 Chapter 20 of Muzzlin. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lesanne Levoie of Swansea, Illinois. Muzzlin by George Moore. Chapter 20. So you couldn't manage to keep him after all, my lady? When did he leave the hotel? Mr. Harding left Dublin last Monday week. Alice wondered if her mother hated her. If she didn't, it was difficult to account for her cruel words. And this was the girl's grief. And she feared that hatred would beget hatred, and that she would learn to hate her mother. But Mrs. Barton was a loving and affectionate mother who would sacrifice herself for one child almost as readily for the other. In each of us there are traits that the chances of life have never revealed. And though she would have sat by the bedside, even if Alice was stricken with typhoid fever, Mrs. Barton recoiled spitefully like a cat before the stern reciditudes of a nature so dissimilar from her own. She had fashioned Olive, who was now but a pale copy of her mother according to her guise. All the affectations had been faithfully reproduced. But the charm of the original had evaporated like a perfume. It would be rash to say that Mrs. Barton did not see that the weapons which had proved so deadly in her hands were ineffectual in her daughters. But twenty years of elegant harlotry had blunted her finer perceptions. And now the grossest means of pushing Olive and the marquise morally and physically into each other's arms seemed to her the best. Alice was to her but a plain girl, whose misfortune was that she had ever been born. This idea had grown up with Mrs. Barton and fifteen years ago she had seen in the child's face the spinster of fifty. But since the appearance of Harding and the manifest interest he had shown in her daughter, Mrs. Barton's convictions that Alice would never be able to find a husband had been somewhat shaken. And she had almost concluded that it would be as well, for there was no knowing what men's taste were, to give her a chance. Nor was the dawning fancy dispelled by the fact that Harding had not proposed, and the cutting words she had addressed to the girl were the result of the nervous irritation caused by the marked attention the marquise was paying Violet Scully. For, like Alice, Mrs. Barton never lived long in a fool's paradise, and she now saw that the battle was going against her, and would most assuredly be lost unless a determined effort was made. So she delayed not a moment in owning to herself that she had committed a mistake in going to the Shellbourne Hotel. Had she taken a house in Mount Street, or Fitzwilliam Place, she could have had all the best men from the barracks continually at her house. But at the hotel she was helpless. There were too many people about, too many beasts of women criticizing her conduct. Mrs. Barton had given two dinner parties in the private room hired for the occasion, but these dinners could scarcely be called successful. On one occasion they had seven men to dinner, and as some half dozen more turned in in the evening, it became necessary to send down to the ladies drawing room for partners. Bertha Duffy, and the girl in red of course, responded to the call. But they had rendered everything odious by continuous vulgarity and broke. Then other mistakes had been made. A charity costume ball had been advertised. It was to be held in the Rotunda. An imposing list of names headed the prospectus, and it was confidently stated that all the lady patronesses would attend. Mrs. Barton fell into the trap, and to her dismay, found herself and her girls in the company of the rag, tag, and bobtail of Catholic Dublin. Bohemian girls fabricated out of bed curtains, negro minstrels that an application of grease and burnt cork had brought into a filthy existence. And from the single gallery that encircled this tomb-like building, the small tradespeople looked down upon the multicolored crowd that strove to dance through the mud that a late land league beating had left upon the floor. And all the while grey dust fell steadily into the dancer's eyes and into the sloppy tea distributed at counters placed here and there, like coffee stands in the public street. I never felt so low in my life, said the lady who always brought back an ADC from the castle, and the phrase was cited afterwards as being admirably descriptive of the festival. When it became known that the Bartons had been present at this ball, and the beauty had been seen dancing with the young Catholic nobodies, their names were struck off the lists, and they were asked to know more private dances at the castle. Lord Dungary was sent to interview the Chamberlain, but that official could promise nothing. Mrs. Bartons' hand was therefore forced. It was obligatory upon her to have some place where she could entertain officers. The shell-borne did not lend itself to that purpose. She hired a house in Mount Street, and one that possessed a polished floor admirably suited to dancing. Then she threw off the mask, and pirate-like, regardless of the laws of chaperons, resolved to carry on the war as she thought proper. She'd have done once and forever with those beasts of women who abused and criticized her. Henceforth she would shut her door against them all, and it would only be open to men, young men for her daughters, elderly men for herself. At four o'clock in the afternoon the entertainment began. Light refreshments consisting of tea, claret, biscuits and cigarettes were laid out in the dining room. Having partaken, the company, consisting of three kernels and some half-dozen subalterns, went upstairs to the drawing room. And in recognition of her flirtation with Harding, a young man replaced Alice at the piano, and for half a crown an hour supplied the necessary music. Round and round the girls went, passing in turn, out of the arms of an old, into those of a young man, and back again. If they stayed their feet for a moment, Mrs. Barton glided across the floor, and, with insinuating gestures and intonations of voice, would beg of them to continue. She declared that it was la grâce et la beauté, etc. The merriment did not cease until half past six. Some of the company then left, and some few were detained for dinner. A new pianist and fresh officers arrived about nine o'clock, and dancing was continued until one or two in the morning. To yawning subalterns, the house in Mount Street seemed at first like a little paradise. The incessant dancing was considered fatiguing, but there were interludes in which claret was drunk, cigarettes smoked, and loose conversation permitted in the dining room. Then the dinners. Mrs. Barton's dinners are worthy of special study. Her circle of acquaintances being limited, the same guests were generally found at her table. Lord Dungrey always sat next to her. He displayed his old-fashioned shirt front, his cravat, his studs, his herbanity, his French epigram. Lord Rosshill sat opposite him. He was thin, melancholy, aristocratic, silent, and boring. There was a captain who, since he had left the army, had grown to the image of a butler, and an ashen-tinted young man who wore his arm in a sling, and an old man who looked like a dirty and worn-out broom, and who put his arm around the backs of the chairs. These and three ADCs made up the party. There was very little talking, and what there was generally confined to asking the young ladies if they had been to the castle and if they liked dancing. The marquis was a constant, although an unwilling guest at all these entertainments. He would feign have refused Mrs. Barton's hospitality, but so pressing was she that this seemed impossible. There were times when he started at the postman's knock, as at the sound of a land leaguer's rifle. Too frequently his worst fears were realized. Monsieur Marquis, it would give us much pleasure if you would dine with us tomorrow night at half past seven. Dear Mrs. Barton, I regret extremely that I am engaged for tomorrow night. An hour later, Monsieur Marquis, I am very sorry you cannot come tomorrow night, but Thursday will suit us equally well. What was to be done? A second excuse would result only in a proposal to fix a day next week. Better accept and get it over. He must do this or send a rude message to the effect that he was engaged for every day he intended to dine out that season, and he lacked the moral courage to write such a letter. Mrs. Barton's formula for receiving the marquis never varied. If he arrived early, he found Olive waiting to receive him in the drawing room. She was always prepared with a buttonhole, which she insisted on arranging and pinning into his coat. Then illusion was made to the forget-me-nots that the bouquet was sure to contain, and laughing vacantly, for laughter with Olive took the place of conversation. She fled through the rooms, encouraging him to pursue her. During dinner, attempts were made to exchange a few words, but without much success. Nor was it until Olive pelted him with flowers and he replied by destroying another bouquet and applying it to the same purpose, that much progress was made towards intimacy. But this little scene was exceptional, and on all other occasions, Lord Kilcarnie maintained an attitude of reserve. Mrs. Barton was at her wit's end. Three days ago, she had met him walking in Grafton Street with Violet. Yesterday, she had caught sight of him driving towards Fitzwilliam Place in a four-wheeler. She had fortunately a visit to pay in that neighborhood and was rewarded by seeing the Marquis's cab draw up before the Scully's door. The mere fact that he should use a cab instead of an outside car was a point to consider. But when she noticed that one of the blinds was partially drawn down, her heart sank. Nor did the secret of this suspicious visit long remain her exclusive property. As if revealed by those mysterious subtle oral and visual faculties observed in savage tribes, by which they divine the approach of their enemies or their prey, two days had not elapsed before the tongue of every chaperon was tipped with the story of the four-wheeler and the half-drawn blind. But it was a distinctly latter-day instinct that had led these ladies to speak of their having been luggage piled upon the roof of this celebrated cab. Henceforth, eye, ear, and nostril were open, and in the quivering ardor of the chase they scattered through the covers of Cork Hill and Marion Square, passing from one to the other by means of sharp yelps and barkings, every indication of the trail that came across their way. Sometimes hearkening to a voice they had confidence in, they rallied at a single point, and then an old bitch, who knows in the air, her cap strings hanging leguberously on either side of her weather-beaten cheeks, would utter a deep and prolonged baying. A little farther on the scent was recovered, and, with sterns, wagging and bristles erect, they hunted the quarry vigorously. Every moment he was expected to break, fear was even expressed that he might end by being chopped. The Shellbourne Hotel was a favorite meat, and in the ladies' drawing room each fresh piece of news was torn with avidity. The consumption of note paper was extraordinary. Two, three, four, and even five sheets of paper were often filled with what these scavenger-esses could rake out of the gutters of gossip. Ah, me arm aches, and the sleeve of me little coat is wore! I am so eager to write it off to meant, that I am too impatient to wait to take it off! Was the verbal form in which the girl in red explained her feelings on the subject. Bertha Duffy declared she would write no more, that she was ruining herself in stamps. Nor were the pens of the Brennan silent, and looking over their shoulders, on which the mantles of spinster-hood were fast descending, one read, I hear they danced at the castle three times together last night. A friend of mine saw them sitting in Marion Square the whole of one afternoon. They say that if he marries her, that he'll be ruined. The estates are terribly encumbered. His families are in despair about it. Violet is a very nice girl, but we all know her mother sold bacon behind a counter in Galway. He never looks at Olive Barton now. This is a sad end to her bow, and after feeding him up the whole season. He dined there three times a week. Mrs. Barton took the house on purpose to entertain him. It is said she offered him twenty thousand pounds if he'd marry her daughter. The money that woman spends is immense, and no one knows whence it comes. In these matrimonial excitements, the emitories of the lady who brought the ADC home from the castle past unheeded. The critical gaze of her friends was sorely distracted, and even the night porter forgot to report the visits of her young gentleman. May, too, profited largely by the present ferment of curiosity, and unobserved, she kept her trists with Fred Scully at the corners of this and that street, and in the hotel they passed furtively down this passage and up that pair of stairs. When disturbed, they hid behind the doors. Mrs. Gould lived in ignorance of all this chambering folly, spending her time either writing letters or gossiping about Laura Kilcarny in the drawing room. And when she picked up a fragment of fresh news, she lost not a moment, but put on her bonnet and carried it over to Mount Street. So assiduous was she in the self-imposed duty that Mrs. Barton was obliged at last to close her door against this obtrusive visitor. But one day, after a moment of intense reflection, Mrs. Barton concluded that she was losing the battle. That now, in the eleventh hour, it could only be snatched out of defeat by a bold and determined effort. She sat down and penned one of her admirable invitations to dinner. An hour later, a note feebly pleaded a previous engagement. Undaunted, she sat down again and wrote, The Marquis yielded, and Lord Dungaree was ordered, when he found himself alone with him in the dining room, to lose no opportunity of insisting upon the imminent ruin of all Irish landlords. He was especially enjoying to say that, whatever chance of escape there was for the owners of unencumbered properties, the doom of those who had mortgages to pay had been sounded. Milord executed his task with consummate ability, and when the grand patie entered the drawing room, his thoughts were wracked with horrible forebodings. The domain woods, the pride of centuries, he saw plundered and cut down. Lawns, pleasure grounds, and gardens distributed among peasants, and he, a miserable outcast, starving in a Belgian boarding house. Mrs. Barton's eyes brightened at the distressed expression of his face. Olive brought in the buttonhole and went to the piano. Milord engaged Alice's attention, and the Marquis was led into the adjoining room. The season is now drawing to its close, Mrs. Barton said. We shall be soon returning to Galway. We shall be separating. I know Olive likes you, but if there is no... If it is not to be, I should like to tell her not to think about it any more. The Marquis felt the earth gliding. What could have tempted the woman to speak like this to him? What answer was he to make her? He struggled with words and thoughts that gave way as he strove to formulate a sentence like water beneath the arms of one drowning. Oh, really, Mrs. Barton, he said, stammering, speaking like one in a dream. You take me by surprise. I did not expect this. You certainly are too kind. In proposing this marriage to me, you do me an honour I did not anticipate. But you know, it is difficult offhand, for I am bound to say, at least I am not prepared to say that I am in love with your daughter. She is, of course, very beautiful, and no one admires her more than I, but Olive will have twenty thousand pounds paid down on her wedding day. Not promised, you know, but paid down. And in the present times, I think this is more than most girls can say. Most Irish properties are embarrassed, mortgaged, she continued, risking everything to gain everything. And twenty thousand pounds would be a material help to most men. At my death, she will have more. I—Oh, Mrs. Barton, do not let us speak of that, cried the little man. And why not? Does it prove that because we are practical, we do not care for a person? I quite understand that it would be impossible for you to marry without money, and that Olive will have twenty thousand paid down on her wedding day will not prevent you from being very fond of her. On the contrary, I should think. Twenty thousand pounds is, of course, a great deal of money, said the little man, shrinking, terror-stricken, from a suddenly protruding glimpse of the future with which my lord had previously poisoned his mind. Yes, it is indeed, and in these times, urged Mrs. Barton. The weak grey eyes were cast down, abashed by the daring determination of the brown. Of course, Olive is a beautiful girl, he said, and she is so fond of you, and so full of affection. The situation was now tense with fear, anxiety, apprehension, and with resolute fingers Mrs. Barton tightened the cord until the required note vibrated within the moral consciousness. The poor Marquis felt his strength ebbing away. He was powerless as one lying in the hot chamber of a Turkish bath. Would no one come to help him? The implacable melody of dreamfaces, which Olive hammered out on the piano, agonized him. If she would stop for one moment, he would find the words to tell her mother that he loved violet scully, and would marry none other. But bang, bang, bang! The left hand pounded the base into his stunned ears, and the eyes that he feared were fixed upon him. He gasped for words. He felt like a drunkard who clutches the air as he reels over a precipice, and the shades of his ancestors seem to crowd menacingly around him. He strove against his fears until a thin face with luminous eyes shone through the drifting rack like a star's. But we have seen so little of each other, he said at last. Miss Barton is a great beauty, I know, and nobody appreciates her beauty more than I. But I am not what you call in love with her. He deplored the feebleness of his words, and Mrs. Barton swooped upon him again. You do not love her because, as you say, you have seen very little of each other. We are going down to Brookfield tomorrow. We shall be very glad if you will come with us, and in the country you will have an opportunity of judging, of knowing her. And she is such an affectionate little thing. Afrighted, the Marquis sought again for words, and he glanced at his torturer timidly, like the hare on the ever-dearing hounds. Why did she pursue him, he asked, in this terrible way? Had she gone mad? What was he to say? He had not the courage to answer no to her face. Besides, if Violet would not have him, he might as well save the family estates. If Violet refused him, then he didn't care what became of him. He sought, and he struggled for words, for words that would save him. And in this hour of deep tribulation, words came, and they saved him. I have a great deal of business to attend to tomorrow. I am, that is to say, my solicitor is, raising for me a sum of money at four percent. On one large mortgage I am paying six percent. Therefore, if I can get the money at four, I shall be by some hundreds of pounds a richer man than I am at present. At the end of the week this matter will be settled. I will write to you and say when I shall be able to accept your invitation. Mrs. Barton would have preferred to have brought the matter at once to a conclusion, but in the hesitation that ensued, the Marquis, unable to withstand the strain set upon his feelings any longer, moved away from her. And in the next room, to save himself from further persecution, he engaged at once in conversation with Alice. Ten minutes after, he said good night, to get out of the light into the dark, to feel the cool wind upon his cheek, oh, what a relief! What could have persuaded that woman to speak to me as she did? She must be mad! He walked on as if in a dream, the guineas she had promised him chinking dubiously through his brain. Then, stopping suddenly, overcome by nerve excitement, he threw his arms in the air, his features twitched convulsively. The spasm passed, and unconscious of all, saved the thoughts that held and tore him, their palpitating prey. He walked onwards. Black ruined on one side, and oh, what sweet white vision of happiness on the other. Why was he thus tortured? Why was he thus torn on the rack of such a terrible discussion? He stopped again, and his weak neck swayed plaintively. Then, in the sullen calm that followed, the thought crossed his mind. If he only knew, she might refuse him. If so, he did not care what became of him, and he would accept the other willingly. But would she refuse him? That he must know at once. If she did refuse, he would, at all events, look of his relations, and in the cowardice of the thought the weary spirit was healed, assuaged, as tired limbs might be in a bath of cool, clear water. Why lose a moment? It was only half past ten. An outside would take him in less than two minutes to Fitzwilliam Place. Yes, he would go. As the car clattered, he feasted on the white thin face and the gray allurements of her eyes. She weren't at home. He was shown upstairs. Mother and daughter were alone, talking over the fire in the drawing-room. Nothing could be more propitious, but his fears returned to him, and when he strove to explain the lateness of his visit, his face had again grown suddenly haggard and worn. Violet exchanged glances and said in looks, if not in words, it is clear they have been hunting him truly today. I must apologize, he said, for calling on you at such an hour. I really did not think it was so late, but the fact is, I was rather anxious to see. But won't you sit down, Lord Kilkharty? said Violet. I assure you, we never go to bed before twelve, and sometimes we sit up here until one. Don't we, Mama? Mrs. Scully smiled jocosely, and the marquee sat down. In an instant his fate was decided. Overcome by the girl's frail sweetness, by the pollucid gaiety of her grey eyes, he surrendered, and his name and fortune fluttered into her lap, helplessly as a blown leaf. He said, I came to see you tonight. I took the liberty of calling on you this late hour because things had occurred that... Well, I mean, you must have observed that I was attached to you. I don't know if you guessed it, but the fact is that I never cared for anyone as I do for you, and I felt I could bear with uncertainty no longer, and that I must come tonight and ask you if you will have me. Violet raised her eyes. Say yes, murmured the marquees, and it seemed to him that in the words life had fallen from his lips. Yes, was the answer, and he clasped the thin hand she extended to him. Ah, how happy you have made me! I never thought such honors were in store for me, exclaimed Mrs. Gully. The discipline of years was lost in a moment, and reverting to her long-buried self, she clasped the marquees to her agitated bosom. Violet looked annoyed, ashamed, and Mrs. Gully, whom excitement had stripped her grand-manner, said, And now, my dear children, I'll leave you to yourselves. The lover sat side by side. Violet thought of the great love she had inspired and the marquees of the long years of happiness that would, that must now be his, of the frail grace that as a bland odor seemed to float above his beloved. And now that she was his, he would have her know that his love of her was out of his deepest sense of soul, but words were weak. He seemed to be tongue-tied. Where did you dine tonight? she said suddenly. With the margins, he told her everything of the proposal and the invitation to Brookfield. And you are going to Galway to stay with them? Of course not! How can you ask such a question? And why not? Why shouldn't you go? She said, she added, and the light in her grey eyes was malign. You're joking! You surely don't mean what you say. I thought you said you loved me. Yes, my dear Harry, that is the very reason. We love each other, therefore I know I can trust you. He pressed the hand, the silken skin, the palm delicately moist, in recognition of her kind words. I wouldn't go for anything in the world. I hate those people. Upon my word, I don't think anything would tempt me to spend a week with them in the country. Yes, I could. The Marquis laughed. Yes, you could. You could tempt me to do anything. But why should you want me to go and spend a week with them in Galway? Because, dear, they were rude to me because, she added, casting down her eyes. Because they tried to buy you from me. That is why I should like to humiliate them. The enchantment of the Marquis was completed, and he said, What? A whole week away from you? A whole week with Mrs. Barton? I could not endure it. What? Not for my sake? Anything for your sake, darling? He clasped her in his arms and then they lapsed into silence that to him was even sweeter than the kiss she had given him. Love's deepest delight is the ineffable consciousness of our own weakness. We drank the sweetened cup in its entirety when, having ceased to will, we abandoned ourselves with the lethal langars of the swimmer to the vague depths of the dreams. And it was past midnight when the Marquis left Fitzwilliam Place. The Marquis and his wife hurried him downstairs. Their hands helped him to his hat and coat, and then the lock slipped back sharply. And in the gloom, broken in one spot by the low-burning gas, the women wondered, Oh, ma ma ma ma ma! I am so happy! the girl exclaimed, and weaving passionately, she threw herself for rest upon Mrs. Scully's arms. And you have made me very happy! You'll be a Marchioness! Who would have thought I'd have lived to see all this honour when I served in the little shop at Galway? At the mention of the shop, Violet recovered her composure, and mother and daughter listened to the receding footfalls. I wonder if he is happy, Violet murmured, as happy as I am. For I do like him. He is a good sort. Your happiness is a different happiness, Mrs. Scully answered. Like a flowering tree, a luxuriant joy bloomed in the Marquis' heart, in its shade and fragrance his thoughts lay supinely. And a prey to many floating and fanciful imaginings, he walked onwards through the darkness. In the lowering skies he saw the fair face that had led him to the verge on which he now stood. Was anybody as happy as he? And what did his happiness mean? he asked himself. Shades flitted across yellow window panes, and he remembered he had received an invitation for this very ball. Cats slunk through the area railings. Policemen moved from their hiding corners. A lover passed on with his dreams. End of Chapter 20 Recording by Chapter 21 of Muslim This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by LaSanne LaVoy of Swansea, Illinois Muslim by George Moore, Chapter 21 Mrs. Barton rarely took anyone into her confidence and her plan for the capture of the Marquise was locked within her breast. Not to her husband, nor yet to my lord, did she think of going for advice. Her special experience of life had taught her to trust none, to be self-reliant and never to give up hope. Her as she often said, it is the last effort that wins the battle. Mrs. Barton's knowledge of the world when it came to be analyzed was only that of the Corazon, Skin Deep. Two days after, she received a note from the Marquise saying he would be glad to spend a week with them at Brookfield. She read it quietly, slipped it into the pocket of the black silk that covered the unseen feet and glided out of the room. Every detail was clear to her. They must leave Dublin tomorrow morning. They need not trouble about calling on a pack of women, but they would have all their men friends to dinner. Mr. Barton, when he was informed of these sudden determinations, was in the act of rehearsing his song he was to sing the following day at a concert. But my dear, he said, tightening one of the strings, the public will be awfully disappointed. Yes my dear, yes, I am very sorry but I have my reasons, serious reasons, and in this world we must only do what's right. Then in the next world we shall be able to do what's wrong, said Mr. Barton, and he threw back his blonde locks with troubadour-like waves of his lymphatic hand. I shall like the next world better than this, he added, and his wife and daughter laughed, for papa was supposed to be very naughty. Oh, my dear, oh, my ma, I wish you wouldn't call me olive. I shall change my name. Captain Talbert was chafing me about it yesterday. Everybody chafes me about it. Never buying my dear, it makes a subject of conversation, but I was going to tell you that we shall have to start for Brookfield tomorrow. Go to Brookfield? I couldn't possibly leave Dublin yet awhile. What would all my young men do? They'd die of broken hearts. It won't matter much if they do. There aren't a dozen worth two thousand a year each. No? You aren't joking, ma? In the Marquis? That's a secret, dear. Then you don't think he'll propose to me after all? And I gave up Edward, Captain Hibbert. I thought you had forgotten that horrid man's name. I didn't say, dear, that the Marquis wouldn't propose to you. Of course he will. But we must leave Dublin tomorrow. I have serious reasons. Oh, my ma, I didn't think you were so cruel to go back to that hateful place where everybody talks of rents and that odious land league. Now, I will not allow by darling to cry like that, exclaimed Mrs Barton, and she threw her arms around the girl's shoulders. I didn't say that there wouldn't be a man within seven miles. On the contrary, there will be one very charming man indeed. What do you mean, ma ma? This is a secret. Alice was told that she had better come home early that afternoon so that she might have plenty of time to pack her own things and help her sister with hers. And it seemed to her unbelievable that she was at last leaving that hateful little varnished floor, complimenting old bows and young ADCs. But if to nobody else, she must say goodbye to May. She had hardly seen her mistake ball the night she had given Fred Scully permission to see her in her room. She found her in the ladies' drawing room. How do you do, May? Oh, how do you do, Alice? I am so glad to see you. What a dreadful day. Yes, isn't it? Don't you find it very depressing? I should think I did. I'm feeling rather out of sorts. Do you ever feel out of sorts? You know, whenever everything seems as if it were reflected in a darkened glass, there are times when we girls are nervous and weak and ready to quarrel with anyone. I don't know what I wish for now. I think I should like to go back to the country. We are going back tomorrow morning. You don't say so. And how's that? There are plenty of balls in afternoon dances. What does Olive say to going home? She doesn't mind. Alma always said she would return immediately after the castle balls. And now that it is all over, tell me what you think of the castle. Did it come up to your expectations? I don't know that I think much better about the matter. I was not so fond of dancing as you are. Oh, goodness me, goodness me, how ill I do feel, said May, as she started and yawned in a way that betokened the nervous that she was suffering from. Perhaps you had better see the doctor, said Alice, significantly. I'm worried Fred hasn't been as nice lately as he used to be. What has he done? Last night he promised to meet me in the square and he wrote to say he couldn't come, that he was forced to go and see an important customer about some horses. Perhaps he had. I dare say he had, it does not make it any less disagreeable for me to be disappointed. How cross you are, May. I came out on purpose to talk to you on this very subject. I hope you won't be angry, but I think it is my duty to tell you that people are beginning to talk about you. And what do they say? Well, they say many unpleasant things, you know, how ill-natured people are. Yes, but what do they say? They say you are desperately in love with Fred Scully. Supposing I were. Is there any very great harm in that? I only want to put you on your guard, my dear, and since I have come here for the purpose of speaking out, I had better do so, however unpleasant it may be. And I must say that you often forget yourself when he is in the room and by your whole manner betray your feelings. You look at him, you need to talk. Now that Harding has left town, these moral reflections come very easy to you. Alice blushed a little. She trembled. And pursuing her advantage, May said, Oh yes, I have watched you in the castle sitting out dances, and when girls like you butter, upon my word, it was painful to look at you. Mr. Harding and I talk merely of books and pictures. If you come here to insinuate that Fred and I are in the habit of indulging in improper conversation, I didn't expect this from you. I shan't stop another moment. I shot speak to you again. Picking up her novel and deaf to all explanations, May walked hodlily out of the room. Alice would have given much to help and her heart filled with gentle disappointment, she returned home. They were spent in packing, and next morning at dawn, looking tired, their eyes still heavy with sleep, the bartons breakfasted for the last time in Mount Street. At the Broadstone they met Lord Dungery. Then, their feet and knees causally wrapped up in furs with copies of the Freeman's journal lying on the top. They deplored the ineffectiveness of Mr. Forster's Collusion Act. Eight hundred people were in prison, and still, the red shadow of murder pointed across the land. Milord read from the newspaper. A dastardly outrage was committed last night in the neighborhood of Mullingar. A woman named Mary had some differences with her sister Bridget. One day, after some angry words, it appears that she left the house and seeing a man working in a potato field, she asked him if he could do anything to help her. He scratched his head, and after a moment's reflection he said he was going to meet a party and he would see what could be done. On the following day he suggested that Bridget might be removed for the sum of one pound. Mary could not, however, procure more than fifteen shillings and a bargain was struck. On the night arranged for the assassination, Mary wished to leave the house, not caring to see her sister shot but Pat declared that her absence would excite suspicion and the words of one of the murderers the deed was accomplished naively and without unnecessary fuss. I wonder, said Mrs. Barton, what those wretches will have to do before the government will consent to suspend the habeas corpus act and place the country in the hands of the military. Do they never think of how wickedly they are behaving, or how God will punish them when they die? Do they never think of their immortal souls? L'homme du paysan c'est votre dans la boue comme la mienne s'est plaie dans la soie dans la soie dans la soie dans la soie oh c'est mes lords c'est mes lords Oui madame, he added, lowering his voice dans la blanche paradise de votre cosage Three days after, life at Brookfield had resumed its ordinary course. Once breakfast was over, Arthur retired to the consideration of the pectoral muscles of the ancient Britain. Milord drank his glass of sherry at half-past one, and Mrs. Barton devoted herself to the double task of amusing him and encouraging Olive with visions of future fame. Alice was therefore left definitely to herself, without hindrinks or comment, was allowed to set up her writing table and spend as much time as she pleased in her bedroom. Several sheets of full-scat paper covered with large open handwriting lay upon the table. Upon the first page, with a line ruled beneath it, stood the title, The Diary of a Plain Girl, Notes and Sensations. She had just laid aside her pen and was waiting for Cecilia. Oh, Alice, darling, how are you? I am delighted. I am so delighted to see you. Let me kiss you. Let me see you. I have been longing for you for weeks, for months. Alice bent her face down and then, holding each other's hands, the girl stood, looking through a deep and expressive silence into each other's eyes. I wish, Alice, I could tell you how glad I am to have you back. It seems like heaven to see you again. You look so nice, so true, so sweet, so perfect. There never was anyone so perfect as you, Alice. Cecilia, dear, you shouldn't talk to me like that. It is absurd. Indeed, I don't think it is quite right. Not quite right, replied the cripple sadly. What do you mean? Why is it wrong? Why should it be wrong for me to love you? I don't mean to say that it is wrong. You must understand me, but... But, well, I don't know how to explain myself, but... I know, I know, I know, said Cecilia, and her nervous sensitivity revealed thoughts in Alice's mind, thoughts of which Alice herself was not distinctly conscious, just as a photograph exposes irregularities in the texture of the leaf that the naked eye cannot perceive. If Harding were to speak to you so, you wouldn't think it wrong. Alice's face flushed a little, and she said, with a certain resoluteness in her voice. Cecilia, I wish you wouldn't talk to me in this way. You give me great pain. I am sorry if I do, but I can't help it. I am jealous of the words that are spoken to you, of the air you breathe, upon. How, then, can I help hating that man? I do not wish to argue this point with you, Cecilia, nor am I sure that I understand it. There is no one I like better than you, dear, but that we should be jealous of each other is absurd. For you, perhaps, but not from me, Cecilia looked at Alice reproachfully, and at the end of a long and morose silence she said, you received the letter I wrote to you about him? Yes, Cecilia, and I answered it. It seems to me very foolish to pronounce condemnatory opinion on the whole world, and particularly for you who have seen so little of it. That doesn't matter. People are blinded by their passions, but when these have worn themselves out, they see the truth in all its horrible nakedness. One of these days you'll tell me that I am right. You have been a good deal in the world lately. And if you have found it beautiful, you didn't believe me when I told you that men are vile and abominable. You said there were good men in the world that you were sure of it. Have you found them? Was Mr. Harding so very perfect? Alice colored again. She hesitated, and in the silence, Cecilia again divined her friend's thoughts. Ah, very poor ideal indeed. It seems to me that you set yourself to make the best of this wretched world. I cannot understand what good can come of craving after the unattainable, said Alice, looking earnestly out of her gray, sharp eyes. True beauty lies only in the unattainable, said Cecilia, lifting her eyes with that curious movement of the eyeball by which painters represent faith and mysticism. At the end of a long silence, Alice said, Will you have some tea? Will you not, Cecilia? Yes, but don't let us go downstairs. We'll have it up here. Barnes will bring it up. Oh, that will be so nice. The girls drew closer to the fire, and in its uniting warmth they looked into the ardent face of their friendship, talking, at first, conscious of the appropriateness of their conversation, but soon forgetful of the more serious questions were asked and answered and comments passed upon the presentations, the dresses, the crowds, upon all their acquaintances. It is given out, Alice dear, that Lord Kilcani is coming down to stay at Brookfield. Is it true? I have heard nothing of it. Whom did you hear it from? Well, the duffies wrote it to my sisters. The duffies, you know, have all the Dublin news. Dreadful gossips they are. And the wonderful part of it is that they often tell you that things have happened long before they do happen. Yes, I have noticed that. They anticipate the news. The girls laughed lightly, and Cecilia continued. But tell me, which do you think he admires most, Olive or Violet? The rumor goes that he pays Violet great attentions. The family is, of course, wild about it. She hasn't a pennypiece, and Olive, they say, has a good deal of money. I don't know. You must show me the dress you wore. You described it beautifully in your letter. You must have looked very sweet. Did everybody say so? I am not sure that they did. Men, you know, do not always admire what women do. I should think not. Men only admire beastliness. You shouldn't talk like that. It isn't nice. Cecilia looked at Alice wistfully, and she said, but tell me about the presentations. I suppose there were an immense number of people present. Yes, and particularly debutants. There were a great number presented this year. It was considered a large drawing room. And how are you presented? I've heard my sister speak about it, but I never quite understood. At that moment, one of the barns brought in the tea. She said it on a little table used for the purpose. There is a letter for you, Miss, on the tray, she said, as she left the room. It came by afternoon post. Without answering, Alice continued to pour out the tea. But when she handed Cecilia her cup, she said, surprised at the dull, sullen stare fixed upon her. What is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? That letter, I am sure, is from Harding. It is a man's handwriting. She had been expecting that letter for days. Oh, give it me, she said impulsively. There it is. I wouldn't touch it. I knew you liked that man, but I didn't expect to find you corresponding with him. It is shameful. It isn't worthy of you. You might have less such things to make gold. Cecilia, you have no right to speak to me in that way. You are presuming too much on our friendship. Oh, yes, yes. But before you met him, I could not presume too much upon our friendship. If you want to know why I wrote to Mr. Harding, I'll tell you. It was you who wrote to him, then? Yes, I wrote to him. Oh, yes, yes, yes. I see it all now, cried Cecilia. And she walked wildly to and fro. Her eye tinged with a strange, glare. Yes, I see it all. This room that was once a girl's room is now Harding's room. He is the atmosphere of the place. I was conscious of it when I entered, but now it is visible to me. That manuscript, that writing table, that letter. Oh, yes, it is Harding. All is Harding. Cecilia, Cecilia, think, I beg of you of what you are saying. But when Alice approached and strove to raise her from the pillow upon which she had thrown herself, she started up and savagely confronted her. Don't touch me. Don't touch me, she cried. I cannot bear it. What are you to me? What am I to you? It is not with me you would care to be, but with him. It is not my kiss of friendship that would console you, but with the kiss of passion that would charm you. Go to him and leave me to die. Was this insanity? And then, forgetful of the abuse that was being showered upon her, Alice said. Cecilia, dear, listen, I'll forgive the language you have used toward me, for I know you do not know what you are saying. You must be ill. Do not speak like that. You would soothe me, but you little dream of the poison you are dropping on my wounds. You never understood. You are too far removed from me in thought and feeling ever to understand. No. Your spirituality is only a delusion. You are no better at heart than May Gould. It is the same thing. One seeks a husband, another gratifies herself with a lover. It is the same thing. Where's the difference? It is animal passion all the same. And that letter is full of it. It must be. I am sure it is. You are very insulting, Cecilia. Where have you thrown my letter? The letter had fallen beneath the table. Alice made a movement towards it, but overcome by mad rage, Cecilia caught it up and threw it into the fire. Alice rescued her letter and then, her face full of stern indignation, she said, I think, Cecilia, you had better leave my room and before you come to see me again I shall expect to receive a rich apology for the outrageous way you have behaved. In a few days came a humble and penitent letter. Cecilia returned, her eyes full of tears and begged to be forgiven. The girls resumed their friendship, but both were conscious that it was neither so bright nor so communicative as in the olden days. End of Chapter 21 Recording by Lesanne Levoix Chapter 22 of Muslim This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lesanne Levoix of Swansea, Illinois Muslim by George Moore Chapter 22 Something has happened to my learned daughter, said Mr. Barton, and he continued his thumbnail sketch on the tablecloth. What is it? He added indolently. Alice passed the check and the memorandum across the table. Three pounds for three articles contributed to the during the month of April. You don't mean to say, Alice, you got three pounds for your writing, said Mrs. Barton. Yes, mother, I have and I hope to make ten pounds next month. Mr. Harding says he can get me lots of work. So, my lady then, with all her shy ways knows how to make use of a man as well as any of us? Mrs. Barton did not willingly wound. She saw life from the point of view and use of men. That was all and when Alice walked out of the room Mrs. Barton felt sorry for what she had said and she would have gone to comfort her daughter if Olive had not, at that moment, stood in imminent need of comfort. I suppose, she said pettishly, the letter you received this morning is from the Marquis to say he won't be here next Tuesday? It was. For as the day fixed for his arrival at Brookfield approached, he would write to apologize and to beg that he might be allowed to postpone his visit to Monday week or Wednesday fortnight. Mrs. Barton replied that they would be very glad to see him when he found it convenient to come and see them. She did not inquire into the reason of his rudeness. She was determined to fight the battle out to the end and she did not dare to think that he was being prompted by that beast of a girl, Violet Scully. He writes a very nice letter indeed. He says he has a very bad cold and doesn't like to show himself at Brookfield with a red nose. But that, unless he dies in the meantime, he will be with us on the twentieth of the month and will, if we will have him, stop three weeks with us. I knew the letter was a put off. I don't believe he admires me at all, the little beast. And I know I shall never be a Marcianes. You made me treat poor Edward shamefully and for no purpose after all. Now, Olive, you mustn't speak like that. Go upstairs and ask Barnes if she has heard anything lately. Oh, I'm sick of Barnes. What has she heard? She is a great friend of Lady Georgina's maid, who knows the berks intimately, particularly Lady Emily's maid. And Barnes got a letter from her friend the other day, saying that Lady Emily was delighted at the idea of her brother marrying you, dear, and that he thinks of nobody else, speaks of nobody else, run up and speak to her about it. As we have seen, Mrs. Barton had drugged Olive's light brain with visions of victories, with dancing, dresses, admiration, but now, in the tiring void of country days, memories of Edward's love and devotion were certain to arise. He made, however, no attempt to renew his courtship. At Gort, within three miles, he remained silent, immovable as one of the Clare Mountains. Sometimes his brown-gold mustache and square shoulders were caught sight of as he rode rapidly along the roads. He had once been seen sitting with Mrs. Lawler behind the famous cream-colored ponies and to allude to his disgraceful conduct without wounding Olive's vanity was an art that Mrs. Barton practiced daily and to keep the girl in spirits she induced Sir Charles who, it was reported, was about to emigrate his family to the wilds of Maratoga to come and stay with them. If a rumor were to reach the Marquises ears, it might help to bring him to the point. In any case, Sir Charles's attentions to Olive would keep her in humor until the great day arrived. Well convinced that this was her last throw, Mrs. Barton resolved to smear the hook well with the three famous baits she was accustomed to anger with. They were dinners, flattery and dancing. Accordingly, an order was given to the Dublin fishmonger to send them fish daily for the next three weeks and to the pastry cook for a French cook. The store of flattery kept on the services being illimitable. She did not trouble about that but devoted herself to the solution of the problem of how she should obtain a constant and unfailing supply of music. Once she thought of sending up to Dublin for a professional pianist but was obliged to abandon the idea on account of the impossibility of devising suitable employment for him during the morning hours. A tune or two might not come this after lunch but to have him hanging about the shrubberies all the morning would be intolerable. She might ask a couple of the Brenins or the Duffies to stay with them but they would be in the way and occupy the Marquis' time and go tell tailing all over the country. No, that wouldn't do either. Alice's playing was wretched. It was a wonderful thing that a girl like her would not make some effort to amuse men and would not do something. Once Olive was married she, Mrs Barton would try to patch up something for this gawk of a girl. Marry her to Sir Charles. Excellent match it would be too. Get all the children emigrated first and if he would not have her there was Sir Richard. It was said that he was quite reformed, had given up drink but there was no use thinking of that. For the President the girl's music which was wretched. Olive fell in with her mother's plans and she angled industriously for Lord Kilkarny. She did not fail to say in or out of season Il n'y a a personne qu'on notre chère Marquis and as the turbot and fruit that had arrived by the afternoon train from Dublin were discussed Milord did not cease to make immediate remarks. Referring to the bouquet that she had pinned into the Marquis' buttonhole he said Il y a des amants pour tout ou il y a des oiseaux et des roses. And again. Les regards des amourons sont la lumière comme la base et la vie du monde. After dinner no time was lost although the Marquis pleaded fatigue at the piano and dancing began in sober earnest. After each waltz Olive conducted him to the dining room. She helped him liberally to wine and when she held a match to his cigarette their fingers touched. But to find occupation for the long morning hours of her young couple was a grave trouble to Mrs Barton. She was determined to make every moment of the little Marquis' stay in Galway moments of sunshine but mental no more than atmospheric sunshine is to be had by the willing and the poor little fellow seemed to pine in his Galway cage like a molting canary. He submitted to all the efforts made in his behalf but his submission was that of a victim. After breakfast he always attempted to escape and if he succeeded in eluding Mrs Barton he would remain for hours hidden in the laurels and wrapped in summer meditations the nature of which it was impossible even to conjecture. In the afternoon he spoke of the burden of his correspondence and when the inevitable dancing was spoken of he often excused himself on the ground of having a long letter to finish. If it were impossible for her to learn the contents of these letters Mrs Barton ardently desired to know to whom they were addressed. Finally she volunteered to send special messengers to the post on his account. The footmen the coachmen and the ponishers were in turn rejected by him. Thank you Mrs Barton thank you but I should like to avail myself of the chance of a constitutional. La sante de notre patite marquise avant toute she would exclaim with much silvery laughter and all the habitual movements of the white hands. But what do you say I am sure the young ladies would like a walk too. With a view to picturesque effect Mrs Barton's thoughts had long been centered on a picnic. They were now within a few days of the first of May and there was enough sunshine in the air to justify an excursion to Kinvara castle. It is about four miles distant at the end of a long narrow bay. Mrs Barton applied herself diligently to the task of organization. Having heard from Dublin of the hoax that was being played on their enemy the ladies cullen consented to join the party and they brought with them one of the honourable Miss Gores. The Duffees and Brennans numbered their full strength including even the famous Bertha who was staying with her sisters on a visit. The ghouls excused themselves on account of the distance and the disturbed state of the country. Mrs Barton found therefore much difficulty maintaining the noted characteristic of her parties. Sir Richard and Sir Charles had agreed to come. Mr Adair, Mr Ryan and Mr Lynch were also present. They drove up on outside cars and were all attended by a bodyguard of policemen. And very soon everybody fell to babbling of the history of the castle which nobody knew. Ireland has had few chroniclers. Lord Dungery pointed out that in the 17th century people lived in Ireland naked speaking Latin habitually without furniture or tapestries or paintings or baths. The castle suggested a military movement to Mr Barton. If things get any worse we might all retire into this castle. The ladies will stand on the battlements and I will undertake to hold the place forever against those village ruffians. I do not think there will be any necessity for that, replied Mr Adair sententiously. I think that these last terrible outrages have awakened the government to a sense of their responsibility. I have reason to believe that immediate steps will be taken to crush this infamous conspiracy. Lord Dungery interposed Mr Adair to tell how he would crush the land league out of existence if the government would place him in supreme power for the space of one month. That is all I would ask one month to restore this island to peace and prosperity. I have always been a liberal but I confess that I entirely fail to understand the action the government are taking in the present crisis. As Lord Dungery was about to reply he did not believe that the peasants could continue to resist the government indefinitely. The police sergeant in charge of the picnic party approached. His face overcast. We've just received bad news from Dublin my lord. The worst Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr Burke were murdered this evening in the Phoenix park. It is unfortunately true sir. I have the telegram with me. And he handed the yellow envelope to Mr. Dungery who after glancing at it handed it on to Mr. Adair. The appearance of the police in conversation with Lord Dungery and Mr. Adair was a sign for the assembling of the rest of the company and it was under the walls of old Kinbarna castle that the picnic party heard the awful news. Then in turn each ejaculated a few words. Mrs Barton said careful to think there are such wicked people in the world. Mr. Adair said there can be no doubt but that we have arrived at the crisis. Europe will ring with the echoes of the crime. Olive said I think they ought to hang Mr. Parnell. I believe it was he who drove the car. Mr. Barton said the landlords and land leaguers will have to do what I say. They will have to fight it out. Now Mr. Adair said I believe by a series of rapid marches. Arthur Arthur I pig of you exclaimed Mrs. Barton we shall have to emigrate Sir Charles murmur reflectively The law is in avance said Mr. Lynch Precisely replied my lord and as I once said to Lord Granville Les mots sont les hommes mais la loi est la raison du pays Mr. Adair looked up he seemed about to contest the truth of this aphorism but he relapsed into his consideration of Mr. Gladstone's political integrity. The conversation had fallen but at the end of a long silence Mr. Ryan said Bigora o'in veriglade they were murdered all drew back instinctively this was too horrible and doubt of Mr. Ryan's sanity was on every face at last Mr. Adair said conscious that he was expressing the feelings of the entire company What do you mean sir? Have you gone mad? Do you not know that this is no fitting time for buffoonery? Vir ye hear me cousin out said Mr. Lynch Bigora o'in glad they were murdered continued Mr. Ryan for if they hadn't been we'd all had been wrong on the short of it I know the country well and I know that in six months more without a proper coercion act we'd have been barred in orbits the unanswerableness of Mr. Ryan's words and the implacable certainty which forced itself into every heart that he spoke but the truth did not however make the company less inclined to oppose the utilitarian view he took unfinished phrases disgraceful shocking inconceivable that anyone should say such a thing were passed round and a disposition was shown to boycott Mr. Ryan Mr. Adair spoke of not sitting in the room where such opinions were expressed but my lord was seen whispering to him we're not in a room Adair we're out of doors and Mrs. Barton always anxious to calm troubled lives suggested that people did not mean all they said Mr. Ryan however maintained through it all an attitude of stolid indifference the indifference of a man who knows that all must come back sooner or later to his views and presently although the sting remained the memory of the wasp that had stung seemed to be lost my lord and Mr. Adair engaged in a long and learned discussion concerning the principles of liberalism in the course of which many illusions were made to the new coercion bill which it was now agreed Mr. Gladstone would in a few days lay before parliament the provisions of this bill were debated my lord spoke of an act that had been in force consequent on the fenian rising in 69 Mr. Adair was of opinion that the importance of a new coercion act could not be overestimated Mr. Barton declared in favor of a military expedition a rapid dash into the heart of Kanabara but the conversation languished and in the ever lengthening silences all found their thoughts reverting to the idea brutally expressed by Mr. Ryan yes they were glad for if lord Kevin Dish and Mr. Burke had not been assassinated every landowner in the country would have been murdered there was no dancing that evening and as the night advanced the danger of the long drive home increased in intensity the minds of Miser's Lynch and Ryan they sat on either side of Mr. Adair and it was finally arranged that they should join their police forces and spend the night at his place Mr. Charles was sleeping at Brookfield Milord had four policemen with him and as all would have to pass his gate he did not anticipate that even the land would venture to attack 13 armed men Mr. Barton who saw the picturesque in everything declared when he came back that they looked like a caravan starting for a pilgrimage across the desert after a few further remarks the ladies rose to retire but when Mrs. Barton gave her hand to Lord Kilcarny he said, his voice trembling a little I'm afraid I must leave you tomorrow Mrs. Barton I shall have to run over to London to vote in the House of Lords Mrs. Barton led the poor little man into the farther corner of the room and making a place for him by her side she said of course we are very sorry you are leaving I'd like you to stop a little longer with us is it impossible for you I am afraid so Mrs. Barton it is very kind of you but it is a great pity she answered but before we part I should like to know if you have come to any conclusion about what I spoke to you of in Dublin if it is not to be I should like to know that I might tell the girl so that she might not think what am I to say what am I to do thought the Marquis oh why does this woman worry me how can I tell her that I wouldn't marry her daughter for tens of thousands of pounds I think Mrs. Barton I mean I think you will agree with me that until affairs in Ireland grow more settled it would be impossible for anyone to enter into any engagements whatever we are all on the brink of ruin but twenty thousand pounds would settle a great deal the little Marquis was conscious of annihilation and he sought to escape Mrs. Barton as he might a piece of falling rock with a desperate effort he said yes Mrs. Barton yes I agree with you twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money but I think we had better wait until the lords have passed the new coercion bill say nothing more about this leave it an open question and on this eminently unsatisfactory answer the matter ended even Mrs. Barton saw she could not at least for the present continue to press it still she did not give up hope try on to the end we never know that it is not the last little effort that will win the game was the aphorism with which she consoled her daughter and induced her to write to Lord Kilcarnie and almost daily he received from her flowers supposed to be emblematic of the feeling she entertained for him and for these Alice was sometimes ordered to compose verses and suitable motos end of chapter 22 recording by LaSanne LaVoy chapter 23 of muslin this is a libra box recording all libra box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra box dot org recording by LaSanne LaVoy of Swansea Illinois muslin by George Moore chapter 23 but Lord Kilcarnie's replies to these letters seldom consisted of more than a few well chosen words and he often allowed a week and sometimes a fortnight to a lapse before answering at all too vain and silly to understand the indifference with which she was treated whined and fretted less than might have been expected she spent a great deal of her time with Barnes who fed her with scandal and flattery but a storm was about to break and in August it was known without any possibility of a doubt that the Marquis was engaged to Violet Scully and that their marriage was settled for the autumn and this marriage and the passing of the bill for the prevention of crime were the two interests present in the mind of Irish land Buddhism during the summer of 82 immediately the former event was publicly announced every girl in Dublin ran to her writing desk to confirm to her friends and relatives the truth of the news which for the last two months she had so resolutely anticipated the famous Bertha the terror of the debutantes rushed to Brookfield but she did not get there before the Brennans and the result was a meeting of these families of girls in Mrs. Barton's drawing room Gladys was however the person chosen by God and herself to speak the wonderful words Of course you have heard the news Mrs. Barton No, replied Mrs. Barton a little nervously What is it? exclaimed Olive Anyone going to be married? Yes, can you guess? No, tell me quick No, do tell me Are you going to be married? Had Olive been suddenly dowered with the wit of concrete she could not have contrived an answer that would have shielded her better from the dart that Gladys was preparing to hurl The girl winced and divining the truth in a moment of admiration, Mrs. Barton said Ah, I know Lord Kilkarny is engaged to Violet Scully The situation was almost saved and would have been had Olive not been present She glanced at her mother in astonishment and Gladys, fearing utter defeat, hurled her dart recklessly Yes, she exclaimed and their marriage is fixed for this autumn I don't believe a word of it You only say so because you think it will annoy me My dear Olive how can it annoy you You know very well you refused him said Mrs. Barton risking the danger of contradiction Gladys is only telling us the news News indeed a pack of lies I know her well and all because because she didn't succeed in hooking the man she was after she was shell-born last year I'm not going to listen to her lies if you are and on these words Olive flaunted passionately out of the room So very sorry really, exclaimed Zoe We really didn't know Indeed we didn't We couldn't have known that there was any reason why dear Olive wouldn't like to hear that Lord Kilkarny was engaged to Violet Not at all Not at all I assure you that whatever question there may once have been I give you my word was broken off a long time ago They did not suit each other at all said Mrs. Barton Now that she was relieved of the presence of her young the mother fought admirably But in a few moments the enemy was reinforced by the arrival of the honorable Miss Goers Oh how do you do I am so glad to see you said Mrs. Barton the moment they entered the room Have you heard the news All is definitely settled between the little Marquis and Violet We were all talking of it I am so glad for her sake Of course it is very grand to be a Marcianess But I'm afraid she'll find her coronet a poor substitute for her dinner You know what a state the property is in She has married a beggar The great thing after all nowadays is money It would have been better perhaps not to have spoken of Lord Kilkarny's mortgages But the Marquis's money embarrassments were at the weak point in Violet's marriage But it would not be natural supposing that Olive had herself refuse Lord Kilkarny for her not to speak of them So she prattled on Gailey for nearly an hour playing her part admirably looking herself from a difficult position and casting some doubt only a little it is true But a little was a gain on the story that Olive had been rejected As soon as her visitors left the room and she went to the window to watch the carriages drive away and to consider how she might console her daughter persuade her perhaps that everything had happened for the best Oh mama she said rushing into the room this is terrible what shall we do what shall we do What's terrible my beautiful darling Olive looked through her languor in tears and she answered petulently Oh you know very well I'm disgraced he's going to marry Violet and I shall not be a Martianess after all If my beautiful darling like she can be a Duchess replied Mrs Barton with a silvery laugh I don't understand mama I mean that we aren't entirely dependent on that wretched little Marquis with his encumbered property if he were full enough to let himself be entrapped by that designing little beast Violet Scully so much the worse for him we shall get someone far grander than he it is never wise for a girl to settle herself off the first season she comes out all very well to say that now but you made me break off with dear Edward who's ever so nice and loved me dearly Mrs Barton winced but she answered almost immediately my dear we shall get someone a great deal grander than that wretched Marquis there will be a whole crowd of English dukes and earls at the castle next year men who haven't a mortgage on their property and who will all fight for the hand of my beautiful olive Mr Harding Alice's friend will put your portrait into one of the society papers as the Galway beauty and next year you may be her grace and how will they do my portrait mama I think you look best darling with your hair done up on the top of your head in the French fashion oh do you think so you don't like the way I have it done in now said the girl and laughing she ran to the glass to admire herself barn said I looked sweet this morning and five minutes after she was tossing her head nervously declaring she was miserable and often she burst out crying for no assignable cause Mrs Barton consoled and flattered gaily but the sweet placid countenance was sometimes a little troubled as the girls left the breakfast room and said as if asking their advice I have just received an invitation from Dungary castle they are giving a tennis party and they want us to go to lunch oh mama I don't want to go cried olive and why my dear oh because everybody knows about the Marquis and I couldn't bear their smears those and the doffies are sure to be there I was in Dublin said Mrs Barton in an intonation of voice a little too expressive of relief glad this is just as bad and then there's that horrid Zoe oh I couldn't bear it it will look as if we were avoiding them they will only talk the more I always think it is best to put a bold face on everything I couldn't I couldn't I'm broken hearted that's what I'm I have nothing to do or to think of there could be little doubt that the ladies Cullen had got up the tennis party so that they might have an opportunity of sneering at her but my lord would keep them in check it might be as well to tell him to threaten to put down the school if they did not keep a guard on their tongues and if olive would only put a bold face on it and captivate Sir Charles this very might blow over further than this Mrs Barton's thoughts did not travel but they were clear and precise thoughts and with much subtlety and insinuated force she applied herself to the task of overcoming her daughter's weakness and strengthening her in this overthrow of vanity and self-love but to the tennis party they must go my lord too was of opinion that they could not absent themselves and he had doubtless been able to arrive at a very clear understanding with Lady Sarah and Lady Jane concerning the future of Protestantism in the parish for on the day of the tennis party no illusion was made to Lord Kilcarny's visit to Brookfield certain references to his marriage were of course inevitable but it was only necessary to question Mr. Adair on his views concerning the new coercion act to secure for Mrs. Barton an almost complete immunity from feminine sarcasm I do not deny said Mr. Adair that the crimes bill will restore tranquility but I confess that I can regard no government as satisfactory that can only govern by the sword these sentiments being but only very partially appreciated by the rest of the company the conversation came to an awkward pause and Lady Jane said as she left the room I do not know a more able man on a county board than Mr. Adair he took honors at Trinity and if he hasn't done as much since as we expected it is because he is too honorable too conscientious to ally himself to any particular party that was always the way with Lord Dungery suggested Mrs. Gould Lady Jane bit her lip and continued without taking notice of the interruption now I hope Mr. Adair will not write a pamphlet or express himself too openly concerning the crimes act the question of the day is the organization of the land act and I hear that Mr. Gladstone says it will be impossible to get on without Mr. Adair's assistance every six months said Mrs. Gould it is given out that Gladstone cannot go on without him but somehow Gladstone does go on without him and then we never hear any more about it Lady Jane looked angry and all wondered at Mrs. Gould's want of tact but at that moment the footmen announced Meziers Ryan and Lynch and Alice asked if she might go up to see Cecilia more visitors arrived the Brennans, the Duffies the five honorable Ms. Gours and the company adjourned to the tennis ground Mr. Lynch was anxious to have May for a partner but she refused him somewhat pettishly declaring at the same time that she had given up tennis and would never touch a racket again her continuous silence and dejected appearance created some surprise and her cheeks flushed with passion when her mother said she didn't know what had come over May lately then obeying an impulse May rose to her feet and leaving the tennis players on pleasure grounds Dungary Castle was surrounded by heavy woods and over topping clumps of trees as the house was neared these were filled in with high laurel hedges and masses of rhododendron and an opening in the branches of some large beach trees revealed a blue and beautiful aspect of the Clare Mountains I wonder what May is angry about Cecilia said to Alice when they watched the tennis playing from their window suppose those horrid men are annoying her I never saw her refuse to play tennis before Alice replied demurely and ten minutes after some subtle desire of what she was not very conscious led her through the shrubberies towards the place where she already expected to find May and dreaming of reconciliation of a renewal of friendship Alice walked through the green summer of the leaves listening to the infinite twittering of the birds and startled by the wood pigeons that from time to time rose boisterously out of the high branches on a garden bench leaning forward her hands rested on her knees May sat swinging her parasol from side to side playing with the fallen leaves when she looked up the sunlight fell full upon her face and Alice saw that she was crying but effecting not to see the tears she said speaking rapidly oh May dear I have been looking for you the last time we but interrupted here by a choking sob she found herself forced to say my dear May what is the matter can I do anything for you oh no no only leave me be don't question me I don't want anyone's help the ungraciousness of the words lost in the accent of grief with which they were spoken I assure you I don't wish to be inquisitive Alice replied sorrowfully nor do I come to annoy you with good advice but the last time we met we didn't part good friends I was merely anxious to assure you that I bore no ill feeling but of course if you oh no no cried May reaching and catching at Alice's arm she pulled her down into the seat beside her I am awfully sorry for my rudeness to you to you who are so good so good oh Alice dear will you forgive me will you not and sobbing very helplessly she threw herself into her friends arms oh of course I forgive you cried Alice deeply affected I had no right to lecture you on the way I did but I meant it for the best indeed I did I know you did but I lost my temper ah if you knew how sorely I was tried you would forgive me I do forgive you may dear but tell me can I not help you now you know that you can confide in me and I will do anything in my power to help you no one can help me now said the girl solemnly Alice did not speak at once but at the end of the long silence she said does Fred Scully love you no more I do not know whether he does or not nor does it matter much he's not in Ireland he's far away by this time where is he he's gone to Australia he wrote to me about two months ago to say that all had been decided in a few hours and that he was to sail next morning he's gone out with some race horses and expects to win a lot of money he'll be back again in a year a year isn't long to wait you'll see him when he comes back I don't think I should care to see him again oh you are right Alice to warn me against him I was foolish not to listen to you but it was too late even then Alice trembled she had already guessed the truth but hoping when she knew all hope was vain she said you had better tell me Mae you know I am to be trusted can't you guess it the conversation fell and the girl sat staring into the depths of the wood involuntarily their eyes followed a small bird that ran up branch after branch of a beech tree pecking as it went it seemed like a toy mouse so quick and unburying were its movements at last Mae said and very dolorously Alice I thought you were kinder haven't you a word of pity why tell you why ask me to tell you oh what a fool I was oh no no Mae you did right to tell me I am more sorry for you the words can express and I didn't speak because I was trying to think of some way of helping you oh there's no no way of helping me dear there's nothing for me to do but to die and now giving way utterly the girl buried her face in her hands and sobbed until it seemed that she would choke in thick grief oh Mae Mae dear you mustn't cry like that if anyone were to come by what would they think what does it matter if anyone will know sooner or later I wish I were dead dead and out of sight forever of this miserable world no Mae said Alice thinking instinctively of the child you mustn't die your trial is a terrible one but people before now have got over worse I am trying to think what can be done then Mae raised her weeping face and there was a light of hope in her eyes she clasped Alice's hand neither spoke the little brown bird pursued his way up and down the branches of the beach beyond it lay the sky and the girls tense with little sufferings yearned into this vision of beautiful peace at last Alice said did you tell Mr. Scully of the trouble does he know he was away and I didn't like to write it to him but the day before Australia took me quite by surprise have you told your mother oh no I'd rather die than tell her I couldn't tell her you know what she is I think she ought to be told she would take you abroad oh no Alice dear it would never do to tell my mom you know what she is you know how she talks she would never leave off abusing the Scullies and then I don't know how somehow everybody would get to know about it but find it out they will sooner or later it is only a question of time no no may they shall know nothing of this at least not if I can help it but you can't help it there is one thing quite certain you must go away you cannot stop and go away it is all very well talking like that but where can I go to you cannot move a yard away from home without people wanting to know where she has gone Alice's eyes filled with tears you might go up to Dublin she said and live in lodgings and what excuse should I give to mother said Meg who in her despair had not courage to deny the possibility of the plan you needn't tell her where you are replied Alice and then she hesitated she was anxious of the deception she was practicing but her unswerving common sense coming after a moment's reflection to her aid she said you might say that you were going to live in the convent go to the mother superior tell her of your need beg of her persuade her to receive and forward your letters and in that way it seems to me that no one need be the wiser spoken slowly as if with a sense of shame at being forced to speak thus Meg raised her face now aflame with hope and joy I wonder if it is possible to a moment after the light died out of her face and she said but how shall I live who will support me I cannot ask mother for money without awakening suspicion I think Meg you almost all the money you want replied Alice in a hesitating and slightly embarrassed manner you Alice but I haven't told you I have been writing a good deal lately for newspapers and have made nearly 20 pounds that will be all you will want for the present and I shall be able I hope to make sufficient to keep you supplied I don't think that anyone was ever as good as you Alice you make me feel ashamed of myself I am doing only what anyone else would do if they were called upon but we have been sitting here a long time now and before we go back to the tennis ground we had better arrange what is to be done when do you propose leaving I had better leave at once it is 7 months ago now no one suspects is yet well then when would you like me to send you the money you can have it all at once if you like oh thanks dear mother will give me enough to last me a little while and I will write to you from Dublin you are sure no one sees your letters at Brookfield quite sure there's not the slightest danger she did not question the advice she had given and she felt sure that the reverend mother if a proper appeal were made to her common sense would consent to conceal the girl's fault two months would not be long passing but the expenses of this time would be heavy and she, Alice would have to meet them all she trembled less she might fail to do so and she tried to reckon them up it would be impossible to get rooms under a pound a week and to live, no matter how cheaply would cost at least 2 pounds 3 pounds a week 4 threes are 12 the 20 pounds would scarcely carry her over a month she would not be well for at least 2 and then there was the doctor the nurse, the flannels for the baby Alice tried to calculate thinking plainly and honestly if a repulsive detail rose suddenly up in her mind she did not shrink nor was she surprised to find herself thinking of such things she did so as a matter of course keeping her thoughts fixed on the one object of doing her duty towards her friend and how to do this was the problem that presented itself unceasingly for solution she felt that somehow she would have to earn 20 pounds within the next month out of the ladies paper in which notes and sensations of a plain girl at Dublin castle was still running she could not hope to make more than 30 shillings a week a magazine had lately accepted a 10 page story worth she fancied about 5 pounds but when they would print it and pay her was impossible to say she could write the editor an imploring letter asking him to advance her the money but even then there was another 9 pounds to make up and to do this seemed to her an impossibility she could not ask her mother or father she would only do so if the worst came to the worst she would write paragraphs articles short stories and would send them to every editor in London one out of three might turn up trumps Gardner street Mount Joy square Darling Alice I have been in Dublin now more than a week I did not write to you before because I wished to write to tell you that I had done all you told me to do the first thing I did was to go to the convent would you believe it the new reverend mother and sister Mary who we knew so well at St. Leonard's she has been transferred to the branch convent in Dublin she was delighted to see me but the sight of her dear face awoke so many memories so many old associations that I burst out crying and it seemed to me impossible that I should ever be able to find courage to tell her the truth none will ever know what it cost me to speak the words all of a sudden and I told her everything I thought she would reproach me and speak bitterly but she only said my poor child I am sorry you hadn't strength to resist temptation your trial is a dreadful one she was very, very kind her face lighted up when I spoke of you and she said sweet girl she was always an angel she was too good for the world then I insisted that it was your idea that I should seek help from the convent but she said that it was my duty to go to my mother and tell her the whole truth oh my darling Alice I cannot tell you what a terrible time I went through we were talking for at least two hours and it was only with immense difficulty that I at last succeeded in making her understand what kind of person poor mama is and how hopeless it would be to expect her to keep any secret even if her daughter's honor wasn't questioned I told her how she would run about talking in her mild, unmeaning way of poor May and that shameful Mr. Scully and at last the Reverend Mother as you prophesize she would saw the matter in its proper light and she has consented to receive all my letters to give her to understand that I am safe within the convent walls it is very good of her for I know the awful risk she is willfully incurring so as to help me out of my trouble the house I am staying in is nice enough and the landlady seems a kind woman the name I go by is Mrs. Brandon you will not forget to direct your letter so and I said that my husband was an officer and had gone out to join his regiment in India I have a comfortable bedroom on the third floor there are two windows and they look out on the street the time seems as if it would never pass and 12 hours of the day seem like 12 centuries I have not even a book to read and I never go out for fear of being seen in the evening I put on a thick veil and go for a walk in the back streets but I cannot go out or nine it is not dark till then and I cannot stay out later than 10 on account of the men who speak to you my colored hair makes me look fast and I am so afraid of meeting someone I know that this short hour is as full of misery as those that preceded it every passerby seems to know me to recognize me and I cannot help imagining that he or she will be telling my unfortunate story after in the pitiless drawing rooms of Marion Square oh Alice darling you are the only friend I have in the world if it were not for you I believe I should drought myself in the Liffey no girl was ever so miserable as I I cannot tell you what I feel and you cannot imagine how for long it all is and I am so ill I am always hungry and always sick oh these longing oh these longings you may think they are nothing but they are dreadful you remember how active I used to be how I used to run about the tennis court now I can scarcely crawl and the strange sickening fancies I see things in the shops that tempt me sometimes it is a dry biscuit sometimes a basket of strawberries but whatever it is I stand and look at it long for it until weary of longing and standing with a sort of weight weighing me down and my stays all rucking up to my neck I crawl home there I am all alone and I sit in the dark on a wretched hard chair by the window and I cry and I watch the summer night and all the golden stars and I cannot say what I think of during all these long and lonely hours I know that I cannot find energy to go to bed and I never sleep a whole night through the cramp comes on so terribly that I jump up screaming oh Alice how I hate him when I think of it all I see how selfish men are they never think of us they only think of themselves you would scarcely know me if you saw me now all my complexion you know what a pretty complexion it was is all red and mottled when you saw me a fortnight ago I was all right it is extraordinary what a change has come about I think it was the journey and the excitement there would be no concealing the truth now it is lucky I left Galway what I did mother gave me five pounds on leaving home my ticket cost nearly 30 shillings a pound went in cabs in hotel expenses and my breakfasts brought my bill up yesterday to two pounds I cannot think now for I only pay 16 shillings for my room and when it was paid I had only a few shillings left will you therefore send the money you promised if possible by return of post always affectionately yours May Gould the tears started to Alice's eyes as she read the letter she did not consider if May might have spared her the physical details with which her letter abounded she did not stay to think of the cause of the result for the moment she was numb to ideas and sensations that were not those of humble human pity for humble human suffering like the waters of a new baptism pity made her pure and whole and the false shame of an ancient world fell from her leaning her head on her strong, well-shaped hand she set to arranging her little plans for her friend's help plans that were charming for their simplicity their sweet hominess the letter she had just read had come by the afternoon post and if she were to send May the money she wrote for that evening it would be necessary to go into Gort to register the letter Gort was two miles away and if she asked for the carriage her mother might propose that her letter should be sent in by a special messenger this of course was impossible and Alice for the first time in her life found herself obliged to tell a deliberate lie for a moment her conscious stood at bay but she accepted the inevitable and told her mother that she had some MSS to register and did not care to entrust them to other hands it was a consolation to know that her parents were safely dispatched but she was bitterly unhappy and the fear that money might be wanting in the last and most terrible hours bound her to her desk as with a chain and when her tired and exhausted brain ceased to formulate phrases the picture of the lonely room the night walks and the suffering of the jaded girl stared her in the face with a terrible distinctness her only moments of gladness were when the post brought a check from London sometimes they were for a pound sometimes for fifteen shillings once she received five pounds ten it was for her story on the tenth of September she received the following letter Dear Alice thanks a thousand times for your last letter and the money enclosed it came in the nick of time for I was run almost to my last penny I did not write before because I didn't feel in the humor to do anything thank goodness I'm not sick anymore though I don't know that it isn't counterbalanced by the dreadful thankness and the constant movement isn't it awful to sit here day after day watching myself and knowing the only relief I shall get will be after such terrible pain I woke up last night crying with the terror of it Servasi says there are cases on record of painless confinements and in my best moods I think mine is to be one of them I know it is wrong to write all these things to a good girl like you but I think talking about it is part of the complaint and poor sinner me has no one to talk to do you remember my old black cashmere I've been altering it till there's hardly a bit of the original body left but now the skirt is adding to my troubles getting shorter and shorter in front it is now quite 6 inches off the ground and instead of fastening it I have to pin the placket hole and then it falls nearly right only 3 weeks longer and then but there I won't look forward because I know I am going to die and all the accounting for it and everything else will be on your shoulders goodbye dear I shout right again not till afterwards and if there is an afterward I shall never be able to thank you properly but still I think it will be a weight off you is it so dear do you wish I were dead I know you don't it was unkind to write that last line I will scratch it out you will not be angry dear I am too wretched to know what I am writing and I want to lie down always affectionately yours gold outside the air was limpid with sunlight and the newly mown meadow was golden in the light of evening the autumn colored foliage of the chestnuts lay mysteriously rich and still harmonizing in measured tones with the ruddy tints of the dim September sunset the country dozed as if satiated with summer love heavy scents were abroad a high baritone voice broke the language silence and an embroidered smoking jacket and cap Mr. Barton twanged his guitar Malord had been thrown down amid the hay and Mrs. Barton and Olive were showering it upon him the old gentleman's legs were in the air crushing the letter Alice's hands fell on the table she burst into tears but work was more vital than tears and taking up her pen she continued her story penny journal fiction of true love and unending happiness in the end a month later she received this note dearest just a line in pencil I mustn't sit up to tell you it is all over and all I said was thank God, thank God over and over again it is such a relief but I mustn't write much it is such a funny screwed up looking baby and I don't feel any of those maternal sentiments that you read about at least not yet and it always cries just when I am longing to go to sleep thank you again and again for all you have done for me and been to me I feel awfully weak always affectionately yours made gold End of Chapter 23 Recording by Lysanne LaVoy