He went on:
“We can’t undo what is done. If Norah loves ye — and it seems to me that she does — do I shpeak thrue, daughter?”
The girl raised her face bravely, and looked in her father’s eyes:
“Yes! father.” A thrill of wild delight rushed through me. As she dropped her head again, I could see that her neck had “The colour of the budding rose’s crest.”
“Well, well,” Joyce went on, “ye are both young yit. God knows what may happen in a year! Lave the girl free a bit to choose. She has not met many gentlemen in her time, and she may desave herself. Me darlin’, whativer is for your good shall be done, plase God!”
“And am I to have her in time?”
The instant I had spoken I felt that I had made a mistake; the man’s face grew hard as he turned to me:
“I think for me daughter, sir, not for you. As it is, her happiness seems to be mixed up with yours — lucky for ye. I suppose ye must meet now and thin; but ye must both promise me that ye’II not meet widout me lave, or, at laste, me knowin’ it. We’re not gentle-folk, sir, and we don’t undherstand their ways. If ye were of Norah’s and me own kind, I mightn’t have to say the same; but ye’re not.”
Things were now so definite that I determined to make one I more effort to fix a time when my happiness might be certain, so I asked:
“Then if all be well, and you agree — as please God you shall when you know me better — when may I claim her?”
When he was face to face with a definite answer Joyce again grew stern. He looked down at his daughter and then up at me, and said, stroking her hair:
“Whin the threasure of Knockcalltecrore is found, thin ye may claim her if ye will, an’ I’ll freely let her go.”
As he spoke, there came before my mind the strong idea that we were all in the power of the Hill — that it held us; however, as lightly as I could I spoke:
“Then I would claim her now!”
“What do ye mane?” — this was said half anxiously, half fiercely.
“The treasure of Knockcalltecrore is here; you hold her in your arms!”
He bent over her:
“Aye, the threasure sure enough — the threasure ye would rob me of.”
Then he turned to me, and said sternly, but not unkindly:
“Go, now; I can’t bear more at prisent, and even me daughter may wish to be for a while alone wid me.”
I bowed my head and turned to leave the room; but as I was going out, he called me back:
“Shtay! Afther all, the young is only young. Ye seem to have done but little harm — if any.”
He held out his hand; I grasped it closely, and from that instant it seemed that our hearts warmed to each other. Then I felt bolder, and stepping to Norah took her hand — she made no resistance — and pressed it to my lips, and went out silently. I had hardly left the door when Joyce came after me.
“Come agin in an hour,” he said, and went in and shut the door.
Then I wandered to the rocks and climbed down the rugged path into the Cliff Fields. I strode through the tall grass and the weeds, rank with the continuous rain, and gained the table rock. I climbed it, and sat where I first had met my love, after I had lost her; and, bending, I kissed the ground where her feet had rested. And then I prayed as fervent a prayer as the heart of a lover can yield, for every blessing on the future of my beloved; and made high resolves that whatsoever might befall, I would so devote myself that, if a man’s efforts could accomplish it, her feet should never fall on thorny places.
I sat there in a tumult of happiness. The air was full of hope, and love, and light; and I felt that in all the wild glory and fulness of nature the one unworthy object was myself.
When the hour was nearly up I went back to the cottage; the door was open, but I knocked on it with my hand. A tender voice called to me to come in, and I entered.
Norah was standing up in the centre of the room. Her face was radiant, although her sweet eyes were bright with recent tears; and I could see that in the hour which I had passed on the rock, the hearts of the father and the child had freely spoken. The old love between them had taken a newer and fuller and more conscious life — based, as God has willed it with the hearts of men, on the parent’s sacrifice of self for the happiness of the child.
Without a word I took her in my arms. She came without bashfulness and without fear; only love and trust spoke in every look and every moment. The cup of our happiness was full to the brim; and it seemed as though God saw, and, as of old with His completed plan of the world, was satisfied that all was good.
We sat, hand in hand, and told again and again the simple truths that lovers tell; and we built bright mansions of future hope. There was no shadow on us, except the shadow that slowly wrapped the earth in the wake of the sinking sun. The long, level rays of sunset spread through the diamond panes of the lattice, grew across the floor, and rose on the opposite wall; but we did not heed them until we heard Joyce’s voice behind us:
“I have been thinkin’ all the day, and I have come to believe that it is a happy day for us all, sir. I say, though she is my daughter, that the man that won her heart should be a proud man, for it is a heart of gold. I must give her to ye. I was sorry at the first, but I do it freely now. Ye must guard and kape, and hould her as the apple of your eye. If ye should ever fail or falter, remimber that ye took a great thrust in takin’ her from me that loved her much, and in whose heart she had a place — not merely for her own sake, but for the sake of the dead that loved her.”
He faltered a moment, but then coming over, put his hand in mine, and while he held it there, Norah put her arm around his neck, and laying her sweet head on his broad, manly breast, said softly:
“Father, you are very good, and I am very, very happy!” Then she took my hand and her father’s together, and said to me: “Remember, he is to be as your father, too; and that you owe him all the love and honor that I do!”
“Amen!” I said, solemnly; and we three wrung each other’s hands.
Before I went away, I said to Joyce:
“You told me I might claim her when the treasure of the Hill was found. Well, give me a month, and perhaps, if I don’t have the one you mean, I may have another.” I wanted to keep, for the present, the secret of my purchase of the old farm, so as to make a happy surprise when I should have actual possession.
“What do ye mane?” he said.
“I shall tell you when the month is up,” I answered; “or if the treasure is found sooner — but you must trust me till then.”
Joyce’s face looked happy as he strolled out, evidently leaving me a chance of saying good-bye alone to Norah; she saw it too, and followed him.
“Don’t go, father,” she said. At the door she turned her sweet face to me, and with a shy look at her father, kissed me, and blushed rosy red.
“That’s right, me girl,” said Joyce, “honest love is without shame! Ye need never fear to kiss your lover before me.”
Again we stayed talking for a little while. I wanted to say good-bye again; but this last time I had to give the kiss myself. As I looked back from the gate, I saw father and daughter standing close together; he had his arm round her shoulder, and the dear head that I loved lay close on his breast, as they both waved me farewell.
I went back to Carnaclif, feeling as though I walked on air; and my thoughts were in the heaven that lay behind my footsteps