Sweet Irish Eyes. A novel

Chapter I

Km nkuHE world went to bed early at Kirk- R2§ sS drowsie Castle — the men, because they IWK Tfrll were so tired after a long day on the moors, that some of them had found it difficult to keep awake in the drawing-room after dinner; the ladies, because, the men being dull, they found it dull too. But Eila Ravensheuch felt preternaturally wide-awake, and was by no means disappointed when a knock at her bed room door proclaimed that someone else was not inclined to rest. ' Come in,' she replied, and Honor Mayne entered, in a dressing-gown, her pretty waving dark hair down her back. ' Hurrah ! ' cried Eila. ' Delighted to see you ! I hate being sent to bed so early, like a nursery child, and I'm bubbling over with heaps to say, and expiring for someone to say I A it to. Sit down, and let us both brush our wigs.

Justine did mine when I came up, but it's all so wild and tangly after the blowing it got on the moor to-day, that an extra brush or two will do it no harm,' added the girl, laughing, as she shook out the curly yellow locks, which were one of her great attractions. There was no doubt that Miss Ravensheuch was a very pretty girl. Half Scotch, half Irish, she had the good colouring, the bright hair of her father's race, and the sweet, deep blue eyes, with the dark brows and long dark lashes, which are seen at their best in the Emerald Isle. Yet men, and women, too, when they talked about Eila Ravensheuch, did not, strange to say, lay so much stress on her good looks. It was really Eila's sunny nature, her high spirits, her frankness, her freedom from the smallnesses and meannesses to which feminine flesh is supposed to be heir, that clenched the favourable impression produced by her outward charm. ' And, I, too, want a talk.

I've something to say to you particularly,' replied her cousin, settling herself in the easy chair, and looking across at Eila, who had thrown herself upon the sofa in a careless attitude, her bare arms clasped above her head, with something of a wistful sadness in her dark eyes. ' I'm going to do something I know you'll think " awful " ! ' ' You're not going into a Sisterhood ? ' cried Eila, starting up. Honor shook her head. ' Thank goodness ! You're always so fond of good works and curates, and curates of you, that I've often trembled for you. You'd make a lovely sister, like the " pensive nun, devout and pure," in the advertisement of somebody's beef tea. Well, what is it ? Not a nurse ? You'd have to do lots of unpleasant things. I shouldn't like to think of you doing un pleasant things.' ' No, not a nurse.

I don't think I'm strong enough. But you're right, Eila; I'm going to do something to help them all at home. You know how dreadfully poor we are now. Poor father's worrying himself to a shadow ; mother is fretting herself ill ; the boys' schooling must be paid for, and I'm tired of this idle life, visit ing and pleasant parties, while they are all so depressed at home. I'm going out as a governess, Eila ; ' and Honor's head sank on her breast, and a sigh which was half a sob escaped her. In an instant Eila was at Honor's feet, with her arms flung round her. ' My darling ! My poor Honor ! Oh ! it's a horrible idea ! You mustn't think of it ! I won't allow it ! You shall come and stay with mamma and me — always and for ever ! ' Honor gently disentangled herself, and shook her head. ' I know you mean it, darling, from the bottom of your heart.

But don't tempt me. My mind is made up. I am going to be independent, and a help, too, to those I love, not a burden ; I cannot live on people's kindness.' ' But, think — think, Honor, a governess ! Remember our school-days, the horrid French irregular verbs, the German declensions ! Ugh ! Fancy, having to begin them all over again, when we've done with them for ever ! ' Honor smiled sadly. ' I never found them so dreadful as you did, and I am very fond of children.' ' Good, nice children, to play with and pet ; not nasty, naughty, tiresome children. Remem ber how abominably wicked I was ! ' ' I've thought it all over, for weeks, months, be sure I have,' Honor replied, wearily. ' It's all settled now. I've written home, and got father and mother's consent ; it was easier done by letter — and I wanted to tell you before we leave this place, and to-night seemed a good chance.

I've written to Miss Jellicoe, too, and she is enquiring about one or two places she thinks might suit.' ' Ah ! you always were a good girl at school. Old Jellybags will do anything for you. But, Honor, to think it should come to this ! ' and Eila hugged her again. ' Yes, yes. It does seem hard. Grandfather, with his coach and his pack of hounds, the big man of the county ; his town house in Fitzwilliam Square, and so on ; and poor father not knowing how to educate the boys, and the place and the gardens going to rack and ruin. It does seem hard.' ' Hard ? ' and Eila sprang up, and walked excitedly up and down the room, her little fists clenched. ' Hard ! It's abominable ! It's unjust ! It's wicked, somewhere, somehow, of somebody ! What have we Irish done (I'm quite half Irish meself, remember) that we should suffer so ?

Who sinned, we or our fathers, that ' ' Hush, hush, Eila ! It seems wrong, some how, to rebel like that, to kick against the pricks. It is hard, but don't make it harder for me. If you only knew what it has cost me to come to this decision ! But I wanted you, at least, to know, darling, so that when I have disappeared from our world, and while you are still enjoying and amusing yourself, you would sometimes think a little of me and the French verbs ; ' and Honor looked up with a smile which the tears in her eyes belied. But it was Eila who was sobbing, nestled close to her cousin. ' Poor, poor, poor ! ' she murmured, stroking Honor's soft hair. ' But I must cry— you must let me cry, I can't help it ; and as for amusing myself— I'm not — I hate it all — I'm very miser able, really, at the bottom of my heart ; indeed I am ! ' ' You didn't seem to be so at lunch up by the cairn,' and Honor smiled. ' At all events, Mr Wrentham didn't seem to think you were.' ' Oh, bother Mr Wrentham ! ' and Eila abruptly dried her eyes, and made a little face. ' Eila !

It didn't seem like " Bother Mr Wrentham " this evening over tea in the hall.' ' It is, though, really. I hate him. I hate South Africans, and dark men, and beards, and old men — he's nearly forty, I should think. In fact, I hate — I don't know what I hate, or whom. I'm annoyed, put out, miserable ! ' and Eila's usually sunny little face clouded over with a dejection that was pathetic to behold. 'With Mr Wrentham? 'He's not worth it!' (decidedly). 'Don't let's talk about him ; I'm weary of him. Whenever I am alone a minute with mamma, she does go on about him so. I wish to goodness these rich South Africans would stay in South Africa, and not come over and bother us.' 'That's not the opinion you have evidently led Mr Wrentham to believe you have of him.' ' Well, no — perhaps — not quite — exactly.

You see, Honor, it's all mamma, and then — and then — and then ' — and Eila turned away her head, and her face grew scarlet. ' I did it to tease Bo — Mr Ballater. I'm exceedingly annoyed with Mr Ballater,' she added with much difficulty. ' I thought something was wrong,' remarked Honor. ' He's been looking fit to hang himself all day, especially during the lunch and the tea episodes, and I heard Mr Mackenzie say he'd never known him miss so many birds before, and he such a good shot.' ' I'm so sorry — I mean, I'm glad — yes, very glad. He wants snubbing — such cheek ! ' ' What's such cheek ? ' 'Why, just hear. I haven't had time to tell you all day, and yesterday morning Mary Mackenzie never let us have a minute alone. This is what happened yesterday. You know how long and how dull Sunday afternoon always is — you mayn't hardly smile on a Scotch Sunday.' ' Well, you seemed to do a good deal more than smile, teaching Mr Wrentham how to blow the harmonium in the hall for you.' ' A very suitable Sabbath occupation, playing hymns ' ' Playing with hims, you mean.

Eila, I fear you're behaving badly ! ' and Honor shook her head reprovingly. ' Someone else is, too, if you'll only listen. Well, after a while, I escaped from the harmonium and Mr Wrentham, and went upstairs to write letters, and Mr Ballater and Mary Mackenzie and some others were looking over photo books, and talking photos. It appears Mary had never seen my new photos, and when Mr Ballater turned the conversation to them, she said she would like to do so. He volunteered to fetch them and vanished. Now, you know he tried to get one out of me that night he was dining with us in London, the day after the Lewis' ball. No, of course, you don't know ; how can you ? But I remember, perfectly, all about it. I wasn't going to let him have one — no, not for all his begging. So this was the bad, base trick he played me.

Justine was in my room, putting out my dress for dinner. There came a knock at the door. She opened it, and I, busy with my letters, thought it was a foot man, with the message delivered by Justine — " Miss Mackenzie would be glad if I would let her have my new photos to see." Suspecting nothing, I told Justine to give them to the messenger, who was, of course — Bob Ballater. Yes, you may laugh, but it's no laughing matter. I'm exceedingly angry with him, for, listen ! Mary Mackenzie thought he was an unconscionable time fetching the photos. But at last he brought them. After dinner, she gave me the packet back. It seemed smaller than when I gave it to Justine. Mary thanked me very prettily, and said she had taken the one she liked best. I, rather puzzled, looked through the parcel, and there were four others missing — four, one in each attitude !

Did you ever hear such cheek ? Stealing, I call it ! And the worst of it is you laugh, and Mary laughed, too. You're all horrid, and Mr Ballater's the worst of all ! ' Honor bent down to Eila, who was sitting on the rug at her feet, and surveyed her calmly and steadily a few minutes in silence, with those large, soft eyes of hers. Eila fidgeted a little under the scrutiny. ' Eila,' said Honor, in a low voice, ' you're not telling the truth, and you know you don't think Mr Ballater horrid at all.' Eila flushed to the roots of her hair, turned away her head for a moment, and then, suddenly, to Honor's intense surprise, she saw her lips tremble and her eyes fill, and the girl buried her face in her cousin's lap and burst into tears. ' Oh, Honor ! Honor ! ' she sobbed, ' that's just it — that's just the dreadful part !

I don't ! I don't ! I don't ! I think he is awfully nice — quite the nicest, finest, best man I ever saw or met. Oh, Honor ! It's dreadful ! I'm afraid I'm in love with him ! ' ' Why afraid ? ' — in a low voice. ' Oh, don't you see how dreadful it is ? How am I to know if he cares for me ? ' ' To the eye of the bystander it would appear ' ' But how am I to know — how am I to be sure ? Men flirt so. I flirt myself, always have, ever since I came out. How is a poor girl to find out if a man is really in earnest ? He may be only amusing himself.' ' Like you with Mr Wrentham.' ' Honor, I tell you this ! If Bob Ballater has only been flirting with me all this while, in London and in Scotland, I shall never, never, never be happy again ! ' ' Is it as bad as that, Eila ? ' Eila shook her head piteously. ' I could have it in me to become a hospital nurse ; I'm not good enough to be a Sister.

Oh, dear ! ' and she laid her golden head wearily on her cousin's knee, and sighed as if her heart would break. ' What does Lady Ravensheuch say ? ' in quired Honor, after a pause. ' Oh ! you know mamma ! Of course, we're not well off; all the property went with the title, at papa's death, to my brother. She's always hoping 1 shall make a rich match, she says. Mr Ballater's as poor as a church mouse, she hears. His only prospect is in old General Sir John Ballater, his uncle, whose favourite nephew he is. Oh ! mamma's found out all about him, you may be sure ! She always does find out all about a man directly he asks me for three dances. Oh, Honor ! it's a terrible thing to be an only daughter, and not exactly bad-looking ! ' ' And Mr Wrentham is a gold-mining million aire, and his own master ? ' ' Don't talk of the odious man !

If Bob Ballater were never going to inherit a farthing, I'd marry him (if I thought he really cared for me), and never have another nice gown as long as I lived ! I would, indeed, and you know how I love frocks ! But if he really did care for me he — he would have said so before now.' ' You've never given him a chance. You've been playing very fast and loose with him, even up here.' ' Do you think I'm going to let a man see that I'm in love with him ? ' and Eila's eyes flashed, and she tossed her head. ' But I wish I could find out — could test him, try him. You remember,' she went on, ' that bit of German poetry about the lady and the lions and the glove we learnt at old Jelly bags' ? ' ' I think you rather deserve that he should treat you a la Ritter De Lorge.' ' But I haven't meant it — I haven't, indeed,' moaned Eila. ' If he really cared, he would have seen and understood.

But he doesn't care — no, he doesn't ! I wish I had lived three centuries ago ; matters were so much easier to manage then. I would have tested him — would have made him my champion ; he should have fought for me. I think he would have fought beautifully, he shoots so well, and plays golf so well. Or, even now, if an accident were to happen. Let's set the room on fire, and lock ourselves in, and see if he'll climb up the window and rescue us ? ' she cried, wildly, springing to her feet and seizing the candle. ' Don't be silly, Eila ! You're over-excited, and it's late. We ought to go to bed,' remonstrated the other. ' I am silly, mad, miserable ! I don't know what I'm doing or saying. And I'm selfish, too, keeping you up talking over my own wretched affairs, you poor darling ! Yes, I'll go to bed now.

I don't suppose I shall sleep a wink. I want to invent an ordeal for .Mr Ballater.' ' I think the ordeal by fire would be rather hard on poor Mr Mackenzie and Kirkdrowsie Castle,' suggested Honor, taking up the candle. 'Well, I'll do something to myself then — cut off my hair, catch smallpox, and become a fright. Do you think he would ever speak to me again if I were a fright ? ' and Eila made a hideous grimace in the glass. ' Anyhow I should not be bothered about Mr Wrentham any more, that would be one comfort.' ' Once more, good-night,' remarked Honor, opening the door. ' Ha ! an idea ! They keep bulls on these Scotch hills. Does Mr Mackenzie happen to have a convenient mad bull handy, think you ? Lend me your red blouse to wear when we go out to lunch on the moors to-morrow.' ' No, I won't. It's too big for you, and it's too good.

I won't risk its being torn. Besides, there's no shoot to-morrow. We are all going a-sailing across the loch to an island, remember.' ' I do ! I do ! " Eureka ! " as some old fellow, in Greek history, I believe, once observed. I'll try a watery grave ! ' ' Not you. You can swim, like the little duck you are, and are perfectly aware how eminently unbecoming a cold in the head is.' ' I'll invent some dodge, see if I don't,' laughed Eila. ' I'll lie awake, remembering all the similar situations in all the novels I've ever read — fainting fits, sprained ankles, and ' But Honor, seeing that her cousin had re covered her spirits and was herself again, folded her once more in her arms, and hurried away down the passage. Ten minutes afterwards Eila was in bed, and, in spite of her utmost endeavours, fell asleep almost directly she laid her head upon the pillow. B

Chapter II

' i^ifiiiooD"MORNiNG' Mackinmv said H^^fl to ms skipper, as k •^™* the former stood at the gangway of the fifteen ton cutter ' Plaisance,' and took off his cap, as the party from the Castle rowed up to the side. ' Do you think we shall have a fine day ? ' ' Aye, Sir, an' it's a strong sky, a growin' sky,' replied the sailor, pointing to great cumulus slowly rising up in the west, over the purple hills of the almost land-locked loch. ' We'll git a nice bit breeze.' ' Not too much, I hope, for the ladies.' ' A clear in the nor' never hairm nae man, Sir, as they say, and the sin set in a clear last night. When the sin sets in a clear, Wasterly win' ye needna fear. When the sin sets in a bank, Wasterly win' ye winna want," quoted the skipper, from behind his big red beard, then turned and shouted an order to the crew. ' No chance of a shipwreck, then,' whispered Eila in Honor's ear, as they passed aft. ' That might have suited me.' ' Eila !

I hope you're going to be good,' said her cousin, glancing a little anxiously at the wicked twinkle in Eila's eyes. Mr Mackenzie was chaperoning his daughter and the two girls, as his wife had stayed at home to keep Lady Ravensheuch company. Sailing was not at all in that lady's line. It made her untidy, and bored her. Indeed, she disliked country visits in general. She hated getting wet and roughing it, and but for dear Eila's sake, would have preferred the dolce far niente of Homburg, whither she averred Sir Luke Lancet, the great doctor, had, indeed, ordered her. But she would sigh resignedly, for her duty at the moment appeared to her to be plainly that of securing the rich South African for her son in law. It was a lovely day for a sail, just wind enough to cause the ' Plaisance ' to heel over slightly as she swept along under the full sail of her white wings, and to move the great white clouds, which stood out like cotton wool in the deep blue sky, casting purple shadows on moor and mountain, and green, dark patches on the sunlit water.

Eila was in wild spirits. She assumed command of the expedition, and had not been ten minutes on board before every man, including crusty old Mackinnis, was at her beck and call. She chattered and she laughed, asked questions, but didn't wait for the answers, and finally announced she wanted to steer. ' You'd better see if Mackinnis will let you,' observed her host. ' Will ye be knowin' anything about it, Miss ? ' demurred the skipper. ' Not an idea ; that's why I want to try. I want a new sensation. It must be like driving a live thing.' ' An', of course, she's alive,' snorted Mac kinnis, with a true sailor's appreciation of his craft, as he gave up the tiller to Miss Ravensheuch, and stood by her, giving her mysterious directions as to putting ' it up or down,' and ' Not so nigh the wind, Miss.' A pretty picture Eila made, her hair blowing about her face, her eyes glancing, in true, steersmanlike fashion, on the fluttering burgee at the masthead, and her slight figure swaying first to one side and then to the other, in her endeavours to keep the tiller firm and herself steady.

Two men sitting one on either side the deck, smoking, watched her, and caught her every word. But to Mr Ballater she had hardly vouchsafed a syllable that morning. ' Any rocks about here ? ' enquired Eila, as the ' Plaisance ' rounded a headland, and the lock narrowed, and became studded with islands. ' Keep her up, Miss ; the tide's running a few off the point.' ' Shall I try and steer for the rocks ? ' repeated Eila to the assembled company. ' You know the story of the old lady crossing over from Guernsey to Jersey, and who asked the captain if he was sure he knew where the rocks lay ? " Indeed I do," he replied, as the vessel gave a great bump. " There's one." ' ' Pray don't let her play any tricks, Mr Mackenzie,' interposed Honor, anxiously. * Did you ever, any of you, know me play any tricks? ' retorted Eila, with an air of injured innocence, glancing round. ' Now don't all speak at once.

Dear me ! Dead silence ! How nice it is to have a good character ! But to return to our rocks — figuratively. Mackinnis have you ever been shipwrecked ? No ? ' as the Scotchman slowly waggled his red head. 'How very dull of you ! Mr Mackenzie, have you never had any adventure in these parts ? ' ' I'm afraid we can't oblige you, Miss Ravensheuch,' drawled young Colin Mackenzie, in the Trinity ' blazer.' ' Except that night in the fog the governor and I were rowing across the bay, coming home from a shoot on the far hills, late in the autumn.' 'Oh, do tell!' — with a Yankee nasal drawl. ' Well, Angus, the dark chap over there forward, who was rowing us, was glori ously uncertain of his whereabouts and his soundings, and certainly it wasn't very pleasant, for the fog was so thick you couldn't see the nose of the boat.

Angus, too, is nothing if not superstitious. " Breathe a prayer, mon ! " he muttered to the boy in the bow, who promptly grovelled at the bottom of the boat. A minute or two later, however, we touched land, and the fog lifted a little. " Hoot, mon ! " exclaimed Angus, rousing the boy with a kick, " we're ashore. Ye needn't be layin' yourself under any further obleegation ! " ' Very nice. Won't someone tell another ? Oh ! ' as the skipper suddenly and unexpectedly gave the tiller such a shove down, that Eila reeled across the deck almost into Honor's lap. ' Really, Mr Mackenzie, the abrupt manners of these parts ' ' Beg pardon, Miss,' apologised Mackinnis, ' but it's shoal in there.' ' I think you'd better let me steer now we're getting among the islands,' interposed the owner of the ' Plaisance.' ' Do, I'm tired.

Your yacht does pull so, she's got such a hard mouth,' laughed Eila. ' Now, what can I do ? ' she added, prowling about among the rest of the party, who were scattered in wicker chairs or on cushions on the deck. 'Can I fish? I feel a desire to fish.' ' Which can't be gratified now, I think ; there's too much wind,' remarked her host. ' But we'll lie-to round the next point for lunch, after which you can try your luck.' For the best part of the afternoon the party amused themselves letting down hooks over the stern, as they lay at anchor in the bay, and pulling in lythe and ling. Then they piped all hands down to tea (one eats frequently and much on a yacht), while the men got the sail up, and Eila distinguished herself by upsetting the hot water on the swing table into Mr Wrentham's lap, the victim smiling placidly, and trying to look as if he liked it.

Towards evening the wind strengthened, and there was every prospect of a glorious run home up the lock. Eila's spirits rose with the breeze. She began to play all manner of pranks. She whisked off Colin Mackenzie's cap, and made him believe it had blown over board. She clambered about in all manner of perilous places among the skylights and hatches, with the yacht at a decided angle, and running merrily before the wind. She captured a concertina from one of the crew forward, and sung snatches of songs to a weird accompaniment and unsteady chorus, and danced a little pas-seul to it. She effectually prevented Mr Wrentham for some five minutes from lighting a fresh cigar, pretending it was the wind blew out the matches, till that amusement also palled. ' I should never do to go a long voyage.

I hate being cooped up. I want exercise. There's not much room to walk here. Let me see,' she said, standing on the taffrail, ' I wonder if 1 could walk along this, like a tight-rope,' she added, glancing round. The crew had gone below to tea, all but one man in the bows. The owner, prone on the cabin sofa, was indulging in a snooze, his son was steering, and Mr Wrentham, now peacefully enjoying his cigar, was lying back in a wicker chair, talking to Miss Mackenzie. Only two people noticed the dangerous attitude of the slim figure, poised on the edge of the taffrail, with arms extended to balance herself. One was Bob Ballater, the other Honor Mayne. ' Oh, Eila ! Do take care ! ' The words were hardly out of Honor's mouth ere the vessel gave a lurch, or Eila lost her balance — she never explained which — and she toppled headlong into the water.

Honor gave a scream, and simultaneously there was another splash. Bob Ballater had vanished from the deck. In an instant every one had roused up, and all was bustle on board. The yacht was going at a good rate, and to Honor, standing at the stern, her eyes anxiously fixed on the water, it seemed an immense distance to the yellow head, which presently bobbed up, hatless, to the surface. But how still and motionless ! ' Why doesn't she strike out ? She's keeping it up too much ! Oh, Heavens ! ' cried Honor, aloud, ' she's sunk again ! ' ' Can't she swim ? ' inquired Mr Mackenzie, anxiously, as he brought the vessel up into the wind, and the men hurriedly let down the boat. ' Beautifully. But, oh ! something must have happened to her — cramp — oh, Eila ! Eila ! ' and Honor wrung her hands distractedly. ' He's lost sight of her.

Try to your right more,' shouted Mr Mackenzie, excitedly, to a dark head and arms swimming powerfully over the spot. ' Ah ! he has got her ! Oh ! thank God ! ' exclaimed Honor, as they saw Bob Ballater throw up one arm for an instant, clutching something. It seemed an age ere the yacht came about, and the boat was free of the davits. The tide was running strong, and the wind was against the rowers. Mr Ballater, with his burden, made for the nearest shore, a little island, in smooth water. From the yacht they watched him land and lay Eila on the sand. She seemed strangely still, and Honor's heart turned sick with fear. When the boat approached the island, Colin Mackenzie, who was in charge, turned it hastily round, and rowed back to the yacht. ' Miss Ravensheuch's struck her head falling overboard.