Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl by L. T. Meade (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📗

She took his hand quite unresistingly, and led him round to the entrance of the barn.

“I am up,” she said, “but no one else. No one else knows of this. You have come without a gun?”

“I have a knife instead,” he said. His eye glittered strangely.

“Give me your knife,” said the girl. “I will give you food in exchange for it.”

The famished creature began to gibber now in the most horrible manner; he pointed to his breast and uttered a laugh.

“Laugh again, and I will call those who will soon put a stop to your wild and terrible purposes, Andy,” said the girl, “Here's food—fruit, jelly, bread. You shall have them all—all, when you give me that knife.”

The man looked at the food, and now his eyes softened. They became full not only of rapture, but also of laughter. He gave a low guttural sound, sank down on the ground, and held out both his hands imploringly for some of the nourishment.

“The knife,” said Nora.

He thrust his hands into his bosom and held the knife out to her. It was a huge clasp knife, and Nora noticed with a shudder that it had all the appearance of having been newly sharpened. The moment she got it she put it in her pocket, and then invited the man to feed. He sat now quite humbly. Nora helped him to pie. She had already taken the precaution to hide the knife which Mrs. Shaw had supplied her with. The man ate and ate, until his consuming hunger was satisfied. Nora now gave him a very little of the brandy mixed with water. He lay back at last, exhausted and also satisfied.

“It's wake I am, it's wake I am—it's wake I am entoirely,” said he. “Why are you so good to me, Miss Nora? It was to take the life of the Squire I was afther to-night.”

“I knew that,” said Nora, “and I thought I would prevent you. Why did you not meet me this evening down by the shore?”

The miserable creature now raised his hand and pushed back a gray lock of unkempt hair from his forehead.

“Why, then,” he said, “it was bothered I was entoirely. I knew there was something I had got to do. It was waker and waker I was getting, for I did not touch bite nor sup since I saw you last, except a morsel of a cold pitatie; and there was not much of the nourishment in that; and as the night came, I could not think of anything except to keep me word and have me victory.”

“Well, you have had it,” said Nora.

“What do you mane now, missie?”

“You have conquered yourself; that is the best victory of all. But come, you made a bargain with me last night, and I am prepared to keep it. I went down to the shore to tell you that I would do what you wanted me to do. The cabin is ready on Slieve Nagorna; we have made it fairly comfortable for you; and I will do better—yes, I will try to do better by and by. I will speak to my father when he is strong enough. Go to Slieve Nagorna now, and you will find the old cot in which you were born. You can sleep there, and—and I—I will see that you are not interfered with.”

“The old cot in which I was born,” said Neil very slowly. “The old cot, and I'll see it again. Is it a-joking me you are, Miss Nora?”

“Would I joke with you just now, Andy? Would I?”

“I know it's saft you are making me. There was a lump of ice in me; but, somehow, it's melted. It's the food and your bonny face, and yer ways. But do you know that it was your father I wanted to kill—t'ould Squire? There, I have said it!”

“I know—and I have saved him,” answered Nora. “But come, he may hear us speaking; he would wonder. I do not want him to know anything of this night. When he is stronger I will plead with him. Come, Andy, come; your home is ready for you. Go back to it.”

The man tottered to his feet, and began to stagger across the barn.

“Stay! you are not strong enough,” said the girl. “Come outside the yard, here; come with me.”

She walked across the yard, reached the little postern gate, and opened it.

“Come out and wait,” she said in a mysterious voice. “You cannot walk to Slieve Nagorna, and yet you must get there; but I will get Angus to take you.”

“Angus! ay, he is a true Irish boy. Aw, I'd trust him.”

“You well may; he is a broth of a boy,” said Nora. “Sit there. I will soon be back with you.”

She shut Andy out, bolting the little gate. The man heard the bolt being drawn, but did not move; he had not the slightest fear but that Nora would keep her word. She ran across the yard and opened the door of the barn at the farther end. Angus was already awake; he heard her light step.

“Is it me you're wanting, Miss Nora?”

“Angus, all is well,” she said. “What I wanted to do I have succeeded in doing. It is Andy Neil who is without; he is broken down and is very weak. Get the long cart and take him to the foot of Slieve Nagorna, help him up the mountain, and see him into the old cot where he was born. Good-night, Angus, and God bless you.”

Nora returned to her own bedroom. She unlocked the door and let herself in. Without waiting even to undress, she flung herself on the bed, curled herself up, and went off into dreamless slumber. When she woke again it was broad daylight, and Molly was standing over her.

“Why, Nora, you have lain undressed all night! What—what has happened?”

“Do not ask me,” said Nora. “Do not ask me. I have done what I wanted to do, and I am thankful.”

“And you won't really tell me?”

“No, I won't. I cannot ever. There is more to attend to, Molly; you and I have got to go to Slieve Nagorna immediately after breakfast.”

Molly did not ask anything further.

“I brought your hot water,” she said. “You do not want any of the grand English servants to see you look like this.”

“What a dear old thing you are!” said Nora. “I am so grateful to you.”

She got up, took off her clothes, indulged in a hot bath, and came down to breakfast looking exactly as if she had spent an ordinary night. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was a little more fretful than ever, and told Nora that her conduct was making her mother quite ridiculous in the neighborhood.