‘Nursing a sore throat, or a sprained ankle, or a something or other. Shall I confess it—as only a suspicion on my part, however—that I do believe he was too much shocked at the outrageous liberty I took in asking to be admitted here to accept any partnership in the impertinence?’
‘We expected you at two or three o’clock,’ said Nina.
‘And shall I tell you why I was not here before? Perhaps you’ll scarcely credit me when I say I have been five hours on the road.’
‘Five hours! How did you manage that?’
‘In this way. I started a few minutes after twelve from the inn—I on foot, the car to overtake me.’ And he went on to give a narrative of his wanderings over the bog, imitating, as well as he could, the driver’s conversations with him, and the reproaches he vented on his inattention to the road. Kate enjoyed the story with all the humoristic fun of one who knew thoroughly how the peasant had been playing with the gentleman, just for the indulgence of that strange, sarcastic temper that underlies the Irish nature; and she could fancy how much more droll it would have been to have heard the narrative as told by the driver of the car.
‘And don’t you like his song, Mr. Walpole!’
‘What, “The Wearing of the Green”? It was the dreariest dirge I ever listened to.’
‘Come, you shall not say so. When we go into the drawing-room, Nina shall sing it for you, and I’ll wager you recant your opinion.’
‘And do you sing rebel canticles, Mademoiselle Kostalergi?’
‘Yes, I do all my cousin bids me. I wear a red cloak. How is it called?’
‘Connemara?’
Nina nodded.
‘That’s the name, but I’m not going to say it; and when we go abroad—that is, on the bog there, for a walk—we dress in green petticoats and wear very thick shoes.’
‘And, in a word, are very generally barbarous.’
‘Well, if you be really barbarians,’ said Walpole, filling his glass, ‘I wonder what I would not give to be allowed to join the tribe.’
‘Oh, you’d want to be a sachem, or a chief, or a mystery-man at least; and we couldn’t permit that,’ cried Kate.
‘No; I crave admission as the humblest of your followers.’
‘Shall we put him to the test, Nina?’
‘How do you mean?’ cried the other.
‘Make him take a Ribbon oath, or the pledge of a United Irishman. I’ve copies of both in papa’s study.’
‘I should like to see these immensely,’ said Walpole.
‘I’ll see if I can’t find them,’ cried Kate, rising and hastening away.
For some seconds after she left the room there was perfect silence. Walpole tried to catch Nina’s eye before he spoke, but she continued steadily to look down, and did not once raise her lids.
‘Is she not very nice—is she not very beautiful?’ asked she, in a low voice.
‘It is of you I want to speak.’
And he drew his chair closer to her, and tried to take her hand, but she withdrew it quickly, and moved slightly away.
‘If you knew the delight it is to me to see you again, Nina—well, Mademoiselle Kostalergi. Must it be Mademoiselle?’
‘I don’t remember it was ever “Nina,” ’ said she coldly.
‘Perhaps only in my thoughts. To my heart, I can swear, you were Nina. But tell me how you came here, and when, and for how long, for I want to know all. Speak to me, I beseech you. She’ll be back in a moment, and when shall I have another instant alone with you like this? Tell me how you came amongst them, and are they really all rebels?’
Kate entered at the instant, saying, ‘I can’t find it, but I’ll have a good search to-morrow, for I know it’s there.’
‘Do, by all means, Kate, for Mr. Walpole is very anxious to learn if he be admitted legitimately into this brotherhood—whatever it be; he has just asked me if we were really all rebels here.’
‘I trust he does not suppose I would deceive him,’ said Kate gravely. ‘And when he hears you sing “The blackened hearth—the fallen roof,” he’ll not question you, Nina.—Do you know that song, Mr. Walpole?’
He smiled as he said ‘No.’
‘Won’t it be so nice,’ said she, ‘to catch a fresh ingenuous Saxon wandering innocently over the Bog of Allen, and send him back to his friends a Fenian!’
‘Make me what you please, but don’t send me away.’
‘Tell me, really, what would you do if we made you take the oath?’
‘Betray you, of course, the moment I got up to Dublin.’
Nina’s eyes flashed angrily, as though such jesting was an offence.
‘No, no, the shame of such treason would be intolerable; but you’d go your way and behave as though you never saw us.’
‘Oh, he could do that without the inducement of a perjury,’ said Nina, in Italian; and then added aloud, ‘Let’s go and make some music. Mr. Walpole sings charmingly, Kate, and is very obliging about it—at least he used to be.’
‘I am all that I used to be—towards that,’ whispered he, as she passed him to take Kate’s arm and walk away.
‘You don’t mean to have a thick neighbourhood about you,’ said Walpole. ‘Have you any people living near?’
‘Yes, we have a dear old friend—a Miss O’Shea, a maiden lady, who lives a few miles off. By the way, there’s something to show you—an old maid who hunts her own harriers.’
‘What! are you in earnest?’
‘On my word, it is true! Nina can’t endure her; but Nina doesn’t care for hare-hunting, and, I’m afraid to say, never saw a badger drawn in her life.’
‘And have you?’ asked he, almost with horror in his tone.
‘I’ll show you three regular little turnspit dogs to-morrow that will answer that question.’
‘How I wish Lockwood had come out here with me,’ said Walpole, almost uttering a thought.
‘That is, you wish he had seen a bit of barbarous Ireland he’d scarcely credit from mere description. But perhaps I’d have been better behaved before him. I’m treating you with all the freedom of an old friend of my cousin’s.’
Nina had meanwhile opened the piano, and was letting her hands stray over the instrument in occasional chords; and then in a low voice, that barely blended its tones with the accompaniment, she sang one of those little popular songs of Italy, called ‘Stornelli’—wild, fanciful melodies, with that blended gaiety and sadness which the songs of a people are so often marked by.
‘That is a very old favourite of mine,’ said Walpole, approaching the piano as noiselessly as though he feared to disturb the singer; and now he stole into a chair at her side. ‘How that song makes me wish we were back again, where I heard it first,’ whispered he gently.
‘I forget where that was,’ said she carelessly.
‘No, Nina, you do not,’ said he eagerly; ‘it was at Albano, the day we