CHAPTER IX

THE GHOST IN THE MONK'S WALK

The row home proved to be a long and toilsome one. The dead seal in the bottom of the coracle added no little to its weight, and the wind, which had freshened considerably whilst they were in the cave, was full in their teeth. Added to this, both Lanty and Manus were tired after their exertions, and Norah, who tried taking an oar once or twice to relieve her brother, did not prove a very efficient aid, as indeed could hardly be expected of her, seeing that it was the first time that she had handled that implement of navigation. Their progress accordingly was but slow, and the sun had sunk into the sea, leaving a wondrous rose-red glow behind it, before they rounded Drinane Head, the great black promontory which forms one of the extremities of the bay within which both Moyross and Kilshane lay. Norah was beginning to speculate rather uncomfortably as to whether Roderick and Anstace were likely to have got back from Ballyfin yet, and what they would think of Manus's and her own prolonged absence, when a sudden hail came across the water from the shadows that were beginning to gather under the cliffs, and the next moment a large boat, pulled by four rowers, shot out of the gloom and lay-to beside them.

A most animated and voluble colloquy took place between Lanty and its crew, but as it was carried on wholly in Irish it was, of course, quite unintelligible to the children. However, it was plain from the manner in which Lanty pointed to the dead seal and gesticulated, that he was giving them a graphic account of the slaughter in the cave, and the men, catching hold of the gunwale of the coracle, peered over at the slain sea-monster and evinced their astonishment and admiration by uncouth and guttural exclamations. The steersman, a wild-looking, red-bearded man, doffed his battered head-gear to Norah and Manus, saying in English:

"'Tis meself an' ivery mother's son here is proud an' glad to see yer honours this day. No need to be tellin' that ye come of the ould fightin' O'Briens, for 'tis their sperrit that's in yez both, young masther an' little darlin' miss. An' I say," and here he raised his voice and waved his hat, "God's blessin' on Moyross Abbey, an' on the blue sky over it, an' on thim that should be in it an' will be there yit some day, plaze God."

After this, however, the conversation relapsed into Irish, and now it was the men in the other boat who were becoming vociferous, and were apparently, as far as Norah and Manus could gather from their gestures, urging something upon Lanty which he, with a glance towards the children, seemed to raise objection to. Further vehement utterances on the part of the strangers followed and became more rapid and excited as Lanty still seemed to hold back; hands were pointed towards the cave below Moyross Abbey and then back towards the great headland that reared its heather-covered summit behind them.

"_Thau_," Lanty called out at last, in evident consent, for "_thau_", as Norah and Manus had both already learnt, signifies "Yes" in Irish, and the strangers, satisfied as it would appear, dipped their oars once more and speedily disappeared from sight.

The glow had almost faded away by this time, only a few gold and purple cloudlets still caught the light of the sun and marked where it had gone down. Norah shivered, everything seemed to have become chilly and gray all of a sudden.

"Sure 'twon't be long now till we have ye ashore, Miss Norah," Lanty said encouragingly. "I was thinkin', Masther Manus," he went on, turning his head to address Manus, who was pulling the bow oar, "that 'tis hard set we'd be to pull to Portkerin an' the wind blowin' us back ivery shtroke. If we was to put in at Moyross, it's just there close forenenst, two good miles nearer, we cud run the coracle in handy, an' you an' Miss Norah wud be home in no time at all."

Neither Manus nor Norah relished this suggestion. They were both sure that Roderick would be very seriously annoyed if he heard that they had come home through the Moyross demesne, seeing that their uncle had not so far condescended to take the least notice of their existence, and the path from the shore, as they had heard, led past the abbey ruins and in front of the house.

"And what matther for that?" returned Lanty. "Hasn't ivery sowl that plazed gone up an' down the Monk's Walk since there was monks in it, aye, an' before too; an' who'd have the betther right to set foot in Moyross nor yerself an' Miss Norah?"

Manus attempted some further remonstrance, but in vain. It was evident that Lanty was determined to effect a landing in the little cove below Moyross Abbey and nowhere else.

"'Tisn't like that Miss Ella or ould Browne"--so he disrespectfully termed the controller of the Moyross household--"wud be trapezin' about in the black night, an' if the masther's never set his eyes on you nor on Miss Norah sure he wudn't know ye if he was to meet ye itself."

And in a few minutes more the sand was grating beneath the keel of the coracle as it ran in upon the beach.

Lanty jumped overboard and hauled the coracle up out of the water, lifting Norah out, and then dislodging the seal by the summary method of turning the boat over and shooting the slain monster out upon the strand. Within the cove all was shadow, but behind them the water still reflected the clear light of the sky, and the little waves, as they broke at their feet, were bright with a strange phosphoric radiance.

With Manus's aid Lanty dragged the body of the seal up above high-water mark, wedging it in securely among some stones. He said a few words low and energetically to Manus, and before Norah well understood what he was about, he had hurried down to the water's edge again. Launching his tiny craft once more he pushed off, and pulled vigorously in the direction from which they had just come, his track marked by phosphoric flashes each time the oars were dipped in the sea.

"Manus, he surely hasn't gone and left us here alone!" exclaimed Norah, as she looked with alarm at the dark wood which came down almost to the shore, and up through which they had to make their way.

"Well, and what does it matter if he has? He says the path is as plain as a pikestaff, we can't possibly mistake it, and when we get up above we'll come out upon the avenue."

"It's so dark in there," faltered Norah, as she reluctantly followed Manus towards the shade of the overhanging trees, "and you know, Manus, they say--at least Bride does" (Bride was Lanty's sister, the little handmaiden who had been imported into Kilshane to take Biddy's place)--"that the Black Monk goes up and down here sometimes at night. He was a wicked monk who lived long ago, and he did such dreadful things that he can't stay in his grave near the old abbey--people have seen him, they have really, Manus."

"And you believed all that stuff?" Manus returned derisively. "Well, I've got my gun and a cartridge in it, and if any Mr. Ghosts come bothering, they'll get the worst of it, I can tell them."

Perhaps, in spite of his bold words Manus did feel a slight nervous tremor as he and Norah plunged into the thick darkness under the trees, and began slowly to mount the narrow path that wound up through the little glen. Manus went first, his gun over his shoulder, stumbling up the uneven track as best he could, and Norah followed as close to him as the steepness of the path would allow. Upwards and upwards they went, Manus sometimes feeling his way with his hand up the rocky steps of which Roderick had spoken, or else edging carefully, foot by foot, along the rough path.

"I say, Norah, there hasn't been much to be afraid of after all," observed Manus in his loud, cheerful voice. "Your friend, the Black Monk, doesn't seem to be on the prowl to-night, perhaps--"

The words died upon his lips, for at that moment they turned the corner of the last zigzag and came in sight of the abbey ruins, their outline clearly discernible against the pale sky. Before them on the path, one arm uplifted threateningly, as if to warn them back, stood a tall white figure, taller, as it seemed to Norah and Manus, than any living man could be. They both came to a dead halt, and stood as though they had been rooted to the ground, staring with dilated eyes at the motionless form which barred their way. Norah's heart was sending the blood up in suffocating thuds into her throat, she caught Manus's jacket, and clung to it with the grasp of despair.

Manus's courage did not forsake him altogether; perhaps the knowledge that there was no retreat, and that the path behind them only led down to the sea-shore, helped to brace his nerves.

"Look here!" he called out in accents which sounded strange and eerie in the darkness; "if you think that we don't know that you're someone dressed up, trying to frighten us, you're very much mistaken. I've my gun with me, and it's loaded, and if you don't clear out of that double-quick, I'll shoot you."

Manus's voice quavered a little towards the end, as if, for all his bold words, his teeth had had a certain inclination to chatter in his head.

No answer was returned, only in the silence a little breeze crept sobbing through the tree-tops, and the figure seemed to lower its arm for an instant and then to raise it again more threateningly than before.

Manus had his gun presented by this time, his cheek against the stock, and his finger on the trigger.

"I give you fair warning, if you're not out of that before I count three, I'll fire. Now then: One, two--"

Manus never could be quite sure in his own mind afterwards whether he had really intended to carry out his threat, or whether it had been that his hand had trembled so, as he faced that white menacing form, that he had jerked the trigger involuntarily. Be that as it may, even as he said "Three!" there was a crash and flare of light. Norah and Manus both held their breath, for if what Manus had said was true, and it was some practical joker who had waylaid them, it was impossible at such close quarters for Manus to have missed his aim.

There was no cry, no sound, however, and as the smoke cleared away, the white figure stood before them for a moment, erect as ever, then seemed to lean forward as though about to rush upon them, and the children waited to see no more, but turned and fled headlong down the path which they had climbed with such difficulty.

How they got to the bottom they never knew, they scrambled and plunged down-wards, regardless of their footing and unheeding how they bumped and bruised themselves against stones and against the trunks of the trees. They came to a halt at last in a little clearing a hundred yards or so above the shore, and there they stood, panting and breathless, partly with the haste they had made and partly with terror, as helpless and disconsolate a pair as could have been found in the length and breadth of the land. Manus had abandoned all attempt at keeping up a show of bravery; he had his arm round Norah, and Norah had hers round him, and they clung to each other so close that they could feel the beating of each other's hearts, and each other's breath hot upon their cheeks. That warm, close contact seemed to give them some little sense of comfort and protection, but in truth their position was a most pitiable one. Behind them there was only the strip of lonely beach and the sea, and they must either wait where they were all the night through, till daylight came, or mount the path again and face that dread white shape once more; and even whilst they stood clinging to each other, they were straining their eyes into the darkness, terrified lest they should see it loom out as it moved downwards in pursuit of them.

Manus's shot, however, had not been without effect. It had evidently been heard at the house, for voices now became audible--eager, excited voices, all speaking at once--and a light could be seen moving up above amongst the trees. Manus's spirits began to revive a little.

"Come, Norah, come along," he whispered, though his tongue was so dry that he could only form the words with difficulty. "There are people up there now, and they--those sort of things, you know,--don't appear except when one's alone. And if we did see anything we could call out. Come on, quick! and let us get up through the wood before whoever's up there goes away and leaves us alone again."

Norah was willing enough, and holding each other's hands tight they climbed up the steep path once more, not uttering a word, and treading softly, as though they feared to disturb the ghostly apparition which might be lurking somewhere still amongst the trees.

The windings of the track had brought them immediately below the spot where the tall, spectral form had barred their path, and where the search-party with their lantern were now gathered. They could hear a shrill voice scolding angrily above their heads, and mingled with it the sound of crying. Instinctively they stopped short to listen.

"Don't tell me any such nonsense, you idle, good for-nothing girl!" And though Manus and Norah had only heard Miss Browne's voice once before, on the occasion of her brief visit to Kilshane, neither of them had any difficulty in recognizing the high, thin tones as hers. "How would anyone have known that the table-cloth was hanging up here if you had not been in league with the vile, cowardly wretches? One of the very best table-cloths, too; you took good care of that!"

"Och thin, ma'am, the saints in heaven knows 'twas niver a thought of harm was in me mind;" broke in another voice, its utterance interrupted by frequent sobs. "Run off of me feet I was this blessed day to git the washin' done, an' that cloth, the wan thing I kep' back to give it an exthry rinsin', seein' 'twas stained wid wine an' all sorts. An' I jist run down a weeny minnit to the shore to see was me feyther's boat in, an' him away to the fishin' before cockshout, an' I thrown that cloth up on the three as I wint by, the way 'twud dhry, an' be handy to fetch in the marnin'. Och wirra, wirra, to think 'tis clane desthroyed, an' it the beautifullest table-cloth iver was!"

And the voice broke down in hopeless weeping.

"And how often have I given orders that the washing is not to be hung out anywhere except upon the bleach-green that's intended for it?" Miss Browne's voice was shrill with indignation. "It is all of a piece with those hateful, slatternly Irish ways that nothing will cure any of you of. Of course you would rather hang the clothes up here on the trees, you would spread them on the rosebushes in the garden, or on the door-steps if you only could, rather than take them where there are clothes-lines and everything you require provided for you!--Not so far away? Don't tell me any such nonsense! I don't find that you're so anxious to save your time in general."

Stealthily and cautiously, whilst this dialogue was proceeding, the children crept on up the path, and by moving in amongst the trees and treading with the utmost care, lest by chance the snapping of a dry twig under their feet should betray their whereabouts, they were able to gain a view of the group gathered on the pathway, whilst they themselves were completely shrouded in the darkness.

Foremost, tall and erect, stood the English coachman with a stable-lamp in his hand, which he flashed about, here and there, letting the light fall on the stems of the trees on either hand, and making the spaces between them appear all the blacker by contrast. He did not seem to relish his position particularly, thinking, no doubt, that the light shed on the party from his lantern made them an easy mark for any miscreant who might still be lurking in the wood; and a knot of frightened maids, who were huddled together higher up on the path, their white caps and aprons just making them visible in the gloom, seemed to be of his opinion and to be afraid of venturing further. Miss Browne's anger and vexation were too great to let her give a thought to possible danger, and with one corner of the table-cloth in her hand, and the rest of it lying in folds at her feet, she was scolding the luckless laundry-maid, who stood before her holding her apron to her eyes. Ella was standing beside Miss Browne, and she interposed now, but in so low a tone that Manus and Norah could not hear what she said.

"Nonsense, my dear, you would find an excuse for anyone, no matter what they did," Miss Browne returned sharply. "I tell you, it was a plot, a vile plot, got up to annoy me, no doubt, because I am English and because I have persuaded Mr. O'Brien only to have English servants in the house. Perhaps it was intended as a hint that if I did not take care I might be served in the same fashion as the table-cloth."

With a dramatic gesture Miss Browne spread the luckless piece of damask out in full view, and as the light of the stable-lamp fell on it, Manus and Norah could see, even from the distance at which they stood, sundry large circular holes where the charge of Manus's gun had pierced, not the impalpable form of a ghost, but the warp and woof of one of their uncle's table-cloths!

"But if they imagine that they will frighten me by any such proceeding they are greatly mistaken," Miss Browne went on, raising her voice with the evident intention of being heard by anyone who might be still within earshot. "I shall stand my ground, and continue to do as I think right, without paying the least attention to miserable creatures who prowl about in the dark to shoot holes in table-cloths."

"Then, begging pardon, ma'am," interposed the coachman, whose uneasiness had clearly not decreased during Miss Browne's last words, and who was peering apprehensively at the trunks and branches of the trees as the yellow glare of the lamp fell on them, "if standing your ground means setting ourselves up as figgerheads, for parties as is sitting behind bushes with guns to fire at, I says, the sooner we're out of this the better. I don't yield to no man with a hoss, let him kick his worst, likewise rear or buck, but when it comes to these Irish ways of taking shots from no one knows where, then I ain't got no mind for it."

And with a last twirl of his lantern he set off determinedly up the path towards the house, leaving nothing for Miss Browne and Ella and the maids but to follow him.

Manus and Norah were left behind in the darkness of the wood. In honour, no doubt, they ought to have come forward and acknowledged that they were the culprits who, by mistake, had damaged the Moyross table-linen. Shyness, however, and a sense of the humiliation which it would be to confess before the whole of the Moyross household that they had mistaken a harmless table-cloth, hanging upon a tree to dry, for a ghost, and had fired at it, held them back, and so they waited till the steps and voices had died away, and the last gleam of the lantern had disappeared. Then only did they venture on, silently and cautiously. All their fears of supernatural appearances had melted away, and the ruined arches of the old abbey bore quite a friendly aspect as they skirted past them, keeping as far from the house and its lawns and gravel-walks as possible. They struck the avenue some distance farther down, and walked rapidly along it, in momentary dread of being called upon to stand and answer who they were and what had brought them there. Nothing of the sort occurred, however. They passed unchallenged out of the gates, and drew a long breath of relief when they found themselves on the public road once more.

Then only did they venture to speak to each other of their recent adventure, and they could not but admit that they had cut somewhat ignominious figures in the frantic terror with which they had fled from that weird, white object which had loomed up on them in the loneliness of the Monk's Walk. Manus, in particular, felt himself getting hot all over at the thought of how everyone would laugh if the story of his firing at the table-cloth should be known, and what, oh what! if any ill wind should blow it to the ears of Bodkin Major over in Galway! Would there be any end to the ridicule he would have to endure at school? Even the glory of having taken part in the slaughter of the seal seemed but a trifling set-off in comparison. Then, too, Roderick, who, as it was, would most probably be annoyed by their staying out so late, would certainly be extremely angry about the whole business and at their having come home through the Moyross demesne. These and other considerations induced Manus to observe to his sister as they were trudging homewards:

"I say, Norah, there's no good in our telling Roderick and Anstace anything about our coming up by the Monk's Walk and all that affair. We'd look such a pair of thundering idiots, and Roderick's sure to be horribly angry at our having gone that way at all. He'll pitch into us pretty well, I expect, as it is, for staying out so late, but he'll never think of asking what way we came back; and we needn't say anything if he doesn't."

"But why shouldn't we, Manus? There wasn't any harm really in our landing down there when it was blowing hard and we were so late; and I always tell Anstace everything."

"Oh yes, that's all right for a girl, of course," said Manus loftily, "but when a fellow's been to school it's different. He doesn't think it necessary to run and tell everything as if he was a small kid. And there's another thing, Norah; if we said anything about it, Roderick and Anstace would begin asking where Lanty was, and why he didn't come back with us."

"And why didn't he?" in tones which made it clear that Norah still resented his desertion of them.

"Oh, well, you see,"--Manus was becoming rather embarrassed,--"he'd promised to meet those other chaps in the boat up on Drinane Head, so he was going to get ashore at the iron pier and go up past the mine by the tramway that the trucks come down by--he can get out upon the Head that way. He'll be back ever so early in the morning, before daybreak, and bring the seal round to Portkerin, so we can take Roderick and Anstace down after breakfast to-morrow to see him before he's cut up. Lanty's going to get the oil out of him; he says there's a whole winter's burning, as he calls it, in him, and I'm going to have the head to keep."

"But what are he and the other men going to do up on Drinane Head in the dark? Are they going to stay there all night?" asked Norah in not unnatural amazement as she turned to look back towards the great promontory, which could be dimly descried rearing its rugged head against the sky, and which certainly did not seem to hold out much promise of comfortable quarters for the night.

"Oh, there's some sort of house up there, and they've things to do," mysteriously. "Lanty's going to take me there some day. He tells me almost everything, because he knows I'm safe; no fear of my blabbing or letting things out."

And Manus drew himself erect with the proud consciousness of being Lanty's confidant and the trusted repository of his secrets.

"I'm not going to blab either," said Norah in an aggrieved tone, feeling Manus's remarks in some sort a reflection on herself.

The children were luckier than they expected, and perhaps than they deserved. They found the house empty when they got back, and no one in it, upstairs or down. Roderick and Anstace had not yet returned from Ballyfin, and Bride, the little maid, had availed herself of the absence of the whole family to slip over and spend an evening at her father's fireside. The sight of their supper laid out and waiting for them in the parlour first brought to Manus and Norah's minds how many hours it was past the usual time of their evening meal, to which in the many and varied excitements of the evening neither of them had hitherto given a thought. Even now, when they saw food laid ready for them, they did not feel any very ravenous desire to partake of it. They sat down, however, at the table, and Manus found his appetite return to him in wondrous fashion when once he began to attack the eatables; whilst Norah, who had not yet recovered from the shock which the apparition in the Monk's Walk had given her, could make little more than a feint of eating.

Their supper was just finished when the sound of wheels upon the avenue proclaimed Roderick and Anstace's return. The children rushed out to the hall-door to meet them, and there were questions and answers and explanations on both sides.

Roderick and Anstace had been late leaving Ballyfin, it seemed, and half-way home the horse had cast a shoe. The nearest smithy was two miles distant, and they had had to proceed thither at a walk, Connor leading the horse. When the forge was reached there was further delay, for the smith had not expected any customers at that late hour and had let his fire out, and they had to wait till it was rekindled, so that nearly a couple of hours had elapsed before they were able to resume their journey.

Then Manus, with a modest air of self-consciousness, told of their afternoon's exploit and of the killing of the seal in Ballintaggart Cave. Roderick looked rather grave at first on hearing of Manus having set off on such an expedition without leave and with no other companion than Lanty, and still graver on learning that Norah had been of the party. However, his displeasure was not of long duration, and though he gave Manus an admonition against the repetition of any such rash feats, he promised to accompany him in the morning to inspect the trophy in Portkerin, and, to Manus's great satisfaction, he asked no awkward questions as to the hour or manner of their return, taking it for granted that they had all landed at the same place where they had embarked. Norah's pale face did not escape Anstace's solicitous gaze, but she supposed it to be the result of excitement and over-fatigue, and ordered her to bed without delay, to which refuge indeed Norah was not sorry to betake herself.