CHAPTER XXXIII.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 31, 27 November 1885, Page 5

CHAPTER XXXIII.

TIBBIE FINDS A " DKVIL TO DO HER WILL. ' When Tibbie parted from Katheiine in the mansion of Toboreevil the old creature did not hastily retreat from the shelter of its roof' bhe was too much interested in the golden-haired lady who had promised her a mandrake to lose sight of her for a moment, so long as she was within reach ; and so followed her stealthily from room to roem, peering at her through the key-holes and cracks in crazy doors When Paul came upon Katherine, up m the lobby of the goblin presses, Tibbie espied him from a room at the lower end of the passage, and was witness of all that had passed between the two young people. She was keen enough to discern that Katherine had a mind to be mistress of Tobereevil in spite of her contempt for and enmity towards the heir; also that Paul "didn't cotton to her, for all her grandeur and her beauty." Why this should be Tibbie could not gue«s. The poor and the ugly might be slighted and disliked, but wherefore the rich and the lovely? Tibbie was bewildered. Another cause of amazement to her was that Katherine, thus in want of luck herself, should choose to be so foolish as to give away her mandrake ; and she did not doubt that things had gone wrong with her since she first thought of parting with it. However this might be, these reflections made Tibbie a hundred times more anxious to get possession of the the luck spirit. Katherine might repent, and keep it to herself ; and if, after all, the youn ? lady were to be generous and keep her word ? Tibbie felt no gratitude at the thought of so great a sacrifice made in her favour ; she began to despise Katherine. When Tibbie had done her eavesdropping, she made her way carefully down-etairs to her old haunts about the cellar and the kitchen. To tell the truth, she had never ceased, for long, to be an inmate of the mansion Fora few nights after her dismissal she had sought shelter from the country people, wno had given it out of chanty, yet with but a shrinking soit of good-will ; and Tibbie knew that she was ho favourite, and her vagrant life was irksome to her ; so, after a little time, hhe came wandering back to the mansion, and at last boldly took up her quarters m the old pi ice. She knew holes in the cellars where she could hide, if Simon took a fancy to come pattering down the -tone staircase to make an inspection of his lower premises. This happened but seldom, and at other times Tibbie was free to do as she pleased. Her domestic arrangements were made upon so extremely scant a scale that all trace of them could be hidden at a moment's notice , and. in the meantime, she kept herself alive by pilfeiing from the neaiest farms. Tibbie was now out every day. watehingjtosee X itherine bringing her the mandrake. When no Kathennti appealed =he was much disturbed. The young 1 id y had then repented, and was going to play her false. Tibbie reflected, and thought she woald like to punish her ; and, in the midst uf the c brooding", a bright idea came into her cunning mind.

" I will buy the mandrake from her wid a charm I" thought Tibbie, "an' I will work my will through her, in a way she little guesses.

So she went searching and grubbing amon» her bundle of rags which were stuffed in holes in the cellars ; and bhe produced a package of dried beib-, which looked, some like dust, and some like ashes, After midnight, when Simon had finished his nightly excursions about the rooms, and was sai.j m bed, Tibbie kindled a fire and placed a broken saucepan upon the blaze. Into this she shed two or three different kinds of powders from her store, mixing them carefully. She hung over this saucepan for many hours of the night • and Con sat on the hearth, feeding the fire with the wicked fagots out of the woods, with his legs crobsed. and an expression of doubt and discontent upon bis flat white face. As the momenta passed, he often glanced fearfully over his shoulder, fancying Simon w.is on the bUircase ; and once he sprang up with a shriek, dropping the fagots on the hearth, and flew into the oelhr, where he lav quaking for half an hour. Con's terroi of the miser was on tho increase ; and, though he had crept in here from habit when h ■ had found Tibbie on the ppot, yet he seemed to know by in«tirct that sho had now lost hi'i power, and that she, too, was afr.ud of Sinnm. Tibbie did not much mind him, except to give him a pu-.h with Lcr foot when she found him in her way : but when he o imc shivering out of the cellar, she gave him a shaking which taught him to be quiet during the nst of this vigil. No t.\o people could he more different than Con at Tobereevil and Con up in the mountain. In the Kearney's cabin the fool was light, active, and as frolicsome and merry as a squirrel

ready to help everybody, and grinning -with contentment. Down here he was dull and timid, and sometimes dangerous ; but Tibbie did not heed him. He might growl if he pleased, and snarl, too, if he had a mind ; she was not one to be particular about manners. When Tibbie's brewing was finished, sße Strained the stuff carefully, and put it in a clear glass bottle. It was a pale strawcoloured fluid, and looked very innocent ; but Tibbie did not count it so.

" Love charms !" muttered she, as she hid it in one of her secret holes ; " there's no sich thing in th'j world. I tried them all around when I was a girl, and nobody would care about me ; but let her give this to Paul Finiston, an' it'll make him as mad an' silly as the omadhaun Con himsel' ; aa' then let the world judge betune them which is the fittest to be the master o' Tobereevil." When Katherine came from her room on the morning on which Bid's castle was getting built, Miss Martha broke the truth to her as gently as might be, telling her that May and Paul had gone oa business up to the mountain. Katherine recognised the trick that had been played on her, and her face took a strange expression. After breakfast, there being nothing better to do, she thought she would pass the time by going in search of Tibbie, so she took her way to the woods, guessing she would meet the hag in their neighbourhood ; and in this she was not wrong, for Tibbie was watching for her. The meeting between the two was not so lively as it might hare been ; for Katherine was in a bad humour, and Tibbie full of suspicions. Tibbie's mood was changed, however, when she Baw her mandrake emerge from many mysterious wrappings, and held it safely in her hands. She howled over it for joy, and kissed it with her withered lips. In her excitement she almost forgot her contempt for Katherine, who had been so silly as to give this treasure out of her keeping, and was ready to lay her gray hairs under the wonderful lady's feet.

'• Try and keep steady, my good woman," said Katherine. "If you make so much noise about this you will be robbed. I advise you now to go back to Tobereevil, mad take up your old duties without asking the miser's leave. You need not be afraid of him now that you have got your mandrake."

"No." chuckled Tibbie ;" I need not be afraid of him; an' if there is anything that Tibbie can do for your ladyship— mind, she'll do it. an' welcome !"

Katherine looked at her, and then gazed daikly into the depths of the woods.

•' I don't want anything of you," she said: "but, if ever I should remember what you have said. I shall soon return to Camlough, and it may be a long time before I set eyes on you again." Tibbie had secured and secreted her new possession, and all her contempt returned for the creature who had been so foolißh as to part with her luck. She fumbled among her rags, and produced the strawcoloured bottle.

'• Pardon, ladyship ! but you said you were going to Camlough. Might I be bould enough to ax you it ye would leave this small mes&agi* wid a young gul that lives on the roadside ?"'

" What is it ?" said Katherine

" Oh I thin ii b you that would laugh at it ; for yell nivir want it,'' said Tibbie. " Sure it's only a little charm such as eimple bodies does use."

•'A charm I ' piid Katherine contemptuously. " Ay, a love-charm. The girl was gom' to be married, an' her sweetheart he turned agin her , but the charm will bring the love o' her back to his heait. If wan body gives this to drink till another body, she'll be the dear light o' his eyes for the remainder o' his life. He'll think her beautiful and lovesome. an' won't be able to live out o1o 1 ber_ sight. He'll forget them he cared for ; an' the wan that give him to dhnnk o' this— sbc may hould his heart, an' his hau' an" his money, an' his Lin's till the day o' Ins death I"

•'What ridiculous stories \ou aie telling!" said Katherine angrily; and her eu>s hVhed from the bottle to the old woman's face, and from the face back to the bottle. " What could there be in a draught to work such a miracle ? '

" Ay, ay ! What could there be in a draught? Many a woman has axed that, an' yet thechnrm pushes it away. You keep your eye on Sally, an' see if she's not maincd to her sweetheart in a month ; hut I humbly bcgjei pardon for ruentionia' sich foolishness. It's just like my impidence axin' a lady to do my business. I'll get some one goin' the road that'll pr^s the bottle to Sal."

" Give it to me," said Katherine. "If the girl is to be made a fool of, I suppose I can do it . and now I will bid you good morning, and wish you good luck with your mandrake."

Tibbie's eyes twinkled as she surrendered the precious bottle : and, in che midst of her profuse thanks, Katherine turned abruptly and left her talking to the trees.

May and Paul were as well wearied as two people could wish to be when they came down the road that evening, and espied the lights shining in the wmdowa of Monasterlea. Aunt Martha waa glad to have them back again ; foi she had felt seriously in awe of Miss Archbold's darkened countenance. She had prorided dinner with more than her usual care, and rejoiced at May's blooming cheeks and Paul's brightened manner, as the two sat down to table and lelated their adventures. Katherine wis the most silent of the company, but when Paul rose to go away she spoke — " Stay a moment." d 0 qaid, " till I make a request. lam gome home to Camloueh to-morrow. May I rely on you to escort me, as I cannot po alone ?"

" Going home '" echoed MUs Martha and May in a breath ; and thfy both felt as if a weight had been rolkd" away from their hearts.

" Yes," said Kathennc. " I shall nde, and send a carriage for roy things.' 1

" Had you not bjtt.T send to Camlough, and ask your parents to come and fetch you ?" ask^d Miss Martha.

"No," said Katherine bluntly. " I shall ride ; and I shall lide alone if Mr. Finiston will not accompany me." " That is out of the question," said Paul, now forced to speak. '• If you insiit upon going, of course I shall bo your escort

Katherine bowed slightly, and then turned to Miss Martha " You do not press me to stay," she said. " No," said tbc old lady, "that would not be right, Inhospitable as it may sound, I think it quite time that you were at CamlouU with your mother. ' °

Katherine smiled faintly. T*u " Thank / 0U) " she said > " th.it is an hone=t speech, at any rate. I thank you for all your hospitality ; and you," she said to May " t thank you also. I don't doubt that I shall yet find means to repay you what I owe you. I must say good-night, as I mean to be up so

Then she left the room.

" This is a nice piece of business," remarked Miss Martha as soon as she was gone. " I must say, Paul, I wish you were not going with her. 6 B

Why should ne not go ? " cried May, with glowing cheeks. 'I shall leave her at the door, and come straight back again" sa.d Paul. 'It is the last thing I could wish-to be her guest even for a night. •' You cannot come straight backjthe journey is too long and fatiguing, said Miss Martha; -but you cau stay one ni^ht and return the next. May and I will not be jealous for that time " <• Jealous 1" said May. " Dear Aunty, what an ugly word 1 He shall stay two, three, four days-a whole month if he likes I" and she put her hand on Paul's shoulder with a happy look of trust •' See how little she values me!" said Paul, smiling back his thanks into her shining face. A D d then she went out with him to the door, perhaps to see if the stars were in the sky ; and Miss Martha remained in the parlour icjoicing very greatly as she put up her knitting for the night. r r

Paul and Katherine set out early the next morning, and May and Miss Martha watched them as they rode away in the sunshine '• Only till to-morrow evening, and then the good old times will have come back, May said to herself as she nailed up loose rose branches in her garden, and counted the little buds which were already getting red. The day was beautiful, and as full of hopefulness as herself. The ruins smiled darkly out of all the hollow sockets ot their windows, and the cloisters gathered up their gloom and hid it under the ivy. Some swallows had arrived during the night, and were making a great fuss about taking possession of their old homes in the chimneys aud about the eave-. There was a great whnnng and lluttenng of wings everywhere ; and though, the new comers had not got leisure to sit dowu and sing, yet the air was all filled with thcir,mclodiou 3 conversation. Ttie birds were everywhere • long trams of rooks from l'obereevil sailing across the blu~ valW of the sky, whole coveys ot yellow-hammers dropping like showers of gold upon the pillais of tne eld gate, white a goldfinch sat on May's window-sill, and eang into the chamber. Indoors, Bridget was hanging up draperies about the windows, and May decked the sills with boxes full of blossoms-the gayest and sweetest that the year bad yet produced. All this long day she spent upon the flowers working ml past sunset, till tne descent crept up. and sat upon the hills, and a multitude of stars ciaie out to inspect her labjuis Next day she gave her energies to the interior of the cottage. Many little household matters were taken up and shook out, amUooked all the fresher and prettiei for having beeu disturbed by skilful hands rictuies ueie ie-huntr, and old furniture brightened up So passed the interval which May had got to spend before I'aul could leturn to her, until at last the evening arrived. Dinner was waiting, aud May sat on the dooiNtep watching the road. The sun went down, but Paul had not appeared. Miss Maittu began to get lid^etv ■ but May said . •

" Wait a little, aunty I It is such a long, we.iry road " The old lady went back to the pailour. 'lhe place was very quiet, the air sweet and M.ill. Oh, for tue ring of a hoises hoot on tne road ! Never was there a watcher more quiet, yet more impatient than this, one ou the do .rstep. Mi^ Martha came out again.

" It is getting quite dark,' 1 she said, and we really must dine We can have something nice for supper, and he will enioy it much mure than if be finds he ha» kept us starving." May agieed to this, and the evening Tamps were lit Dinner was served and sent away. Miss Marth i dozed, and the cat played with her knitting-ball The tea-tray came and went—nine o'clock, ten o'clock May walked' up and down the garuen pallia aud Miss M.irtha warned her that she had better stay indouis.

'• You nmU only catch cold," she said, " and be 1 dd up to-morrow before "C" C COmCS> mUSt Say I nCVer SaW yy ° U SJ V2ry ltn P atl eut

11 No, said May patiently ; but she could not rest. Eleven o'clock passed, and then the cottage was all shut up. When May awoke next ruoimugthe buds wcie all smg.ng as it soinotmng good must happen bhe dressed herself in great haste, and hurried out on the road, bhe climbed tne old observatory in the belfry ; but ttieie was MoSin * Cm ' m fur miles aloa = the road h 'om the Golden th f ?fpv VV i n f ab ° U( ; d ? mg U ° thing aU diy ' Her lnnds shook so, that they d.d mischief to everything they toucued : so she gave uu the occupation, and went about idly. When she spoke hei voice was irritable and a ilus-b binned on her cheek. Auut Martha scolded her, as she alwaj b did before offering her cumfort. " I must say, May, I did not think you could bo so exacting Why should he not stay at Camlough for a few du\-, if tic pleased > I am quite sme Sir John counts it a godsend to get hold of him' and he never was there before, and he will have a great deal to s-e '' "He ought not to stay there just now," said May aud hei voice had gnt quite sharp. '

Miss Martha said no more, and another night went past On the next day May - irritability had disappeared, evei y other lLeliinr be.n? swallowed up in amizement. Sne appeared quite stunned for the next two or Uuee days; and it seemed a matter of course that the night and morning should come and go, and that Paul should not

appear. She became suddenly very busy, and it might have been supposed that she had forgotton him. She developed an extraordinary taste for cooking ; and cakes, jellies, preserves, and potted meats were ranged on the pantry shelves in unnecessary profusion before she began to perceive that she was going too fast. "Aunt Martha," she said one morning, "we are badly in want of sugar." J

"So we may be, considering the rate you are going at. I don't think I am growing stingy ; but my dear, you must not ruin me I " May looked nstonished, and then ashamed. She peeped into the store-room, and did not go back to it again for a fortnight. Her conscience twinged her when all the dainties came to the table. The cooking had lasted a week, and then another fit came on. May would sew, and sew as if her life depended on stitches. Every garment in the house came under her inspection ; summer clothes were made, winter clothes were mended and laid by ; but this also came to an end, and the twitching had not worked itself out of May s fingers.

She was now really at a loss ; but a child came to her gate with a tale of a sick father ; and May packed a little basket, and set off over the country to seek for the ailing man. A great many other tales were told to her after this, and for another good long spell of time she went trotting about after sickness with as much zeal as a Sister of Charity. But the weather was getting balmier, every day ; and, in time, her patients all got well except one old man who died • and May's active braia and limbs found themselves arrived at a full stop.

By this time It was early summer ; and there had come no more news from Cam lough than if it had been an island in the far seas, and boats had not yet been invented.

The Wicked Woods had put forth all their most splendid leafage ; and Miss Martha's farm was a pleasant sight to look upon, with its meadows and corn-fields and newly-blooming gardens. The wild roses were in the hedges, and the hawthorn and honey-suckle clambered on every wall, and peeped in at every window. All the sweets in the world seemed to abide at Monasterlea, except the one which sweetens all others— peace of mind.

(To be Continued.}