different; I was made different. I cannot understand why you should bring dishonor to the old place.”
“By earning a little money to keep us all from beggary,” retorted the lad in a bitter tone; but Nora did not hear him; she had left the room. Her eyes were smarting with unshed tears. She went out into the shrubbery in search of Molly.
“But for Molly I should break my heart,” she thought.
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