CHAPTER XIV

MR. O'BRIEN SEES A VISION OF THE PAST

Moyross Abbey bore its wonted peaceful aspect upon that night. The broken arches of the ruin stood out against the pale gray sky, in which a star was beginning to twinkle here and there, and the air of the summer evening was heavy with the scent of flowers. The dining-room windows were unshuttered, and the light of the candles shone on the white table-cloth, and the silver and flowers upon it, and on the faces of the trio who sat round. Mr. O'Brien himself was not there. Wearisome and unending business connected with the troubles at the mine, and the proposal to bring in labour from a distance, had taken him once more to Dublin, and he was not expected home till the following day. In his place at the head of the table sat a handsome curly-haired lad, facing Ella and Miss Browne with a look of smiling defiance. The two latter were pale and tearful, and Miss Browne shook her head and sighed to herself with profoundest dejection every now and again.

Whilst dinner was proceeding, conversation had been impossible, but now that the dessert had been placed on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Ella said apprehensively, as she had already said twenty times at least since her scapegrace brother had walked in, dusty and toil-worn, a couple of hours before:

"Oh, Harry, Uncle Nicholas will be so dreadfully, dreadfully angry when he comes home to-morrow!"

"No doubt, Nelly," said the culprit philosophically. "There'll be a bit of a shine over it, I expect. It's got to be faced, though, and you're not to blame for it, so don't look so doleful, old lady."

"But it's so ungrateful, Harry," sobbed Ella, fairly breaking down, "and Uncle Nicholas has done so much for us. He's let us live here all these years since Father and Mother died, and sent you to school, and--and--"

"I know all that, Nell," interposed her brother more gravely, "and I've tried my best to fall in with Uncle Nicholas's ideas. Do you suppose if it hadn't been for thinking of all we owe him that I'd have let myself be banished off to the Carpathian Mountains to live among a lot of Polish Jews and learn their gibberish. But it's no good. The more I've tried grubbing underground the more I hate it, so I just showed them a clean pair of heels, and made my way back here. I can't let Uncle Nicholas shape my life for me, for all my gratitude to him."

"Oh, my dear boy, don't be hasty, and don't anger your uncle!" pleaded Miss Browne in her thin, reedy tones. "He's not used to be thwarted or contradicted, Harry, and more depends on it than you have any idea of. There are harpies here," nodding her head mysteriously, "on the watch to seize on any advantage. We have kept them at a distance hitherto--"

Miss Browne's speech was cut short by a violent ring of the door-bell, which pealed and clanged far away in the depths of the house.

"My dears, what can that be at this hour, and at the front door?" she exclaimed apprehensively. "I am always so nervous in this dreadful country, and with your uncle away too."

"We'll hear what they have to say for themselves, whoever it may be," said Harry, getting up and opening the dining-room door a little way, so as to be able to hear what passed outside.

"If you please," said a voice, speaking in short gasps, as Norah's panting breath enabled her to find utterance. "We want to see Miss Ella at once; it's very important."

The dignified butler viewed the dishevelled pair on the door-step with much disfavour. Evidently he did not think that any communication they had to import could be of much consequence.

"Miss Ella is at dinner and can't be disturbed," he said loftily. "You'd best give me your message, unless you like to wait till dinner is over to see her."

"We can't do anything of the sort," said Manus bluntly. "We've got to see Miss Ella at once, or else Mr. O'Brien himself, and you'll please go in and say so."

What the butler would have replied to this bold speech remained unknown, for Miss Browne, opening the dining-room door a little wider, called out sharply:

"Who's that out there, Cartwright? Tell them that Mr. O'Brien is not at home, and if they want to see Miss Ella they must come at a proper hour."

"That's just what I was saying, ma'am," returned the indignant butler. "I think it's young Master and Miss O'Brien from Kilshane, and they say they want to see Miss Ella very particular."

"The O'Brien children? At this hour? How extremely forward, and at the very instant when I was speaking of them."

And Miss Browne did not trouble herself to lower her voice or conceal the annoyance of her tones.

Ella, however, had heard too, and she ran out into the hall with a little eager cry.

"Oh, Norah, dear, what is the matter? I hope there is nothing wrong with any of you at Kilshane."

As the light of the hall lamp fell on Manus and Norah, it revealed very visible traces of their scamper across country. They were both greatly flushed and out of breath, and their faces and hands were scratched and bleeding with forcing their way through thickets and hedges. Norah's hat had fallen off and hung behind by its strings, and her frock exhibited innumerable rents.

"Oh, please," she began, forgetting in her excitement to answer Ella's question, or to go through any usual preliminaries of hand-shaking, "we were up at the mine, Manus and I, and there were a lot of people there, the miners, and ever so many besides, and a man was speaking to them about the work being stopped and Mr. M'Bain threatening to bring over Scotchmen!" Norah's instinctive loyalty kept her from betraying who the orator had been. "They're wild about it, and they're all coming here to speak to Uncle Nicholas, and make him promise that the mine shall be worked in the old way. Manus and I ran across the fields to tell you, and oh! we were so afraid we shouldn't get here in time."

Ella turned to her brother, who stood behind her.

"Oh, Harry, do you hear that, and Uncle Nicholas is away! Whatever are we to do?"

"Give them beans if they come; but I'm afraid they won't give us the chance. It was awfully good of you two to take so much trouble," the lad went on, rather patronizingly, to Manus and Norah, "but I expect you've had your run for nothing. Irishmen generally mean about half of what they say, and the rest goes off in bluster and shouting. I shouldn't wonder if the whole lot were sitting in the public-house at the cross-roads at this moment, airing their eloquence and abusing us all very comfortably. I just wish they would pay us a visit and we'll make it hot for them."

"Well, you won't have long to wait," said Manus shortly, "for they're on the avenue this minute; I hear them."

And indeed, as all bent forward to listen, there was audible, in the stillness of the night, a low ominous roll that came steadily nearer, the tramp of many feet, the deep growl of angry voices. Sharper, too, and nearer at hand, though no one at the time paid it any heed, sounded a rattle as if a conveyance were being driven in over the paving-stones of the yard. At the same instant a troop of terror-stricken maids burst into the hall.

"Oh, lor', ma'am! oh, lor' Master Harry, there's a mob of people coming up against us! Maria was out on the avenue and she saw them and ran for her life! They're screeching and hollering that it would lift the hair off your head to hear them. They'll murder us in cold blood! They'll burn the house down over our heads! It's us English that they're mad against."

Miss Browne, ashy white and trembling like an aspen leaf, was yet true to her wonted instincts. She threw her shaking arms round Ella, putting herself in front of her like a shield.

"My darling! my heart!" she cried, "they shall kill me before they touch a hair of your head."

Harry Wyndham drew himself erect, the half-unconscious air of bravado which he had worn all evening was gone, and instead he was cool, prompt, and collected, a typical English lad confronted with danger and difficulty.

"Bar every door and close the shutters of all the ground-floor windows. This house is pretty strong, and ought to be able to hold out for a bit. Thanks to you, Brownie, all the indoor servants are English, so there's no fear of anyone letting the rabble in at the back door."

Meanwhile the roar outside was growing louder and more menacing, and now the crowd appeared in view, rolling on up the avenue with shouts and groans and discordant yells. Their numbers had swelled considerably since the children had seen them last, as all the dwellers along the line of march had joined in as onlookers or sympathizers. Harry turned round angrily to the frightened maids, who were huddled in a corner, sending forth scream upon scream.

"What good do you expect to do yourselves by hullabalooing like that?" he demanded. "Go this instant and close all the windows as I desired you. In spite of Uncle Nicholas, it strikes me it was as well I happened to turn up to-night. Where's Cartwright? You come and help me to load the guns. You can shoot, I suppose?"

"Well, sir, I 'ave fired a gun," said that functionary modestly.

Ella sprang forward, her face almost as white as her evening dress.

"Oh, Harry, you won't shoot the people?" she gasped.

"Not if I can help it, but they won't come into this house while I can keep them out," her brother answered determinedly.

He closed the hall-door, which had been standing open all this time, with a bang, and turned to Manus. "See here, youngster. You slip out of the house at the back, where you won't be seen, and run for your life for the police. Most likely the first volley will send the whole lot flying, but if it doesn't we'll hold out all right for a couple of hours."

Norah caught him by the cuff of his coat sleeve.

"Let me go out and speak to them," she cried. "I know some of them--the man who was speaking at the mine, and some of the others, and perhaps I could make them go away."

Harry shook himself free impatiently. "You don't suppose a howling mob of madmen are going to listen to a little chit like you! Go with Miss Browne there, she'll look after you. Collect all the women, Brownie, when they've done fastening the doors and windows, and take them to the kitchen; they'll be out of the way of harm, and safer than they would be anywhere else. Ella, bring down the guns over the chimney-piece in Uncle Nicholas's bedroom; we shall need all we have."

He issued all his orders like a young commander-in-chief, and was obeyed unhesitatingly. He locked and double-locked the hall-door, fastened a heavy iron bar across it, and drew two stout bolts besides. Then with his own hands he shuttered the narrow windows on either side of the door. Norah cast one last look out before the shutters were closed. The crowd were close up now, hooting, yelling, and brandishing sticks. Behind them, where the last of the daylight still lingered in the sky, rose the abbey ruin, grand and peaceful, a strange contrast to the wild tumult that raged so close to it. It was that glimpse of the ruin which put a sudden idea into Norah's head.

"Wait for me, Manus," she cried breathlessly. "I know how we'll frighten the people away better than with guns."

She tore up the wide staircase and opened the first door that she came to. She dragged the white quilt off the bed, rolling it up hastily into a bundle, and seized a box of matches off a small table by the bed-side. As she dashed out into the corridor again, an old gentleman, white-haired and bent, came up another stair at its farther end with a lighted candle in his hand.

"What's going on?" he cried angrily. "Has Bedlam broken loose while I've been away? What's all the noise outside about, and where are all the servants? Why are the lamps not lit? Where's Miss Ella, or Miss Browne, or anybody?"

There was no one within hearing but Norah, and she did not answer him; she did not even pause to recollect that this must be her Uncle Nicholas, the grim, vindictive being of whom she had heard so much but whom she had never seen. She darted down to him and pulled the candle out of his hand without ceremony.

"Oh please, I must have it!" she gasped; "it's ever so much better than matches, because they go out, you know."

The old man did not attempt to resist, he only gazed in utter amazement at the apparition that had so unexpectedly appeared before him. Norah's hat still hung upon her shoulders, as it had fallen off during her wild scamper with Manus, her black hair was tossed back off her forehead, and her blue eyes were alight with excitement and earnestness of purpose.

"Who are you, child?" he cried.

But Norah did not stay to answer. She had blown the candle out and was racing along the corridor and down the stairs with her spoils; nor did she stop when she met Ella coming upstairs to obey her brother's behest.

"What are you doing up here, Norah?" cried Ella. "Go to the kitchen; Brownie is there, and the servants; and Harry says it is the safest place for you to be."

It had grown so dark within doors that Ella did not see Mr. O'Brien till she ran up against him, standing in the corridor, where Norah had left him, as if he were rooted to the ground. She could not repress a cry of alarm at the sudden shock.

"Uncle Nicholas! We thought you were in Dublin. How do you come to be here?"

"I come to be here because I drove in by the stable-yard five minutes ago, and it's the shortest way to my bedroom," returned the old man gruffly. "Is the world turned upside down, or am I going mad? What's all that shouting and the row that I hear? And in heaven's name, who was it that ran down here just now?"

"It was little Norah O'Brien. Poor child, she's quite terrified. I suppose she's looking for somewhere to hide. The miners are in front of the house, Uncle Nicholas, and a mob of people with them, threatening to attack it. Norah and her brother brought warning just in time, and Harry thinks we can hold out till help comes."

Ella stopped short, remembering that it was the first Mr. O'Brien had heard of the prodigal's return, and dreading an outburst of wrath. She need not have been afraid, however; her uncle had not heard her last words at all.

"Norah O'Brien," he repeated to himself slowly; but it was not of her he was thinking. Another child stood before him--a boy with the same bright eyes and dark waving hair, a boy who had raced about that house and made it ring with his shouts and laughter forty years before. That boy's name had been Piers, and it was nearly a year since he had been laid, far from his kindred, in a crowded London cemetery.

Norah, meanwhile, little dreaming of the effect she had produced, tore on her way downstairs. Ella's words had fallen on unheeding ears. Norah had not even taken their meaning in.

"Quick, quick, Manus!" she cried, as she found her brother waiting for her; "we haven't a minute to lose. We must get out of the house somehow or other--through a window or any way that we can, before the crowd closes up all round."

A momentary lull had come in the din outside, as the human torrent swept up before the house and found themselves confronted by the long blank range of shuttered windows, with no light visible anywhere. They halted irresolutely, uncertain what to do, and in that instant's delay Norah had her chance. A maid-servant with blanched cheeks and trembling hands was drawing the bolts of a little side-door which led down upon the pleasure-ground, the last point that remained to be secured in the defences of the house.

"Let us out, please," Norah said authoritatively.

The woman stared at her, hardly able to believe that she had heard aright.

"You must be mad, Miss, to be wanting such a thing. It's fiends that's out there, nothing less; they'd tear you limb from limb if they got you amongst them."

Norah gave her head a proud little toss as she pushed back the bolts herself.

"No one will see us if we slip out quickly, and even if they did, Malachy is out there, and he wouldn't let anyone hurt me. Shut the door behind us and make it fast. Now then, Manus!"

Brother and sister vanished into the night. Not an instant too soon, for the next moment the mob surged up all round the house, seeking to find some means of entry; and they broke into shouts louder and more ferocious than before as they found that timely warning had been conveyed to the inmates, and that on all sides the house had been made secure.

"Arrah, thin, it's not willin' to be shpoke to they are widin there! Give a rap at the doore, boys, an' let them know we're here."

In obedience to the mandate, heavy and repeated blows were dealt upon the hall-door, which, however, was of good solid oak, and showed no signs of yielding. A pebble whizzed against one of the plate-glass windows, and the crash and shiver of the falling glass were greeted with exultant huzzas; another and another followed. Then a window on the upper floor was thrown open, and Harry's clear, boyish tones made themselves heard:

"Now then, I give fair warning to all concerned. I have a double-barrelled gun, and Cartwright here has another. You've all got two minutes to be out of this, at the end of that time we fire."

But the people's blood was up, too high and hot for threats to turn them. Curses, groans, howls of execration answered him.

"Is't shoot us ye wud, ye clip? Is thim the manners they've larned ye in Jarmany? Quit out o' that, an' let's shpake to the masther. It's Nicholas O'Brien we'll talk to, not you, ye dirty spalpeen!" And another volley of stones crashed against the windows.

Harry had his gun at his shoulder, the gleaming barrels levelled. His intention was to fire the first discharge over the heads of the crowd in the hope of scaring them away, but as his finger touched the trigger he felt himself seized and thrust forcibly to one side. A tall figure, which in the uncertain light seemed to have lost its stoop and to be straight and erect as in years gone by, advanced to the window, and a strident voice called out above the din:

"Who wants to talk to Nicholas O'Brien?"

Everyone in the crowd knew the tones, and a wild hubbub arose.

"It's the masther! Begorra, it's his honour's own self! It's justice we want! It's our rights we'll have! We'll not be robbed nor peeled nor put upon no longer! It's work we want, an' our wages, an' bread for our childher's mouths! Down wid M'Bain an' ivery furriner he'd bring along of him!"

Mr. O'Brien struck his stick violently on the ground, and raised his hand to stay the tumult. What answer, however, he would have made to the people's demands remained unknown, for as he opened his mouth to speak, he stopped short, and his eyes became riveted on some object away beyond the sea of upturned faces waiting breathlessly to hear what he would say.

"Gracious heavens, what's that?" he cried.

All heads were turned to follow the direction of his gaze, and a low murmur of fear and wonder ran through the wild and excited throng.

One of the broken windows high up in the abbey ruins was filled with a dim bluish light, and in that strange radiance stood a white-clad figure silent and motionless, one hand stretched menacingly towards the surging crowd. For a moment or two the people gazed at the vision speechless and paralyzed with terror, then frightened whispers began to be heard.

"The saints 'tween us an' harm, there's the white nun! Mercy be wid us, it's holy St. Bridget it is!"

Those who still held stones let them fall; some of the crowd dropped on their knees and crossed themselves. A few of the more timid began to edge away, others followed; in a moment the movement was general, and the people were huddling down the avenue after each other like a flock of frightened sheep, casting back terrified glances at the dread apparition which still stood on high with uplifted arm in the ruined window.

The moment the terrified crowd had disappeared, the light in the window vanished too. To those who watched the strange sight from Moyross House it seemed as if there was a stifled cry and then a thud. After that all was silent, and the darkness of the summer's night once more reigned supreme.