Ethel Mildmay's Follies.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 7, 9 January 1889, Page 6

Ethel Mildmay's Follies.

By the Author of ' Peti te's Romance.'

CHAPTER XXIII

But the marvals of that day were nob nearly exhausbed yeb. Greater ones wer e still to come. Before the two women had had bime to recover from bhe sorb of little shock which that kiss had produced, a knock came to the door, and a broadshouldered girl, with naked feet, and a basket of turf not ungracefully poised upon her head, appeared. What she said was said in Irish, which, of course, Ethel could nob understand. Bub Mrs Irwin branelated ib for her, looking, trubh to tell, a little disconcerted and surprised. His lordshio wished to know how the •young lady felt herself, and whether she would not come down and bake a glass of wine wibh him in the dining-room.

Ebhel gave Mrs Irwin a questioning glance, 'I did nob suppose that he was aware that you were here,' Mrs Irwin answered- ' Some days, the thoughb of there being a stranger in the house sets him wild. He is capricious.' ' But ought I. to go to him ? Is he very—' Ebhel asked timorously. ' Odd, you mean to'say, or, rather, mad. Sometimes he is—generally, indeed. Bub there are times when he is quibe sane and sensible. To - day, for instance, you will probably find him reasonable and rational.' 'But—' And Ethel hesitated still. 'It will irritate him if you do nob go to . him,' Mrs Irwin said. 'He will fancy all sorts of things. The old man has strange fancies, without beginning or end.' And she spoke with subdued irritation. 'If you fear— If it pleases you, I will accompany you,' she volunteered. 4 1 am not afraid. But—l think I would C rather you would be there--just at first, you know,' bhe girl confessed. J They lefb tbe room together: the barefooted girl, still balancing her burf-baskeb, | holding bhe door open for bhem to pass, < and gaping with all her Irish blue eyes ab _ theslender, fair-haired apparition inhheneat j dark riding-habib. Miss, Mildmay reburned i the glance wibh usury; perceiving which , Mrs Irwin said, 'You are surprised to see i such a servant in a greab house like this ; : bub his lordship is poor ; at least, he says ! he is.' ' Indeed 1 I fancied bhat all his relations j thought him rich.' Mrs Irwin book no notice of bhe retorb, but led the way in silence down a handsome double-winged oaken staircase, which led into a vast entrance-hall. Here was the organ—a fine, noble instrument. But it was silent now. The musician had departed. •What trouble you must have had carrying me upstairs !' Ethel remarked wonderingly. ' I know nothing of it.' 'No: you had fainted, and were quite unconscious. We carried you up the back staircase—my husband and I. Not this one.'

' And why bhe back sbaircase ?' ' Because one never can be certain of his lordship's moods. Besides, ib would have alarmed him bo have seen you.'

There was no bime for anything more. They had crossed the hall, and were standlug before a door at which Mrs Irwin tapped gently. Ethel heard no answer, but probably one had been given ; for Mrs Irwin turned the handle, and opened it. ' There is his lordship. Go in,' she said. And she gave the young girl a push. There was his lordship ! Ethel was nob a nervous girl, nor a timid one. But a mist came before her eyes just then, and a queer, very unpleasant sensation into her throat. There was Lord O'Neil—a mile away from her still, as it seemed to her in that first embarrassing moment —sitting at the far end of the room, at the top of a long, shining mahogany table, and right underneath a picture, which, even at the firsb glance, and ab such a distance, she ab once recognised to be his own portrait. His own portrait. But could ifc be? Could that handsome, dark-eyed, smiling, face, and that erect, proud figure, be the face and figure of the dreary wretch before her ?

Lord O'Neil had risen on her entrance, wibh an old-fashioned, ceremonious inclination, and was standing still, waiting for her to come nearer. -Upon all those leagues of brightly - polished tables, there were but three tiny objects—two wine-glasses and a decanter. Ethel kept them steadily in view as she walked, somehow or other, she never knew exactly how, up the whole length of the interminable room, and reached them and Lord O'Neil. The next moment she found herself seated upon a peculiarly hard, horse-hair chair with high, straight back, to which the old man pointed as he resumed his seat himself.

All Ethel's nervousness had melted into curiosity now ; a sentiment which seemed to be thoroughly reciprocated by Lord O'Neil, whose dark, lustreless eyes were scanning her from head to foot from beneath a pair of white shaggy brows. Truly he was a sbrange-looking old man, tall and gaunt and spare, and perfectly colourless, in a worn threadbare coat, the sight of which made Ethel shiver even upon that warm day ; a wreck, nothing but a wreck, of what had once been a handsome, ardent, living man, but was now little more than a galvanised corpse : a pale, spectral image of a life that has lived its day, and yet cannot, or perhaps will not, die. Quite suddenly, but gently, he broke the silence in which he and his visitor had been openly taking one another in. ' What is your name, young lady ?' he inquired, pouring out with a tremulous hand that could scarcely grasp the decanter, a glass of dark-brown wine, and pushing it pver to her.

'My name is Ethel—Ethel Mildmay. Thank you, Lord O'Neil; bufc I have already had some wine upstairs.' ' Have you ? Who gave ib to you ? Mrs Irwin, there ?' And he glared toward the end of the room, where near fche .door, Mra Irwin was meekly standing. Perceiving the angry, suspicious glance, Ethel was afraid to say yes, and was silent. But the old man's displeasure was but momentary, if displeasure it was at all. ' Ethel Mildmay,' he repeated; 'Ethel Mildmay—a pretty name. My nephew Arthur's ward ; eh ?' ' Yes, I am Mr O'Neil ward.'

* Indeed ! Arthur is a handsome fellow. He ought ro marry you ; he means to, I suppose?' and he "gave a low chuckling laugh. Efchel flamed into a rosy blush. 'He does not—he does nofc mean anything of the sort—neither do I,' she protested angrily. *He does not ? more fool he 1 Well, now, what brought you over to Castle Garvagh, young lady, and all by yourself too ? You came by yourself ; did you not?' 1 Yes. It was foolish of me ; but I was curious to see the place, and—' 'And what besides the place? Come, now, tell the truth.'

' I am not in the habit of telling anything but the truth. I believe that I was curious to see you too, Lord O'Neil; but I would never have come in, never have intruded upon you, but that that horrid Tinker —'

' Curious to see me, were you ? upon my word I am greatly flattered,' interrupted Lord O'Neil, giving the girl a keen, searching, surprised glance. 'By Heaven, you're candid, young lady, at all events. And who sent you ?—Master Arthur, eh V 'No ! of course not. Why should he have sent me ?'

' Because he is too proud to come near me himself. Ah, there's a true O'Neil for you —as proud as Lucifer ! Arthur would sooner go to hell than watch and worrit me the way those Irwins do for that scamp of a nephew of theirs—for he is their nephew, isn't he ?' he asked suddenly, bending torward so thafc Efchel felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and speaking in allor,w r , startled whisper. The girl was frightened. ' I don't know —how should I know ? I know nothing,' she said.

' You don'b know ; don't you ?' and the old man burst inbo a harsh laugh. ' And so you're no wiser bhan your neighbours, young lady ? We're all in the same box, then. She knows,' he went on, with a nod of his white head toward Mrs Irwin, -vho stood immovable in the same spot and abbibude ab bhe further end of the room. 'She knows well enough ; but she is a clever woman and can hold her tongue. She's worth twenty of thab devil of a sister of hers, I can tell you.' Then he laughed again—a laugh thab made Ethel shudder, it was so hollow and mirthless. 'And perhaps I'll outlive them all yet,'he went on with a wicked chuckle— •Master Arthur, and bhab young fellow, and the countess (as she calls herself), and Mary Anne Irwin, over bhere, and bhab villain of a husband of hers. Who knows ? As long as there is breath in a man's body, there's "hope ; and I'm not going to die yet, not a bib of it!—no, nor for many a long day, though they'd all give their immortal souls to blirow bhe firsb shovelful of earth upon me.' And he glared at Ethel in the most alarming way. Bub bhe girl was more disgusted than alarmed. ' You are greatly to be pibied, Lord O'Neil,' she said, with a shade of contemptuous compassion in her voice. *to be pitied—what for ? They're to be pitied who see the years go by, and their youth pass away in vain desires and longings. What am I fco be pitied for, younglady ? I have lived my life, and have nothing left to hope for but to disappoint them. And that lam doing, am I not, every minute, every hour ? Every day that I live is again to me.and a loss to bhem. And I have many a day yefc to live, you may tell Master Arthur who sent you here, young lady. Tell him, with my love, that I am strong and hale, and hard to killhard to kill. Wishes don't kill, or I'd be dead long ago. Bub the O'Neils are tough and long-lived, thank God !' Ethel stood up. 'Mr O'Neil did not send me here,' she said indignanbly, ' and ib is a great shame for you to pretend, to think he did. You know he did nob, Lord O'Neil,' she said firmly, her eyes flashing wibh a fire thab was worthy of the pride of bhe O'Neils themselves.

' How should I know it ? Don'b I know chat they are all watching me, and counting every breath I breathe? So Master Arthur did nob send you, young lady, did he not ? Then why did you come ?'

' I did not mean to come; it was an accident, I—' Bub the old man interrupted her, laughing at her rage. ' Perhaps you came on your'own account, then—to see and judge for yourself; perhaps you're scheming as well as the rest of them, for all your fair face and innocent looks. But which will you try your fortune with, young lady— the uncle, or the nephew ? Ha, ha! there's the puzzle. I'd say bhe uncle if I were you,' raising his voice for Mrs Irwin's benefit, and eriving her a malicious glfince. ' He's an O'Neil, at all events ; while bhe other—God knows who he is ! Mary Anne Irwin, over bhere, knows it well; bub she'll nob tell, not if her tongue were to be dragged out of her head with red-hob pincers. Catch the uncle, young lady; that's'my advice. By Heaven, what ducks and drakes yell all be making of the old place when I am gone 1'

Ethel was standing before him now, pale with indignation. But the mischievous, satirical gleam which she suddenly detected in the old man's eye, checked the angry words upon her lips. He wanted to ' rile' her, and she would not be riled ; she would have the advantage of him yet.

' The old place !' she repeated with cool contempt. 'It is a poor place, nob worth the fuss you seem to think thab all bhe world is making about it.' If she had coolly informed her host that bhe house was on fire, and the next insbanb would crumble down on bop of him, he could not have looked more horrified and amazed. With a yreab bound he was on his ieet, towering above her Avibh all his great slender height, and glaring upon her like the lunatic he was. Bub Ebhel was a brave girl, and never faltered, never removed her own steady eyes from his.

' Ugly 1' he cried ; ' Castle Garvagh poor and ugly ! Are you mad, child? are you mad?' And sweeping down upon her, he suddenly whirled her to the nearest window, and drew back from it the faded crimson curtain. ' Look !' he exclaimed with tremulous vehemence—'look, and say now whether Castle Garvagh is poor and ugly ; whether, in the length and breadth of the three kingdoms, there is a more beautiful spot than this ?' Ethel looked and was silent; for she could not gainsay him ; she could not in common honesty and reason maintain the truth of her contemptuous and slighting verdict. Yes, it was true ; it was a lovely spot; and the little she had as yefc seen of Castle Garvagh was bub a poor preparation for the beauty which now, with the suddenness of a vision, had burst upon her. A green, sloping lawn, studded with ancient and splendid trees ; a vast dark-blue lake, with many dewy inlets green as emeralds, floating upon its bosom ; beyond, crowning an eminence, the picturesque ruins of a great and noble pile—what once had been the magnificent Castle Garvagh, and which now stood out in gaunt relief against what seemed bo be miles and miles of rich green forest. It was very beautiful, serene and lovely in the burst of brillianb sunshine which, now that the thunder-storm had spent itself, was pouring down upon ib through great jagged rents in fche clouds ; and Ethel, gazing upon it, suddenly remembered and understood the enthusiasm with which Arthur O'Neil i had once spoken to her of Castle Garvagh.

' Ifc is prefcfcy,' she confessed candidly after a pause. Lord O'Neil laughed, and relaxed the tight grip with which he had been holding her slender wrist. Her words were but poor praise; bub the involuntary heartiness with which they were said testified to their sincerity, and gratified him. Indeed, it was soon by no means difficult to perceive that, ominously as their acquaintance had begun, fche eccentric old man had taken a fancy to his uninvited visitor.and, after his fashion, that he meant to make himself agreeable fco her.

For two long hours and more, the girl had to bear him company, and to do penance for her escapade. After all, when she grew accustomed to him, and overcame her first nervousness, it was not such a long severe penance. Lord O'Neil, as Mrs Irwin had told her, was mad, if mad at all, only by fits and starts. His manias were avarice, suspicion, and distrust. Whenever, for a time, his mind could free itself from these three spectres which, in the wretched isolated existence he led, grew daily stronger and stronger, threatening soon to master him completely, he was a tolerably kindly, harmless old man, to whom the ancient courtly traditions of his youth still clung, in spite of the savage solitude to which he heel for so long condemned himself.

Of course, Lord O'Neil had a story, or rather many stories. His youth and manhood had been stormy and wild ; he had brought sorrow and disgrace upon many, and, in his turn, had been made sorrowful and disgraced. A young and beautiful wife whom he, already old, had, in a frenzy of love, married, betrayed and dishonoured him. Long, long ago it had all happened ; even memories of these tilings were faded and indistinct, washed oub by Time's kindly touch. His wife and child had been laid to rest in a foreign churchyard, before that luckless day on which Arthur O'Neil's mother had first, laid her eyes upon those two French girls who had wrought so much mischief to her sons ; but it was said and believed that thafc false wife's crime had pub the finishing stroke to Lord O'Neil's manhood, and certain ifc is that ever since it he has been the miserable, useless creature we find him now.

It was long since a fair young girl, like Ethel Mildmay, bad brought sunshine and brightness amongst the deep, silent shadows of the old place. Lord O'Neil, unpropitious and disagreeable as he had chosen at first to make himself, would not let her out of his sight now. In vain she tried to make her escape. Together they went through acres of gaunt, empty stables where, in the good old times of Lord O'Neil's father, and his own spendthrift youth, teams upon teams of horses, the marvel and admiration of all the country, had been kept. Now they were silent, weed-grown, and deserted, dilapidated, and going fast to ruin, poor little Tinker with his badly cut knees, and a couple of sorry-looking labouring beasts, their sole denizens. The place was a picture of desolation ; nob a shilling would Lord O'lNeil allow to be spent upon it : and rumour said thab his true-by steward, Denis Irwin, was as close and avaricious as himself and that the secreb of the mastery ha possessed over him lay in their mutual sordid sympathies. A pleasanter spectacle than the stables and offices, all equally melancholy in their neglect and decay, wero the ground* around them, the beauty of which no neglect could destroy. Lord ONeii brought her down to the white sandy beacli ot the blue lake, which was nob a lake afc all, but an arm of the sea, but, like one of the Norway fiords, wooded to its'very edge, and so sheltered and calm and peaceful, thab it was hard to believe thab its bright limpid waters were really those of the great Atlantic. Then they w r enb bhroueh shady paths, amid fancies of wild flowers of every form and hue, all the earth smelling sweetlyattertbestorm, up to bbc picturesque old church-yard, which the peasantry firmly believed was haunted, and for which they preserved such a devout veneration bhab, bhough burials were no longer allowed within it, they still stealthily brought their dead bo lay bhem in bhe sacred earth. Ib was all very green and wild and beauti ful. Daisies were thickly strewn over the crowded graves, and moss and lichen and ivy crept over the ancient tombstones, and clambered up the tottering walls, and through the broken arched windows of the old abbey. Ethel was charmed, yet sad dened too. Ib was a sad place ; and now and then, when the girl glanced furbively at the gaunt, tall figure, and white shaggyhead, of her strange companion, her heart failed her, and a weird sensation sbole over her, as bhough she had sbrayed inbo some uncanny region, of which ghosts and spirits were'more likely inhabitanbs bhan morbal men and women.

Yet she actually saw neither ghost nor spirit, though more than once she was halftempted to fancy that she did. More than once Mrs Irwin's quieb steps, for ever dogging bhem, and her wabchful eyes for ever observing them, startled and frightened her. The woman seemed resolved never to let bhem oub of her sight for more than five minutes at a time.

Now ib would be from behind a tombstone, now from round a corner, now with apparent unconcern walking down a crosspath, that she would appear. What did it mean ? —wa3 it that her master could not be trusted ? or that she was jealous of the favour which the young visitor had found ? Ethel was irritated and fairly perplexed by the ceaseless observation to which she was subjected, but did nob dare remonstrate against it. Lord O'Neil either did not perceive it, or was too well accustomed to it to notice ib.

And so two hours and more passed, not so bhoroughly unpleasant, after all. There was an element of adventure in the situa tion which tickled Ethel's fancy, and kep up her spirits, yet when, ab long, long lasb, the welcome sound of carriage-wheels was heard approaching, she heaved a little sigh of relief, and began to breathe more freely.

• They are coming 1' she exclaimed joyfully, ' they are coming to fetch me !' Lord O'Neil gave her a sardonic glance ; perhaps he was affronted by her very visible gladness at the prospect of a speedy release.

' Are they ? Time for them,' he remarked ungraciously. 'So Master Arthur, having sent you into the lion's mouth, will actually condescend to come to fetch you out of it, will he ? Very kind of him, indeed 1'

Ethel thought it beneath her to resent the oft-repeated sneer. ' I suppose Mr O'Neil is coming,' was all the reply to it which she vouchsafed.

But she was mistaken. The Mount Druid contained Mrs O'Neil, her fair face flushed andanxious, butnobodyelse. Thefab old horses were blown and streaming; old John's eyes were sbarting out of their sockets: poor little Mrs O'Neil was all ruffled and fluttered, and nearly screamed with joy when she found Ethel upon the doorsteps, whole and smiling, waiting to receive her.

'We thought you were killed, child; we thought you were killed !' she cried.

'Did you? Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs O'Neil 1"

'At least I did. Arthur said it was all nonsense, and that I was a fool to be so frightened. Good-evening, Cousin O'Neil !' It was quite a little comedy to watch the meeting between the pair; they had never liked one another, and, of late years, charity had not increased. On principle, Mrs O'Neil still, from time to time, paid formal visits to Castle Garvagh;_but'thesevisits only served to keep up the semblance of friendship, and not seldom ended in an open quarrel; for Mrs O'Neil, as we know, was an outspoken lady, bub little versed in the art of holding her tongue, and would, on occasions, impart her mind as roundly to Lord O'Neil as to anybody else. To-day the old gentleman could not resist a suarl in the very first breath. ' And so you've come all alone in search of tb© stray

lamb, Cousin Sarah?' he observed. • What's that lazy fellow of an Arthur doing, that he'll never take the trouble of looking after a poor, helpless old man—when there is a young lady in the question too ? Uponniy word, I did not think he had grown into quite such a boor as that!' and he gave one of his malicious chuckles. Mrs O'Neil fired up like tinder. * Arthur is neither a boor nor a lazy fellow,' she said warmly. «He would be glad fco call over fco see you now and then if—' And here she paused, a withering glance at Mrs Irwin, who at that moment appeared in the back ground, completing the sentence. ' Ah ! it is to Mary Anne Irwin you object.' And the old man smiled wickedly. ' Bufc what can we do, Cousin Sarah ? She'll be throning it in Castle Garvagh one day yet, aunt to the heir, you know —aunt to the heir !' Poor, wretched old man ! This was his one pleasure, his one idea of enjoyment—to play off one rival against the other, and to torment the lives of all who came near him. To him the future was a blank ; he neither knew nor apparently cared what solution it would bring to the great Castle Garvagh mystery. ' After him the deluge.' But the present was his own afc least; and to it he clung with the frantic grip of a drowning man. Little Mrs O'Neil actually cried with rage and mortification when she and Ethel were afc last alone in fche carriage.

' The wicked old creature ! the nasty, wicked old creature !' she exclaimed. 'As if he did not know, as if he must not know, that my son, and my son only, will ever be master at Castle Garvagh. Oh Lord, Lord ! where, how is it all to end ?'

Where ? how ? who could bell ? who could even guess ? Efchel took the old lady's hand in hers, and softly stroked them ; and, doing so, she looked out, with perplexed, clouded eyes, upon the brown, bleak bog through wnich their road was wending, and thought, with a strange pang at her heart, of that fervid, peculiar kiss of Mrs Irwin's, which seemed to be burning her forehead still. (To be Continued.)