Kilgorman Part 10

It was a nasty, sudden squall, with a shower of hail and half a cap of wind in it. Luckily it was straight behind us. Had we been crossing it, it would have caught us badly. As it was, although it gave us a great toss, and now and then sent a drenching wave over our backs and heads, we were in no real peril. Our only difficulty was that, unless it eased off before we came within reach of Knockowen, we should have to cross it to get home. But that was far enough away yet.

Miss Kit, who for all her pretty bragging had had little commerce in the mighty deep, sat still for a while, startled by the sudden violence of the wind and the onslaught of the waves behind us. But as soon as she discovered that all the harm they did was to wet her pretty head and drench her boxes, and when, moreover, she satisfied herself by a chance glance or two at my face that there was nothing to fear, she began to enjoy the novel experience, and even laughed to see how the boat tore through the water.

"Why can't we go on like this, straight out to the open sea?" said she.

"We could do many a thing less easy," said I. "It's well Knockowen's no nearer the open sea than it is."

"Why?"

"If it was as far as Kilgorman," said I, "we'd meet the tide coming in, and then it would be a hard sea to weather."

"Kilgorman!" said she, catching at the name; "were you ever there, Barry?"

"Once," said I guiltily, "when I should not have been. And I suffered for it."

"How? what happened?"

"Indeed, Miss Kit; it's not for the likes of you to hear; and his honour would be mad if he knew of it."

"You think I'm a tell-tale," said she. "I'm your mistress, and I order you to tell me."

"Faith, then, I saw a ghost, mistress!"

She laughed, and pleasant the sound was amid the noise of the storm.

"You won't make me believe you're such a fool as that," said she. "It's only wicked people who see ghosts."

"Sure, then, I'm thinking it'll be long till you see one, Miss Kit. But mind now; we must put her a little away from the wind to make Knockowen.

Sit fast, and don't mind a wave or two."

Now began the dangerous part of our voyage. The moment we put her head in for Knockowen, the waves began to break heavily over the stern, sometimes almost knocking the tiller from my hand, sometimes compelling us to run back into the wind to save being swamped.

She did not talk any more, but sat very quiet, watching each wave as it came, and looking up now and again at my face, as if to read our chances there. You may be sure I looked steady enough, so as not to give her a moment's more uneasiness than she need. But, for all that, I was concerned to see how much water we shipped, and how much less easily the boat travelled in consequence.

Quit the helm I durst not. Yet how could I ask her to perform so menial a task as to bail the boat? But it soon went past the point of standing on ceremony.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit," said I, "there's a can below the seat you're on. If you could use it a bit to get quit of some of the water, it would help us."

She was down on her knees on the floor of the boat at once, bailing hard.

"Are we in danger of sinking?" said she, looking up.

"No, surely; but we're better without water in the boat."

Whereat she worked till her arm ached, and yet made little enough impression on the water, which, with every roll we took, swung ankle deep from side to side, and grew every minute.

We wanted a mile of Knockowen still, and I was beginning to think there would be nothing for it but to put out again before the wind, and run the risk of meeting the heavy sea in the open, when the wind suddenly shifted a point, and came up behind us once more. It was a lucky shift for us, for my little mistress was worn-out with her labour, and a few more broadsides might have swamped us.

As it was, we could now run straight for home, and a few minutes would see us alongside the little pier of Knockowen.

I helped her back to her seat beside me, and drew the tarpaulin around her.

Her face, which had been anxious enough for a while, cleared as suddenly as the wind had shifted.

"I declare, Barry, I was afraid just now."

"So you might be; and no shame to you for it," said I.

"Are you ever afraid?" said she.

"Ay, I was at Kilgorman that night."

Again she laughed.

"I'd as soon be afraid of a real peril as of a silly fancy," said she.

"I mean to go and see Kilgorman one day."

"Not with my good-will, mistress," said I.

"Well, without it then, Mr Barry Gallagher," she replied with a toss of the head which fairly abashed me, and made me remember that after all I was but a servant-man in my lady's house. The sea, blessings on it!

levels all things, and I had almost forgotten this little lady was my mistress. But I recalled it now, and still more when, ten minutes later, we ran alongside his honour's jetty, and my fair crew was taken out of my hands by her parents, while I was left to carry up the dripping baggage, and seek my supper as best I could.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A BOOK OF FATE.

The coming of Mistress Kit, as I said before, made life at Knockowen tolerable for me. It mattered little if his honour neglected me, and my lady never looked at me; it mattered little if my fellow-servants ill- used me and put upon me; it mattered little that I had not a friend but Con and the horses to talk to, and not a holiday to call my own.

Miss Kit made all the difference. Not that she concerned herself specially about me, or went out of her way to be kind; but it did one good to see her about the place, with a smile for every one and a friendly word for man and beast. She even beat down the gloom that, in her absence, had weighed both on her father and mother. The former, indeed, was as indifferent as ever to his wife and the latter to her husband. But this daughter of theirs was one interest in common for both--perhaps the one object in the world about which both agreed.

It fell to my lot, as my young lady was an ardent horsewoman, to attend her on many a long ride, riding discreetly twenty yards in the rear, and never forgetting my duty so far as to speak when not spoken to.

One day, some weeks after she had come home, as we were riding on the cliffs near Dunaff, she turned in her saddle and beckoned me to approach.

"What road is that?" she said, pointing with her whip to a gra.s.s-grown track which led off the sh.o.r.e.

"That's the Kilgorman road," said I, guessing what was to follow.

"Kilgorman!" repeated she. "I should like to see the house."

"By your leave," said I, "his honour forbids any one to go there without his permission."

She tossed her head.

"I am not any one," she said. "I shall go where I please. Fall behind, sir; and if you are afraid to follow, stay where you are till I return."

And without more words, she flicked her horse and cantered over the turf to the road.