“the tenacious depths of the quicksand, as is usual in such cases, retained their prey.”
the rain was not by any means over when we came out into the field. it was half-past four, but, though the sun had sunk, the clouds had lifted, and the misty orange light of the after-glow filled the air. a slim scrap of a moon had slipped up over the hill to the eastward, and the bats were swooping round our heads as we picked our way across the muddy yard of the demesne farm.
“i think you’ll find the field drier than{264} the bohireen,” said willy, in the same distant voice which he had last spoken; “we can get over the wall here.”
he took my hand to help me over, but dropped it as quickly as possible, and walked on with unnecessary haste, keeping a little in front of me. the field was, as he had said, rather better than the lane, but my feet sank in the soaked ground, the pace at which we were going took my breath away, and i began to be left behind. willy still stalked on unrelentingly, with the enviable unpetticoated ease of mankind in wet weather.
“i wish you wouldn’t go so fast,” i called out at last. “i can’t possibly keep up if you go at that pace.”
he slackened at once.
“i thought you wanted to go fast,” he answered, without looking back.
“i don’t particularly care,” i said, as i{265} struggled up alongside of him. “i should think mr. o’neill must have gone home some time ago.”
willy made no comment. i took out my handkerchief and wiped the last raindrops from my face, feeling a good deal aggrieved by his behaviour.
“your cap’s all wet too,” he said, looking down at me from under his eyelids—“soaking, and so is your coat,” putting his hand on my shoulder for a moment. “i think i ought to have carried you home in a turf-basket. look at this bad bit here we’ve got to go through.”
“thank you,” i said snappishly, taking off my wet cap and shaking the rain from it as i went, “i should rather not. i am about as wet as i can be now. it certainly was capital weather to go out ferreting in.{266}”
we were now at the “bad bit” of which willy had spoken,—a broad, dark stripe, vivid green by daylight,—across a hollow in the field, with a gleam of water here and there in it.
“you’d much better let me carry you over this,” said willy, stopping.
“no, thank you,” i said again, eyeing, however, with an inward tremor, the long distances between the tussocks of grass which might serve as stepping-stones. “you have the eggs to carry, and i have no wish to be dropped with them into the bog.”
“ah! nonsense now; you know there’s no fear of that,” he said, and put his arm round me as if to lift me. “do let me.”
“i am not going to be carried,” i said, with determination. “if you’d only let me alone, i should get over quite well.{267}”
he did not take his arm away, and bent down over me.
“you’re always getting angry with me these times,” he said.
“no, indeed i’m not,” i answered, trying to speak pleasantly, and to move forward at the same time.
his quick breathing was at my ear, and for one moment his lips touched my hair; the next i was floundering with a burning face through the deepest of the quagmire. at every step my feet sank ankle-deep; i dragged out each in succession with an effort that nearly pulled my boots off, and when i gained firm ground again, my feet had become shapeless brown objects, weighed down with mud, with which my skirt was also thickly coated. willy had made no further effort to help me, and, having followed me across with caution, walked silently beside me as i hurried{268} along, trying to ignore my uncomfortable and ignoble plight.
but one field now divided us from the road, and as i scrambled up on to the high fence i heard wheels, and saw something moving along it away from the durrus gate.
“that must be mr. o’neill’s trap!” i cried excitedly, jumping down after willy, who was already in the field. “oh, willy, do run and stop him! i must explain——”
“there’s no earthly use in trying to catch him now,” willy answered morosely. “i’m not going to kill myself running after him, like a fool, for nothing at all.”
“very well,” i rejoined; “if you won’t go, i will.”
my indignation with willy alone sustained me through that dreadful run. i had to cut diagonally across the field in order to intercept nugent. the ground{269} was soft and sticky; my mud-encumbered skirt clung round me; and i should have had scant chance of catching him but for the fact that the road, curving a little at this point, led over a steep and stony bit of hill. i reached the wall of the field just as the horse was breaking into a trot at the top of the hill; but, fortunately for me, the groom at the back of the dog-cart saw the walking-stick which i feebly brandished to attract his attention—i had no breath wherewith to shout—and, recognizing me, called to his master to stop.
nugent pulled up, and, turning round, took off his hat with a face of such astonishment that i became all at once aware of the appearance which i must present, but i came forward with a gallant attempt to appear unconscious of my heated face and general dishevelledness.
{270}
“how are you?” i panted. “i intended to be at home. won’t you——?” here my breath failed me, and i was obliged to eke out my sentence with a gesture in the direction of durrus.
“oh, thanks; it doesn’t matter in the least. don’t let me take you back any sooner than you had intended,” replied nugent, in a voice that told he had been nursing his wrath to keep it warm.
“i was going home,” i said, more intelligibly. “i am very sorry, but we were delayed by the rain.”
he got out of the dog-cart and shook hands with me across the low wall, on the farther side of which i was standing.
“there has certainly been a pretty heavy shower,” he said, looking at me uncertainly, but, as i thought, with a dawning amusement.
“hasn’t there? awful!” i said, smearing my wet hair back behind my ears, and{271} putting on the cap which i had clutched convulsively in my hand during my run across the field. “we had to shelter in a cottage for ever so long.”
“who is we?”
i looked round for my late companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“willy was with me,” i said; “but he declared that it was no use trying to catch you, and—and i suppose he has gone home.”
nugent said nothing, but climbed on to the wall with as much dignity as his macintosh would permit, and helped me over it. i was very unfortunate, i inwardly reflected; i first got wet through, and then one cross young man after another dragged me over these horrible wet stone walls. however, i said aloud—
“you must come back and have some tea; it is quite early still.”
he hesitated.{272}
“thanks, i am not sure if i shall have time; but perhaps, in any case, you had better let me drive you home.”
the step of the dog-cart was a very high one, and as i put my foot on it to get up, the full beauties and proportions of my boot—a shapeless mass, resembling a brown-paper parcel—were revealed. my eyes met nugent’s, and we both laughed, he unwillingly, i with helpless realization of my appearance.
“i am not fit to get into anything better than a pigstye or a donkey-cart,” i said apologetically. “i really am ashamed of myself from every point of view, moral and physical.”
“but what on earth have you been doing?” he asked, as we turned and drove towards durrus. “have you been out snipe-shooting in the bog with willy?{273}”
“no,” i answered cheerfully; “something much more vulgar.”
“it certainly does look more as if you and he had been digging potatoes, but i did not quite like to suggest that.”
something in his manner offended me.
“that was just it,” i said, not choosing to explain. “willy is rather short of farm hands just now, and i have had my first lesson in ‘sticking’ potatoes.”
“i should think you will find that a useful accomplishment in boston.”
“knowledge is power,” i said combatively. “probably the next time you see me, i shall be learning to sell pigs in the fair at moycullen.”
“very likely. i believe americans—i beg your pardon, i mean people from america—like to do a country thoroughly when they get there. i suppose you go in for experiments as much as the others?{274}”
“why, certainly! i guess that’s why i came over here; i’m experimentalizing all the time.”
“really!” said nugent, without appearing to notice my elaborate americanisms. “and is your experiment successful so far?” he looked me full in the face as he spoke.
“yes, so far,” i answered, with an unexplainable feeling that sincerity was required of me, and noting inwardly the blue impenetrability of his eyes.
he said nothing for a minute or two; then, without any apparent connection of ideas—
“is willy corning home to hear us play?” he asked. “have you taught him to appreciate high-class music yet?”
“i don’t think he wants any teaching,” i said, with an instinctive wish to stand up for my cousin; “he has a wonderful ear, and his taste is really very good.{275}”
“really!” in an uninterested voice.
“yes,” i said positively; “i believe he has a real talent for music, if he had only been given a chance.”
“he did not get much of a chance at anything, i believe,” nugent said, in what seemed to me a patronizing way.
“no, he certainly did not. i think very few people know all the disadvantages he has had, and i am quite sure that very few people would have done as well as he has if they had been in his place.” this with some warmth.
“i am sure i shouldn’t, for one,” replied nugent, quietly taking to himself the generality which i had thought both telling and impalpable. “but then, i dare say—— why, there he is!” interrupting himself, as we turned into the avenue and came in sight of willy, who was walking very fast towards home.{276}
he got out of our way without looking back, and only nodded to us as we passed. i saw the bowl of eggs in his hand, and knew by the defiant way in which he carried it that he was ashamed of it.
“your fellow-labourer seems to have had a peaceful time collecting eggs whilst you were sticking the potatoes,” said nugent, with again the suggestion of a sneer. “he certainly does not look as if he had done as much hard work as you.”
“no; he has not run all the way across a field, as i did just now.”
nugent coloured. “i deserved that,” he said, and laughed. then, after a moment’s pause, “and i don’t think i did deserve your taking such trouble to stop me.”
“of course, you may have some inner sense of unworthiness,” i answered, mollified, “that must remain between you and{277} your own conscience; but it was very rude of me not to have been at home, and i did not mind the run half so much as writing the letter of apology which i should have felt you had a right to.”
“and which i should not have believed,” said nugent. “it was so wet that i should have been quite certain that you were sitting over the fire with willy all the time, and told roche to send me away because you felt as if playing violin accompaniments would be a bore.”
“appearances would have been against me,” i admitted; “but i should have enclosed my boots as circumstantial evidence”—advancing one disreputable foot from beneath the rug—“and perhaps also one of the potato-cakes which i had ordered specially for your benefit.”
a loud twanging snap from the violin-case under the seat startled us both.{278}
“by jove!” exclaimed nugent; “that is the e string, and i have not another with me.”
“then we can’t have any music,” i said, with unaffected dismay. “what a pity! so i brought you back for nothing, after all.”
“don’t say nothing,” he said; “think of the potato-cakes!”
“that may be your point of view,” i said regretfully; “but when i was running across that field i was thinking of corelli.”
“i had hoped,” remarked nugent, looking sideways at me, as he pulled up at the hall door, “that you might have had some incidental thoughts about the way in which you had treated me.”
“i cannot argue any more until i have had my tea,” i said, getting out of the trap, and trying to stamp some of the mud off my boots on the steps.{279}
“perhaps i had better go home,” he suggested. “as corelli is out of the question, i suppose i shall not be wanted.”
“just as you like.”
“but i want the potato-cake you promised me.”
“then, i think you had better come in and get it,” i said, going into the house. “i don’t approve of outdoor relief.”
