ENTHU 
 
 E.CE.SOM 
 
JOHNA.SEAVERNS 
 
3 9090 014 557 280 
 
 WetxHer Fanrwly Library of Vetennary Medicine 
 
 Cummings School of Veterinary Medidna at 
 
 Tufts University 
 
 200 Westt)oro Road 
 
 North Grafton, MA 01530 
 
A 2 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
By 
 E. CE. SOMERVILLE and MARTIN ROSS 
 
 SOME EXPERIENCES OF AN IRISH R.M. 
 FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF AN IRISH R.M. 
 IN MR. KNOX'S COUNTRY 
 ALL ON THE IRISH SHORE 
 ..' SOME IRISH YESTERDAYS 
 AN IRISH COUSIN 
 THE REAL CHARLOTTE 
 THE SILVER FOX 
 IRISH MEMORIES 
 MOUNT MUSIC 
 STRAY- A WAYS 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON BOMBAY 
 
 CALCUTTA AND MADRAS 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 BY 
 
 E. CE. SOMERVILLE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' THE REAL CHARLOTTE,' ' SOME EXPERIENCES 
 
 OF AN IRISH R.M.' 'IRISH MEMORIES,' 'MOUNT 
 
 MUSIC,' 'STRAY-AWAYS,' ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN COLLABORATION WITH 
 
 MARTIN ROSS 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 BOMBAY, CALCUTTA. AND MADRAS 
 
 I921 
 
Hal 
 
To 
 
 My Collaborator 
 
mS^t 
 
 ^:^ 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There is something arrogant, if not offensive, in an 
 attitude of Impartiality, and to he strictly impartial is 
 to be equally disliked by all sides. In trying to keep an 
 even keel in very stormy seas I have risked this disaster. 
 
 The people in this story all view Ireland from different 
 angles, and each speaks for him or herself, and not for 
 me. 
 
 On one point only are we all agreed — in love for the 
 country that bore us, that ardent country in which the 
 cold virtue of Impartiality is practically unknown. 
 
 E. (E, S. 
 
 May, ig2i. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Daniel Henry Palliser, long and gaunt and un- 
 shaven, in the bedroom array of unfinished influenza, 
 defied his nurse, and, getting out of bed, accepted, 
 perforce, the stout arm that she proffered, and tottered 
 to the window to watch events. 
 
 These had now culminated. The sound of feet 
 in the passages and on the stairs, first hurrying, finally 
 burdened and shuflling, had ceased. The focus of 
 interest was transferred from his father's bedroom to 
 the broad gravelled space outside the hall door. Dan 
 looked down, interested, and, as it seemed to him, un- 
 moved. He couldn't understand himself. * It isn't 
 as if I didn't care,' he thought, apologising to his con- 
 science on behalf of his heart, * I used to feel it awfully 
 when I said good-bye to him going back to the trenches.' 
 
 In the middle of the crowd, under Dan's window, 
 of men and women and carriages and horsemen, was 
 something that took and held the searching sunhght of 
 a north-westerly March day. A Union Jack, its coarse 
 red, white, and blue shouting to Dan its long story of 
 victory, while it hid the coffin that was taking his 
 father away from the life that had ended for him in 
 what had virtually been defeat. Eight men separated 
 themselves from the throng and ranged themselves 
 
2 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 by the bier. The old Colonel's shining brass-scab- 
 barded sword, and the shako of a long-past soldiering 
 day, lay on the coffin. A girl placed an immense cross 
 of blazing yellow daffodils upon the gaudy flag that 
 intensified, if that were possible, its gaudiness. 
 
 Two black figures, Dan's mother and his cousin, 
 Eileen Caulfield, the girl who had brought the cross, 
 stood in an open space behind the coffin ; round them 
 were gathered a circle of discs that represented to Dan 
 the sky-ward aspects of the top-hats of uncles and 
 cousins ; his father's younger brother. Sir James 
 PalHser, K.C.M.G., and his son Ralph ; his mother's 
 three brothers. Admiral Richard Caulfield, C.B., the 
 Rev. Horace Caulfield, Mr. Trevor Caulfield. Grad- 
 ually Dan identified them all, and tried not to feel 
 indecently thankful that he was not among them. 
 
 Thronging round the top-hats were the men and 
 women who had been Colonel PalHser's tenants. 
 There was a hearse, but it was filled with flowers ; the 
 men who had been his tenants had claimed the right 
 to carry to his grave the man who had been their land- 
 lord. 
 
 The bearers braced themselves to their load and 
 started, and from the hooded tenant-women rose the 
 caoine, the Irish cry, a sound torturing in its poignancy, 
 violent, desolating. 
 
 Dan, made feeble by illness, felt it physically ; it 
 was like a stab of actual pain ; yet he thought, glory- 
 ingly, * They are keening him ! . . . I wonder if he 
 hears. . . . He wouldn't care very much, but I do ! 
 . . . They haven't given us up yet ! They know our 
 hearts are Irish, even though our name isn't ! In 
 spite of Sinn Fein, they haven't given up the Old Stock ! ' 
 
 Between the bare trees the long procession went. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 3 
 
 Many more carriages, motors, carts, and riders, came 
 forth from the yard and the back avenue where they 
 had bided their time, and followed, crawling in the 
 wake of the foot-people. In South and West Munster 
 the true greatness of a funeral is measured by the 
 number of riders. Colonel Henry Daniel Palliser was 
 escorted from Monalour House to the vault in the old 
 burying place by close on a hundred horsemen. 
 
 Dan stood watching the dancing, springy rise and 
 fall of the single spot of brilliance in all that dark 
 crowd. It was as if the brightest of the summer 
 flower-beds had taken to itself legs and was gaily 
 setting forth to see the world. The leafless branches 
 bent in the gusts of wind that swept across the wide 
 spaces of grass beyond the drive. The black cloud 
 that had lain in wait behind the trees, beyond the lake, 
 rushed up with the wind and hid the sun. The Union 
 Jack, and the flashing scabbard, and the blazing daffo- 
 dils, passed in shadow out of sight. 
 
 Dan did not wait, as did his nurse, to count the 
 carriages and the riders. He walked shakily back to 
 his bed, and felt that his temperature had gone up 
 again and that inteUigent thought was beyond his 
 reach. He had never known his father other than as 
 an old man ; he had loved him, not tremendously, but 
 sincerely. His last distinct reflection was a congratu- 
 lation to himself that his mother need never know that 
 he had been unable to shed a tear. His mother liked 
 things to be done decently and in order. Internal 
 weeping was useless, and of no credit or advantage to 
 anyone. 
 
 The position of landless landlord is now a familiar 
 one. As young horses of this generation accept with 
 
4 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 calm the bicycles and motors to which their parents 
 died unreconciled, so did Daniel Henry Palliser step 
 into the shoes that had caused acute suffering to his 
 father, and find them endurable. What he found less 
 endurable was the determination of his mother and his 
 uncles to polish those shoes, to lace them up tightly, to 
 act, as it were, the part of boot trees, and to keep them 
 in shape, without reference to their new owner. 
 
 On the day when Dan first was well enough to go 
 downstairs, xt happened that his mother had convened 
 a family council of such of her brothers as had tempor- 
 arily assembled in honour of her husband's funeral. 
 Dan, walking weakly into the drawing-room, already 
 fatigued by the effort of coming downstairs, his forces 
 all set towards the big sofa by the fireplace, and peace, 
 found the big sofa covered with uncles, and a female 
 cousin and two aunts-in-law encirchng his mother and 
 the tea-table. 
 
 * Why here's the Man of the House himself ! ' ex- 
 claimed Aunt Eleanor, with an attempt, ponderous as 
 herself, at a touch of festivity in her welcome. She took 
 Dan's large, bony hand, yellow and flabby from ill- 
 ness, and dragged him down to her level, protruding her 
 lightly moustached lips until they touched his cheek. 
 
 Deep sounds came from three uncles on the sofa. 
 Formless because of cake, but cordial. 
 
 ' Can't get up, dear boy,' said Uncle Dick, the 
 Admiral. * Should capsize my tea if I stirred — very 
 glad to see you down again ! ' 
 
 Assenting murmurs, as from bumble-bees in the 
 hearts of flowers, arose from the tea-cups of the re- 
 maining uncles, and blended with Dan's acknowledg- 
 ments, drowned them in fact ; but the mutual good 
 intention was sufliciently obvio' .. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 5 
 
 Dan was six feet three inches in height ; square- 
 shouldered, and long-legged. Although he was now 
 six and twenty, he was still singularly unaware of his 
 personal advantages, being, as a rule, engrossed in other 
 and, as it seemed to him, more important matters. 
 To-day, he felt that influenza had unnerved him for the 
 effort of looking down upon a roomful of seated people 
 from that altitude where, like a star, he dwelt apart ; 
 baulked of his anticipated sofa, he lowered himself to 
 the fender-stool, coiHng into an invertebrate heap upon 
 it, as treacle pours from a spoon, and thought with 
 anguish of his lonely bedroom fire. 
 
 * You'll have to let the house, Georgina,' said Uncle 
 Horace, in evident pursuance of an earlier theme. 
 * Think of the Death Duties ! I simply ask you, my 
 dear Georgina, to think of them ! ' 
 
 Georgina, who was Dan's mother, replied grimly, 
 and with some pardonable exaggeration, that she never 
 thought of anything else, and — 
 
 But her brother, the Rev. Horace Caulfield, who had 
 only paused oratorically, and disliked interruption, 
 being unused to it either at home or in the pulpit, 
 raised an arresting hand. 
 
 ' Let the house ! ' he repeated. ' Dismiss the servants, 
 
 and the farm-people ' (he glanced at his nephew). 
 
 ' Look at the position ! You ask me " What is to be 
 done ? " ' Uncle Horace looked commandingly at his 
 sister. Uncle Horace was the rector of a parish in a 
 neighbouring county, and was an autocrat. 
 
 Nothing was farther from Mrs. Palliser's mind than 
 asking for advice, except, perhaps, taking it, and her 
 brother, being well aware of an idiosyncrasy which he 
 shared with her, hurried on with his pronouncement. 
 
 * Go to London, take a little fiat there, and live 
 
6 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 within your means ! ' His eye met that of his nephew, 
 and, with an artist's regret for a marred peroration, 
 he added ' Ahem ! and you too, Dan ! ' 
 
 * No thanks,' said Dan ; but since the uncles on the 
 sofa were warmly expressing agreement, his dissent 
 attracted no attention, and was not even beard by 
 Aunt Sophie, Uncle Horace's wife, who was sitting near 
 him in a tiny chair at the corner of the fireplace. 
 
 * But what will poor Dan do in London ? ' said Aunt 
 Sophie, who was an almost imperceptible little English- 
 woman, and was barely visible when Uncle Horace was 
 in the room. 
 
 Dan shot a look at her from under his dark brows. 
 It was amusing that little Aunt Sophie should step out 
 as his champion. He hked her ; she seldom walked 
 over him, and when she did she took off her boots ; 
 unlike the rest of them, he thought. 
 
 ' What will the robin do then, poor thing ? ' mur- 
 mured Eileen Caulfield, the Admiral's daughter, 
 catching Dan's eye. 
 
 Dan laughed, not because he was amused, but 
 because he felt he was getting angry, and he did not 
 wish it to be recognised. 
 
 His mother had heard Eileen's comment and Dan's 
 laugh, and disapproved of both. She was in the habit 
 of disapproving of most things that young people did 
 or said. 
 
 ' Dan must judge for himself,' she said coldly. 
 
 ' I won't go to London,' said Dan, on the lowest 
 note of his register, sinking deeper into his coils. 
 
 He abhorred this public discussion of what was to 
 be done with the house, the land, the home, that were, 
 after all, his. Uncles and aunts had formed a towering 
 hedge round him since he was a baby. He had broken 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 7 
 
 through it when he went to the War, and he would do 
 so again ; in the meantime it was less trouble to let 
 them talk. 
 
 ' Now I've got an idea ! ' exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, 
 with an explosive elation that suggested the rarity of 
 the occurrence. * Get a tenant for this house, as Horace 
 says, for a year or two, and Georgina and Dan can Uve 
 at the Lake House ! ' 
 
 Mrs. PaUiser seldom cared for other people's ideas, 
 and least of all for those of her sisters-in-law ; it was 
 unfortunate that the suggestion seemed to her to be 
 sound. Poor Henry had done up the Lake House so 
 nicely for the Robertses, and then the tenants had 
 come to terms, and an agent was not wanted ; and the 
 house was still empty. 
 
 * So much depends on whether it would be even 
 possible to let this house,' she said aloud with severity. 
 * Who wants to come to Ireland now, I should like to 
 know ? No one in their senses ! ' 
 
 But Aunt Eleanor, as she said afterwards to 
 Uncle Dick, saw that Georgina had realised at once 
 that it was the thing to do, only she could not bear to 
 admit it. 
 
 * ril tell you who'll take the house ! ' said Dan's 
 youngest uncle, Mr. Trevor Cauliield, alertly, * Ducarrig 
 — Arnold Gilmour that was, y'know — I met him at 
 the Club last month, just before poor Henry's — h'm, 
 
 h'm ' Uncle Trevvie, who was not a day over fifty, 
 
 and was regarded by his elder brethren as a young and 
 giddy worldling, checked himself, remembering in time 
 that his widowed sister would disapprove of her be- 
 reavement being treated as a mere date in his social 
 calendar. 
 
 ' Ducarrig said,' he continued hurriedly, ' that he 
 
8 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 was looking for a place in Ireland. Connaught, he 
 said, because I remember old Frank Fitzmaurice said 
 '* Hell or Connaught," and Ducarrig said he wasn't 
 particular ! ' Uncle Trevvie laughed with the inno- 
 cent pleasure that is often derived by such as he from 
 the libertine use of a word with whose official and 
 time-honoured wickedness familiarity has been unable 
 to breed contempt. 
 
 ' I met Ducarrig when he was Governor down at 
 Santa Caterina — that red-hot hole just below the Line/ 
 cut in the Admiral, a small and robust man, who was 
 inclined to assume a professional breeziness. ' He's 
 sampled hell, I can tell you ! No wonder he wants to 
 try Connaught ! He's had a lot of Governorships all 
 over the East. He did mighty well in a row somewhere, 
 and they gave him a title. He made a pot o' money 
 out of rubber, I believe. You could ask him a whack- 
 ing rent, Georgina ! ' 
 
 ' He's got an uncommon pretty wife,' said Uncle 
 Trevvie, anxious to regain the lead, ' but he looks old 
 enough to be her father ! ' 
 
 * And so he is too, he's twenty-five years older than 
 she is, if he's a day ! ' gobbled the Admiral, who, well 
 aware that in this particular suit he held better cards 
 than his brother, was resolved on playing them. ' She 
 hardly looked eighteen when I saw them — but that was 
 nearly ten years ago. Children ? No, no children. 
 I believe there was a baby, but it died — never was 
 another.' 
 
 * Eighteen, was she, ten years ago, did you say, 
 Dick ? ' said Aunt Eleanor, thoughtful] y, ' then that 
 would make her at least eight and twenty now.' She 
 looked round the circle with some mild elation. 
 
 * Obviously ! ' said Mrs. Palliser cuttingly ; she 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 9 
 
 had not yet forgiven Mrs. Caulfield for having antici- 
 pated her in thinking of the Roberts' house. 
 
 * But that scarcely affects the position/ she con- 
 tinued, ' the points to be ascertained are whether Lord 
 Ducarrig has already got a house, and if Munster would 
 suit him. Lady Ducarrig's age need not trouble us/ 
 
 Eileen Caulfield, daughter of the Admiral, looked 
 at Dan, her only contemporary present. Their eyes 
 met, and the thought travelled to and fro on the 
 glances, how dull these elders were ! 
 
 * Then there's the question of the demesne,' pursued 
 Mrs. Palliser, ' I dislike letting it for grazing. Graziers' 
 cattle do so much mischief.' 
 
 Dan uncoiled his long legs and stood up. Some- 
 thing in Eileen's vivid glance had stung his spirit ; he 
 felt that she thought he also was old and stuffy and 
 very poor-spirited. He squared his shoulders and 
 looked round upon the council of elders with a frown. 
 Eileen Caulfield, watching him, thought * He is good- 
 looking ! I'm glad I annoyed him ! He ought always 
 to be in a rage when he's photographed ! ' 
 
 Dan was not in a rage, but colour had come to his 
 face and his eyes were bright. 
 
 * After all, mother,' he said, * as Aunt Sophie says, 
 I must have something to do. Why shouldn't I farm 
 the demesne ? ' 
 
 He was too much of a gentleman to remind his 
 mother that the place was his, but Eileen thought, 
 with annoyance, that he was afraid of asserting himself. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A YOUNG summer morning ; one of those pale, shining 
 mornings early in June when summer has hardly 
 realised that she is out of the schoolroom, and is no 
 longer spring, and hesitates on the threshold of her 
 kingdom. Thus she wavered, palpitating in all her 
 little leaves, down by the Lake of Monalour, with faint, 
 all-pervading blue haze, breathed by the thin East 
 wind, dimming the outlines of hill and wood, turning 
 the mirror-still lake into a silver secret, without margin 
 or limit. Rhododendrons in fullest blaze of blossom 
 covered the two nearest islets, huge domes of that 
 strange colour in which rose and mauve and azure 
 fuse, with a passion that merges the individual tones 
 into one unearthly, blinding pallor. 
 
 Young Lady Ducarrig stood on the lake shore, the 
 mat of brown and grey broken rushes, washed up by 
 the winter- waves, soft under her feet, the strip of brown 
 and grey gravel curving away from her on either hand. 
 The sky was of pearl, the water of pearl too, with the 
 reeds doubled in its stillness. A cuckoo's voice, far 
 away and sweet, tossed its challenge, soft and light as 
 thistledown, across the lake. 
 
 Car Ducarrig took it all, wordlessly, into her soul. 
 Words there must be to recall, or to attempt to re- 
 create ; but there comes, sometimes, one ineffable 
 instant when the spirit of the thing seen overwhelms 
 the human spirit that sees, and vision and gazer unite 
 in a single gesture of eternal beauty. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST ii 
 
 The wife of the new tenant of Monalour, having 
 gazed her fill over what were now her husband's do- 
 mains, heaved a long, almost, judging by her entirely 
 prosperous appearance, an extravagantly long sigh. 
 She was young, handsome, and, as the least skilled 
 observer could have deduced from her clothes, rich. 
 In short, the observer, noting these points, would have 
 been justified in attributing the sigh to nothing more 
 than an aesthetic emotion inspired by romantic sur- 
 roundings. Lady Ducarrig herself, however, though 
 often disposed to introspection, made, on this occasion, 
 no attempt to analyse her emotions, and told herself 
 without elaboration that this was an improvement on 
 Santa Caterina, and (with memories, vague, it is to be 
 feared, of long-ago Sunday lessons) that it was good to 
 be here, and that she would like to build three altars. 
 One should be to the philanthropist who planted the 
 rhododendrons, and one to that dashing blade (not a 
 day over fifty) whom she thought of (very unsuitably) 
 as * Old Trevvie Caulfield ' ; and the third ? She was 
 not sure about the third. To Arnold, perhaps, since 
 he, having seen Monalour, had had the intelligence to 
 fall in love with it. Yet, taking Arnold maturely into 
 consideration, she could not but feel that altars weren't 
 in his line. She laughed a little, and definitely decided 
 that she would not raise an aJtar to Arnold. In any 
 case, this was not the moment. 
 
 She had, as a matter of fact, a sterner task in hand. 
 To her, that morning, had been preferred a grave com- 
 plaint as to the inadequacy of the scullery drain, and 
 she was now on her way to interview the landlord on 
 the subject. She trusted that it might not be her fate 
 to meet the landlady instead. She felt that Mrs. 
 Palliser might not be too easy to handle, while the 
 
12 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 large young man (thus she thought of Dan) would 
 probably yield readily to treatment. 
 
 She left the shore and returned to the path that led 
 through the shrubberies of Monalour to the Lake 
 House. The path followed the line of the lake ; she 
 loitered along it, with the lazy, irregular step of one 
 who is better used to wasting time than to saving it ; 
 noting everything, the satin-white stems of the young 
 birches, the tall herons standing by their nests in the 
 branches of a group of Scotch firs, the polished black 
 coots, with their white phylacteries bound on their 
 brows, fleeing across the path to their reed sanctuaries, 
 pursued by her dogs, a white Highland terrier and a 
 red setter, who had accepted her as a pretext for a 
 hunting expedition, and were accompanying her inter- 
 mittently. She was rather short-sighted ; a disabihty 
 that is not without compensations ; in Lady Ducarrig's 
 case the limitation made chiefly for enhanced con- 
 centration on what she was able to see. Her interest 
 in all people, and most things, was only intensified by 
 the effort of seeing them. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser was away. The landlord, whom she 
 met outside the house, stated the fact in his deep and 
 gloomy voice, and Lady Ducarrig wondered if his 
 mother's absence accounted for the gloom. * Or 
 perhaps it is that she's coming home ! ' she thought, 
 with a backward glance at her impression of Mrs. 
 Palliser. * If he's like most landlords, he'll be consider- 
 ably gloomier by the time I've done with him and the 
 scullery drain I ' 
 
 She addressed herself to her task, but that Dan did 
 not share the reluctances of his class was even absurdly 
 apparent. 
 
 ' Poor is the conquest of the timid hare ! ' thought 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 13 
 
 the hare's tenant. * Mamma would have been a far 
 more sporting proposition ! ' 
 
 Lady Ducarrig was but two years older than her 
 landlord, but she knew by instinct (which, being un- 
 reasonable, cannot be disputed) that were she to die 
 to-morrow, and he to live to the fullest span of human 
 hfe, he would never be as old as she felt. In her out- 
 look upon the world, the spirit of the collector was 
 combined with that of the connoisseur. To try the 
 flavour of a temperament, to weigh the relative social 
 values of good looks and good clothes, of good talk and 
 good nature, of good features and good colouring, these, 
 and such as these, were matters on which, with a fellow 
 expert, she would wrangle, languidly, tenaciously, 
 agreeably, for as long as the fellow expert could or 
 would face her. Since, two months before, she had 
 come to Monalour, she had seen Dan but seldom, and 
 ever in the large and heavy shadow of his mother. 
 To-day it seemed possible to discover him. His type 
 was new to her collection. A zealot and an enthusiast, 
 his eyes told her that ; and a reformer ; this she had 
 gathered from his uncle Trevor (who had a low opinion 
 of such). Finally, he had the not unusual, yet in- 
 disputable merit of being a man. Car Ducarrig had 
 many and devoted friends among women, and, from 
 the more intelhgently devoted of such, she did not 
 attempt to conceal the fact that she found men, in 
 general, more interesting to her than women. She 
 was accustomed to apologise for this preference, 
 admitting its old-fashioned conventionaHty, as well 
 as its tendency to cause trouble. Just as she adored 
 and cultivated the affectations and absurdities of dogs, 
 so did she regard with amused interest and indulgence 
 the foibles of the men of her acquaintance. Possibly 
 
14 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 she recognised the old plea for forgiveness of sins, that 
 they * loved much ' ; if she forgot it, it was certainly 
 seldom their fault that she was permitted to do so. 
 
 The view from the bench on the lawn of the Lake 
 House was beautiful enough to make nothing seem 
 more important than the need of looking at it. Lady 
 Ducarrig had refused to go into the house, and having 
 drifted to the bench, found herself incapable of leaving 
 it. Were any further inducement needed to idle away 
 the shining morning, it would have been supplied to 
 her by her dogs, who, having made the discovery, 
 fraught with delirium, that two ladies of their race were 
 concealed under the bench on which their mistress and 
 Dan were seated, were now, by every device known 
 to them, from coquetry to intimidation, endeavouring 
 to lure them forth. 
 
 From the beleaguered charmers came a continuous 
 chorus of indrawn, sob-like growls, and while the land- 
 lord, with masculine conscientiousness, solemnly dealt 
 with the methods by which he proposed to subjugate 
 the erring scullery drain, his tenant, absorbed in expert 
 appreciation of the humours of the contest, heard no 
 word of his painstaking explanations. 
 
 ' So you see. Lady Ducarrig,' Dan concluded, ' Tm 
 afraid I could hardly get the mason and the plumber 
 before — ^ — ' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Palliser,' interrupted the tenant ardently, 
 * make them come out and be civil ! ' 
 
 ' Who ? What ? ' said Dan, ' the mason ? ' He 
 paused, regarding her with grave eyes of bewilder- 
 ment. * What ? Oh, the dogs — Oh, certainly ! Here 
 Peggy ! Lizzie I Come out o' that ! ' He twisted 
 a leg under the bench, and with his foot scooped out 
 a corpulent black spaniel and a little wizened fox- 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 15 
 
 terrier, who instantly sped to the house, pursued as by 
 a storm by their admirers. 
 
 ' Did you want them ? ' asked Dan, still bewildered. 
 
 Lady Ducarrig did not spend time in explanation. 
 * The masons, yes ! The dogs, no ! ' she said, enjoying 
 his conscientiousness in much the same discriminating 
 spirit as that in which she had adored the colour of the 
 rhododendrons or the proceedings of the dogs. * I 
 don't want them in the least ! I believe I'm wasting 
 your time horribly, and keeping you from your work — ■ 
 I don't know what it is ? Not desperately important, 
 I hope ? ' 
 
 Her voice was low and slow and seductive ; Dan 
 had never heard a voice like it. His eyes, steel- 
 coloured or hazel. Car had not yet decided which, met 
 hers. He had the eyes that are seen oftenest in 
 Southern countries, deep-set, with thick black lashes, 
 short and curled. As he looked at her she perceived 
 that they held a grievance. 
 
 ' Farming is my work. Important enough, though 
 no one seems to think so ! ' he said, in his deep voice. 
 
 ' Oh / do ! ' 
 
 * Do you really ? ' He hung fire for a moment, 
 eyeing her uncertainly. He was unused to either 
 sympathy or perfidy, and was unable to realise that 
 they may go hand in hand. Then his subject mastered 
 him. 'I'm up against every sort of tradition and 
 prejudice — I'm trying to farm the demesne here — you 
 can hardly imagine the difficulties ! ' 
 
 * Sinn Fein ? ' Lady Ducarrig exhibited less inter- 
 est than she felt. She was curious as to his politics, 
 having been told that they were ' shaky.* 
 
 * No, not as yet — the trouble is with my own men 
 and their prehistoric methods.' 
 
i6 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Car's grey eyes were raised to his. 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Palhser, how maddening ! ' 
 
 Dan opened Hke a long-tentacled sea-anemone in 
 the warm tide of sympathy. He told her how he 
 wanted to break up the Big Lawn (' that's the grass 
 between the house and the lake, what you would call 
 the park,' he explained), and expatiated on its poverty 
 and its weeds ; on the obstinacy of all farm-men, and 
 their assurances that weeds were to be valued and 
 respected as a mark of good land — ' Weeds ! * His 
 smouldering resentment burst into flame. ' Docks 
 and thistles ! ' 
 
 Car was touched. Weedy land seemed to her a 
 pathetically dull subject to take seriously. Presenting 
 to her host a sympathetic attention that effectually 
 over-laid the amused under-current of critical analysis 
 that she was bringing to bear upon him. Car sat, idle 
 and entertained, on the bench on the Lake House 
 lawn, and the sea-anemone continued to expand. 
 
 She had smoked two of Dan's cigarettes, and had 
 tapped his confidence on many matters as to which her 
 ignorance was only equalled by her skill in conceahng 
 it, before she decided that the investigation had, for 
 the present, gone far enough. 
 
 * Now, having thoroughly wasted your morning, 
 I'm going away.' 
 
 Her manner, languidly blunt, had a charm of its 
 own. * Car has a delightful manner, and no manners,' 
 said one of her friends. 
 
 * Good-bye ! Oh, my stick — -under the seat, Tm 
 afraid ' 
 
 Dan went down on his hands and knees and groped 
 for the stick. She thought his back looked as long as 
 a polo-pony's. Then, still on his knees, he handed it 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 17 
 
 to her. Car Ducarrig never checked an impulse, 
 however unconventional or absurd. She laid the stick 
 lightly across his shoulders, and said, 
 
 ' Rise, Sir Daniel Palliser ! ' 
 
 Dan, bewildered anew, stared up at her, still on his 
 knees, and Eileen Caulfield, who was, as it happened, at 
 that moment getting out of her boat at the end of the 
 garden, found the situation difficult of comprehension. 
 
 Car moved serenely away, satisfied that she had 
 achieved something of an artistic climax to an inter- 
 view that in less capable hands might not have risen 
 above the level of the scullery drain. 
 
 ' It's a nice monster,' she said to herself, as she 
 strolled along the path through the flickering greens 
 of the young leaves, ' and delightful looks ! I like 
 eyes that look like burnt holes in a blanket ! And a 
 very good figure — remarkably so — for a monster. And 
 that Caulfield girl's got good looks too — I really am 
 mad about looks ! ' she told herself, with a laugh. 
 * I wonder how poor Sir Daniel will explain the affair 
 of the w^alking-stick ! She'll think I'm mad certainly ! 
 
 I rather wish I were ' Her mood changed, and 
 
 the smile that came with the mood made her face 
 look old. ' It would give Arnold such pleasure to 
 pack me off to an asylum ; a nice private one ; very 
 expensive, out of respect to his lofty position.' 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 The ' looks ' that Lady Ducarrig had conceded to 
 Eileen Caulfield were more or less beyond dispute. 
 Most people admitted them without dissent ; her 
 father, the Admiral, went so far as to say that he 
 
 called her a d d pretty girl, and he didn't care 
 
 who didn't ; and, when her hair and complexion were 
 given the consideration due to them, the Admiral's 
 contention was justified. 
 
 * Father sent me over to borrow a cart and horse 
 for this afternoon,' said Eileen to Dan. While she 
 spoke, her eyes were noting every detail of his late 
 visitor's departing figure. ' I shouldn't lend it if I 
 were you ! If father won't keep a horse and cart for 
 himself I should let him hire ! ' 
 
 It was characteristic of Dan's relatives that in 
 requests of this kind they used the impersonal in- 
 definite article, never the possessive pronoun that 
 implied his ownership. Equally was it characteristic 
 of Eileen that she wished him to refuse the request. 
 
 ' Oh, rot I ' said Dan. ' Of course he can have it. 
 I'm just going up to the men now. They're cutting 
 hay in the lower paddock '—he hesitated — ' like to 
 come too ? ' 
 
 Dan and Eileen had grown up side by side. This is 
 an accident, or a condition, that does not necessarily 
 imply friendship, but there was a tacit understanding 
 that, among Dan's numerous cousins, Eileen was the 
 one appointed, or selected, to be his friend. This had 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 19 
 
 been the position in that period known as Before-the- 
 War, that had already, in 1920, begun to be regarded 
 with condescension as remote and old-fashioned. It 
 was six years now since Dan had spurned his College 
 at Cambridge and had rushed forth to fight for his 
 country. He had been only twenty, and Eileen 
 eighteen. There had then been moments, softening 
 moments, of farewell, full of the unspoken thought 
 that they might never meet again, and he had kissed 
 her with decidedly more emotion than was warranted 
 by the special and cousinly friendship. Then Dan had 
 returned, a temporary hero, with a wound and a 
 Military Cross, and the temperature of the special 
 friendship had risen another point or two, but it had 
 never attained any official status. Then Dan, having 
 (as the Admiral said, disparagingly) gone mad about 
 farming, had refused to return to Cambridge, and had 
 been absorbed by an Agricultural College for two 
 years, and all that had been special in the friendship 
 with Eileen had subsided imperceptibly. Latterly, 
 since his father's death, he sometimes felt as if she 
 despised him. She had many times told him he took 
 things too easily. (But he had always known that 
 Eileen had a way of starting rows and keeping out of 
 them herself.) 
 
 Now, as they walked together along the path to 
 Monalour, Dan knew that she was annoyed with him. 
 
 * How on earth does she think I could refuse to 
 lend Uncle Dick a cart ? ' he thought. He did not 
 know that if annoyance has not scope to demonstrate 
 in one direction it will do so in another. 
 
 They left the shade of the shrubberies and, as they 
 came into the wide sunlight, they saw, some little 
 distance away, the person of whom they were both 
 
20 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 thinking, sitting on a big boulder by the edge of the 
 lake. 
 
 ' How do you like her ? ' said Eileen. 
 
 ' Oh, fair to moderate,' said Dan, whipping off the 
 end of a thistle with his stick. ' I've only met her 
 twice or three times. She's better looking than I 
 thought,' he added. 
 
 ' She's very well dressed,' said Eileen coldly. 
 * What did she want ? ' 
 
 ' Something wrong about a drain.' 
 
 Then he thought of the accolade and wondered 
 how much Eileen had seen. 
 
 ' She's — well, she's rather unexpected. I shouldn't 
 be surprised if she were awfully bored here.' 
 
 ' I suppose you went on your knees to her to ask 
 her to excuse our country manners ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, that — ' said Dan awkwardly, ' that was 
 nothing. I was just picking up her stick ' 
 
 He said to himself that he wouldn't try to explain. 
 He would only bungle it, and Eileen would for ever 
 after bore him about it. Anyhow, it was a nuisance. 
 He wanted to talk of other things. 
 
 When a subject possessed Dan Palliser it held him 
 night and day ; it filled his mind like an incoming 
 tide, submerging all other things. 
 
 ' I suppose you know I've taken over the farm ? 
 Since the first of the month. I've deposed Tom 
 McLoughlen. He was hopeless. I don't know how 
 my father stood him. I'm going on different lines 
 altogether.' 
 
 ' What does your mother say ? ' 
 
 Dan did not reply. He was looking in front of 
 him. His head was thrust forward, his heavy eye- 
 brows were drawn down. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 21 
 
 Eileen watched him with a sidelong look, without 
 moving her head. * Aunt Gina had better look out ! ' 
 she thought. ' She didn't give him that big rock of 
 a chin for nothing.' 
 
 * This is my show now/ said Dan, as if he were 
 talking to himself. ' I'm going to run it my own way.' 
 
 * Yes, she's pushed him too hard ! ' Eileen's quick 
 thought ran on. ' He's like cement, soft and sloppy 
 enough at first, and then — stone ! She's let him 
 harden the wrong way. I'm glad ! ' 
 
 Aloud, she said cooUy, ' Well, don't run too fast ! ' 
 
 It seemed as if he had not heard. He walked on 
 across the grass in silence. At the top of a slope he 
 stood still. The broad spaces of the Big Lawn slanted 
 away between two long plantations to the lake. A 
 few young cattle lay among the tall daisies that 
 whitened the grass between drifts of thistles. From 
 behind one of the plantations came the travelling roar 
 of a mowing-machine, a sound that is of the very essence 
 of the time of fair weather, as though the mills of 
 summer were grinding out heat. 
 
 ' There's where I'm going to begin the tillage. 
 It'll spoil the look of the place, but that can't be helped.' 
 
 ' You did well not to let the grazing,' said Eileen. 
 ' All the grazier's cattle in the Kennedys' demesne were 
 driven the night before last. Colonel Kennedy wrote 
 to tell father. He said the wretched grazier was 
 collecting them from all round the country.' 
 
 * Poor devil ! ' said Dan. 
 
 ' All the gates were broken. The old Colonel told 
 father he's going to give the grazier a revolver, and 
 he'll arm all his own men. Perfectly idiotic, of course ! ' 
 
 ' They'd be as likely to shoot old Kennedy himself 
 as the cattle drivers ! How does he know they're not 
 
22 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 in it up to their necks themselves ? ' said Dan, with a 
 short laugh. ' Any way, the police will collar the arms 
 as soon as they hear about them/ 
 
 * Of course,' agreed Eileen. ' Father talks a lot of 
 rubbish about a man's doing what he likes with his own. 
 Who can call anything his own now, I'd like to know 1 ' 
 
 The matter appeared to them both to offer no case 
 for argument ; the ' driving ' of the grazier's cattle 
 being in much the same category as a flood, or a thunder 
 storm, and, like the blind malignity of nature, some- 
 thing to which resistance was futile. 
 
 They had reached the hayfield ; the mowing- 
 machine was nearing them, the horses, chestnut and 
 grey, moving with the governed lightness that bespoke 
 them for what they were, or rather had been, hunters, 
 who now, their days of speed and sport past, were 
 labouring on the land they once galloped over. 
 
 The clattering roar of the machine approached Dan 
 and Eileen in a smooth crescendo of sound that an 
 orchestra might emulate in vain. The thin grass 
 flowed over the long blade like the curling waves that 
 run out right and left from the bows of a steamer. 
 Dan held up his hand, and the driver stopped the 
 sweating horses. 
 
 * Not much of a crop, Tom ? ' said Dan, kicking 
 up a segment of the thin swath with disfavour. 
 
 ' Sorra crop at all ! ' said the driver. ' If ye 
 scaddered needles from this to the paikeen north ye'd 
 pick them all afther ! ' 
 
 He was a short, thick, little man, with a black 
 muzzle and a fat, pasty face ; when he pulled off his 
 cap to Eileen he revealed a head as round as a ball, on 
 which the black hair had been clipped so close that in 
 the strong sunshine the scalp looked blue. A leather 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 23 
 
 jerkin and an iron morion were all that were needed to 
 transform him into a swashbuckler of the Long Parlia- 
 ment. Though the conquered race had asserted itself 
 within, without he was pure Cromwellian. 
 
 ' Above on the north side of the field ye couldn't 
 hardly see grass at all, and what's in it is blooming up 
 through the coltsfoot like pins in a cushion. A man'd 
 have a nice job with a razor to cut as much as three 
 blades o' grass off it ! ' 
 
 Two enormous gadflies swung, booming, round the 
 group a couple of times, and then, changing their orbit, 
 banged down upon the chestnut's quarters. The old 
 horse stood quiet, knowing well he had a protector. 
 Tom McLoughlen, short and stocky though he was, 
 was out of the driving seat, his cap in his hand, in a 
 single jump. With two swift swings of the cap the 
 gadflies were dashed to the ground. 
 
 * Them dam' bees have the cattle destroyed ! 
 Running mad they are ! Them two makes six now I 
 killed this morning. Old Markis is as wise as a man. 
 Whatever he'll be doing he'll stand still for me until I 
 can get to come at them.' 
 
 He ground the bodies of the gadflies into the earth 
 with his heel, 
 
 ' Ah-ha, me lads ! Y^'ll not go to the Fair of 
 Slogher ! ' 
 
 He flung the epitaph at the audience with a 
 triumphing eye. Thus might one of his Roundhead 
 ancestors have demanded approval for the slaughter 
 of two Papist cavaliers. 
 
 ' Tom,' said Dan, ignoring the triumph, ' let Mike 
 Regan carry on with the mowing ; I want to talk to 
 you.' 
 
 Eileen, who seldom lost a chance of ingratiating 
 
24 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 herself with useful people, laughed and said, ' Good 
 shot, Tom ! ' 
 
 She turned to Dan. 
 
 ' I'm going home now. Do try and forget about 
 the cart. It would be so good for father ! ' 
 
 Those that go down to their business in the deep 
 waters of the Irish peasant-people may not, possibly, 
 see much of the works of the Lord, but they will 
 certainly see much that is lovable and laughable, 
 instructive and exasperating. They must themselves 
 possess many equally diverse qualities, among which 
 patience and perception may primarily be exacted. 
 They must have a mind, sensitive as a photographic 
 negative, to catch a flying allusion, and a memory of 
 steel, to appreciate deductions, or prognostications, 
 founded on events that are long past, and were never 
 possessed of any apparent importance. They must 
 also have a tight grasp of their own intentions. 
 
 * Tom,' began Dan firmly, ' I'm going to do a lot 
 of things you won't approve of ' 
 
 ' God bless ye, sir,' replied Tom, reverently lifting 
 his cap. * You're my master, and what you says I 
 must do ! ' 
 
 Brief as his period of authority had been, Dan had 
 already found that this declaration implied an immut- 
 able resolve of disobedience. 
 
 ' Whether I'm your master or no, I'm my own, and 
 I'm going to farm this place my own way.' 
 
 Even as Eileen had done, so did Tom shoot a wary, 
 sideways look at Dan's face. 
 
 * God send ye luck, sir ! ' he responded, non- 
 committally. 
 
 ' I'm going to get a steam-tractor.' Dan tried to 
 make the announcement calmly and without defiance, 
 and failed. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 25 
 
 A dispassionate listener might have found himself 
 amused by the attitude of this master, as opposed to 
 that of his servant. And yet, if it were observed and 
 considered in all its aspects, it could scarcely be denied 
 that it had a simplicity that was touching, and that 
 implied a deeply-felt and ancient friendship, such a 
 form of friendship as has existed for many long 
 centuries, and gives a perfectly unconscious contra- 
 diction to the many theories of class-hatred. 
 
 ' It'll do the work of a stable-full of horses,' Dan 
 went on. * Those old horses we have are played out.' 
 
 ' It's not my place to contradict, Mr. Dan,' said 
 Tom, meditatively, as one who states an abstract 
 proposition, * but I'd say them's two as nice horses as 
 any man ever cot by the head ; and I seen horses, and 
 follied horses, since ever I was called Tom ! ' 
 
 ' I wonder what they'd be good for after ploughing 
 fifty acres ! ' said Dan combatively. 
 
 * And where would Mr. Dan be asking them to do 
 that ? ' asked Tom deferentially. 
 
 * Here ; the Big Lawn,' replied Dan stubbornly. 
 
 * Great God of Heaven ! ' Tom again lifted his cap 
 with solemnity. ' Well, Mr. Dan's a rich gentleman, 
 and he's able to do these things, God bless him ! Isn't 
 it grand,' he added, as to the Universe, ' what genthry 
 can do ? WTiatever notion'U flip into their head, that's 
 what they must do on the minyute ! Oh Christians ! 
 Gold's nothing at all to them ! ' 
 
 ' Tom, you're a fool ! ' said Dan angrily. 
 
 The mowing-machine had stormed round the field 
 and was coming back to the disputants, the sparse, 
 flower-starred grass falling in enforced homage before 
 the long notched blade. Dan was desperately anxious 
 to enlist Tom's interest in the new regime. 
 
 ' Look at that stuff ! ' he exclaimed, as the horses, 
 
26 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 with low-held heads, tramped nearer. ' That's not 
 worth calling hay ! Isn't that proof enough that it's 
 time to make a fresh start ? Upon my soul, Tom, if 
 it weren't for the gentry you'd all be using wooden 
 ploughs this minute ! ' 
 
 ' And if we were itself,' shouted Tom through the 
 roar and whirr, ' maybe we'd have as good crops and 
 better ! ' 
 
 Dan walked away, slashing at the nettles that 
 flaunted their tasselled heads and their height in his 
 face, and the docks, with their heavy red seed clusters 
 already nearly ripe for distribution. He said to himself 
 that if their luxuriance proved nothing else, it showed 
 that the land was better than the farmer deserved. 
 
 Nowhere does the reformer plough a more lonely 
 furrow, or is the power of precedent more potent, than 
 among the tillers of the soil. 
 
 ' Sure they're like sheep, they must have a lead,' said 
 the friend and neighbour to whom Dan, worsted in con- 
 flict with Tom McLoughlen, had turned for sympathy. 
 
 The neighbour, whose name was James Ryan, and 
 whose farm adjourned the lands of Monalour, was a 
 farmer of established prosperity ; and, being comfort- 
 ably aware that he was not as other men were, he felt 
 no need to restrain his gift of large and drastic criticism. 
 * But I'll say this for them,' he continued magnani- 
 mously, ' if you can once beat a notion into their 
 skulls, I'll engage ye'U not knock a stir out o' them on 
 that tack, good or bad, for forty years ! ' 
 
 Dan's dark eyes met the lively green ones of Mr. 
 Ryan in sombre protest, but he said nothing. 
 
 * Bone-idle they are, and stupid to the back o' 
 that ! B'lieve me, Mr. Dan, fashionable farming's no 
 dam' good ! The money them machines cost, ye'd 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 27 
 
 turn it over three times buying bullocks before your 
 men had your engine destroyed — and that'd be in 
 something about three weeks ! ' 
 
 Mr. Ryan pulled a half-smoked pipe out of his 
 pocket and reHghted it, talking between the loud 
 smacks of his lips needed to restore to it animation, 
 and eyeing Dan attentively over its bowl. * Sure 
 haven't I been at the game this twenty years, with me 
 father, and without me father ? Don't I know them 
 fellows ! They'd rather do a thing wrong than right ; 
 it'd be a satisfaction to them ! They'd sooner leave 
 a cart closing a gateway than shut the gate, and 
 soonest of all they'd leave nothing at all in it ! Every 
 stray-away on the roads they has their ground before 
 them, and that's my ground ! I declare to God I'm 
 half me time running around shutting me gates and 
 driving other men's cattle, the same as the Sinn 
 Feiners themselves ! ' 
 
 ' I never knew an Irish farmer yet that had a good 
 word to say for anyone but himself,' said Dan morosely. 
 * It's— it's heart-breaking ! ' 
 
 Jimmy Ryan, sane, practical, conservative, cunning 
 and good-natured, generous and stingy, regarded his 
 neighbour with an expression in which several of these 
 qualities had their share. 
 
 * It's worse than your heart'U be broken ! ' he 
 said, his little, sharp, green eyes prying into Dan's 
 moody face. ' It's your pocket will be broken, and 
 yourself too — horse, foot, and dragoons ! Let you 
 stick to the ways that your men know ' 
 
 * I've ordered a tractor,' growled Dan. 
 
 * Well, well ' said Mr. Ryan, and ceased. 
 
 As he said to liis wife later, in recounting the inter- 
 view, he saw no use in dirtying a clean cloth sopping 
 up spilt milk. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 On the day following his conversation with his friend, 
 Mr. Dan Palliser, Mr. James Ryan drove at a dashing 
 trot towards that centre of the universe of which he 
 spoke affectionately as ' Town/ in order there to join 
 in the deliberations of the Rural District Council, of 
 which, as befitted a man of sense and substance, he 
 was a leading member. 
 
 He sat with his thick shoulders humped, sending his 
 horse along without effort, while he revolved in his 
 busy and subtle brain a matter paramount among those 
 that had induced him to leave his new-cut hayfield, 
 and to spend the best part of a fine day in the town of 
 Eskragh. 
 
 * It'd be for the good of the country and for the 
 good of himself * 
 
 His thought developed itself in the ordered swing 
 and poise that is one of the features of the speech of 
 southern Ireland. * He's young, to be sure, but hell 
 get the better o* that, please God ! And if he's young 
 itself, t'would be better he was too young than too 
 old. The father was too stiff ; too old and too stiff — 
 Well, maybe the Divil has him soopled by now ! ' 
 
 Jimmy flicked his horse's fat quarters, pleased with 
 his anticipation of the improvement that had possibly 
 been effected in Colonel Palhser. 
 
 The stout bay horse stepped out, rounding a sharp 
 turn at a pace that came near causing disaster to him 
 and his owner, since it all but ran him into another 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 29 
 
 trap that was, like Mr. Ryan's, on the wrong side of 
 the road. 
 
 * The Baby ! By Gosh ! ' exclaimed Jimmy to him- 
 self, dragging his horse to a stand just in time to escape 
 collision. ' How are ye, Mr. Coyne ? ' he called out. 
 * I was near running ye down ! ' 
 
 ' Well, James, if ye'd done that ye'd have been hard 
 set to pick me up again, as big as you are ! ' returned 
 Mr. Coyne, who had achieved a degree of obesity so 
 excessive that he felt justified in boasting of the great- 
 ness that had been thrust upon him. 
 
 ' Going to the Board, Mr. Coyne ? ' 
 
 * I am, James, I am. We've got to co-opt one of 
 the Jah-Pays * (thus did Mr. Coyne facetiously allude 
 to the Magistracy) * in place of poor old Dowling. Ah ! 
 I had a great wish for Dowling always. He had a 
 heart as big as a bucket ! ' 
 
 * He had so, Mr. Coyne, and always as full of good 
 whisky as it'd hold ! ' replied Jimmy, drawing level 
 with the other trap, and shooting a quick and in- 
 vestigating glance at its driver's face. 
 
 In its way Mr. Coyne's face was a remarkable one, 
 and in some degree accounted for the nickname by 
 which Jimmy, like the rest of his world, thought of him. 
 
 A legend obtained in the town of Eskragh that, 
 some seventy years ago, a young priest of a sporting 
 turn borrowed a rifle and went forth to practise 
 shooting at a mark. A bullet missed the target and 
 crashed through the window of a neighbouring pubUc- 
 house. The prospective mother of Mr. Nicholas Coyne 
 was seated behind the counter, and the bullet, passing 
 near her head, finished its career in a bottle of whisky, 
 whose contents precipitated themselves in appropriate, 
 if premature, chrism upon Mrs. Coyne. She, being a 
 
30 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 lady of refinement, and well instructed in the rules that 
 govern the reception of shocks, immediately experi- 
 enced a succession of ' wakenesses ' the ultimate result 
 of which was the expedited arrival of Nicholas. Even 
 at the age of seventy, the title of Baby Bullet, which, 
 with a child-like effort of humour, had been conferred 
 on him by the wits of Eskragh, was still his ; and, as 
 though Nature had determined it should not be for- 
 gotten, he had never lost the pink and pulpy dewiness, 
 the moisture and the thirstiness of mouth, and the 
 goggling malevolence of eye, pf extreme infancy. His 
 small features were embedded in and encircled by 
 undulating rolls of pink fat ; his little hands had the 
 pudgy shapelessness of those of a baby. 
 
 Outwardly though Baby Bullet might justify his 
 pet name, it was singularly inapplicable when his mental 
 outfit was considered, but this fact lent a certain 
 piquancy that endeared him to his acquaintances, and 
 imparted the agreeable illusion that they were humor- 
 ists, when they spoke of him by his courtesy title. 
 
 ' I thought it hard to leave my hay to-day and it 
 so fine,' said Jimmy Ryan, restraining the bay horse's 
 pace to that of the Baby's somnolent grey mare, ' but 
 I missed the last Board •' 
 
 * You did, boy, you did,' said Baby Bullet indul- 
 gently, * and who are ye coming to vote for to-day ? ' 
 
 * Well, now, Mr. Coyne,' said Jimmy, with a well- 
 simulated burst of candour, * I'm glad to me heart I 
 met ye this way. It wasn't but three days back I 
 said to me wife, I should go see ye, but the time failed 
 me.' 
 
 * Well, well, James, ye have me now,' replied Mr. 
 Coyne kindly, * and the dear knows I can't get away 
 from ye, even if I wanted to ! ' He emphasised his 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 31 
 
 remark with a purely ritual slash of the whip, which 
 was received by the grey mare in the spirit in which it 
 was offered. 
 
 ' I was thinking,' began Jimmy again, ' that young 
 Dan Palliser would be a useful sort of chap upon the 
 Board. The father got him made a Jah-Pay, not very 
 long before he died, and, upon me soul, I think we 
 might get worse than him ! ' 
 
 ' Very true, James, very true,' assented the Baby 
 wheezily. 
 
 ' I know there's plenty on the Board that might 
 say we didn't want his sort at all,' went on Jimmy 
 cautiously, * but sure / say why wouldn't we come out 
 plucky and say we're not afraid of a gentleman ? ' 
 
 Baby Bullet opened his mouth — or, to be more 
 accurate, he enlarged the aperture that always stood 
 open in his face — as if to speak, but was seized with a 
 violent fit of coughing. 
 
 * I've got a cough that'd split a stone ! ' he re- 
 marked, when utterance was restored. * It's pla3dng 
 on me now since the first time I got the 'fluenzy — '93, 
 I b'lieve it was — ^or was it '91 ? I d'no — it and the 
 asthma together.' 
 
 * That's a long time since,* responded Jimmy 
 politely, well aware that Mr. Coyne was marking time 
 while he collected his thoughts. * But see here, Mr. 
 Coyne, wouldn't you say a good word for Mr. Palliser ? 
 
 There's plenty ways he might come in useful ' He 
 
 paused and tried to catch the Baby's eye. 
 
 * James,' said Baby Bullet impressively, in a high, 
 slow, pompous, and wheezy tenor that, did a turbot 
 possess the gift of speech, would seem to be the voice 
 suitable to its face and figure, ' I've known you, boy 
 and man, going on thirty-five years. I had a wish 
 
32 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 for you always and ever, and for your father before 
 
 you. Yee were always decent, civil, and obliging * 
 
 The eulogium which was being delivered in tones of 
 tomb-stone gravity was interrupted by another attack 
 of the cough that would split stones. * There is no 
 man, James, in this barony, that I would sooner com- 
 pliment than yourself. But, James, I must remem- 
 ber my principles ! ' The flat, glistening eyes goggled 
 round upon Jimmy for a moment, and Jimmy uttered 
 an appropriate grunt. 
 
 * There was a woman came to me a while ago,' 
 resumed the Baby, * asking me would I get her a job — 
 washing-a-day-a-week at the Union, I think it was. I 
 said to her, " My good woman," I says, " I might con- 
 sider it, but I must have something for it.'* " Sir," 
 says she, " I'm a poor woman, what could I give ye ? " 
 " Mary Bryan," says I (that was her name), " Mary," 
 says I, "if it was only half a crown, I should have it. 
 For the principle of the thing, Mary," says L' 
 
 Mr. Coyne again paused, and his spherical coun- 
 tenance rolled on his shoulders towards his fellow- 
 councillor. ' You know, James, that a half a crown, 
 here or there, would be, as I might say, a matter of no 
 considerable importance to me, but it was the principle 
 I had to regard. It was I introduced this method of 
 obtaining votes into this Union, and I may say, James, 
 I may say, it has worked exceedingly well ! ' 
 
 * The divil doubt ye it has ! ' thought Jimmy, ' ye 
 blasted old rip ! ' but he said aloud, with all politeness, 
 * Well, Mr. Coyne, if your vote's promised, I'm only 
 sorry I troubled ye at all ! ' 
 
 * No harm, Jamesy-boy. No offence meant and 
 none taken,' returned Mr. Coyne benignly. * It was 
 merely my intention to point out to ye that everything, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 33 
 
 big and small, has its market value ; and that, in 
 itself, James, is a varriable matter that depends upon 
 the individualitee of th' individual ! ' 
 
 The Baby here emitted a few asthmatic squeaks, 
 indicating his belief that he had made if not a joke, an 
 epigram. * Now if young Mr. Palliser of Monalour 
 wanted something, he should pay more for it than poor 
 Mary Bryan, or even than Mr. James Ryan himself ! ' 
 and again his sense of humour overcame Baby Bullet. 
 
 Upon Mr. James Ryan's intelligent countenance an 
 expression had suddenly appeared that suggested the 
 thrilled self-restraint of the terrier who has seen for an 
 instant the snout of the rat at the mouth of the hole 
 which he is watching. ' He's in the market still ! ' 
 he thought, and thought fast. ' What is it he's out for ? 
 He knows he'll get no money out o' Dan. Be gannies, 
 I have it ! ' 
 
 * Well, that's right enough, Mr. Coyne,' he said, 
 joining in the Baby's innocent mirth, * and when I 
 want a job o' washing at the House, I'll give ye more 
 than half a crown for it ! Even if it wasn't to be a 
 cash payment itself, there's more ways of killing a 
 dog than hanging him ! ' 
 
 Jimmy fell silent for a few moments ; then he, as 
 it were, broached a fresh tap. ' I heard some talk of 
 the coal contracts being given out soon,' he observed. 
 ' Will there be many tendering for it, d'ye think ? ' 
 
 ' Why, then, I might be thinking about it meself/ 
 said Mr. Coyne Hghtly. ' They put Monaghan's tender 
 before mine last year, and I think they were sorry 
 enough afther ! I declare to ye, James, if I was to sell 
 you the like o' that coal Monaghan had — and it no more 
 than a shilling below mine — ye'd be pelting it at me ! ' 
 
 Jimmy did not wait to discuss his adoption of this 
 
34 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 method of remonstrating with his coal merchant ; he 
 looked straight in front of him at his horse's ears and 
 said : 
 
 ' I think they'll vote on the tenders next time/ 
 
 ' I'm told so,' said Mr. Coyne. 
 
 * Monaghan came to me about the same coal/ went 
 on Jimmy carelessly. ' I made him no promise. He 
 has plenty friends. If it came to a vote it'd be pretty 
 tight between him and yourself, Mr. Coyne ! ' 
 
 * Ah, it mightn't be worth my while to put in for it 
 at all,' said the Baby with equal carelessness. 
 
 The matter dropped. They were going up hill, and 
 Jimmy put his reins over his arm and lit a pipe. The 
 Baby seemed to dream in the morning sunshine. He 
 turned drowsily to Jimmy. 
 
 * Young Mr. Palliser's a fine young man,' he mused. 
 ' A fine, upright young man, no doubt, but he is 
 entoyherly without experience. No knowledge of 
 practical matters, such, James, as is regarded in our 
 deliberations.' 
 
 * ril make ye one promise,' said Jimmy boldly. ' If 
 he's co-opted a member of the Board, he'll take my 
 opinion about the quality o' coal ! ' 
 
 * Well, that'd be no more than was reasonable in an 
 ignorant young man,' said the Baby, with condes- 
 cension. * I'll think it over, James.' 
 
 'I've got him ! ' thought Jimmy, * and I got him 
 cheap ! Please God I'll manyouver me bold Danny 
 now all right ! ' 
 
 He said aloud, ' Leave it with me entirely, Mr. 
 Coyne. Never fear I'll be answerable for making it 
 right.' 
 
 They had come to a cross-roads, and were there 
 joined by an old friend of Mr. Coyne's, driving an 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 35 
 
 identical trap and an almost identical old grey mare. 
 Conversation on the usual topics, the weather, the 
 hay-crop, and the latest poHtical outrages, began 
 briskly. As soon as no suspicion of brusqueness could 
 attach itself to his departure, Jimmy gave the bay 
 horse his head. The bay horse, whose name was 
 Trooper, and on whose shoulder was the Government 
 broad arrow, availed himself of this privilege with 
 enthusiasm. His present master, big as he was, was 
 not as heavy as the guns whose weight Trooper well 
 remembered, and the hilly road, composed though it 
 was of rough, broken stones, and holes filled with dust, 
 was an improvement upon the sloughs of Flanders. 
 
 Jimmy drove fast, with a loose rein, up and down 
 hill alike, the * ramblers,' as he would have called the 
 scattered stones, spraying right and left of the big 
 horse's big feet. The road ran, or, to speak more truly, 
 crawled over a high pass in the hills. As it went up- 
 wards the surface improved ; the arable fields died 
 away into great tracts of heather, and of that particular 
 variety of bog that looks as though it would make 
 sound and dry walking, but is a mere skin of turf and 
 heather, covering a shallow yet everlasting heart of 
 water. Trooper's thumping trot declined to a jog, 
 then to a walk of the ineffable slowness special to what 
 Mr. Ryan spoke of as ' farming-horses.' All round lay 
 the moorland, in successive waves of colour ; from 
 bright green in the wettest places, where the new 
 summer grass came pricking through the heather, 
 through brown, and grey, and purple, until, faintly over 
 the hills of the middle distance, a high, transparent 
 hint of amethyst told of far-off mountains, matters too 
 lofty for the scope of this little, patient, toiling road. 
 Scattered groups of hill-sheep kept the look of life in 
 
36 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 the bare country ; pale, shaggy donkeys, attended by 
 their children, balls of beaver-brown fur, with faces of 
 wondering innocence, and feet like reels of black cotton, 
 bundled out of the road on which they were lying, with 
 a speed that spoke of many a wanton slash of a passing 
 whip. Jimmy Ryan took note of none of these things, 
 save when a little bunch of sheep scurried across the 
 road, and he asked himself what way it was in the world 
 these sheep had of blowing themselves out, by the dint 
 of wind and water, till they'd humbug a butcher into 
 thinking he'd get a quarter of a pound of chops off 
 their carcase ? 
 
 Jimmy was deeply considering the case of his 
 friend, Dan Palliser. Difference in breeding, in re- 
 ligion, in age, affected not his faithful regard for the 
 boy who had grown up beside him and was his land- 
 lord's son. ' A good boy he is,' thought Jimmy, ' and 
 not as much roguery in him as 'd blind your eye. It's 
 all that's wanting to him ! ' 
 
 It certainly was regrettable, but Mr. Ryan de- 
 termined, with generous zeal, that he would himself 
 supply the tact and social skill which were the qualities 
 that he summarised as roguery. Subtlety, knowledge 
 of his world, and how to take it, these gifts were 
 Jimmy's, as indeed they were those of very many of 
 his fellows, and he valued them as a man values the 
 trusty weapons that he has tried often and not known 
 to fail. Those other qualities that were also his, in- 
 dustry, generosity, fidelity to his friends, and, above 
 all, the gallant Irish light-heartedness that will take a 
 risk and give a chance, were aspects of his soul of which 
 he was entirely unconscious. Had his attention been 
 drawn to them he would have regarded them as weak- 
 nesses, or, more probably, he would have disclaimed 
 
AN ENTHUSUST 37 
 
 them. In Jimmy Ryan's world a man may be praised 
 for his straightness in money deaUngs, his hospitahty, 
 his charity to the poor, his neighbourhness (which last 
 are indeed virtues that are lacking in but few of his 
 class), but it is for other than these things that he is 
 feared, which is after all a very high form of respect. 
 
 It happened that Mr. Ryan held, at this particular 
 epoch, a lever of some power in the manipulation of 
 public opinion. The barony of which Eskragh was 
 the chief town was a hunter-breeding district, and 
 Jimmy's stallion. Wild Minstrel, was of a distinction 
 that made it worth the while of any breeder of ' quality 
 horses ' to stand well with his owner. Labyrinthine 
 and tortuous are ever the intrigues in a small Irish town 
 in connection with an election even as unimportant as 
 that in which Jimmy was now operating. It is not 
 proposed to follow him. Let it sufhce to say that a 
 diplomacy such as would not have been unworthy of 
 an international crisis met with its well-earned reward, 
 and Jimmy Ryan's nominee was co-opted a member 
 of the Rural District Council of Eskragh. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 If it is sometimes from among the lowest of the people 
 that stones are thrown at those above them, it is at 
 least as often from the upper rungs of the ladder that 
 denunciations descend, and fall the more heavily since 
 they come from a height. Arnold, first Baron Ducarrig, 
 and Jimmy Ryan, from their different rungs, viewed 
 their world in a very similar spirit. Neither of 
 them was in the habit of looking upwards, and 
 therefore it is obvious that all that they saw was 
 below them. 
 
 The best part of a lifetime spent in RuHng the Roast, 
 in climates where the term might as fitly be applied to 
 the Governor himself as to that which he ruled, does 
 not tend to develop either tolerance or that gift of 
 which tolerance is an outcome, the imagination that 
 bestows sympathy, and enables a man to put himself 
 in his neighbour's place. Lord Ducarrig seldom 
 cared for his neighbours, and since for many years he 
 had been accustomed to rule over them, he had made 
 no effort to cultivate a gift that might, even in imagina- 
 tion, involve him in changing places with any of them. 
 Thus, usefully armed with a habit of dislike and con- 
 tempt, he returned to his native land well equipped 
 to hold his own in the competitive denunciation of 
 Ireland that is the life and soul of so many of its social 
 gatherings. At the epoch now being treated of, it is 
 possible that, were two or three Irish men or women 
 of any class gathered together, they might, by an 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 39 
 
 effort, have refrained from abandoning themselves to 
 indignant lamentations over the conduct of all sections 
 of the community save their own ; but that they 
 should thus have refrained is improbable, and it may 
 confidently be asserted that if Mrs. Palliser and Lord 
 Ducarrig had been of the party, no clause of the Com- 
 mination Service would have been omitted. Lord 
 Ducarrig's heavy- jowled, well-cut, eighteenth-century 
 face, that would have been handsome but for its little 
 eyes like a pig's, pale-lashed and pink, would glow with 
 what he felt to be a patriot zeal, when Ireland, her 
 climate, her people, and her politics, were placed on the 
 block for execution ; and Mrs. Palliser, at one of the 
 small dinner-parties that were a feature of the new 
 regime at Monalour House, went so far as to extol 
 Charlotte Corday's methods, and (being annoyed, as 
 she said afterwards, by Katie de Vere) she had even 
 declared that she would consider herself as performing 
 a pubHc benefit were she to slay one of the Sinn Fein 
 leaders in his bath. 
 
 * Only, my dear,' flung in Katie de Vere, * you 
 wouldn't have the chance, as they never take baths ! ' 
 
 Katie de Vere had never been known to sacrifice 
 a jest to a friend (though she had frequently reversed 
 the process), and she could not, therefore, be expected 
 to spare her enemies. 
 
 Miss de Vere was a plain and elderly cousin of the 
 late Colonel Palliser, and was regarded by his widow 
 as a messenger of Satan, sent to buffet her. Katie de 
 Vere, so Mrs. PalHser was accustomed to say, treated 
 all subjects ahke with levity, and her efforts to attract 
 attention should be ignored by all right-thinking 
 persons. Mrs. Palliser, herself, did not invariably 
 observe this method, but on this occasion she succeeded 
 
40 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 in continuing her indictment of her country and its 
 people, with scarcely a stagger. 
 
 ' The same thing runs through everything and every 
 class ' she asserted, having given that cautious circular 
 glance, to make certain of the absence of the servants, 
 that is, in Ireland, almost automatic, * C/wreliabiUty ! ' 
 She planted her large hand, with its gouty knuckles 
 and finger-joints, flat on the table, as if she were laying 
 the foundation-stone of a pubHc building. * You can't 
 trust them ! Idle, unconscientious, and dirty ! They 
 don't know what cleanliness is ! I have never yet met 
 with an Irish servant who suffered from dirt, as a good 
 EngHsh servant does * 
 
 * A sort of illness, Georgina ? Like dust-fever ? * 
 Miss de Vere's penetrating voice broke into the arraign- 
 ment. * Is it catching ? ' 
 
 * Katie,' said Mrs. PalUser repressively, * you need 
 not pretend to misunderstand me because you are 
 unable to contradict me ! ' 
 
 Satisfaction at her retort took away Mrs. Palliser's 
 breath for a moment, but she continued to hum and to 
 champ her haggard jaws, as an indication that, though 
 thrown out of her stride, she retained control of the 
 conversation. 
 
 ' Even in my old home in the North,' she resumed, 
 ' I can not say that the general standard approached 
 the EngHsh ' 
 
 ' I am so bored by standards ! * struck in Miss de 
 Vere, who very much preferred her own voice to anyone 
 else's, and possessed a conquering turn of speed that 
 had been denied to Mrs. Palhser. * One doesn't want 
 standards in the kitchen — though I admit I have flags 
 in mine ! That's a joke, Georgina, please laugh ! ' 
 She collected the eyes of her fellow guests with a swift 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 41 
 
 look round the table. ' I always warn Northerners 
 when these things happen ! ' she declared, and hurried 
 on, * Give me Ireland ! The intolerable nuisance of 
 housekeeping is in some degree mitigated by the charms 
 of conversation with your cook — I could tell you twenty 
 stories, but I'll spare you now ! * 
 
 * Not suitable for publication ? ' suggested her host, 
 with the creaky cough that served him for a laugh. 
 * Have another glass of port, Miss de Vere, and try 
 again ! ' 
 
 * They wouldn't do you much harm ! ' returned 
 Miss de Vere dauntlessly. ' I won't waste them on un- 
 sympathetic people ! AH I want to estabhsh is that 
 Irish servants have the great merit of being amusing, 
 which / put far above cleanliness ! ' 
 
 ' I don't go to my kitchen for amusement,* said 
 Mrs. PalHser, charging again into the fray. * You, 
 Katie, try to turn everything into fun ! I can 
 see nothing funny in what I can only call national 
 degeneracy ! ' 
 
 * I'm sure you can't, my dear,' returned Miss de 
 Vere, who combined the temperaments of orator and 
 matador, and fought and talked the better for an 
 audience that she could irritate and scandaUse ; ' but 
 there's so much in a name. Take Sinn Fein, for in- 
 stance. / consider " Ourselves Alone " is a most praise- 
 worthy sentiment, but I suppose Lord Ducarrig will 
 give it quite another label ! ' 
 
 * / call it rank rebellion ! * said Ducarrig, with an 
 ugly look at the intrepid Miss de Vere. ' I'd Uke to send 
 a fleet of aeroplanes to bomb Ireland from Slyne Head 
 to Cape Clear ! ' 
 
 * Like rain to fall on the just and the unjust — even 
 on Belfast ? ' jeered Katie de Vere, whose political 
 
42 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 opinions had a single rallying-point, which was opposi- 
 tion to those of the company she was in. 
 
 * Or there's the good old recipe — twenty-four hours 
 under water ! ' threw in, with all sincerity, another of 
 the company, an old general, with a heavy white 
 moustache. 
 
 Ducarrig emptied his glass. ' No ! under blood ! ' 
 he said violently, refilling the glass as he spoke. 
 
 Lady Ducarrig leaned back in her chair. She 
 found herself much bored. Mrs. Palliser's was the eye 
 necessary to catch in order to effect escape, and it, 
 bright with battle, was fixed upon Miss de Vere, who 
 had now taken a daring stand under the banner of 
 Sinn Fein, and was enjoying herself very much. 
 
 * Will it end quietly ? ' Car murmured to Dan, 
 who was beside her, ' or will there be bloodshed ? 
 I'm not used to so much enthusiasm. It was too hot 
 at Santa Caterina. You cried, or fainted, if you were 
 contradicted, and there it ended.' 
 
 ' People always fight here,' said Dan, looking 
 blackly at his cousin. Miss de Vere. He wished that 
 his mother had not played up to Katie's egregious 
 traihng of her coat. Katie was a regular old devil, 
 always out for a row. She didn't care what rot she 
 talked as long as she could put some one in a rage. 
 * They'll always fight about Ireland, any way,' he 
 added. ' Everybody does.' 
 
 Admiral Caulfield, on Car's other hand, found him- 
 self exhilarated by the contest, much as a canary reacts 
 to the voice of the piano. 
 
 ' This last news from Ulster is pretty lively, 
 Ducarrig ! ' he called loudly down the table. * There's 
 been another blow-up, and a lot of the other side 
 killed ! ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 43 
 
 ' Thank God ! ' said Lord Ducarrig, with a gleam 
 in his white-lashed eyes, that were like a pig's eyes. 
 His large, well-shaped head, hairless, save for a thin 
 reddish fringe, that hung like a garland from ear to 
 ear across the back of his scalp, was darkly pink all 
 over. He sat low. Dan thought of the rising harvest 
 moon, and discarded the thought, with apologies to 
 the moon. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser, through her conflict with Miss de 
 Vere, caught the word ' Ulster.* 
 
 ' What's that ? What's that, Dick ? ' she cried. 
 ' Who were killed ? ' 
 
 Eileen Caulfield had gone in to dinner with Dan ; 
 she turned to him. 
 
 ' If your mother and my father begin to talk about 
 Ulster, we're done for ! ' she whispered. 
 
 ' I know that as well as you do ! ' Dan muttered, 
 his head down, his long back hooped. ' I can't stand 
 much more of it ! ' 
 
 ' Don't fight them, they're too idiotic ! ' Eileen 
 murmured back. * They're not worth powder and 
 shot ! ' 
 
 Car Ducarrig, lazy in manner though she might 
 be, was swift in action. Mrs. Palliser had looked for 
 information to her brother, the Admiral, and in that 
 fatal moment her eye was intercepted and held by 
 her hostess, as a wasp may be checked in flight and 
 swept into a butterfly net. The rustle of departure, 
 the picking up of handkerchiefs and gloves followed 
 in due course ; the door closed upon Eileen's slim blue 
 back, and Lady Ducarrig' s darkly gorgeous gold one, 
 and Dan was left, defenceless among his warlike elders. 
 
 There is something incongruous, even indecent, in 
 the excessive ardour for slaughter that is often dis- 
 
44 
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 played by men who are past the age of fighting with 
 any member more efficient than their tongues. Dan, 
 who had fought through four years of war, sat in 
 silence, his eyes on his plate, the only man of peace 
 among these dinner-table warriors, and tried not to 
 listen to what they said, and wondered how much 
 longer he would have to bear it. Then he thought 
 of his father, and wondered if his spirit were here, in 
 his own old dining-room, and, if so, if he sympathised 
 with the triumphing anticipation of civil war, and 
 martial law, of the red-faced man who sat in his chair, 
 at his table. Dan admitted to himself (being the victim 
 of an honesty so uncompromising that he could not even 
 deceive himself) that when his father had been there 
 he had been as loud in denunciation as any of them ; 
 but it was possible his opinions had changed. That 
 is to say if he were himself still, or were anywhere, and 
 
 knew anything What was the Admiral holloaing 
 
 about now ? 
 
 * I've told my boy in the Gunners that if he's sent 
 to Ulster, I only hope * 
 
 Dan looked at the portrait of one of his ancestors 
 of four generations back, Henry Palliser ; it hung 
 on the wall just behind Uncle Dick's well-cHpped, 
 crinkled-silver head. Great — several greats — Grand- 
 father Henry had lived in the days of duelling ; he 
 had quarrelled with a neighbour, and his son and the 
 neighbour's son had been commanded to honour their 
 fathers by fighting their battles for them, so that the 
 promise that their days should be long in the land 
 might be fulfilled, if not for the sons, for the fathers. 
 Dan knew the story well. The young men were close 
 and dear friends, but that had not been permitted to 
 interfere with the satisfaction required by their fathers. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 45 
 
 The fight took place on a long bridge, and all the 
 country was there to see the fun. ' I've always been 
 told it was like a fair, with crackers and crubeens and 
 tents ! ' his father used to say, laughing. The com- 
 batants had resolved to fire in the air, but young Dan 
 PalHser's hand shook, and he pulled the trigger too 
 soon, and killed his friend, James Kennedy. Dan 
 went over the story again — anything to close his 
 ears. * I'd have shot myself next ! ' he thought. 
 
 ' Dan, did you ever hear what Matthew Hannigan's 
 Aunt said ? * demanded Uncle Dick, aggressively 
 cheery (' slightly sprung * Dan thought). ' "Arrah, 
 man ! Don't stop the coorse of the can ! How d'ye 
 know but your neighbour's dhry ? " ' 
 
 The Admiral's stage-Irish brogue was almost harder 
 to bear than his blood-thirstiness. Dan sent the wine 
 onward with a shove that set the glasses jinghng. 
 
 His uncle, temporarily diverted from the theme 
 of politics, was now embarking upon one of his longer 
 stories, stories that, though long, were not as long as 
 they were broad. In a pause, the result of the narrator's 
 being too convulsed with merriment at his history to 
 proceed, the sound, far and faint, of the piano came 
 through the open window. 
 
 That old and recognised cry for help can seldom 
 have met with more instant response. Dan was on 
 his feet as the first notes stole through the Venetian 
 blinds into the hot and noisy room. 
 
 ' I think I hear music,' he said, looking to his 
 host for permission. 
 
 In the drawing-room he found that the music 
 which had given him his excuse had ceased. Monalour 
 was an old-fashioned house in which was not electric 
 light ; the lamps had not yet been brought in, and the 
 
46 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 long room was lit only by the depressed daylight that 
 lingers, aware of its own unsuit ability, after a summer- 
 time dinner. The drawing-room consisted of two 
 rooms, with a very wide archway between them. The 
 tall French window at the end of the farther room was 
 open, and silhouetted against its greyness, Dan saw 
 Lady Ducarrig sitting at the piano, her back to the 
 keyboard, talking to Eileen. A fire of turf and logs, 
 a matter more of ornament than of necessity, provided 
 a gathering point for Mrs. Palliser, Mrs. Caulfield, and 
 Miss de Vere, who were still talking politics with an 
 excitement in no degree inferior to that of the party 
 in the dining-room. 
 
 ' Your cousin wants me to sing,' Lady Ducarrig 
 said to Dan, in a low voice, ' but I'm so afraid of 
 interfering with the conversation.' 
 
 She eyed the discoursing dowagers, appraising 
 their enjoyment and engrossment, and looked back, 
 smiling, to Dan and Eileen. 
 
 Eileen laughed, and said, ' Nothing could do that, 
 short of burning down the house ! ' 
 
 Dan said nothing. He thought, ' If I don't like 
 her singing, I shall be in a hole. I'm a bad Har.' 
 
 Even though abstract enthusiasms could sweep 
 him off his feet, he was slow in some things — slow in 
 realising character, very slow, by reason of theoretical 
 austerity, in deciding on his likes and disHkes, and, 
 nevertheless, an indifferent judge of character, being 
 of the breed that believes its own honesty is common 
 to all men, and that sees that which it wishes to see. 
 As to Lady Ducarrig, he couldn't feel sure she wasn't 
 too good-looking to be as good as she looked. And 
 her singing — in the matter of music he had no hesita- 
 tions, being a classicist as deep as he was narrow — he 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 47 
 
 told himself it would inevitably be too opulent for his 
 fancy. 
 
 Eileen, with a quiet eye on Dan, had not ceased 
 to agitate for music. She divined Dan's feehng, 
 because she shared his views as to the probable 
 ' opulence * of Lady Ducarrig's voice and taste ; but 
 she considered that this might, in certain contin- 
 gencies, prove an auxiliary not to be despised. 
 
 Car Ducarrig's grey eyes moved tranquilly from 
 the face of one cousin to that of the other. The 
 situation was obscure enough to be amusing. Why 
 was the girl so keen ? She was a bit of a fraud, of 
 course, but that didn't quite explain. She had ex- 
 patiated on her own ignorance of music, on her cousin's 
 love for it, on his remarkable fastidiousness. Miss 
 Eileen, Car thought, protested too much. Her dazzHng 
 complexion, and her curly, golden hair, and her 
 civihties, were all a httle excessive. He was annoy- 
 ing, too ; so sallow and sombre and silent. He might 
 at least pretend a little interest in her singing. His 
 silence was becoming an offence to her. He seemed 
 to have quite forgotten that Hnk of friendship, the 
 scullery drain — to have forgotten even that she had 
 bestowed on him the honour of knighthood ! She felt 
 suddenly angry, and determined to make him look 
 foolish. 
 
 ' Well, Sir Daniel ? ' she said, regarding him from 
 under her eyelashes. 
 
 Sir Daniel incontinently turned a dark and painful 
 red. 
 
 ' Oh, please sing,' he said hurriedly, ' I hope you 
 will ' 
 
 He looked fooHsh enough to satisfy her, and Miss 
 Caulfield's evident mystification was pleasing too. 
 
48 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 She turned to the piano, saying to herself that it amused 
 her to sing, and therefore she would do so whether 
 either of them liked it or no. 
 
 ' No, thanks, I don't want lights,' she said, ' nor 
 books — my music's in my head ' 
 
 (Sir Daniel shuddered secretly, and wondered from 
 which of the latest revues they were going to be 
 favoured with extracts ; with improvised accompani- 
 ments, of course.) 
 
 It would seem that there can be no absolute ideal 
 in music ; less even than in any of the other arts. It 
 is higher than they are, a purer wind of the spirit, 
 and blows where it listeth, leaving some ships be- 
 calmed, immoved ; fiUing other sails, so that the vessel 
 is carried near paradise. Who can tell whence the 
 wind of music blows, or predict who shall be stirred 
 by it ? Yet it may perhaps be said that these airs 
 from another world find here and there, an aeolian 
 harp through which to sing their message, some in- 
 terpreter in whose voice the ecstasy, and the mystery, 
 and the pain mingle and vibrate. 
 
 Car Ducarrig had many friends, and scarcely two 
 of them could agree which of the many facets of her 
 soul had the special charm for them, and held the 
 quality that made them love her. But a few there 
 were who knew how it was that they had first been 
 overthrown ; who had struggled, perhaps, against the 
 traitor in the garrison of their souls, and struggled 
 in vain. For them there had been no gainsaying the 
 throb of that deep and secret nerve that had forced 
 them, helplessly, to yield themselves to her possessing 
 voice. 
 
 Dan Palliser was of those whose opinions, once 
 formed, were of disastrous tenacity — disastrous because 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 49 
 
 his strong will held them with a force that limited their 
 power of growth. He was of the fiery company of 
 enthusiasts. He created popes in music, in poetry, 
 in pohtics, and in friendship, and, endowing them with 
 infalhbihty, he then, as was no more than orthodox, 
 worshipped them and believed in them and them only. 
 Long since he had created his musical hierarchy, and 
 now Fate, who, whether by forethought or chance, 
 makes so often a mess of things, had arranged that the 
 first song that he was to hear, sung by the magnetic, 
 heart-shaking voice of Car Ducarrig, was one of those 
 best known to him, and best beloved ; one of the songs 
 of the master who was head pontiff in Dan's hierarchy. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Breakfast was in progress in the sunny dining-room 
 of the Lake House. On the floor by the open doors 
 into the garden were Peggy, the cocker spaniel, fat and 
 black, and Lizzie, the fox-terrier, small and misan- 
 thropic, with sore eyes and a bitter smile ; a low- 
 spirited yet indomitable little dog, who beyond the 
 single stern passion that she cherished for Dan, hated 
 human beings only a degree less than she loathed her 
 fellows. She was now seated erect in the open door- 
 way, with a stately little head held high, blinking 
 broodingly at the sunlit garden in a sort of trance of 
 hatred of all things earthly, and shaken occasionally 
 by strong shudders, which possibly meant that she 
 had thought of a rabbit. Peggy, on the other hand, 
 looking like a large Astrakhan pillow, was watching, 
 with an intentness that betrayed her inward agony 
 of gluttony, the passage of each morsel of food from 
 Dan's plate to his mouth. Peggy had belonged to 
 Colonel Palliser, and since his death had fallen into 
 somnolent widowhood and an ennui only mitigated 
 by meals. 
 
 Dan and his mother faced each other at either 
 end of the table. Midway between them was Eileen 
 Caulfield. Eileen was there because her aunt desired 
 her assistance at the school feast that was a yearly 
 feature of the time of strawberries, and was to occur 
 that day. It cannot be said that Mrs. Palliser ap- 
 proved of her niece, since she disapproved of all young 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 51 
 
 people, and especially of young women, but she had 
 decided that Eileen, and the £10,000 that Dick had 
 hinted he was going to give her, would make as good 
 a match for Dan as she was likely to find. She told 
 herself that, after all, as poor Henry used to say, the 
 devil you know is better than the devil you don't know. 
 The relationship was a drawback, of course ; but she 
 knew, almost it may be said that she hoped, there 
 was always a drawback to everything. As to Eileen 
 and Dan, their opinions had not, so far, been consulted. 
 Mrs. Palliser, Ulster woman though she was, was all 
 South in the matter of arranged matrimony. 
 
 Eileen had finished her breakfast, but her aunt, 
 whose digestion was one of her few weak points, was 
 still champing torrified bread — a process that equally 
 to Eileen's ears and eyes suggested the eating of his 
 oats by a horse. Mrs. Palliser was a prey to what she 
 believed to be medical inspirations, and submitted 
 herself to their rigours as unflinchingly as she imposed 
 them on her dependents. Her letters lay by her plate, 
 unopened ; it was one of her rules not to open them 
 until she had read prayers. 
 
 Dan ate his food silently, and with almost meticu- 
 lous neatness. He was like his mother in his lack of 
 any touch of the human, often endearing quality of 
 greediness, but quite unlike her in her hasty, slovenly 
 methods of consumption. 
 
 Eileen took stock of them both ; endlessly weighing, 
 dissecting, criticising, as was her habit. 
 
 ' Singularly unattractive, certainly. Aunt Gina is ! * 
 she reflected. ' Hideous she's made herself with that 
 catafalque of a cap ! And she might be good-looking 
 - — almost ! I wish Dan weren't like her — no, he's not, 
 not really — he's just got her best points, that's all ' 
 
52 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Here Mrs. Palliser champed her last piece of toast, 
 sent her last mouthful of tea hard on its heels, and 
 stood up. 
 
 * Ready, children ? Now ! Prayers ! Oh, you've 
 not finished, Dan ? ' She strode round to her son's side, 
 and before he had realised her intention dropped a 
 tabloid into his cup. * You're going to Eskragh to- 
 day, and I hear it's full of influenza. This is a sure 
 preventive.' 
 
 She waited for no reply, and left the room with her 
 quick, heavy step. 
 
 Dan waited till he heard her ringing the bell that 
 summoned the household to prayers, then he leaned 
 sideways towards the open window, and picking up 
 his cup he flung its contents into a perfume-breathing 
 patch of mignonette. 
 
 Eileen's long blue eyes were full of admiration, but 
 before she could express it, Mrs. Palliser returned. 
 
 ' Well, have you taken it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Mother,' replied Dan unhesitatingly. 
 
 He rose from his seat. ' I'm sorry I've got to get 
 away early, I can't wait for prayers ' 
 
 The long blue eyes, still dancing with amusement 
 and approval, tried in vain to meet his. He lifted 
 the wallowing Peggy gently to one side with his big 
 foot and went out through the French window, fol- 
 lowed by Lizzie, limping parsimoniously on three legs. 
 
 His mother looked after him grimly, but said 
 nothing. She enjoyed reading prayers and liked a 
 full house. 
 
 Eileen said to herself that Dan was often splendid. 
 It was not so much that she admired the lie, as the 
 intractable mood that had evoked it. 
 
 It was a fortnight since Dan had found himself a 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 53 
 
 member of the Rural District Council of Eskragh, and 
 this was his second appearance at its deliberations. 
 
 * Ah, yell soon feel your feet under ye/ Jimmy 
 Ryan told him, regarding him with godfatherly pride, 
 * and when ye do, don't be kicking us all too hard with 
 them ! Take the fellows easy, for a while, any way ! ' 
 
 Jimmy loved and admired his protege, but distrusted 
 his reforming tendencies. Dan had been intensely 
 gratified by his election, and touched by Jimmy Ryan's 
 elation over his success. 
 
 * I don't believe there's another gentleman in 
 the county would have got in, only yourself ! And 
 I declare to God the old Baby proved very good ! 
 Himself and his crowd voted for you straight. The 
 old Baby told me you were a fine, intelligent young 
 man ! See that now ! ' But Jimmy thought it 
 unnecessary to go deeper into the reasons that had 
 enlisted Mr. Coyne's support. He trusted with a con- 
 fidence, justified by the success of past manipulations, 
 to others in the future that should enable him to 
 redeem his pledge to Baby Bullet. 
 
 Dan had not considered it incumbent on him to 
 tell his mother that the reason of his early start had 
 been his intention to call upon Father Hugh Macnamara 
 before the hour at which the Rural District Council 
 Board Meeting began. 
 
 Father Hugh was a young priest who had but 
 recently come to Eskragh. Dan had met him scarcely 
 half a dozen times, and the actual length of their 
 acquaintance might almost have been reckoned in 
 minutes, yet in those minutes they had mutually 
 reaHsed a link of spirit : almost (which is a rarer thing) 
 a similar outlook upon the very distracted world in 
 which they both found themselves. 
 
54 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Dan's motor bicycle had hardly uttered its final 
 pant at Father Hugh's doorstep before the door opened 
 and the priest himself welcomed his visitor. He led 
 the way through the house to the narrow strip of 
 garden behind it. 
 
 ' The day is so fine,' he said apologetically, ' 'tis 
 pleasant er here than inside.' 
 
 He was a small slight man, with a pale face, and 
 pale brown hair, and pale blue, short-sighted eyes. 
 He had a nervous manner, and a voice that was unable 
 to keep the secret that the County Dublin could claim 
 him for her own. It would be hard to find a being 
 more unhke Dan Palliser. Nevertheless, the moment 
 for the link of soul to assert itself had arrived, as such 
 moments will when it is so decreed, however improbable 
 the alliance to be effected, and, on its arrival, Dan and 
 Father Hugh had taken but a short time to discover 
 that in treating of what they both considered to be 
 essential matters, their souls spoke the same language. 
 
 The priest's house was on the outer edge of the town. 
 The ground fell away steeply from the end of its narrow 
 garden, and a valley, as fair and fertile as any in the 
 world, lay outspread before Father Hugh and his visitor. 
 The morning was young yet ; the Vale of Esker showed 
 mistily in the faint and elegant tints of an old fashioned 
 water-colour, with transparent blues, and fairy greens, 
 and airy mauves ; with, here and there, white dots 
 among small dark patches, where farmhouses stood, 
 half hidden among their trees, and, here and there, 
 larger grey patches, that told of villages, lying low 
 by the twining, shining curves of the Esker, the river 
 that went midway down the valley, with the hills on 
 which the town was set on its southern side, and on 
 the other, twenty or more miles away from where the 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 55 
 
 priest and Dan were standing, a dim margin of moun- 
 tains, tossing in cool, blue waves from west to east. 
 
 The two young men sat silent, looking away down 
 the valley, absorbed in the beauty that lay before 
 them ; priest and visionary, layman and fighter, ahke 
 and yet different ; alike in their ardour and their 
 dreams, yet as widely apart in their upbringing and 
 their beHefs, as were the western from the eastern 
 bounds of the valley below them. 
 
 * I see sunsets here,' began the priest suddenly, 
 and stopped and sighed. * Such beauty ! Oh, my 
 God ! Mr. Palliser, I've stood here and looked down 
 that valley, and thought I was looking into heaven ! 
 And then I've waited, and watched the sky darkening 
 down into night, and I've almost wished I could die 
 before the morning, so that I might never know of the 
 deeds of darkness the night might bring forth ! ' 
 
 Dan was listening intently, leaning back on the 
 garden seat, with his brows lowered over his eyes, and 
 his legs stretched out in front of him, but as the priest's 
 voice died on the end of his sentence, he sat up. 
 
 * Quite true,' he said on the muffled bass note that 
 his voice dropped to when he was conscious of an access 
 of emotion that he could not repress, yet was ashamed 
 of showing ; ' but after that the sun rises, you know, 
 and you'd be sorry not to be there ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the priest ; * and it rises on smoking 
 police barracks and Irishmen murdered by their 
 brothers.' 
 
 * It won't go on,' said Dan, frowning, * an end must 
 come ' 
 
 ' But what is going to bring the end ? What is to 
 stop this work ? I lie awake at night thinking what 
 can I do, what can I say to the people ? ' 
 
56 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Dan stood up with his hands in his pockets, and 
 stared, unseeingly, down at the thin, soft brown hair 
 on Father Hugh's small head. All the training of his 
 life, all the influence of the Northern blood that was 
 in him, had been towards the strangling of sentiment, 
 the closing of every vent through which his views 
 might escape. He had always banked down his fires, 
 and no one suspected their intensity. He was that 
 potent, unpredictable force, an idealist who is also a man 
 of action, and — whether for his misfortune or his glory, 
 who shall say ? — his romance, his passion, was Ireland. 
 
 Now, as he listened to the priest's confession of 
 failure, some of the long thoughts that had smouldered 
 in him during nights and days in France and Palestine, 
 and during weary weeks in hospital, broke from their 
 restraint. 
 
 * What can you say to them ? ' he said hotly. 
 * There's plenty to say to them ! Good God ! If I 
 began to try and tell you what I'd say to them I should 
 be talking for a year ! ' 
 
 He swung round from Father Hugh, and looked 
 away over the valley to the hills. 
 
 In no country in the world are ideals as many, as 
 elusive, and as remote from actuality, as in Ireland. 
 Her lamentations and cries for a dehverer do not cease, 
 yet the answering voices cry in vain in a wilderness 
 of thorns, and briars, and cross-purposes, and crosser 
 people. She stones her prophets ; her old men dream 
 dreams, and her young men see visions, but the dreams 
 die in despair, and, as Daphne fled from her pursuer 
 and faded into a laurel tree, so do the visions fly and 
 fade, and the dreamer snatching at his dream finds 
 only— since this is not Greece, but Ireland — that he is 
 straining a furze bush to his bosom, and that its thorns 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 57 
 
 are the sole crown he has won for the Distressful 
 Country. 
 
 Dan Palliser, though he knew it not, was in the 
 succession of the martyrs. It is the common lot of 
 the ideaHst who tries to live his ideals, but Dan was 
 still young enough and strong enough to have faith in 
 the future, and, on this bright morning, confident 
 enough in the comprehending sympathy of the young 
 priest to try to put his faith into words. 
 
 ' Prosperity is what will bring peace ! ' he declared. 
 ' And education ! To knock the riches that are in it 
 out of the land — to teach the children to look ahead 
 and forget the past ' 
 
 ' But the blood — the spilt blood ! ' interrupted 
 Father Hugh, standing up and clasping his hands with 
 a gesture, conventional, yet perfectly sincere, of 
 despair. ' If Lady Macbeth could not wash away the 
 stain of her king's blood, what can be done for a 
 country that is drowning in the blood of her own sons, 
 shed by their brothers ? * 
 
 * We must plough it in ! ' said Dan, with his hands 
 in his pockets, and his eyes on the far hills, averted 
 from the appeal in the priest's pale, agitated face. 
 ' We've had enough of fighting — we've got to Speed 
 the Plough ! ' 
 
 * Ah, God help us ! ' said the priest, sinking like a 
 beaten man back on to the seat. ' What good can the 
 plough do ? ' 
 
 Dan looked down on him ; compassion and sym- 
 pathy were in his eyes. His manner changed. 
 
 * You're the only person I can talk to like this,' he 
 said, sitting down again and putting a friendly hand on 
 Fa her Hugh's knee. * I'll say just one thing more ■' 
 
 It is of no avail to record Dan's theories. There 
 
58 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 is little doubt that they were of the large and healthy 
 family of platitudes and truisms, methods and prin- 
 ciples, so correct, and so obvious, that nothing could 
 be less likely than that they should be put into prac- 
 tice in Irish politics. He stated his convictions as to 
 education, as to the improvement of agriculture, as 
 to the value of local effort apart from State aid. He 
 said that Ireland had always been encouraged in the 
 belief that if evil is committed with sufficient persist- 
 ence good will result from it. Here he laughed, the 
 laugh that is often heard in Ireland, in which contempt 
 and amusement and pessimism have an equal share. 
 
 ' That's been our past experience, anyhow ! Re- 
 forms painlessly extracted by Rebellions ! Well, I 
 won't waste time in abusing England, there are 
 plenty to do that without me. But it's impossible 
 to deny that, logically, the rebels can make out a 
 pretty good case for themselves. I can see their 
 point — it's their methods I don't like.' 
 
 Father Hugh listened in silence to this discourse, 
 which was indeed unanswerable, being a member of 
 the large and respectable family of speeches about 
 Ireland of which it is indulgently said that there is 
 ' the divil a lie in them.' There was a pause ; then 
 the young priest looked wanly at his visitor, and said : 
 
 ' D'ye know Eugene Cashen, Mr. Palhser ? Eugene- 
 the-Talk, they call him. No ? I'd Hke that you'd 
 meet him. He's a hot Sinn Feiner, to be sure— what 
 a little girl I was talking to yesterday told me she was 
 — " a lighting Sinn Feiner ! " — but he's a very well- 
 instructed man, and a nice man too, and he has that 
 way of putting a thing that 'tis impossible to contra- 
 dict him.' 
 
 Statements that admit of no argument do not 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 59 
 
 appeal very specially to a young gentleman of inde- 
 pendent views. Dan stood up and drew a long and 
 impatient breath. 
 
 * I'd like to meet Mr. Eugene-the-Talk well enough, 
 only that I'm sick of talk ! And now I must go and 
 hear the R.D.C. talk. You know they co-opted me 
 the other day ? ' 
 
 ' I heard it was old Nicholas Coyne got you elected/ 
 said the priest, looking at Dan for a moment. 
 
 ' So he did/ said Dan. ' I believe he and Jimmy 
 Ryan worked it between them. Jimmy was keen for 
 me to be on the Board, and I'm glad to be on it — it 
 brings me into touch with things rather more — the 
 things I'm interested in, you know.' 
 
 Father Hugh said nothing. Dan continued : 
 * There's another election coming on to-day — the 
 Clerk of the Union. I suppose there's the usual amount 
 of money flying about — bribes and so on ! I'm back- 
 ing Hyland, he's obviously the best man.' 
 
 * He is, but he'll not get it,' said Father Hugh 
 drearily, and with entire finality. 
 
 * Why not ? He told me he had canvassed the 
 members very satisfactorily, and if they keep their 
 promises ' 
 
 * Ah, they'll not ! ' interrupted the priest. ' He'll 
 not get it.' 
 
 * But why not ? ' said Dan impatiently. He hated 
 pessimism. 
 
 * There's too much money against him. You'll see 
 it'll be Tommy Sharvin that gets it. His father has 
 over two hundred spent already, and Mr. Coyne is 
 supporting Tommy. It's no good for you to distress 
 yourself at all, Mr. PaUiser, you'll see young Sharvin 
 will get it ! ' 
 
6o AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Dan began to walk up the weedy gravel path to 
 the house. He hated opposition ; almost more than 
 opposition he hated resignation, and Father Hugh's 
 voice had breathed resignation and the laying down 
 of useless arms. Arms were never useless, Dan 
 thought, or oughtn't to be. 
 
 * I met a friend of me own in Dublin not long 
 since,' said the priest, standing on his door-step while 
 his visitor prepared to depart. ' I was at Maynooth 
 with him. He's a nice fellow. He's a Jesuit. John 
 Coffey is his name. I was saying good-bye to him. He 
 was going out to China. He said he might never 
 come back, but anywhere in the world he was, if I'd 
 write to him and just to put Father John Coffey, S.J., 
 he'd get it. I said to him, " I would to God, John, I 
 was going with you ! " I said ; ''I'm heart-sick with 
 Ireland 1 '" 
 
 * I'm very glad you didn't go with him,' said Dan, 
 taking his limp hand, and pressing it. * You're wanted 
 here.* 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 The board-room of the Union at Eskragh was a long, 
 narrow apartment, in which a severe insistence on 
 business had excluded all merely decorative effort. 
 Its bare table, long and narrow like the room, and its 
 stony-hearted chairs, might have been the rudi- 
 mentary expression of the first cave-man's need for 
 furniture, so starkly adapted to their primary purposes 
 were they. The three tall, naked windows admitted 
 the sun's morning beams unflinchingly. There was 
 something even allegoric in their renunciation of blinds 
 or curtains. * Let us have God's daylight on our every 
 action ! ' they seemed to say on behalf of the occu- 
 pants of the room. But they did not open. In the 
 year 1850, or thereabouts, when the board-room was 
 built, draughts had not developed into ventilation, and 
 were regarded with suspicion. 
 
 The labours of the council began at eleven o'clock, 
 and, on this hot and sunny morning, when * Burning 
 June ' proceeded to * wave his red flag at pitch of 
 noon,' the temperature, mental and physical, of the 
 members, and the board-room, had risen to a point at 
 which no ordinary draught would have been per- 
 ceptible to the most sensitive organisation. Nor, it 
 may truly be said, was June's red flag ever waved 
 with more fiery abandon than was, metaphorically, 
 the national green banner by Baby Bullet and his 
 following. The turning-point in the debate on the 
 election had come with an oration from Mr. Coyne. 
 
6z AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 This, having opened with the assertion that Mr. 
 Sharvin's suitabiHty for the post under consideration 
 was sufficiently attested by the fact that, young 
 though he was, he had aheady, in the cause of Ireland, 
 spent three weeks in a British dungeon, had burgeoned 
 into an impassioned, if irrelevant, declaration of his — • 
 the Baby's — unalterable devotion to that sacred cause, 
 and, after a few laudatory excursions into the family 
 history of the Sharvins, had concentrated in a pane- 
 gyric of the father of the candidate — an occasion 
 which the orator deemed worthy of one of his two 
 stock classical quotations. 
 
 * Yes, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen,' the Baby had 
 perorated, ' all this pathriotism, this fidelitee to his 
 Church, this generositee to his native town, he gives 
 them all cum grano salis ! * 
 
 The breadth and fervour of Mr. Coyne's enuncia- 
 tion of the open vowels imparted tenderness to a 
 display of erudition that might otherwise have been 
 found chilling. The sentiment and the erudition were 
 equally applauded, one only of the listeners realising 
 that the Baby's alternative quotation, ' Pro bono 
 publico,' had been in his mind, though not on his 
 tongue. 
 
 Dan was too far sunk in depression to find consola- 
 tion in the thought. 
 
 ' Old ass ! ' he thought angrily. 
 
 In which estimate of the orator young Mr. Palliser 
 did very greatly err. He had yet to learn that beneath 
 these glittering bubbles of fancy there ran a strong 
 and steady tide of purpose. He had also to learn that 
 but few of his new colleagues had come to the meeting 
 without a pre-determined line of action, based upon 
 reasons that, though they might not commend them- 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 63 
 
 selves to him, were inherently sound and consistent. 
 He knew many of the members personally. He had 
 joined a Farmers' Society, of which he had been made 
 vice-chairman, and the hue of the rose-coloured glasses 
 through which he regarded his country was intensified 
 by many degrees by the impression made on him by 
 the men whom, at the meetings of the Society, he had 
 learnt to know, and to like, and to respect. Sound 
 men, sensible and clever, hard-working and friendly, 
 men of substance and character. It bewildered the 
 beginner at the game of local self-government to dis- 
 cover that these administrators, in their civic capacity, 
 recognised a different standard of morality from that 
 which influenced their private life and conduct. It 
 horrified him to find, unless his mentors, Jimmy Ryan 
 and Father Hugh, were mistaken, that the majority 
 of his fellow-councillors had sold their votes in advance, 
 and were here, as Jimmy said, to deliver the goods. 
 At the beginning of the proceedings Dan had urged that 
 the credentials of the rival candidates should be read 
 to the board, but this had been indignantly negatived 
 by one of Mr. Coyne's henchmen, who declared that 
 that'd only be putting another stumbling-block in 
 their way. What was the use, he asked, of bothering 
 with testimonials till they had the voting done ? 
 It'd be like killing a pig first and bleeding it afterwards. 
 The illustration was perhaps more picturesque than 
 apposite, but it carried the board with it, and Dan 
 withdrew his suggestion. 
 
 It was no more than his second experience of the 
 proceedings of the council, but the pangs of disillu- 
 sionment had already taken hold of him, and he had 
 rushed, possibly rather too hastily, to the conclusion 
 that its principles were controlled by money, and its 
 
64 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 arguments consisted of clamour and vituperation. It 
 amazed the new member to discover how complete 
 was the command of temper exercised by his fellows ; 
 that is to say, of violent temper. The scream of rage, 
 the rattle of personalities, were as sudden and as 
 startling as is the rush and roar of a train from a 
 tunnel. There had come moments in the course of 
 the debate when it seemed that the debaters must 
 inevitably pass from words to action. One such had 
 resulted from the speech of Mr. Coyne, and with the 
 suggestion of the chairman that the poll should be 
 taken, what the Press subsequently described as a 
 ' bout of fisticuffs * was only averted by the personal 
 efforts of Jimmy Ryan and a few others. Baby Bullet 
 had thrice exhorted one of his opponents to * conduct 
 himself ; thrice, because it was not until the third 
 admonition that his voice, which had been attuned 
 by nature for finer issues, penetrated the din. The 
 opponent then replied with the statement that it was 
 easy seen that Mr. Coyne had his share of drink taken, 
 to give him courage, for he had a face on him as red 
 as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat ; not content with this 
 trope, he went on to say that it was known to all that 
 Mr. Coyne's old mother had gone pucking at every 
 back door in the country, with a bag on her back, and 
 himself in it, begging spuds. 
 
 Mr. Coyne's indignation rendered him, for an 
 instant, inarticulate, but he lost but little time before 
 replying, with suitable spirit : 
 
 * Ye little weazel, ye ! ' he exclaimed. ' Ye dirty 
 little weazel ! ' 
 
 To Dan it seemed that the observation was not 
 noticeably out of key with much that had preceded 
 it, but its effect upon the gentleman referred to was 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 65 
 
 such that he was hardly held back from a personal 
 assaiilt upon Mr. Coyne. 
 
 Then, above the tumult, the voice of a peacemaker 
 was heard addressing the infuriated weazel. 
 
 * If ye go to hit annyone, Timsey, go and hit a 
 man ! What good is it to ye to fight a feather bed, 
 and it having a Baby in it ? ' 
 
 Cheers and laughter greeted this olive-branch, 
 while, like the pealing of a church bell in a beleagured 
 town, the stentorian voice of Jimmy Ryan continued 
 to shout ' Poll ! Poll ! ' 
 
 Dan Palliser, patriot and reformer, sat in silence, 
 feeling as might a man in a bombardment, whose 
 home and hopes are crashing on his head. How, with 
 such materials as these, was he, or anyone else, to 
 build Jerusalem in Ireland's green and pleasant land ? 
 Then he became aware that the outgoing clerk was 
 engaged, in the hot heart of the battle, in taking a 
 poll, and that the belligerents, in intervals between war- 
 cries, were, with perfect sanity, recording their votes. 
 
 The clerk handed in the result. For Mr. P. J. 
 Hyland, 14 votes ; for Mr. T. Sharvin, 23. 
 
 * I have the pleasure to announce that Mr. Thomas 
 Sharvin is elected Clerk of the Rural District Council 
 of Eskragh ! ' shouted the chairman to the gentlemen 
 of the press, and the gentlemen of the press, who had 
 ior some time laid down their pens, fell upon the 
 information with avidity. 
 
 Dan left the room, while what the pubhc was 
 subsequently assured by one organ was * cheers and 
 counter-cheers,' and was defined by another as ' up- 
 roar,' followed him into the street. 
 
 His friend, Jimmy Ryan, also followed him, 
 laughing. 
 
66 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' Well, the Baby's a great old boy-o ! * he said, 
 with what seemed to Dan revolting cynicism. ' I 
 thought we had him bet this time, but he was too 
 good for us ! ' 
 
 ' I don't see anything to laugh at,' said Dan. 
 
 ' Well, but aren't they great play-boys ? ' per- 
 sisted Mr. Ryan, still laughing, thoroughly appreciative 
 of the flavour of the recent scene. ' They were in 
 grand forr'm altogether ! Wasn't that a good one 
 about the feather bed and the Baby in it ? I thought 
 I'd have died laughing ! That little Timsey Coadey's 
 the divil painted when he's vexed ! ' 
 
 ' They make me sick,' said Dan. 
 
 ' Ah ! don't mind them too much, they're not all 
 out too bad,' extenuated Jimmy. ' Wait till you're 
 at the job a bit longer, Mr. Dan. Ye can't have it all 
 your own way at the first offer ! ' 
 
 ' Damn it, man ! What do I care about my way ? ' 
 said Dan furiously. ' All I wanted was to get the 
 best man chosen.' 
 
 He flung himself on to his bicycle, and swept off 
 at a speed ill befitting a magistrate in the streets of 
 the town in which he administers justice. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 La Beat Teinne, whose meaning is the Day of Baal's 
 Fire, and whose pronunciation may be given approxi- 
 mately as ' Law Bawl thinne,' has been, from all the 
 ages, the first of May. The name has fallen to us 
 through the centuries, and lies, like a meteorite on 
 the heather on a hillside, dark and mysterious, 
 unnoticed in the peasant speech of Ireland, among 
 invocations of saints, and * Hail Marys ! ' and pas- 
 sionate phrases of mother-love and domesticity ; all 
 that is least akin to what may be imagined of the 
 obscure ferocities of Baal's priests. 
 
 But though the first day of May, which was in 
 ancient Ireland the first day of summer, was the day 
 of Baal, it is on the Eve of St. John, June 23, that 
 now the Baal fires are lit. 
 
 Dan Palhser, as has been said, was, like many 
 another man of action, at heart a sentimentalist ; he 
 Hked to think that it was the influence of his grand- 
 mother, who was one of the fairy clan of the O'Shees, 
 that drove him out on St. John's Eve to set the furze 
 ahght on the hills. In the last June of the war, lying 
 beside his horse on a hillside in Palestine, he had 
 remembered the venerable rite, and thought of Ehjah 
 and the beaten priests of Baal. ' It might have been 
 this very hill ! ' he said to the comrade of his vigil, 
 and the comrade had profanely quoted Mark Twain, 
 and had said that a httle parafhn and a box of matches 
 would have made all the difference. 
 
68 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 St. John's Eve had come again, and Dan was back 
 in Ireland now. As he walked home, late in the 
 evening, from the hayfield, where the men had worked 
 extra time, the smell of burning furze was already 
 sharp in his nostrils, and after dinner, when he 
 wandered into the garden, long swathes of dusky 
 smoke lay level in the still air over the country beyond 
 the lake. 
 
 ' I'll go up and Ught the hill back of Monalour,' he 
 said to himself. ' Baal shall have his rights, or his 
 rites, whichever way he likes to spell it ! * 
 
 SimpHcity was the most prominent feature in 
 Dan's sense of humour. It may be questioned if such 
 a sense had been bestowed on him, but the question, 
 had he heard it, would have offended him very deeply. 
 Every young man is confident that he has been 
 endowed by Nature with the touchstone of humour. 
 Of Dan it would be nearer the truth to say that his 
 natural seriousness was sometimes dispelled by the 
 lightheartedness that is common to most youthful 
 beings, from boys and girls to calves and kittens. 
 The young are seldom humorous, for humour is the 
 shadow that Hfe throws on laughter. 
 
 Dan, with his evening trousers turned up, and with 
 tennis shoes over his silk socks, cautiously skirted 
 Monalour House, and its windows, by those devious 
 paths that are known only to those who have been 
 the children of a house, and paused a moment for 
 observation at a convenient place of ambush. The 
 dining-room windows were wide open, but the blinds 
 were down. Lord Ducarrig detested ' summer-time ' 
 and dayhght dinners. Margins of Hght were round 
 the bhnds ; Dan thought of his recent dinner there, 
 and thanked heaven that he was where he was — 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 69 
 
 * Unless I knew for certain that I were going to hear 
 her sing again/ he qualified the thanksgiving. 
 
 He went on through the yard, and up the back 
 avenue through the darkness under the dense foliage 
 of its oaks, whistling softly the air of one of those 
 pontifical songs that Lady Ducarrig's voice had con- 
 secrated anew for him. At the back of his mind there 
 was ever a tune, even as in the marshy places of his 
 own hills, the grass and the wild flowers had their 
 roots in water. 
 
 Up, on the hill, above the fields into which the 
 dairy cows were driven from the byre for their nightly 
 pasturage, he offered the first tribute to the pagan 
 past. The last few days had been dry and hot, and 
 the furze lit and blazed with quick response to his 
 fire. There is something inherently attractive in 
 incendiarism ; many methods of destruction can be 
 exhilarating, but none are as decorative. Very soon 
 leaping streams of red fire and whirling coils and 
 billows and banners of smoke, brown and fawn, 
 golden and dove-blue, were rolling and tumbling in 
 an ever-changing yet ordered tumult. They rushed 
 westward, on the light wind, between Dan and the 
 rest of the world, while, etherially remote from the 
 coarse storm of fire and smoke below, wildly fluttering 
 wisps of pink and orange flame flickered upwards, like 
 the tongues of myriad serpents, and vanished thinly 
 in the still air. 
 
 The upper stretches of the hill were thickly over- 
 grown with tall furze-bushes, and the spirit of the 
 farmer abetted the spirit of destruction. These 
 blackened stems, arising from drifts of grey ashes, 
 whose fierce life had been appropriately sacrificed on 
 Baal's altar, should make way for green grass for 
 
70 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 mild dairy cows. Dan v/ent to the western limits of 
 his land and worked slowly back, against the wind, 
 to the high knoll above the farmyard, lighting the 
 furze as he came. The lake lay far off and pale, 
 half hidden in smoke, beyond the grassy levels of the 
 lawn. A few stars were in the sky. He looked at 
 his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. But that was 
 EngHsh time. * It's only half -past eight,' he thought. 
 * Baal shall have another blaze.' Uppermost in the 
 weaving melodies in his mind came the chorus of the 
 priests of Baal from the * Elijah.' ' Oh, Baal, hear us ! 
 Oh, Baal, hear us ! ' he sang out in his strong bass. 
 The chorus was taken up by a voice behind him. 
 
 * Hear, oh hear, and answer us ! ' 
 
 In all his surprise he had not an instant of uncer- 
 tainty as to whose the voice was. He swung round, 
 knowing perfectly that it was Lady Ducarrig who had 
 finished the phrase. 
 
 * I was walking in the garden after dinner, in the 
 cool of the evening,' she said, * Hke Adam and Eve — 
 at least partly, not as to costume — and I saw the fires, 
 and thought there might be a Sinn Fein rising, so I 
 came out to see the fun.' 
 
 Dan felt, as he told himself, clod-hopperish and 
 inadequate. This fine lady was herself so very much 
 cooler than the evening, with her talk about Adam 
 and Eve and their costumes. And her own costume, 
 her tea-gown — or whatever it was — misty and many- 
 coloured, with parts of it that shone like a fish's 
 scales, and other parts that had the sparkle of jewels 
 in them ; and her beauty, her careless, conscious, 
 unconscious beauty, which she was so used to, so he 
 thought, that she had given up realising it — he 
 couldn't cope with her ; she had made him look like 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 71 
 
 a fool once and she would do it again. Confound Baal, 
 and his fires too, that had let him in for this ! 
 
 Car Ducarrig, entirely aware of her landlord's 
 perturbations, selected with dehberation a smooth 
 lump of rock and seated herself upon it. Then she 
 asked him for a cigarette. 
 
 He handed her his case and a box of matches. 
 
 ' No, give me a light from one of your heathen 
 bonfires. Matches put it all out of key ! ' 
 
 Dan searched and found a long dry stem of bracken ; 
 he lit it at the nearest flame and held it for her. 
 
 * How nice of you to have been here ! This is just 
 what I wanted,' she said, with the light and lazy drawi 
 that gave her voice a subtle attraction. * Do sit down. 
 You're so tall, I feel as if I were talking to a rook in 
 the top of a tree.' (' I'll shake him out of his idiotic 
 shyness before I've done with him ! ' she thought.) 
 
 * I'm sorry,' said Dan humbly. He sat down on 
 the heather and began to Hght a cigarette, while Car 
 talked on idly about nothing at all, just to quiet him, 
 as she said to herself, considering him the while, de- 
 bating with herself as to his handling, as a trainer 
 might ponder over alternative methods of bitting a 
 nervous colt. 
 
 The subject under consideration, unaware that he 
 was being sliced in section and prepared for the micro- 
 scope, leaned back on his couch of dry and springy 
 heather, smoking, and — for the love of beauty will 
 master shyness — finding himself unable to keep his 
 eyes from watching Lady Ducarrig's face. They were 
 on the very ridge of the hill. He saw her against the 
 wondrous background of summer-night sky, that was 
 Hke an opal in its iridescent pallor and changefulness. 
 He began to think that if he could venture deeper into 
 
72 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 the sheer beauty of her eyes he might find sympathy 
 beneath their serenity. Good-fellowship was in her 
 voice certainly, with all its coolness and indifference. 
 He began to feel peace flowing round him, and to be 
 able to yield himself to the mere sensuous pleasure of 
 looking at her ; even, once, of letting his eyes meet hers 
 and look in them for what he believed he might find 
 there. 
 
 Car Ducarrig had that afternoon had a visit from 
 Dan's cousin, Miss Katie de Vere, and it is probable 
 that had he guessed that Katie had given herself the 
 pleasure of expounding him, the sense of reassurement, 
 together with the dawning behef that he might find 
 in Lady Ducarrig a sympathetic Hstener to the sub- 
 jects that engrossed him, would have expired without 
 a sound. * My dear Lady Ducarrig,* Miss de Vere had 
 said, ' he and my unfortunate cousin, his father, have 
 been, quite simply, squashed by Georgina Palliser ! ' 
 To which Lady Ducarrig had repHed, ' Do tell me all 
 about it, and when you get to the squashing part, go 
 very slowly/ 
 
 Katie de Vere had not required urging. Her 
 powers of description were considerable, and were 
 restrained by no hampering reticences. 
 
 * At this very moment, big as he is, Georgina is 
 capable of putting him across her knee and spanking 
 him well if he didn't do exactly as she told him ! ' 
 Katie had declared. * But I'm not so sure that he will 
 stand it much longer. The war stiffened him, I think. 
 I beheve she'll find him a very different proposition 
 from poor old Henry ! Sons take after their mothers, 
 you know ! . . . She wants to marry him to Eileen 
 Caulfield and keep them both under her thumb— but, 
 I wonder ! ' (' Oh, so thafs it, is it ? ' Car thought. 
 * Poor Sir Daniel ! ') 'I don't think he's interested 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 73 
 
 in Eileen, or any girl. It's all farming and politics 
 with him now — I only hope he'll not go too far and 
 get himself into trouble ' 
 
 Thus did Miss de Vere expound her young kinsman, 
 feeling that she did so in safety, since (being a person of 
 shrewdness) she recognised that Lady Ducarrig was a 
 young woman who knew how to hold her tongue. 
 
 Up on the high places of the hill over Monalour the 
 Hght faded slowly. A wide country lay around, and 
 deep in it, and through it, on every side, the points of 
 fire twinkled through drifting smoke. Just below the 
 topmost ridge a great brake crackled and spat and 
 roared, and the flames rushed past in veils of eddying 
 smoke. Close to Dan and Car a Uttle fire was nibbling 
 its way Hke a rabbit through low heather. On the far 
 north-western horizon day's fires, also, were still alight, 
 a strange yellow flare, against which the serrated out- 
 Unes of the mountains beyond the Vale of Esker 
 showed sharp. Round the two watchers on the ridge 
 the smoke swirled, sometimes thin as a veil, sometimes 
 in dense dun-coloured billows. They sat in silence, 
 gazing at it, hypnotised by its ever-changing monotony. 
 
 Car was the first to speak. 
 
 ' This is what it will be like when we die — Mystery ! 
 
 *' And the souls mounting up to God 
 Went by her like thin flames," ' 
 
 she said, as if she were speaking to herself. Then she 
 looked at Dan. * Do you know you look exactly Uke 
 Rodin's " Penseur." What are you thinking about ? ' 
 
 * I'm wondering if any of those fires are police 
 barracks,' said Dan, in a low voice ; he was sitting up, 
 staring in front of him, his chin on his hand. 
 
 ' You know,' Car said, ' I know nothing about this 
 Irish mess. Every one I meet tells me every one else 
 
 F 
 
74 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 is all wrong and ought to be shot. I can arrive at 
 nothing more helpful or constructive than that ! ' 
 
 ' I can assure you that they'd all agree in the ad- 
 vantage of wiping out people like me ! ' said Dan, with 
 a laugh that had no mirth in it. ' " Mr. Facing-both- 
 ways " is what they would call me, if they ever read 
 anything but the newspapers. But they don't.' 
 
 Car looked at his strong profile ; the low, over- 
 hanging brow, the short, straight nose, the sharp-cut 
 mouth, and what Eileen had called his big rock of a 
 chin. 
 
 * I should have said you looked like a fighter ! Not 
 at all like Mr. Facing-both-ways.' 
 
 * But I am, though,' said Dan, ' because I see good 
 on both sides, and that's fatal. Also, I'm sick of 
 fighting. I've had enough of it.' 
 
 He rose from the heather and stood, looking 
 enormous, between Car and the dim sky. In the 
 curious isolation of this high place, remote, smoke- 
 curtained from the world, the spell of her personahty 
 had made him forget his shyness. 
 
 * There's one thing I'm certain of,' he went on. 
 ' There's no big lot of Irishmen are bad fellows, but 
 there are blackguards everywhere, and they're the 
 ones you hear most about. Don't believe that they're 
 all blackguards ! ' he said, with sudden vehemence ; 
 * Look at this country ! The police gone, our arms 
 taken from us, either by raiders or by the Govern- 
 ment — it comes to the same thing ! Our houses ab- 
 solutely defenceless — a baby could get into any house 
 in the country if it wanted to, at any hour of the day 
 or night — and what happens ? My mother, and the 
 rest of them, who want to " drench the country with 
 blood," go to bed, and sleep as peacefully as if they 
 were in London — and with far less chance of being 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 75 
 
 burgled ! ' he added, with a fleeting touch of satis- 
 faction that not in all things was England superior 
 to his country. 
 
 Car's grey eyes, lit with interest, met his. She felt 
 as if he had let fall a domino and shown her himself, or 
 as if the deep smoke had parted and revealed its heart 
 of fire. 
 
 Dan rushed on with his theme, casting at her feet 
 the headlong confidences of a shy soul whose guards 
 are down. 
 
 * Even these murders of policemen and soldiers — • 
 whoever commits them, they say there's a murder-gang 
 — God knows I don't defend them ! Call them as 
 brutal and cowardly and senseless as you like, I'll go 
 all the way with you, but at least you must admit that 
 they're not personal, not done for private interests, 
 or money, or for what is called Love — in England ! ' 
 He flung out the word hotly. * I'm tired of all the 
 abuse going one way ! ' He ended on a note of defiance. 
 
 * But please, Mr. Palliser,' said Car, laughing at 
 him, ' I'm not abusing anyone, and I'll admit anything 
 you like, and I'm not English ! only a sort of mongrel 
 — ^Irish and English — and a touch of Spanish too, I 
 believe ! ' 
 
 He was standing beside her ; as she rose from her 
 seat on the rock, she stumbled and caught at his arm, 
 steadying herself ; her hand, a lovely hand, white, 
 sensitive, flashing with rings, rested there for an instant. 
 
 Dan's apologies died on his lips ; his rage with 
 himself for having laid aside the armour of his reserve 
 was forgotten. Unknowingly he had shown her his 
 heart, he had worn it on his sleeve ; but, after all, had 
 he not done well to wear it there, since thus it had 
 come to pass that so lovely a hand should have been 
 laid upon it ? 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Dan Palliser had said to his friend, Father Hugh 
 Macnamara, that it was the small local efforts that 
 counted. He set himself to make good his assertion, 
 and was not long in discovering that, however small 
 and local an effort may be, few things count for much 
 without considerable expenditure of energy. Also, 
 that even energy will fail unless that force, whose pre- 
 cise definition is evaded in the word * personality,' in- 
 forms and irradiates it, as the electric currents hiss and 
 glow at the heart of the engine. He felt this instinc- 
 tively, knowing, not as theory, but as fact, that the 
 conduct of what he and his fellows were in the habit 
 of calling ' stunts ' could not be deputed. Even in the 
 case of a ' stunt ' that had begun to move, if he left it 
 to a deputy its life drooped. Nothing but the substi- 
 tution of himself for the deputy could revive it. With 
 his election to the District Council he believed that his 
 opportunity had come. He thought that it gave him 
 a standpoint, and that his declaration that he had no 
 politics was enough to persuade the men of the class 
 that produces the fiercest and most bigoted politicians 
 in the world, to set their own views on one side and to 
 follow him. He was going to calm Ireland by means 
 of continuous cropping, to engross her superfluous ener- 
 gies in milk records. He preached Co-operation in all its 
 aspects — farm implements, materials, creameries. It 
 has been said that only an Irishman would attempt 
 to establish co-operation by means of separators. The 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST ^'j 
 
 jest, had Dan even perceived it, would not have moved 
 him, even to a frown. His feelings on the subject of 
 agriculture might be summarised in the saying of 
 another earnest Irishman : ' There's some things is too 
 serious for joking — and one o' them's potatoes I ' 
 
 Day after day Dan rode through the country, ex- 
 plaining, exhorting, entreating, trying to make crooked 
 places straight, and to make plain what he believed to 
 be the Way of the Lord. Who dares to say that he 
 failed — that any faithful effort fails ? The messenger's 
 heart may break in what has seemed fruitless en- 
 deavour, but it may be that his message has set some- 
 thing moving whose issues are beyond his knowledge 
 and are independent of his fate. 
 
 Dan found himself unable to decide if his messages 
 were or were not appreciated. On the whole, he 
 feared, not. Discouraging, perhaps, yet difficulty is 
 stimulating to an energetic young man, whose activities 
 at home had hitherto been straitly limited by his 
 parents to supervising the lawn-tennis ground and 
 exercising his own horse. Until the old Colonel's 
 death, Dan had never, since he was ten years old, lived 
 at home, officially and permanently. Holidays from 
 school, vacations from Cambridge, leaves from the 
 Army — these were all only visits, enjoyable and quite 
 irresponsible. Then, during the past two years, there 
 had ensued the Agricultural College. Dan returned 
 three times a year from his classes of intensive in- 
 struction in scientific farming, burning with theories, 
 on fire to put them into practice. His father and Tom 
 McLoughlen listened respectfully to the theories, and 
 would as soon have put them into practice as they 
 would have gone into the fair at Eskragh prepared to 
 obey the instructions given to the Apostles. 
 
78 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 And if the comparatively easy-going Colonel shut 
 his ears to the knocking on the door of the young 
 generation, it is not too much to say that Mrs. Palliser 
 shut, not only her ears, but also the door, and slammed 
 and bolted it. The departed Colonel, looking down 
 from the cloud just over Monalour (on which, if choice 
 were left him in the matter, he would certainly have 
 established himself) probably realised too late that 
 the repression of Dan had been a mistake. But Mrs. 
 Palliser, entrenched in the Lake House drawing-room, 
 iron reactionary and thwarted autocrat, not sharing 
 her husband's elevated point of view, refused to admit 
 defeat. Let Dan burst into follies of farming if he 
 liked, and indulge in frenzies of fraternity with those 
 whom she unhesitatingly stigmatised as rebels (or, 
 in any case, persons whose politics differed from hers). 
 Dan might forget his position ; but she retained hers, 
 and it was a position of vantage. Though the demesne 
 of Monalour might belong to him, and the house was 
 his, her faithful Henry had left to her not only the 
 Lake House, but also the furniture of Monalour. Mrs. 
 Palliser (who loved cliches) told herself that she held 
 the keys of the position. 
 
 It is, no doubt, a very general habit of mothers, 
 human and otherwise, to love their offspring, and Dan's 
 mother was, strictly speaking, no exception to this 
 rule. But methods of expressing affection vary. It 
 had happened to Lizzie, at an earlier period of her 
 career, to have brought forth a son. Beginning with 
 jealous and intemperate adoration, she had moved 
 rapidly on to boredom ; then, as the creature, that had 
 so bewilderingly forced his entrance into her world, 
 grew older, she discovered possibilities in him as a 
 playmate. She played ; an acrid play that had in it 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 79 
 
 all the potential ferocity of the War-Game. The son, 
 who had grown as much larger than his mother as she 
 exceeded him in force of character, was more frightened 
 than gratified. He responded with a lumbering imi- 
 tation of her methods that seldom failed to raise the 
 game from the status of play to that of business. But 
 did Peggy, as sometimes happened, attempt to join 
 in the fray, the family ranks closed and an unbroken 
 front was presented. 
 
 It is not pretended that the case of Lizzie applies 
 precisely to Mrs. Palliser ; for one thing, she never 
 played. But it may pass as a general indication of her 
 attitude. These things being so, it was fortunate that, 
 when Dan first entered upon public life, Mrs. Palliser, 
 in the new freedom of widowhood, had betaken herself 
 to her early home in Ulster, there to circulate among 
 married sisters, in a series of visits whose many fervid 
 incidents might have inspired the reflection that 
 although blood is undoubtedly thicker than water, it 
 is its only point of superiority. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser's only child, thus abandoned, found 
 himself uncomplainingly grateful for the empty and 
 silent house. Even the servants, save one ancient, 
 left to minister to him, were away on holidays. He 
 and Lizzie and Peggy came and went as they pleased. 
 Dan's pamphlets on co-operative societies, on green 
 crops and silage, on milk yields and Friesian cattle, 
 were thick on tables, chairs and floors. The dogs lay 
 lawlessly on sofas, and begged without rebuff at meals. 
 Dan sat up half the night, with Lizzie in rigid slumber 
 on his knees, reading, brooding, preparing statistics 
 for his next Farmers' Meeting. His profoundest 
 emotions were absorbed in the dream of a Friesian 
 herd ; the thought of a thousand-gallon cow stirred 
 
8o AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 him as the thought of the Sacred Cow of Plenty might 
 thrill a Hindu worshipper. But concurrently with 
 these interests a discomfortable thought pursued him ; 
 he knew that however aloof he might, ostensibly, 
 stand from Irish politics, his inner convictions had 
 begun to diverge from the creed that had boomed in 
 his ears from his youth up. * I'm not a Unionist,' he 
 reflected, ' and I'm certainly not a Sinn Feiner. I 
 suppose I'm among the half-tones, what they call 
 " pastel tints " — " Mr. Facing-both-ways " ? No, hang 
 it ! I'm nothing ! ' 
 
 He placed Lizzie, petrified like an Ammonite in a 
 stony coil, on the sofa, and walked to the open window 
 and looked out into the summer night. There was a 
 faint light from a young moon. He saw a fox steal 
 out of the shrubbery and cross the little lawn, and he 
 wished him luck with the rabbits that were devastating 
 the flower garden. Then he thought of the night he 
 had been out on the hill, St. John's Eve, and something 
 purely physical caught him, and held him still, as he 
 remembered the voice that had completed his own 
 snatch of singing, the hand that had touched the heart 
 on his sleeve. He sat on the window-sill and swung 
 his long legs out, and walked on to the dewy grass, and 
 then, inconsequently, he said aloud to the few little 
 stars that were opening their eyes in the pale sky 
 ' But by George ! What a voice ! ' And wh*at a 
 night too ! Mild and mysterious ; how could he go 
 to bed and lie down and sleep ? His strong youth 
 rejoiced in him, but it disquieted him too ; a tide of 
 vitality, racing like a mill-stream, and no available 
 mill to be turned ! If only the day were here, and he 
 could go and hustle the farm men, or ride away and 
 beat up recruits for the milk record scheme. He had 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 8i 
 
 walked down the shrubbery path without thinking, 
 and found himself standing on the sward by the lake 
 side, close to the boulder on which he and Eileen had 
 seen Lady Ducarrig sitting. Lizzie had slipped, 
 shadow-like, after him. Now she sat on his instep, 
 disHking the dew. A low ground-mist hung over the 
 Big Lawn. He could just see the dim shapes of his 
 cows lying down, and, a little farther away in the 
 greyness, the farm-horses standing, tearing mouthfuls 
 of grass with sleepless appetite. He moved in among 
 the cattle, trying to identify them, filled with prosaic, 
 pastoral speculations as to their possible achievements 
 in dairy efforts. Was a future thousand-gallon heroine 
 latent among them ? He strayed on over the grass, 
 while little Lizzie flitted like a white moth round 
 him, tracking down rabbits, now and then wafted 
 in trepidation from her intentions by the gusty, 
 angrily-expelled breath of a startled cow. The house 
 that had been his father's — he could not even yet feel 
 that it was his — was a denser grey shadow at the 
 farther end of the lawn. It was but little past ten 
 o'clock and some lights pierced the shadow. He went 
 nearer, and the delicate sound of a piano came to him 
 through the quiet night. His wandering steps lost 
 their indefiniteness. This was luck coming to him. 
 The night wanted but music. He went in long strides 
 to the bridge across the sunk fence, while the sound 
 deepened and gained body, and that strange convic- 
 tion of romance that can sometimes be born of 
 music made by one unseen, coming out of the 
 hidden secret of a house to a listener in the open 
 air, came upon him. He crossed the bridge, and 
 keeping in the gloom of the shrubs, crept nearer. 
 The music ceased. Dan waited ; he thought that 
 
82 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 the intensity of his desire to hear her voice again 
 must have effect. 
 
 Perhaps that was in truth the reason that gradually, 
 almost as a perfume makes itself felt, her voice stole to 
 his ear. There are possibly many, like Dan Palliser, 
 who keep in their hearts an ideal conception of how the 
 songs that to them mean music's self should be sung ; 
 but not to many, as to him, is it given to wait unseen 
 in the sweet night, and to hear their ideal clothed upon, 
 given a life beyond their dreams, poured in golden 
 sound into the empty air, as lavishly as the sun pours 
 his gold into an empty and lonely mountain valley. 
 He stood there, lost to everything but the joy of 
 hearing. She sang on ; the great songs that he knew 
 and worshipped, and had never thought to hear as he 
 now heard them ; other songs that he had half known, 
 without understanding what beauty they could be 
 made to yield ; and then a few brief folk songs, clear 
 and soft and gentle as the dew on the grass in the dark- 
 ness behind him. 
 
 He had been drawn irresistibly to the open French 
 window by which the piano stood, hardly knowing what 
 he was doing. He leaned his head against the wall 
 of the house, beyond the reach of the light ; tears were 
 in his eyes, tears of that senseless emotion that has 
 its unexplainable, senseless origin in the senses. Time 
 and the world stood still. Dan Palliser, struggHng 
 farmer, disregarded reformer, existed no more, nor was 
 there any more an incalculable, disquieting Lady Du- 
 carrig. He was a listener, she was a voice, divine and 
 golden . . . 
 
 The voice ceased, there were a few faint trailing 
 sprays of notes, like a dim illumination at the foot 
 of a page of a missal, and the piano ceased too. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 83 
 
 Dan came back with a jerk as he heard Car 
 Ducarrig say, ' And who, may I inquire, are you ? ' 
 
 He knew himself to be invisible, and waited. ' Get 
 up, you absurd little thing ! I remember you now.' 
 
 Then he knew that Lizzie had pried her way into 
 the room, and was, according to her practice when in 
 doubt, doing * Poojah,' lying on her side, feebly pawing 
 the air, in exemplification of her belief in the axiom 
 that it is impossible to strike where there is neither 
 fear nor resistance. 
 
 ' You must go home, you know — though how I'm 
 to get you there ' 
 
 Lizzie's shamefaced proprietor stepped out into 
 the fan of light from the open window. 
 
 'I'm so sorry,' he began, * I heard you singing, I 
 couldn't help coming ' 
 
 ' But why shouldn't you come ? I was only 
 singing to please myself, but I love an audience.' 
 
 Dan's eyes, looking beyond her, saw, at the far 
 end of the farther room, a black recumbent form upon 
 the old sofa that he knew so well. A newspaper 
 sheltered the face from the light of the lamps, on the 
 floor was a board bespread with patience cards. 
 
 ' Oh yes, Arnold's there. Happily for him my 
 singing puts him to sleep. I daresay he'll wake now.* 
 
 The newspaper rustled to the floor. Lord Ducarrig 
 awoke with a snort and sat up. 
 
 * Who's there ? ' he said, with the irritation of a 
 gentleman whose sleep has been broken. * Why the 
 devil do you keep that window open, Car ? ' A 
 further realisation of the conditions came to him. 
 * Who's that out there ? * he asked sharply. 
 I ' You needn't agitate yourself, my dear,' said Car, 
 in her indifferent voice. * It isn't a raid — there are no 
 
84 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Sinn Feiners ! It's only the landlord come to accuse 
 me of maltreating his piano 1 ' 
 
 Ducarrig rose, and walked stiffly through the two 
 long rooms to the window outside of which Dan was 
 still standing. 
 
 ' Oh, it's you, PaUiser, is it ? Ton my soul, I 
 thought it was some of those damned raiders come for 
 my guns ! Come in, won't you ? ' 
 
 Dan made explanations and apologies. 
 
 ' I heard the music ■ ' 
 
 ' And that brought you, did it ? By Jove ! Funny 
 how tastes differ ! But please continue the entertain- 
 ment. Don't let me spoil sport. Thank God I can 
 always go to sleep.' 
 
 Lord Ducarrig, red and puffy with after dinner 
 sleep, angry at having been needlessly alarmed and 
 awakened, was not at his best. Dan found it difficult 
 to decide if his manner or his appearance were the more 
 unattractive. He waited with confidence for the fire 
 that must surely fall from Heaven and consume the 
 blasphemer. It came not, but Lady Ducarrig's smile 
 as she looked at her husband, seemed to Dan to have 
 a quality in it that would have scorched most people. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 June had gone out in torrents, and July came in with 
 the weather that is called close, presumably because 
 of the nearness to earth of the canopy of the sky ; with 
 hot, grey, steaming days, beloved of flies, days when 
 cattle put their tails over their backs and run, and 
 people look sapiently at the low heavens and say 
 thunder is coming. 
 
 Dan rode a tall, well-bred young mare through his 
 own land and over some of his own fences (which she 
 jumped gallantly, but ignorantly) until he came to 
 a gate in the demesne wall. Beyond the wall was the 
 road, and on the road, mounted on a fidgeting three- 
 year-old who was several sizes too small for him, was 
 Jimmy Ryan, waiting for him. 
 
 * Very good,' said Jimmy, looking at his watch, 
 * 'Tis this minyute only I'm here ; I'm glad I wasn't 
 waiting on you ! Them flies have the Horseen mad 
 altogether 1 ' 
 
 The three-year-old he was riding here justified the 
 statement by a composite movement of annoyance, 
 that included the salient features of a buck and a 
 plunge, and culminated in a kick that missed the 
 shining chestnut shoulder of Dan's mare by very little. 
 
 ' Oh fie, fie ! ' said Jimmy, beating his infant mount 
 heavily with an ash plant. * It's little I'd be on the 
 roads with him, this weather at all, only for the Show 
 commytee meeting, and the promise I gave the poor 
 old Baby.' 
 
86 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' What did you promise him ? ' 
 
 ' That I'd vote for him getting the coal contract, 
 sure ; and this is the day it'll be settled/ repHed 
 Jimmy ; he leant over backwards and slapped, 
 weightily, a horse-fly that was maddeningly out of 
 reach of the three-year-old's switching tail. * Did he 
 speak to you at all ? ' 
 
 * He did, but I didn't promise anything/ 
 
 ' I'll say this for the Baby,' said Jimmy, with a 
 large candour, * the coal he had last year was the best 
 value was in it, but they outvoted him. Monaghan 
 had them well regulated ! And it was dirty stuff 
 Monaghan had after all, for I seen it. Half stones 
 it was. I was on the House Commytee. I b'lieve 
 it's the same he has again, but they say the old Baby 
 has a cargo of the best this year — and indeed what he 
 had last year was good too. They had a right to have 
 give him the contract.' 
 
 ' That old chap always strikes me as being the very 
 cut of a rogue,' said Dan carelessly. 
 
 ' Rogue or no,' said Jimmy, with a carelessness 
 equally serene and far more artistic, ' it's his coal I'll 
 vote for. His coal's all right whatever himself is ! ' 
 
 The neophyte, listening attentively, decided to do 
 the same ; but he did not say so, having vowed to his 
 conscience never to divulge his intentions as to voting 
 until the time arrived to declare them officially, a vow 
 inspired by a righteous hatred of that ' method of 
 obtaining votes ' of which Baby Bullet had boasted 
 himself of being the introducer, and that, in this par- 
 ticular instance, caused Mr. Ryan, as a man of honour, 
 to suffer acute anxiety, until his disciple justified the 
 preparation bestowed on him, and voted what was 
 spoken of as * The Baby's Way/ 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST Sy 
 
 The competition, like the weather, was hot and 
 close. Every vote was keenly awaited, and the Baby 
 triumphed by a majority of one only. 
 
 ' Our vote ! ' thought Jimmy Ryan. ' I'll not let the 
 old lad hear the end 'o that in a hurry ! I'll rub it well 
 into him ! * 
 
 Mr. Coyne's gratitude, however, needed no massage. 
 He followed Dan out of the board-room. 
 
 * Mr. PalHser, sir ! A word with you ! ' 
 
 He laid hold of as much of Dan's big fist as his 
 little pulpy paw could enclose, and oscillated it. * I'm 
 proud to see that you are a young gentleman that 
 recognises the obligations that circumstances impose 
 upon a man of honour ! ' Thus Baby Bullet, wheezing 
 squeakily, or squeaking wheezily ; (it is hard to define 
 his utterance, impossible to indicate the invariable 
 stressing of the wrong syllable, that lent so exotic a 
 charm to his conversation.) ' I shall not forget it that 
 you, Mr. Palliser, remembered that one good turr'n 
 deserves another, and that a Friend in need is a Friend 
 indeed ! ' The Baby was something of a conscious artist 
 in words, and having thus plumed his commendation, 
 according to his most trusted formula in oratory, with 
 proverbial philosophy, he left it waving in the breeze, 
 and withdrew without waiting for Dan's response. 
 
 And this was, perhaps, as well, since had young Mr. 
 Palliser gathered in any degree what was the nature of 
 the obligations referred to, a serious rift in the present 
 mutually friendly relations might have occurred. 
 Young Mr. Palliser was indeed puzzled by the form 
 in which Mr. Coyne's gratitude had been couched, 
 but he knew himself to be unversed in the idiom of 
 his new colleagues, and decided to accept the Baby's 
 compliments without trying to understand them. 
 
88 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 In Ireland the rights of succession and inheritance 
 are respected unfailingly. An office or privilege which 
 has been held by a father is felt to be the lawful due 
 of his son. Therefore it was that, on the death of 
 Colonel Palliser, the Presidentship of the Agricultural 
 Society of Eskragh passed, almost automatically, to 
 his son, and Dan, an ex-British officer, son of a land- 
 lord and loyalist, was placed unquestioningly on the 
 box seat of a coach whose officials and passengers were 
 theoretically antagonistic to him on almost every point 
 of conduct, rehgion, and politics. 
 
 In the troubled year of which this history treats, a 
 singular feature of the life of some inconspicuous Irish 
 places was its continued immunity from the ferment 
 that was distracting the greater part of Ireland, towns 
 and country alike. The political trumpets, sounding 
 fanfares of defiance and independence, were no doubt 
 bravely blown at Eskragh, no less than in other places 
 of more importance, but the life of the town moved on 
 tranquilly enough, and to hate your political enemies 
 was a counsel of perfection which did not trouble many. 
 
 The business of the Rural District Board having 
 been accomplished, Messrs. Palliser and Ryan ad- 
 dressed themselves to the further duty of which Jimmy 
 had spoken, the meeting of the Executive Committee 
 of the Agricultural Show. They rode slowly through 
 the streets of Eskragh, which was a small town, whose 
 undoubted prosperity had no arrogance about it, and 
 was concealed behind undecorative shop-fronts, and 
 public-house windows that seemed to court obscurity, 
 and was further masked by a general dinginess and 
 absence of fresh paint. 
 
 The show-ground was at the foot of a hill, about a 
 mile from the town, at the head of the Vale of Esker, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 89 
 
 and the road down the hill was now distinguished by 
 the presence of the Executive Committee of the Show 
 on their way to the meeting. A motor-car was stand- 
 ing at the gate in the wall of the enclosure. Its 
 appearance caused a perceptible stir among the ad- 
 vancing committee-men ; young Mr. Mahony, the Hon. 
 Sec, even went so far as to take out his pocket hand- 
 kerchief and flick the dust off his boots and gaiters. 
 
 ' We asked Lord Ducarrig to join the commytee,' 
 he explained to Dan. * That's his car, I think — and 
 isn't that her ladyship in it ? ' 
 
 It was indeed her ladyship, and the committee 
 was frankly fluttered. But Lord Ducarrig was not 
 there. He had sent his apologies and excuses. ' I 
 said I would take the message for him,' said her 
 obliging ladyship, and added that she would like so 
 much to see the show-ground, if the committee would 
 be so very kind as to let her go in ? A smile, that 
 seemed to each member of the committee to be ex- 
 clusively dedicated to him, accompanied the request, 
 and each member strove to outshine the other in his 
 appropriation of it. It was the Hon. Sec. who sprang 
 the fastest from his horse and handed this thrilling 
 visitor out of the car and to the gate, expressing 
 meUifiuous regrets that they had come to the small 
 gate and not the carriage entrance. 
 
 * We hadn't expected such an honour as Lady 
 Ducarrig's presence ! ' said Mr. Mahony archly. 
 
 Dan led his mare through the narrow gateway. 
 He had not met Lady Ducarrig since the night he and 
 Lizzie had been at Monalour, more than a week ago. 
 He followed her and Mr. Mahony across the thick grass 
 that covered the show-ground, listening to the easy 
 flow of their conversation, marvelling at the skill with 
 
go AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 which Mr. Mahony was being handled. He won- 
 dered if he also had been handled by her, and if he 
 would ever really know her. On St. John's Eve she 
 had been sympathetic, almost simple. He had rather 
 let himself go — he shuddered, and thought he had 
 probably made an ass of himself — but she had cer- 
 tainly seemed to be interested ; and the night she had 
 sung — providentially he hadn't had time to make an 
 ass of himself that time, though he was quite ready 
 to do so — but that was her singing, of course. And 
 she was nice with Lizzie, and, by Jove, she was good- 
 looking ! Her looks and her voice were all right — 
 he thought of her profile as he had seen it clear-cut 
 against the opal sky — but that, as a matter of fact, 
 was all he knew about her. Also, he was aware that 
 he invariably met her with apprehension — he was 
 rather frightened now — but the funk didn't survive 
 five minutes of her society. Even now, when he had 
 received his share of the smile that had bowled out 
 poor Mr. Mahony, he could feel the apprehension rising 
 from him like a mist. She was obviously glad to see 
 him — but did all the other men think the same thing ? 
 He believed they did ! And, but this was a non 
 sequitur, why on earth had she married Ducarrig ? 
 
 At this juncture Lady Ducarrig paused, and let him 
 and the chestnut mare overtake her. 
 
 ' I've got a horse that I thought of jumping here,* 
 she said to him. ' You've seen him, haven't you ? 
 Gambler, a bay. What do you think ? Is the bank 
 all right ? He's a nice horse. I want to hunt him here 
 next season — that's to say if the hounds aren't stopped ! 
 What do you think is going to happen, Mr. Mahony ? ' 
 
 * Ah, that's a good, homely, honest bank ! ' said 
 Mr. Mahony, lightly passing by the controversial topic 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 91 
 
 of the hunting. ' Your ladyship should ride the horse 
 yourself ! I'll be bound he'll dance over it with you ! ' 
 
 They walked on to the bank, and Mr. Mahony, still 
 extolling its moral qualities, climbed to its summit, and 
 himself danced on it to show its reliability. Dan and 
 the mare were standing near, and Mr. Mahony, to whose 
 head Lady Ducarrig had gone like new wine, suggested 
 exuberantly that Mr. Palliser should show her lady- 
 ship what sort of a lep it was. 
 
 ' The mare's too green,' said Dan curtly. 
 
 Mr. Mahony argued the point with much gaiety, 
 and appealed to the inspirer of his jocund mood for 
 support. 
 
 Car was still in process of making up her mind, 
 slowly and luxuriously, about Dan Palliser. His type 
 was unfamiliar, and she deeply enjoyed investigating 
 strange types. He had satisfied her on some points, 
 but, since she was herself a rider, he had still to prove 
 himself as a horseman. Not precisely as to skill ; that, 
 she said to herself, she didn't exact ; it was a gift of 
 God, and was in a class by itself ; but a small malicious 
 wish to test his riding-nerve was roused by his refusal. 
 ' Having an M.C. won't prevent his funking at a fence ! ' 
 she thought, watching his sullen face. She rather 
 Hked his sullenness. There was something in it that 
 pleased her, a sort of prehistoric male frankness of 
 mood — no feminine artifice or truckling. She had 
 ever found a sufficing reason for preferring men to 
 women in that they amused her more. 
 
 * I've hunted a lot in England,' she said, ' but I've 
 never seen a bank jumped. I'm sorry your mare isn't 
 up to it.' 
 
 Some telepathic hint of her thought reached Dan 
 and stung him. He said to himself angrily that he 
 
92 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 wouldn't be rushed. It was a fool's trick to ask a 
 young mare, only half schooled, to tackle a show- jump, 
 with the wings broken, too ! Lady Ducarrig might 
 think what she liked 
 
 Jimmy Ryan's voice, confidential and authoritative, 
 said in his ear : ' Do not, Mr. Dan ! Don't mind 
 them ! Don't wrong the mare ! ' 
 
 Damn Jimmy Ryan ! What business was it of 
 his ! Dan backed the mare away from the fence and 
 swung himself on to her back. 
 
 * She can jump it well enough if she likes,' he said, 
 picking up his reins. * Give me room please ! ' 
 
 Mr. Mahony, who had been taken by surprise by 
 the sudden change of programme, skipped off the bank 
 with considerable speed, and was not more than clear 
 of it when Dan and the young mare came galloping 
 at it. 
 
 The young mare was full of admirable qualities. 
 Big as she was, she possessed a mouth of silk elastic, 
 her gallop was smoother than sweet oil. Was she not 
 by Wild Minstrel out of Lady Meath (who, as any one 
 who had ever met Jimmy Ryan knew, was by Royal 
 Meath) ? And had not Jimmy declared of her that 
 any one'd lose his life galloping her, even as one might 
 die of a rose in aromatic pain ? She had already a 
 creditable method in dealing with a wall, or even a 
 bank, but a show- jump, a meaningless mound, without, 
 as she said to herself, either beginning or ending, and 
 with, moreover, bewildering flounces of timber on both 
 sides of it, was a problem with which she felt sure 
 she was unable to cope. Nevertheless, she came at it 
 boldly, her handsome head up, her wild eyes set on the 
 bank, her ears pricked as if her heart was for it. But 
 at the edge of the shallow drain in front of the bank 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 93 
 
 her confidence failed. She whirled to one side, and 
 stopped herself abruptly, with her chest against the 
 shaky barrier that formed the right wing. Her rider 
 might have been excused had it unseated him. Lady 
 Ducarrig thought, but Dan's long legs were equal to 
 the call made on them. He pulled the mare back clear 
 of the wings ; he had no spurs, but he struck her hard 
 with the light ash plant that he carried and cantered 
 her out a little way into the open field. 
 
 Car watched him and the big young mare with 
 aesthetic enjoyment. The chestnut, big as she was, was 
 a hght mover, and Sir Daniel certainly sat her well. 
 ' His nerve's all right,' Car thought. * I'm glad of 
 that. He was only cross. The great idiot ! ' 
 
 He was turning the mare now. She came round 
 with a wheehng plunge, and began to gallop with three 
 such bounds as Pegasus might have made, spurning 
 this lower earth, starting for the zenith. Dan held her 
 straight for the bank, and, as she came at it, he hit her 
 again on the shoulder, but, as he took his right hand 
 off the reins, the young mare, getting angry now, 
 swung violently away from the bank, rose at the 
 timber that formed the left wing, and crashed over it, 
 puUing it down in ruins with her hind legs. 
 
 * Oh my, oh my ! ' wailed Jimmy Ryan, running out 
 after her to try and see if she were cut. ' She'll be 
 destroyed ! Give over, Master Dan, for God's sake ! * 
 
 Dan's only answer was to hit the plunging mare 
 again, and galloping out rather farther than before, 
 he drove her at the bank at a pace that told that his 
 temper had risen with the mare's. This time he had 
 her hard in hand, and she knew it ; she came at the 
 jump ramping and fighting for her head ; it looked as 
 if she meant to fly the whole erection, but again, at the 
 
94 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 brink of the drain, her courage failed. She tried to 
 check herself, but her speed mastered her, and she 
 sprang wildly at the bank. It was a high jump, but 
 the unexpended pace carried her ; she got her forefeet 
 on top of it, but she missed her footing with the hind, 
 and, just escaping getting astride of it, she fell, turning 
 a complete somersault, on the farther side. 
 
 ' She's on top of him ! He's killed ! ' cried young 
 Mahony, rushing round, followed by Jimmy Ryan, to 
 where horse and rider lay together on the ground. 
 
 After the mare's second refusal. Car had taken her 
 stand on the landing side, and before the men could 
 reach Dan, she was kneeling beside him. 
 
 The chestnut mare was strugghng to her feet, and 
 Jimmy caught her bridle. 
 
 ' She didn't fall on him,' said Car, watching Dan's 
 face keenly. 
 
 Almost immediately he opened his eyes. 
 
 ' I'm not hurt ' he said, thickly, ' only just— — ' 
 
 ' Keep quiet ! ' said Car, in an even voice, her finger 
 on his pulse. * You'll be all right in a minute. I think 
 the mare's all right too.' 
 
 ' I'd like to have another go at it,' muttered Dan, 
 half raising himself on one elbow. 
 
 * Well, you won't,' said Car smoothly. * Please 
 don't be an idiot ! ' 
 
 ' I rode her too fast the last time,' went on Dan 
 obstinately. * I'll be all right in a minute.' 
 
 ' Take that mare away, and get my motor in here, 
 will you ? ' said Car to the two men. * I suppose there's 
 no water, or brandy, anywhere near ? * 
 
 ' The Vice-President might have a drop of whisky 
 on him ! ' murmured Mr. Mahony. 
 
 ' More hkcly inside him ! ' said Jimmy Ryan, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 95 
 
 sardonically, beginning to lead the sweating mare 
 away. 
 
 Car looked at her patient ; she didn't think well of 
 his colour nor of his breathing. She took off the dust 
 coat that she had on, and, rolUng it, put it under his 
 head. 
 
 * You've got to do what you're told, for once ! ' she 
 said. * I'm sorry, but you must submit to being 
 bulHed ! ' 
 
 * But I assure you nothing's wrong except that I'm 
 a bit short of wind — a little thing knocks me out some- 
 times still.' It was one of the remaining penalties 
 of his wound that it occasionally asserted itself, and 
 involved him in the detested necessity of mention- 
 ing it. 
 
 * Now keep quiet, like a good child, until we get 
 that drop o' whisky off the Vice-President ! ' said Car, 
 with her sudden, beguihng smile. ' Remember, I've 
 been at the War too ! I didn't nurse Tommies for two 
 years for nothing ! ' 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Ireland has ever been a little backward in the 
 world's time-table, and, as in the case of her clocks, 
 has resented efforts to hasten either her hands or her 
 feet. She prefers, and there is no reason why she 
 should be blamed for the preference, to make and take 
 her own time. 
 
 * Arrah, what's time ! ' said, with magnificent con- 
 tempt. Admiral Caulfi eld's venerable butler, dealing 
 high-handedly with a railing accusation in connection 
 with the sounding of the dinner-gong. 
 
 And not alone in the absolute case of hours and 
 minutes is Ireland disposed to take her own time. In 
 social matters, and especially in the case of the emanci- 
 pation of her daughters from family bondage, she has 
 been disposed to linger and postpone. Mrs. Caulfield 
 was very much of her butler's opinion as to the 
 unimportance of the mere passage of time. She dwelt 
 in the Valley of Ajalon ; the sun had long since stood 
 still for her over the line of the mountains beyond the 
 lake. Her unmarried sisters were still the Girls ; her 
 brothers (whether married or no) were the Boys, and 
 her own progeny remained the Children. These, 
 with the exception of her youngest daughter, had 
 escaped from bondage, either by help of their pro- 
 fessions, or, in the case of the girls, by the only gate 
 into freedom that their mother recognised, that of 
 matrimony ; but Eileen remained what Mrs. Caulfield 
 was in the habit of describing as ' The-girl-at-home.' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 97 
 
 Mrs. Caulfield, mild and mountainous, as selfish as 
 she was obstinate, as dull as she was selfish, covered 
 and overwhelmed the last remaining girl-at-home as 
 a large hen might spread its wings over a single chicken. 
 Fluffy and warm as the nest was, any chicken at four- 
 and-twenty might wish to spread its own wings, and 
 could hardly be blamed for such an aspiration. Eileen 
 was not the first girl nor, it may be feared, the last 
 to be a prisoner, but since her parents were com- 
 placently satisfied that they had padded her prison-cell 
 with all that a girl-at-home could require, there was 
 nothing less likely than that they should think it their 
 duty to unlock its door. 
 
 Mrs. Caulfield, being large and lethargic, was 
 naturally an upholder of activity in others, and was 
 at least active in providing what she was accustomed 
 to call ' little errands ' for her daughter. 
 
 ' I want to ask the Ducarrigs to tea this afternoon, 
 dear,* she said on that same close and heavy morning 
 on which Dan had ridden to Eskragh. * Don't you 
 think it would be very nice if you paddled the boat to 
 Monalour and asked them ? And you might tell Dan 
 to come too, to make up a four for tennis.' 
 
 ' Dan won't be at home. This is the Board day,' 
 said Eileen discouragingly. She thought it too hot 
 for rowing. 
 
 ' How tar'some ! ' said Mrs. Caulfield, setthng her- 
 self comfortably in her armchair with her paper. * I 
 wonder Aunt Gina allows him to mix himself up with 
 those people. And now you won't have enough for 
 tennis, and your father wants exercise ' 
 
 Eileen looked at her mother, who was dismember- 
 ing the Morning Post, and folding one fragment for 
 her own delectation, with characteristic disregard of 
 
98 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 its future. Her daughter resented her assumption 
 that Dan was his mother's chattel. Why should he 
 not be a District Councillor if he liked ! Should she 
 say something scathing about public business being 
 of less importance than her father's liver ? She decided 
 to refrain. Pin-pricks were a mistake, and her mother 
 had a slow way of bearing malice that Eileen respected. 
 Besides, as a matter of fact, she agreed with her. 
 
 It was no more than a pull of twenty minutes or so 
 to the old boat quay at Monalour from the Admiral's 
 severely tidy boat-house that looked, in its white- 
 washed decorum, as though a strayed seagull had 
 perched at the end of the lawn. Eileen rowed an even, 
 leisurely stroke ; the white punt kept what seemed an 
 automatic course along the shore, avoiding the huge 
 granite boulders that were strung out into the lake 
 from the fir-tree-crested spike of Fairhaven Point ; 
 swishing through the reed beds, slipping over the 
 polished pavements of water-lily leaves that sank under 
 her light keel and rose, undefeated, behind her stern 
 as she slid onward. The water was like grey oil ; the 
 dull purple reflection of the mountains at the far-away 
 head of the lake was only broken by the double line 
 of silver rings where the oars dipped ; the measured 
 grunt of the rowlocks, and the Hght, slapping splash 
 at the bows were the only sounds, save when a bugle- 
 Hke note from a bullock, or the rattle of a cart from 
 the road along the farther shore, came softly through 
 the dead still air. 
 
 Eileen was not insensible to the delicate beauty 
 of sight and sound through which she was passing, 
 but its appeal went no farther than the ante-chamber 
 of her senses. Her mind was flickering like a fire ; 
 hopes, schemes, suspicions, fears, rising and falling. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 99 
 
 sometimes flashing, definite as a flame, more often 
 welling up almost formlessly, like billowing smoke. 
 
 The Monalour boat quay, once a well-ordered 
 structure of hewn stone, was now a half-ruined relic 
 of the time when the heavy boats, piled high with sods 
 of turf, used to unload upon it their burdens for the 
 Big House, and old Peter McLoughlen (father of Tom) 
 would say to the rowers, gorgeously, that Them Above 
 would have the full o' two boats burned while they, 
 the rowers, would be crossing themselves. All this 
 in the old days before the railway came, when coal 
 was of a prohibitive price, and Peter McLoughlen, too 
 proud to admit limitations of such unworthy nature 
 where Monalour House was involved, was in the habit 
 of saying that turf was a deal a handsomer thing about 
 a gentleman's place than coal. 
 
 Eileen fastened the punt's painter to a rusty ring 
 and climbed up by a breach in the weed-grown side 
 of the quay. Indications of the present regime at 
 Monalour were not wanting. A new boat was lying 
 on the shore, gUstening with fresh varnish ; two old 
 garden-men were clearing the long walk from the lake 
 to the house. 
 
 ' That'll be a big job, Jerry,' said Eileen. 
 
 ' It will, then, and no use afther,' repUed the old 
 man. * Sure they all comes the near way across the 
 grass always. But this new gintleman that's in it is 
 very exact ! ' 
 
 ' They don't like him,' thought Eileen, taking ' the 
 near way ' across the grass. ' Well, I like him better 
 than her — but that's not saying much 1 ' 
 
 Monalour was a large plain house, with a square 
 high central block, and with two narrow wings that ran 
 east and west at either end. A deep area surrounded 
 
100 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 it. It stood, facing the sun and the lake, in the middle 
 of a wide semicircle of trees and shrubs. In front 
 of the house two broad terraces of mown grass were 
 divided by a sunk fence from the Big Lawn, across 
 which Eileen had come, one of which was devoted to 
 lawn-tennis grounds, the other to croquet. Under the 
 windows was a formal pattern of flower-beds, now 
 resplendent with crudely brilliant masses of scarlet 
 geraniums and begonias. The house was built of 
 yellowish stone, which, on the wings, was thickly 
 covered with rambler roses and climbing plants, but 
 the central block was bare of all decoration, and in its 
 severity suggested a stern father on whose either arm 
 an over-dressed daughter was hanging. Three broad 
 flights of worn limestone steps connected the terraces 
 with one another. Two men and an old white horse 
 were solemnly pacing to and fro with a mowing- 
 machine as Eileen crossed the bridge over the sunk 
 fence ; the smell of cut grass, the neatly raked gravel 
 paths, the well-weeded flower-beds with their blaze 
 of flowers, were for her symbols of civilisation and 
 affluence — matters which her soul held in the deepest 
 reverence of w^hich it was capable. 
 
 ' How nice it looks I ' she thought. ' It never 
 looked nice, like this, in Uncle Henry's time ; and 
 Aunt Gina would never care whether it was tidy or 
 no ! — nor Dan either, I'm afraid ! Romantic utili- 
 tarians despise minor decencies ! That's like a copy- 
 book heading, but it means ' She had not time to 
 
 define to herself precisely the trend of the maxim, as 
 she found herself confronted by Lord Ducarrig. 
 
 ' My wife ? ' he said, in response to Eileen's in- 
 quiries. * God knows where she is^ — I don't. I seldom 
 do. Can I take a message ? ' He had a croquet 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST loi 
 
 mallet in his hand and the balls were on the ground 
 beside him. * I'm afraid I don't play tennis, Miss 
 Caulfield. My wife does, though ; I'm much too 
 old!' 
 
 His little eyes watched her from beneath the wide 
 brim of a very new Panama straw^ hat. His pale grey 
 flannels were in the bloom of their first youth. His 
 red face was clean-shaved and trim, like the croquet 
 lawns ; there was something effective and impressive 
 about his smartness no less than his eighteenth-century 
 features. 
 
 Eileen was conscious of a challenge. 
 
 * I don't call that a good excuse ! ' she replied, with 
 a laugh, and a swift glance that sw^ept up from his 
 snowy canvas shoes to his face, and joined itself for 
 an instant with the gleam in his little blue eyes. 
 
 Ducarrig inserted his eyeglass into one of the small 
 blue eyes and regarded Eileen through it with a deli- 
 berate admiration that deepened a little the bright 
 colour in her cheeks. He was pleased with her for 
 treating him as a combatant. An added touch of 
 gallantry was perceptible in his manner, he cocked 
 the Panama with a more rakish tilt. 
 
 Lady Ducarrig, just back from the show-ground 
 with her patient, looked forth from the drawing-room 
 windows and thence beheld a game of croquet pro- 
 gressing, with obvious success, between her husband 
 and Miss Eileen Caulfield. She watched the game for 
 a moment or two. Eileen was taking a steady aim at 
 a ball half the ground away. The stroke succeeded. 
 
 ' Shot ! ' exclaimed Ducarrig enthusiastically. He 
 was standing with his back to the house, and, as 
 Eileen followed her ball across the ground. Car saw 
 one of the snowy shoes lightly touch Eileen's second 
 
102 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ball, so that it was no longer wired from the point at 
 which she had arrived. 
 
 ' He wants her to win ! ' she thought. He amused 
 her by his inveteracy, and it has been said that she 
 had something of special toleration for people who 
 amused her. She never tolerated her husband more 
 easily than when he was preoccupied with another 
 woman (and it may be added that this factor in 
 domestic harmony was not often lacking). She even 
 spared him a little sympathy when she considered the 
 fact of his marriage with her. * He couldn't know 
 what a Tartar he was catching ! ' she had thought 
 dispassionately. But he, at all events, had allevia- 
 tions ; on the whole, she thought the Tartar had had 
 the worst of it. 
 
 Dan lay stretched at full length on the old sofa in 
 the drawing-room. It was, he believed, the only sofa 
 in the world that was long enough to permit of his 
 doing so. It alone, with its lifelong companion, the 
 Spanish leather screen, of all the well-known furniture, 
 had remained in its ancestral position. Dan felt 
 something dream-like in the reversal of all the famiHar 
 conditions. He tried to remember where the things 
 used to be, and his head began to spin. Not the least 
 dream-like feature was the professional skill with 
 which Lady Ducarrig bathed and dressed the wound 
 on his forehead and bandaged the wrist that had been 
 strained in the fall. His heart had steadied, but he 
 felt very tired. Thinking was a bore. He abandoned 
 responsibility, he closed his eyes, and for a few minutes 
 took no thought for the day or the morrow. 
 
 When he opened them he found Lady Ducarrig 
 sitting beside him ; her finger was on his pulse. 
 
 * I think you're all right, and we won't bother about 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 103 
 
 the doctor. You've had quite a sleep.' She looked at 
 him thoughtfully and began to laugh. 'Isn't your 
 mother coming home to-night ? She'll be delighted 
 with your appearance — orange and green, the national 
 colours ! ' 
 
 Lying helpless on the old sofa, submissively obeying 
 orders, the hospital habit had been re-born in the 
 patient. Lady Ducarrig was his nurse, and he had 
 always had confidence in his nurses, and had chaffed 
 them. But as repartee was not one of his gifts, he 
 took refuge in a not unsuccessful imitation of the whin- 
 ing grumble of the afflicted warrior, and Eileen, coming 
 into the room by the French window, heard, with 
 considerable surprise, her cousin's voice addressing 
 Lady Ducarrig as * Sister,' and, in that relationship, 
 adjuring her to give him ' a fag.' 
 
 To be overheard by a relative in a moment of ex- 
 pansion with one who does not come under that head- 
 ing, is a test of self-possession that few are equal to. 
 Car Ducarrig, epicure of the emotions of others, lost 
 no shade of Dan's embarrassment, and listened to his 
 grudging, halting account of the disaster with entire 
 appreciation of the misery caused him by the recital. 
 Eileen's response was all that a sympathetic cousin's 
 should be. Dan wished that she were rather less 
 effusive and dramatic in her sympathy. If it hadn't 
 been for his wound, the toss itself, he thought angrily, 
 wasn't worth talking about. It was idiotic to get 
 excited about a thing of nothing that was all over. 
 Lady Ducarrig, who had seen the whole business, had 
 hardly said a word. 
 
 Lord Ducarrig, who had followed Eileen into the 
 room, sat down and lit a cigarette, and awaited the 
 end of the story with gentleman-hke endurance. He 
 
104 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 leaned back in his chair, his full eyelids half closed, 
 but beneath them his eyes did not leave Eileen's 
 slender figure, unless to move to the pink curve of her 
 cheek and the small ear that showed through bright 
 straying tendrils of hair. Lady Ducarrig might be 
 an epicure of emotions, but her lord was interested in 
 more tangible matters. 
 
 * I suppose all this is not incompatible with our 
 having something to eat. Car ? ' he said blandly, as 
 Eileen uttered what he rightly judged to be a con- 
 cluding cry. * Miss Caulfield and I have also spent 
 an arduous morning, and she has been good enough to 
 say she will stay for lunch. I needn't ask you to stay, 
 Palliser ! ' he went on. ' It's a case of " no compulsion, 
 only you must," eh ? My wife has made that clear, 
 no doubt. She's a person who likes her own way, 
 even though sometimes, like the rest of us, she has to 
 do without it ! ' 
 
 ' I should be very ungrateful if I didn't do what 
 Lady Ducarrig wished,' said Dan gruffly. 
 
 ' Mr. PalHser has acquired quite the right spirit, 
 hasn't he. Car ? ' went on Ducarrig, putting his big 
 head on one shoulder, and smiHng at his wife. 
 ' You've had a more rapid success with him than 
 with me 1 ' 
 
 ' It seems like it, doesn't it ? ' said Car coolly, 
 taking off her hat and arranging her hair at a mirror as 
 she spoke. * There's the gong. The obedient Mr. 
 Palliser is to stay where he is ! He will be sent in 
 what is good for him, and he is forbidden to move ! ' 
 
 Dan lay quiet on the old sofa, and meditated a 
 little about the smile with which Ducarrig had looked 
 at his wife. He thought it was rather a beastly smile. 
 He didn't like old Ducarrig. He had never taken to 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 105 
 
 him, as most of the people in the country had ; he was 
 quite clear about it now 
 
 Car Ducarrig was a young woman who was accus- 
 tomed to the position of being fallen in love with. This 
 is not necessarily, or even usually, a passive position, 
 and, as a rule, it implies some responsive exertions, 
 but Car's experience had been otherwise. Many, both 
 of men and women, had fallen before her, and, more often 
 than not, the initiating feature of their overthrow had 
 been Car's dilettante interest in human beings. No 
 one can regard him or herself as a specimen, a mere 
 example of a type, and trouble had not seldom resulted 
 from the subject'b discovery that this was the angle 
 from which he or she was being observed. She had 
 cultivated indifference of manner and hardness of 
 heart, yet when they were most needed they were 
 apt to fail her, betrayed by imagination and reckless 
 good-nature. It was enough for an adoring girl to be 
 poor, and reasonably pleasant, for Car to fling her own 
 expensive clothes at her, asserting that they were worn 
 out, to contrive entertainments for her benefit, to 
 further her cause in any way that it might be accom- 
 plished. Enough for a worshipping youth to make 
 her his confidante in a love-affair, for her to put forth 
 her strength in schemes and manoeuvres on his behalf, 
 that ended, but too often, in the discovery that her 
 efforts had been in vain, since her protege had trans- 
 ferred his affections from his original nomination to 
 herself. Intensely susceptible to good looks in others, 
 and sufficiently interested in her own, Car was yet 
 prone to forget the peril that beset her friends. Armed 
 as she was at most points, and ever ready for action, 
 her own charm was a weapon whose weight she had 
 more than once underestimated. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Mrs. Palliser's return to her home after a period 
 of absence was not infrequently marked by an attack 
 of what might, without exaggeration, be termed dis- 
 satisfaction with its conditions. Those kindly scales 
 with which custom dims our eyes to domestic short- 
 comings are but too apt to find a solvent in a change 
 of scene ; it is not the absent who are always in the 
 wrong, but those who have stayed at home. 
 
 Dan came down stiffly, late for breakfast, conscious 
 of a bruised shoulder, a black eye, and a large pris- 
 matic bump on his forehead, and found that so far 
 from receiving sympathy for these injuries, they were 
 to be brought up in judgment against him. How 
 could he have been so foolish ? Surely he might have 
 found something better to do at home ? . . . The 
 housemaid might be in tears, sweeping the stairs all 
 over again, and the parlour-maid in tears, repolishing 
 the silver, and Dan, in concentrated sulk, might be set 
 down to a cold breakfast ; but it is at least arguable 
 that unfortunate Mrs. Palliser, with eyes sharpened 
 by the perfections of other households, and a temper 
 barbed by gout, did not suffer as much as any of them. 
 
 Peggy, a coward, and afflicted — not without cause 
 — by a chronic conviction of sin, as well as by a super- 
 subtle perception of mood in those in authority over 
 her, lay, a lump of more than Egyptian darkness, afar 
 under the sideboard, with eyes that some trick of hght 
 had turned to rubies, fixed on the mistress of the house. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 107 
 
 Lizzie, wearing a bleakly devil-may-care air, sat erect 
 on the grass outside the window, aloof from all things 
 earthly. Mrs. Palliser, who had eaten no breakfast, 
 occupied herself, during Dan's repast, in dusting the 
 chimney-piece with her pocket handkerchief, as an 
 act of general protest, until a small china ornament 
 fell into the fender, a victim to her zeal, when she 
 strode from the room and violently rang the bell for 
 prayers. 
 
 Tara, the young chestnut mare, no less than her 
 rider, found herself disinclined for exertion this morn- 
 ing. She came lame out of her stable, and the point 
 of her near shoulder and both knees were full. Dan 
 sat on a window-sill while she was jogged up and 
 down for his inspection. He found himself here, also, 
 in disgrace. 
 
 ' She'll be all right in a day or two, Heskin,' he 
 said ; a remark that, in its implied apology, was a 
 tactical error. 
 
 ' If you might have left her inside, sir, until I had 
 another two days given her with the rope, it mightn't 
 have happened her at all,' replied Heskin, who was a 
 little man of unknown age, with dyed hair, and that 
 belief in his own omniscience that is the enviable 
 endowment of all respectable grooms. 
 
 ' It certainly wouldn't have happened to her if 
 she hadn't gone out ! ' said Dan incontrovertibly ; 
 he said to himself that he was getting fed up with 
 disapproval. ' As soon as she's fit,' he went on, ' you 
 can take her out and rope her over fences again. She 
 must have plenty of it. I'm going to jump her at the 
 Show ! ' 
 
 Shock temporarily deprived Heskin of the power 
 of speech, and before he had recovered utterance a 
 
io8 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 maid-servant fluttered into the yard and summoned 
 Dan to his mother's presence. As he followed her 
 to the house, he heard Heskin's opening remonstrances 
 falling dead on the empty air. It was the first moment 
 of satisfaction he had known that day. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser was sitting at her writing-table in the 
 drawing-room. She eyed Dan fixedly as he came in 
 and stood, facing her, leaning against the piano. The 
 expression on her strong face, so like his, but for 
 wanting the hint of ideality that was in his eyes, was 
 at this moment one of indecision, almost of wistfulness. 
 This child, this boy whom she had brought into the 
 world, and governed, and guided, was now a man, 
 incalculable, sphered, as every human creature inevi- 
 tably is, in his own self-ness. She felt this dumbly, 
 almost unconsciously ; the knowledge lit her mind as 
 a room may be lighted by an unseen hght, and revealed 
 to her, without her knowing it, her limitations. Un- 
 introspective as she was, she knew that she had been 
 what she would have called ' put out ' that morning, 
 and there was something pathetic in her effort to infuse 
 geniality into her voice when she spoke to her son. 
 
 ' Dan,' she began, ' there are a great many things 
 I want to talk to you about. I must get at them by 
 degrees, but there's one thing I promised Uncle Dick 
 I would discuss with you as soon as I got home ' 
 
 She paused and began to straighten her pen tray, 
 her ink bottle, her neatly banded packets of letters 
 and bills ; she moved them absently, and yet with 
 emphasis, putting each down firmly and in due relation 
 to the others. Dan waited, wondering. His mother 
 was not wont to hesitate if she had anything to say. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser cleared her throat, and moistened her 
 lips. Then, abruptly, she pushed away the various 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 109 
 
 things she had so meticulously arranged, and leaning 
 back in her chair, she looked straight at her son. 
 
 ' Dan,' she began again, ' while I've been away I've 
 had several letters from your Uncle Dick on a subject 
 that he and I had already talked about, and now I want 
 to speak to you about it/ 
 
 ('What on earth? — why on earth? — Uncle Dick — ? ' 
 Dan's thoughts rose and broke, quickly, fruitlessly, 
 like bubbles.) 
 
 His mother went on rather hurriedly. * Uncle 
 Dick thinks, very naturally, about Eileen's future. 
 The others have married well, and are provided for, 
 but Eileen — ' She had a pencil in her hand, and had 
 tapped off each sentence with it, as if to emphasise it, 
 but now she checked herself, and looked anxiously, 
 almost entreatingly, at Dan. The morning sun, 
 flooding in through a high, open window, could dis- 
 cover hardly a grey hair in the smooth, dark masses 
 of her hair, but her age was confessed in the channels 
 that life, lived without illusion or romance, had delved 
 in her narrow forehead and down her lon^ haggard 
 cheeks. 
 
 * Well ? ' said Dan suspiciously. (What was 
 she driving at ? It wasn't like his mother to beat 
 about the bush.) 
 
 ' Well,' repeated his mother, unconsciously harden- 
 ing her voice to give herself confidence, ' Uncle Dick 
 says — and I agree with him — ' she hummed and 
 mouthed, marking time, while she tried to find formulae 
 that should present her facts attractively. ' We think, 
 in fact, that if you and Eileen — in fact, my dear boy, 
 it's time for you to think of marrying, and — no, wait, 
 hear me out — ' she raised her voice dictatorially, and 
 rushed out the words as Dan flung himself erect out 
 
no AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 of his lounging attitude ; ' Uncle Dick will settle a 
 very good fortune on her ; he said ten thousand, which 
 is very handsome indeed — but he would like to see her 
 happily settled near him, and he likes you, and I like 
 her ' 
 
 Dan had got very red. As an idea the proposition 
 was not a novel one to him. He had before now en- 
 visaged it, and without the distaste that he was aware 
 of now. But the liberty taken in making the sugges- 
 tion to him filled him with a deep anger. 
 
 * I should have said it would be more to the point 
 if Eileen liked me, or I her ! I should have thought 
 that that might be considered as a feature of the show, 
 anyhow ! I don't quite see where we come in ! * he 
 began, stormily, gathering rage as he went on. ' I 
 call it a pretty brutal suggestion — fairly crude ! You 
 and Uncle Dick might be a couple of dog-fanciers ' 
 
 His mother's temper was quick to catch fire from 
 his. 
 
 ' Don't speak to me like that ! ' she flashed at him, 
 as if he were seven years old ; then, checking herself 
 with a laboured effort of diplomacy, she said, in a 
 quieter voice : * Now, my dear Dan, take time — don't 
 be in a hurry — think it over. You know you and 
 Eileen have always been friends. Nothing definite 
 need be said or done at present, not till we get Monalour 
 back into our own hands again, but if — if any sort of 
 definite arrangement were come to, Uncle Dick said 
 something about advancing you some moil^y — a sort 
 of a loan — so that you needn't be hampered in your 
 farming, he knows you want to buy cattle — and just 
 think what that mightn't enable you to do ! ' 
 
 Dan shook his head like a restive horse, and was 
 about to speak. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST iii 
 
 ' No ! I don't wish you to give any answer now,' 
 Mrs. Palliser went on quickly. ' One must think over 
 these things. We might both of us say something 
 we might regret ! ' she added, with an unaccustomed 
 effort of constructive imagination. 
 
 She was standing up ; she had lost, if she had ever 
 possessed it, the art of caressing, yet she felt a half- 
 atrophied impulse to caress her son, to assure him she 
 was only speaking for his good. Her effort of imagina- 
 tion did not carry her far enough to show her that in 
 offending his taste she had done herself fatal injury, 
 but she knew he was very angry. She laid her clumsy, 
 gouty hand on his arm, and looked searchingly in his 
 face. 
 
 ' Think it over, there's no hurry,' was all she could 
 say, dumbed by her northern habit of reticence. 
 * Now I'm going to feed my chickens ! * 
 
 She tramped out of the room, and Dan remained 
 standing very straight by the piano, dark and dour in 
 his anger. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Palliser ! Incapable of realising that 
 the positions had been reversed, that it was now for 
 her to knock at the door of the younger generation 
 and to find that it was locked and barred against her. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Father Hugh Macnamara had been holding a 
 * station * at a farmhouse down in the broad Vale 
 of Esker, below the town of Eskragh. The ' station/ 
 which is a weekday gathering together for a celebra- 
 tion of the Mass, was over. The congregation had 
 dispersed, and Father Hugh had finished his breakfast, 
 and was sitting in the farmhouse parlour, talking 
 to his host. The farmhouse w^as a large one, and its 
 accompanying land was as good as the best in that 
 wide, rich valley, which is much as if one said the best 
 in Ireland. A tall, slender young woman came and 
 went, removing the breakfast things that covered the 
 parlour table. The farmer, a small man of about 
 forty, with a big head and a thick growth of dark 
 red hair, sat near the fireplace, smoking, and talking 
 to the priest. The room in which they sat was small 
 and low-ceiled, but a wide-open casement window 
 let in the morning sun, and with the sunshine entered 
 also a light breath of west wind that fluttered like 
 a butterfly among the many papers on the writing- 
 table under the window, and caught away the thin 
 tobacco smoke from Eugene Cashen's pipe. 
 
 Father Hugh was not smoking. His peering blue 
 eyes were fixed upon a cupboard, through whose glass 
 doors several shelves full of books could be seen. 
 
 * You have a nice little lot of books there, Eugene,' 
 he said, putting on his spectacles. * I'll be coming 
 borrowing from you one of these days ! ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 113 
 
 * You'll be welcome indeed, but I'm afraid you'U 
 be telling me there's a dose of poetry there ! ' said 
 Eugene Cashen apologetically. * But maybe you're 
 like myself, and have a fancy for it. Anyway, take 
 anything you like ; the rest of what books are there 
 are mostly on the one subject, and that's history — • 
 Irish history, I should say/ 
 
 * You needn't tell me that ! Don't I see the green 
 and gold uniform on the bulk of them ! Indeed, I'd 
 like well to have a look at some o' them ! * 
 
 ' There's a book of me own there,' Eugene Cashen 
 said diffidently, ' a sort of a manual of the language — 
 if it wasn't putting too much trouble on you to read 
 it, I'd be glad of your opinion on it.' 
 
 * I'll be only delighted ! ' said Father Hugh 
 politely ; * but ah ! you know, I hadn't the luck to 
 be born in an Irish-speaking district. The little 
 Irish I have I picked it up by ear. I couldn't read 
 it at all. It's the most I can do to read " A char a " 
 at the beginning of your letters to me, Eugene ! ' 
 
 * Well, no matter ; be going on learning a little 
 always, and in the latter end you'll be surprised what 
 you know ! I sucked it in with my mother's milk, 
 thank God ! And when I used to be going round 
 the country that time I was inspecting for the Con- 
 gested Districts Board, I found there was more people 
 knew it a little than I thought.' 
 
 ' There's a gentleman I know,' said the priest, 
 * he lives the other side of the mountain — but you'll 
 know his name, Mr. Dan PalHser. He was talking 
 to me not long since about the Irish, and how he 
 wished he knew it. He's a very nice young man. 
 Indeed, Eugene, I should tell you, I made so bold 
 as to wTite to him and tell him I'd be here at your 
 
114 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 place to-day, and to ask him would he meet me here ; 
 but I don't know will he come ' 
 
 ' I'll be glad to see any friend of yours, Father, 
 and I hope he'll come too. It is'nt long since he sent 
 me some pamphlets on Co-operation. But sure, 
 what can / do ! I'm no better than an outlaw ! ' 
 
 Father Hugh looked at a gun that was standing 
 in a corner of the room. 
 
 * Maybe that's why you're the only man I know 
 who can keep that in his house ! ' he said, smiling at 
 Eugene Cashen. 
 
 ' My friends spared it to me ! ' 
 
 ' Well, but how about the police ? Why don't 
 they take it ? ' 
 
 ' I'm told they have a warrant out against me, 
 and strict orders to keep the telescope to the blind 
 eye and not see me ! I think I'm safe enough from 
 them. I believe they have a notion I'm keeping 
 the country quiet.' 
 
 * And so you are too ! ' said the young priest, look- 
 ing at him with admiration ; * sure that's well known ! ' 
 
 ' God knows I do my best,' said Eugene Cashen. 
 
 They sat silent for awhile. Father Hugh's eyes 
 recurred to the bookshelves, and he found himself 
 no longer able to resist their attraction. He rose 
 softly, and drawing forth one of the books, put his 
 nose into it, and holding it, after the manner of the 
 short-sighted, at a distance of two inches from his 
 face, began to read it with one eye. 
 
 Eugene Cashen ran his thin, wiry fingers through 
 his red hair, and leaned back in his chair and stared 
 out of the window at the swallows that were swirling 
 and flashing in the bright air. 
 
 * It's early yet, but you'd nearly say those lads 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 115 
 
 were readying themselves to be off already. They've 
 had enough of Ireland, maybe ! ' he muttered, as if he 
 were speaking to himself. * I wonder where will we 
 all be by the time they come back again ! We might 
 do better if we went away with them, after all ! I'm 
 sick of it all ! Bloodshed, and burning, and going 
 from bad to worse ! ' 
 
 ' Have done, Eugene ! ' The tall girl had come 
 into the room, carrying a tray of glasses in her small 
 hands, moving so smoothly that they made no sound, 
 holding her small head serenely high. ' What non- 
 sense is this you have ! Is it leave the farm ? ' She 
 turned to the priest : ' Father, scold him now for a 
 fool ! ' 
 
 Eugene Cashen looked with a smile that was 
 sadder than tears from his sister to the priest. 
 
 * A fool is what I am. You're right enough there, 
 Abbie ! And there's more like me, and ever will be as 
 long as — as Ireland's out of joint ! What is it Shake- 
 speare says ? — " O cursed spite, that ever I was born 
 to set it right ! " ' 
 
 He rolled out the quotation in his strong brogue, 
 and the pleasure in his own culture that is part of the 
 hard-earned reward of the self-educated man brought 
 some brightness to his face. 
 
 ' Well now, don't be doing too much to set it right ! ' 
 said Father Hugh, * or you'll set yourself wrong ! 
 There's a new District Inspector of Police come to the 
 town, and he's cross enough ! Not like the last poor 
 decent man. Take care would the eye behind the 
 telescope not be so blind at all ! They say old Nicholas 
 Coyne's very great with him * 
 
 * And that's no credit ! ' said Eugene Cashen, the 
 brightness fading from his look. 
 
ii6 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 He had a plain face, overweighted by a forehead 
 big and bumpy as a knee, that ran back, far over the 
 turn of the head, between upstanding hedges of thick 
 hair ; his eyebrows were high at the temples and 
 dropped sharply to the centre, meeting across his nose. 
 Deep in under them were brilliant, light, grey-green 
 eyes. Those who first met him saw only the forehead 
 and the eyes ; later, possibly, an insignificant nose, 
 and a big mouth shaded by a bristling reddish grey 
 moustache, became apparent, but the eyes were like 
 a candle flashed in a dark place ; nothing else counted. 
 
 He stood up and knocked the ashes out of his pipe 
 into the little fireplace, which was filled by one of those 
 paralysed waterfalls in green and white cut paper, that 
 seem to be specially dedicated to small parlours. 
 
 ' It's the levity,' he said, nodding his head, his rest- 
 less hands in his pockets, his bright eyes looking in 
 front of him, as if they were seeing through the opposite 
 wall and the engraving of the murder of Lord Edward 
 Fitzgerald that hung on it. ' The mixture of levity and 
 brutahty in the people that breaks my heart. There 
 was a member of the Bridane District Council I met the 
 other day, and he told me how the best part of the 
 council were arrested and in prison, and there wasn't 
 enough o' them left to form a quorum ! Screeching 
 with laughter he was ! And the clerk was arrested, 
 too, and so, at the last meeting they had, they passed a 
 resolution to give him an " indefinite holiday," because 
 he was sentenced to a year in jail ! They were delighted 
 with themselves ! " That was a score over the Govern- 
 ment ! " says the fellow ! And all the business of the 
 Board in chaos ! Much they care about that ! And they 
 call me a crank because I try to get some business 
 done, and I'm against this damnable murdering police- 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 117 
 
 men in cold blood ! They say that's because I've a 
 brother a policeman — as if, if I thought it'd be for the 
 good of Ireland, I wouldn't shoot myself, and my 
 brother too, to-morrow, and be glad to do it ! ' 
 
 Father Hugh, who had been reading with one eye, 
 while he listened with one ear, lowered the book 
 from his face and said reprovingly, ' No, no, Eugene, 
 don't say that ! ' 
 
 ' And what would ye do to your sister ? ' said Abbie, 
 the tall girl, laughing, looking at him with the delight- 
 ful glance of mingled pity, admiration, love, and amuse- 
 ment that some women can bestow on some men. 
 She was little more than half her brother's age, and 
 her only outward mark of kinship with him were her 
 eyes, luminous as his, but deep-lidded, and set beneath 
 a high, tranquil forehead. Her black hair was parted 
 in the middle. The beauty of her features, the straight 
 nose, the small mouth, and the oval line of her face, 
 was discounted by its want of originality. She might 
 have been the model for nine out of ten sacred pictures. 
 With such a face it was even incredibly inappropriate 
 that her fate should have been joined with the stormy 
 one of an advanced revolutionary ; it was as though 
 her future had been irrevocably fixed ; she looked 
 predestined to be the Bride of Heaven. 
 
 Distasteful as was the thought to her brother, it 
 was possibly in his mind when he answered her. 
 
 * I'd say, " get thee to a Nunnery " and pray for 
 my soul ! For I'd be in the want of prayers, I suppose, 
 if it had come to that ! ' returned Eugene Cashen, 
 with a grin on his ugly mouth at his own inconsistency, 
 and a quick response in his eyes to the affection in 
 Abbie's look. 
 
 He adored her common sense ; he leaned on it, 
 
ii8 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 and knew, though only half consciously, that the ship 
 in which they were together sailing through wild and 
 uncharted seas was ballasted by her. 
 
 Through the open window the drumming of an 
 engine came to their ears. Father Hugh started, and 
 laid down his book. * That's a motor-bike ! ' he said 
 eagerly, ' I wouldn't wonder if— — ' While he spoke 
 the sound deepened, and the next moment that least 
 lovely and most undignified of all means of locomotion, 
 the * motor-bike,' could be seen, looking like a giant 
 runaway toy, speeding along the cart-road that led 
 from the high road across a field to the farmhouse. 
 
 Dan, in his voluminous overalls, seemed to fill 
 the parlour as he came in, stooping in the low doorway, 
 and having but little to spare between his head and the 
 ceiling. Father Hugh's pride and satisfaction in his 
 arrival cleared for a moment the anxious lines from his 
 forehead, and the strained look left his eyes. 
 
 * Now, isn't this very nice,' he said, smiling at 
 his friends ; * I'm proud that I have the honour of 
 making ye known to one another ! Mr. Palliser, this is 
 Miss Abina Cashen, and this is her brother, Eugene, and 
 I'll promise you you'll find warm sympathisers in them 
 for all your schemes for the good of poor old Ireland ! ' 
 
 ' You're safe in promising Mr. Palliser that. Father,' 
 said Eugene Cashen, while Dan, extracting from his 
 pockets bundles of papers, proceeded to spread them 
 out on the table. 
 
 * I'm a firm believer in the advantages of what 
 Mr. PalHser is advocating,' went on Eugene Cashen, 
 ' but I'm thinking that the way things are now, these 
 are only palliatives. If there's a deep-seated bullet in 
 me, it's the doctor's knife I want to get it out, not 
 a poultice ! ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 119 
 
 * Ah, but there's a fine pull in a good poultice too/ 
 said Father Hugh cheerfully ; ' it might draw out 
 your bullet for you, Eugene, as well as the knife ! Look 
 at this unfortunate country ! It's the knife they've 
 used to cut her into two halves, and a poultice might 
 have been better after all ! ' 
 
 * But why shouldn't those halves join up again ? 
 I don't believe the " clean cut " has gone too deep 
 for that,' said Dan combatively. ' East and West must 
 join somewhere, no matter what Mr. Kipling says ! and 
 isn't the same true of North and South ? We can't do 
 without Ulster, and she'll find out the same about us 
 some day ! ' 
 
 Eugene Cashen stood up and looked from Dan's 
 dark, keen face to the priest's pallid one. Then he 
 looked at his sister, who was standing near the door. 
 Her delicate beauty, the spirituality of her expression, 
 seemed to him to typify that Ireland to whose service 
 he had vowed himself, purely, without thought of gain 
 or reward. He turned to Dan again, and said hotly : 
 
 ' When I think of that Act of an Enghsh Parlia- 
 ment that is being forced on us now, there's only one 
 title I'd give it — '* Manghng done here ! " Before 
 God, Mr. Palliser, I'd as soon give my sister's body 
 to be cut up in a dissecting-room as consent to such 
 an Act as that ! ' The green flame in his light eyes 
 was concentrated on Dan's face. 
 
 Father Hugh fidgetted and said nervously, ' There, 
 there, Eugene ! Mr. PaUiser had neither part nor lot 
 in it, anyhow ! ' 
 
 * I know that well enough/ said Eugene Cashen 
 sombrely, and fell silent. 
 
 Then, almost as if he were delivering a prepared 
 lecture, he began to speak, slowly and with depression 
 
120 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 at first, but gathering heat and speed as he went on. 
 He tracked the course of Irish history, and of EngHsh 
 relations with Ireland, since ever they began, * to 
 Ireland's sorrow, to England's shame ! ' he said. It 
 was the note of his discourse. 
 
 Dan listened with an interest that was not the 
 less deep for the fact that he knew there was generally 
 something to be said on both sides of most subjects. 
 But Eugene Cashen, handicapped by the singleness 
 of his own soul, steeped in an embittered literature 
 that recognised but one point of view, and stirred 
 by the presence of a possible convert in a man of 
 another class, felt as St. Paul might have felt in the 
 presence of King Agrippa, and released his stormy soul 
 in a torrent of complaint and despair. 
 
 In the high and flexible voice that had, in much 
 public speaking, earned for him his nickname of 
 
 * Eugene-the-Talk,' he spoke of Ireland. A country 
 beaten to the earth, yet unconquered ; a people 
 fooled and exploited ; the very loyalty that they had 
 learned to give to one English king made the pretext 
 for their destruction by another. Sorrow and shame, 
 fierce rebellion, and brutal suppression; successive 
 
 * plantations * of soldier-settlers, whose sole, yet 
 sufficient, claim to the inheritance of others was * the 
 necessity of the Crown, that had used them to do its 
 dirty work, to stop their mouths, and pay them their 
 wages with what cost it nothing ! Nothing but a few 
 more widows and orphans ! A few more exiles ! * cried 
 Eugene Cashen in his wild tenor voice that was like 
 a winter wind. * Governors who betrayed the 
 authority confided to them to pillage the helpless, 
 who betrayed even their own settlers for the bribes 
 of new adventurers ! They came/ declared Eugene- 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 121 
 
 the-Talk, flinging out his thin hand, ' like raging 
 waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame I 
 Wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness 
 of darkness for ever ! ' 
 
 He flung himself down into his chair, and sat with 
 his clenched fists on his knees, staring sightlessly at 
 the frozen waterfall of white and green. 
 
 Abbie was the first to speak. 
 
 * Eugene,' she said, looking nervously at him, 
 * would I make a little tea ? The gentleman came a 
 long way, and the morning's very close/ 
 
 Her brother looked at her as if he had not heard 
 what she said ; then he gave a long sigh that was half 
 a groan ; it was almost like the first long breath that 
 follows the awakening from an anaesthetic. 
 
 * What d'ye say, Abbie ? Oh, tea, is it ? Yes, 
 gerr'l, to be sure. Get it, my dear ! ' — He turned to 
 Dan. ' This is a temperance house, Mr. PalHser. 
 You'll excuse us offering you no more than tea — 
 Temperance is a plank in our platform, you know ! ' 
 
 He wiped his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 * I ought to apologise for preaching at you — tub- 
 thumping indeed it was — you know what name they 
 have for me — " Eugene-the-Talk ! " I feel distracted 
 sometimes, I hardly know what I'm doing or saying.' 
 
 * I'm no pohtician,' said Dan, ' and no historian, 
 either. I've tried to keep out of that sort of thing. 
 I see no use in going over old grievances that are past 
 and done with.' 
 
 The door burst open and Abbie Cashen rushed in. 
 
 ' Eugene ! Eugene ! There are poHcemen coming 
 up the road to the door ! ' 
 
 The three men started to their feet. Through the 
 open window they saw an ordered body of tall dark 
 
122 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 figures advancing steadily up the cart-road. They 
 swung along, marching in step ; little sparks of sun- 
 shine danced on the rifles they were carrying. The 
 priest and Dan saw Eugene Cashen's eyes turn to the 
 corner where the gun stood. 
 
 * No, Eugene ! For God's sake let that alone ! ' 
 said Father Hugh hoarsely. ' Couldn't you hide ? Or 
 
 — quick ! There's the motor-bike ! Couldn't you ' 
 
 Dan also had thought of the * motor-bike.' All 
 the Irish blood in him asserting itself inevitably, 
 irresistibly, on the side of the man * wanted ' by the 
 law. He reached the door in two strides. 
 
 ' Take it if you like ! ' he called to Eugene Cashen, 
 ' it's round at the back.' 
 
 He went out of the house. He did not consider 
 it was his business to interfere between Eugene 
 Cashen and the police, whatever their business might 
 be. As he crossed the narrow strip of garden between 
 the house and the field, he saw, over the hedge, a 
 policeman already wheehng the motor-bicycle round 
 from the back of the house. That new District 
 Inspector, of whom Father Hugh had said that his 
 eye * behind the telescope mightn't be so blind at 
 all,' had provided for such a contingency as escape 
 from the rear. At the httle gate that led into the 
 field Dan met four of the party that they had seen 
 on the cart-road, with the officer in charge. He 
 realised that the others were guarding the other side 
 of the house. Dan was a magistrate, and the men 
 knew him, and saluted as they passed him. Their 
 officer, newly come to the district, stared hard at him. 
 Dan saw him speak to one of the men, turning round 
 and looking back as he did so, before he entered the 
 house with them. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The Eskragh Agricultural Show was always something 
 of a financial anxiety to its promoters. Its popularity 
 with the farmers, on whom its success depended, was 
 precariously linked with the generosity of its Prize 
 List, and its very solvency was at the mercy of the 
 weather, a fine day or a wet one involving, in their 
 effect upon the * Gate,' either triumph or bankruptcy. 
 It was therefore the prudent practice of those who 
 directed its fortunes to collect all possible preliminary 
 assistance from the general public, and two of the 
 Society's most prominent members, Mr. Nicholas 
 Coyne and Mr. James Ryan, were renowned ahke 
 for their persuasiveness and for their pertinacity in 
 the extraction of subscriptions. Consequently it 
 occurred very frequently that, welded into one, under 
 the title of a Deputation, they were together sent 
 forth on begging expeditions for whatever committee 
 was in want of funds, and was privileged in possessing 
 the right of exacting their services. 
 
 These things being so, it will easily be understood 
 that the extortion of money for prizes, and of promise 
 of Challenge Cups, and the like, for the Annual Agri- 
 cultural Show, was a task that fell, unquestioningly, 
 to them ; and this was how it was that to Lord 
 Ducarrig, reading The Times over his after-breakfast 
 cigar (authoritatively, and with that air of the Censor 
 that so well becomes a bald head and an expanding 
 waistcoat), Messrs. Ryan and Coyne were presented 
 
124 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 by his butler, under the non-committal, and not 
 eminently descriptive, title of * Two Gentlemen from 
 Eskragh/ 
 
 Lord Ducarrig laid aside The Times, and, resuming 
 the benevolently autocratic manner of the Governor 
 of Santa Caterina, inquired of the gentlemen what he 
 could do for them. 
 
 With this encouragement, Messrs. Coyne and Ryan 
 advanced upon their mission as by a well-trodden 
 path. They spoke antiphonally of the promotion of 
 agriculture, of the need of encouragement for the 
 struggling farmer, of the troubles with which he had 
 to cope, and, generally, of how much he had to contend 
 with in the domestic effort, described feeHngly by Mr. 
 Coyne, as ' Rareing long, little families.' Further, 
 they hymned the monetary and social advantages to 
 the town of Eskragh in all their moods and tenses ; 
 what Mr. Coyne omitted, Mr. Ryan supphed ; all was 
 balanced, temperate, moving, and harmonious. 
 
 Lord Ducarrig responded with equal propriety and 
 regard for ritual. A cheque, a large one, was written : 
 cigars were proffered, the bell was rung for whisky 
 and soda water ; the Deputation, feeling that here 
 was a nobleman indeed, fell to general yet courtly 
 conversation. 
 
 * Ye never heard the like o' the talk the old Baby 
 put out of himself ! ' said Mr. Ryan, recounting the 
 events of the interview to his wife ; * sure the whisky 
 made him very loose in himself entirely. He had the 
 lord in splits listening to him and all the old stories 
 he had ! And in the finish of it, didn't he draw up 
 the coal contract to him ! He did, faith ! And knock 
 an order for fifteen ton out of him too ! And saying 
 that coal the like o' his never crossed the sea before, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 125 
 
 but that for all that, it was only Mr. Dan's one vote 
 got him the contract ! " That was a dam' close call, 
 Mr. Coyne ! " says the lord; " ye owe Mr. Palliser a 
 good turn for that ! " he says. " Well, me lord," says 
 the old laddo, " sure it was I got him his seat on the 
 Board," says he, ** and wasn't that the good turn I 
 done him ? One good turn deserves another ! " he 
 says. *'Sure, didn't I hear him say the very same to 
 Mr. Dan, and poor Mr. Dan not knowing from Adam 
 what did he mean ! But the lord knew fast enough, I 
 can tell you ! " ' 
 
 * Well, well,' answered Mrs. Ryan rather ab- 
 stractedly, having just heard the summons of a hen, 
 and mistrusting the probity of Jimmy's new collie 
 pup in the matter of eggs. 
 
 Brilliant, from Mr. Coyne's point of view, as was 
 the result of the deputation, both in its public and its 
 private capacities, it is possible that had he realised 
 his success as a raconteur he would have been still 
 more gratified. Among Lord Ducarrig's merits as an 
 administrator had been the allied gifts of being able 
 to listen attentively, and to remember what he heard. 
 On due reflection he considered that the cheque, and 
 the accompanying attentions, had not been ill expended. 
 
 Dan Palliser, in his exalted position as President of 
 the Agricultural Society, did not join in the activities 
 of the collectors, but in more general energy of a 
 missionary type he rivalled their efforts. It is one 
 of the many paradoxes that have been recorded of 
 Ireland, that during the greater part of the wild and 
 distracted year now under consideration, a condition 
 that was tantamount to civil war was able to exist 
 in many places, without interfering with, or even 
 affecting the everyday life of very many of her people. 
 
126 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Even though the district of which Eskragh was the 
 centre was less ' disturbed ' than others, there were 
 not many days of that summer, and still fewer nights, 
 when the peace that seemed to hold it was not broken ; 
 when the glory of the summer mornings was not 
 smirched by the smoke of fires, outward and visible 
 signs of inner fires of hatred, and the short stillness 
 of the summer nights shattered by the hard, inhuman 
 clamour of shots. And yet Dan, and many more 
 also, went unmolested about their business at home 
 and abroad, and fairs and markets were held in 
 amity, and even the soldiers, who had been sent to 
 intimidate Eskragh, found that the fabled Union of 
 Hearts was a less remote possibility than they had 
 been given to understand, as far, at least, as many of 
 the younger daughters of the town were concerned. 
 It was a time of bewilderment, fruitful of exaggera- 
 tions, lies, and rumours ; but Dan, ever an optimist 
 where Ireland was concerned, held hopefully to his 
 doctrine of Speeding the Plough, and of building up 
 a prosperity that should smother, as with a deep and 
 comfortable feather-bed, rebellion and discontent. 
 
 Nowhere, however, more than on his own land, had 
 rebellion (of, however, a milder and more domestic 
 variety) prospered, and that son of Cromwellian 
 swashbucklers, Tom McLoughlen, was the leader of 
 its forces. The fate of the tractor, that Dan had 
 pledged himself to buy, had not differed in any very 
 important particular from that prophesied for it by 
 Mr. Ryan. It had come, fitfully, from the station, 
 in a fashion more suggestive of a crippled kangaroo 
 than of a respectable farm-engine under its own steam ; 
 and having, with uncertainties that finally merged 
 into a single unconquerable sulk, arrived within two 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 127 
 
 miles of its destination, it had ended its journey, 
 ignominiously, at the tails of those ancient and out- 
 of-date animals that it was designed to supplant. 
 No sentiments of delicacy or of magnanimity inter- 
 fered with Tom McLoughlen's enjoyment of this 
 dehut. It may, indeed, be taken as an axiom that in 
 dealings with such as he no quarter will be shown, 
 and none should be given. To refrain from the savage 
 triumph that finds expression in impressing upon the 
 adversary a fact of which he is already bitterly aware, 
 is regarded in certain social circles as an indication of 
 either stupidity, cowardice, or forgetfulness, never of 
 generosity. ' Look at that now ! ' Tom McLoughlen 
 and Jimmy Ryan would sing in chorus. * What did we 
 
 say to ye ! What did we tell ye ! ' 
 
 Dan convened to the opening meet of the steam- 
 tractor all his world — the District Council, the Farmers' 
 Society, and such of his own class as remained in a 
 countryside that had almost daily to view its ' gentry- 
 houses ' being left derelict, or sold out of that station 
 in life into which, as the Catechism says, it had pleased 
 God to call them. Even though Mrs. PaUiser's social 
 attitude was not distinguished for its geniality, lack of 
 hospitality had never been laid to her charge, and the 
 preparation of food on a large scale appealed to some 
 ancestral strain of munificence that was latent in her. 
 And not alone for this reason did she abet Dan in his 
 projected entertainment. Her recent interview with 
 him had so far been productive of nothing except an 
 added reserve on his part, an unwonted discomposure, 
 and an anxiety that she could not repress, on her own. 
 Therefore, regarding a lunch to the universe, in honour 
 of the steam-tractor, as being in the nature of a peace- 
 offering, Mrs. Palliser did not spare herself in its 
 
128 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 preparation, and, unlike Messrs. Ryan and McLoughlen, 
 did not even hint that the manner of the tractor's 
 arrival had been preordained, and was no more than 
 the fulfilment of prophecy. 
 
 With the confidence that is born of an optimistic 
 temperament, the day of the display had been fixed 
 by Dan for that following the arrival of the machine. 
 The end of July is not a time when much reliance can 
 be placed on southern Irish weather, and the best that 
 could be said of the prospects for the day was Tom 
 McLoughlen's greeting to Dan. 
 
 ' I rose when it was making day, and says I to 
 meself, " There's rain on it ! " but I'm thinking now 
 that 'twill shtagger on till th' evening.' 
 
 Dan's guests, however, were not of the kind to be 
 discouraged by dubieties of this nature*. By eleven 
 o'clock the big farmyard up at the back of Monalour 
 House was already full of traps and carts of every 
 description, as well as with such few motor-cars as had 
 been privileged to receive police-permits, and were 
 therefore able to take the road. The cow-stalls were 
 full of saddle-horses ; it was plain that there was no 
 lack of interest in young Mr. PalHser's new enterprise. 
 
 The tractor was not to enter upon its labours until 
 twelve o'clock, but the waiting interval was abundantly 
 filled with conversation, and with the leisurely and 
 agreeable inspection of all that Dan's farmyard had 
 to offer. Groups of farmers, comfortable middle-aged 
 men, in their Sunday clothes, strolled from one attrac- 
 tion to another, squired by Dan, or his subordinates, 
 full of loud-voiced praise and secret criticism. 
 
 ' That's my young bull, Mr. Casey ! Pure-bred 
 Friesian, half '' Imported-blood." What d'ye think 
 of him ? ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 129 
 
 ' A grand baste, a grand baste altogether ! ' says 
 Mr. Casey weightily ; ' he's as handsome as a dog ! 
 It was from England you got him 111 go bail ! Ah-ha ! 
 T isn't easy to buy the likes of him ! Ye'll not get him 
 in the fair of Eskragh ! ' Mr. Casey was silent for a 
 moment while he gazed in dramatic admiration at the 
 bull-calf. ' Sure the last fair that was in it there 
 was nothing at all there ! Ugly, rakish cattle, very 
 hungry ! I couldn't buy but two little stores, and if ye 
 gave me Ireland's crown I couldn't put meat on them,' 
 
 * I don't know who'll give ye that, Mr. Casey ! ' 
 said another of Dan's convoy, a young farmer who 
 passed as being something of a humorist. * It's in 
 funny hands now, and if ye had it itself, no one'd give 
 ye five shillings for it — no, nor half a crown neither 1 ' 
 
 ' God knows I don't want it ! ' said Mr. Casey, 
 rather scandalised at an old and trusted figure of speech 
 being wrested to facetious and political uses by young 
 Mr. Adams, who had been in the War and didn't care 
 what he said, as everybody knew. * God knows all I 
 want is to be left quiet ! ' 
 
 ' It's little the Sinn Feiners '11 leave you quiet if 
 they want anything you can give them ! ' mocked 
 Mr. Adams, casting a look over his shoulder, dashing 
 though he was, to see who was within hearing. * Those 
 lads, that are on the run now, are going from one house 
 to another every night, eating all before them ! They 
 went to old Owen Begley's three nights ago, and two 
 sides of pork they ate on him, and the world and all of 
 bread and butter and tea ! They had Mrs. Begley up 
 all night cooking for them ! It'd do anyone good 
 to hear Owen talking about them ! He wouldn't be 
 satisfied to be sittin' down, but he should stand up to 
 be cursin' them ! ' 
 
130 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' Oh, oh, oh ! ' said Mr. Casey, much moved, as was 
 evidenced by his frightened eyes, but none the less 
 anxious to change the conversation. ' D'ye know now, 
 Mr. Palliser, if ye'll believe me, meself had a cow one 
 time that was a black-and-white breed, but it was a 
 Hollo-steen they called her, and a good cow she was 
 too. Ye'd be tired milking her ! ' 
 
 ' Isn't that what the man said that was sellin' 
 the parson's old cow and wouldn't be let tell a lie ! ' 
 said the flippant Mr. Adams. ' " Anny one'd be tired 
 milkin' her ! " says the fella, and it was true enough 
 for him, for she never had a drop at all ! ' 
 
 The task of the propagandist is a difficult and 
 often an ungrateful one, but Dan could not but feel 
 that such an opportunity as the present for pressing 
 his theories and his pamphlets upon his neighbours 
 might never recur. Sparing neither himself nor them, 
 he went from group to group preaching his gospel 
 of salvation, undeterred by the atmosphere, undefined, 
 yet unmistakable, of waiting, of apprehension, of 
 uncertainty, and of unwillingness to take thought 
 for the morrow, that pervaded his guests. Pleasant, 
 well-mannered, and apparently responsive, as were 
 all to whom he spoke, Dan was aware of something 
 tense, expectant, and strained, as of men in a besieged 
 city, a city that is besieged by two rival armies and 
 is ready to capitulate to either, but is uncertain with 
 which of them safety lies. Men talked in lowered 
 voices, looking over their shoulders, as young Adams 
 had done. Conversations that had begun loudly 
 and cheerfully with the weather and the price of pigs, 
 would fall into murmurs of which Dan knew only that 
 the deeds of those rival besiegers were being discussed, 
 but with what bias he, or such as he, would never 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 131 
 
 truly know. He and his like were kept outside. Dan 
 knew that, and knew too, badly as the knowledge 
 hurt him, that though none ever brought more single 
 hearts than such as he to the helping of Ireland, he, 
 and those like him, must submit and stand outside. 
 Even to-day, beneath his preoccupation in other 
 things, he felt that something special was known, and 
 was being hidden from him. Men had put what he 
 felt to be tentative questions to him, as if to see how 
 much he knew of something — he couldn't guess what. 
 Once he had seen a man, whom he did not know, look 
 hard at him, and heard him say something quickly, 
 that might have been the words ' Eugene-the-Talk ' ; 
 and once, as he was joining a group who were speaking 
 together so earnestly that his approach was unnoticed, 
 he again heard the words * Eugene-the-Talk,' and then 
 one of the men said, * God help Patsey Curtin ! ' 
 But Dan knew better than to attempt to force their 
 confidence. 
 
 Yet, in spite of all, his projects prospered. By 
 twelve o'clock his note-book was full of names and of 
 definite and specified promises of help. His Milk Record- 
 ing Society, and his Co-operative Store and Creamery, 
 began to incarnate and to breathe the breath of life. 
 He felt he could look Jimmy Ryan in the face, even 
 snap his fingers as well as look. He saw Lady Ducarrig 
 sauntering between the waiting groups of people 
 towards the shed in which the tractor was biding its 
 time. He had told her it was to start at twelve o'clock, 
 but she hadn't promised to come. And now it was 
 twelve. He forgot his dejections. Everything was 
 going well ! Even the weather was, as Tom said, 
 staggering on. Splendid ! 
 
 Car laughed in his exultant face. 
 
132 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' You look as if you had been left a fortune, instead 
 of just having spent one on that monster. Is it going 
 to happen soon ? ' 
 
 * You'll see ! ' said Dan, exulting more. 
 
 He disappeared into the tractor's shed. * He's 
 like a boy with a new knife,' bhe thought, * and what 
 a handsome boy ! Excitement suits him.' She sat 
 down on the step of a farmer's trap and considered 
 Dan. How he had developed since the day she had 
 dubbed him Sir Daniel ! She remembered how she 
 had thought of him as a monster, ' but a nice monster. 
 I knew as little about him then as I do of the monster 
 in there,' she thought ; * he's become a person now. 
 Quite a real person, and so good to sing to — I suppose 
 they'll marry him up to Eileen Caulfield some of these 
 days ! He won't be allowed to listen to my singing 
 then, that I can assure him ! — Oh, here it comes ! ' 
 
 Deep grunts and hissings and jets of steam were 
 proceeding from the shed. The mechanic, who had 
 been superintending the toilet and nourishment of 
 the machine, came running out to clear the course. 
 Right and left fled the farmers ; an avenue was made, 
 as for a royal procession, and a long and breathless 
 pause followed. Every eye was fixed on the dark 
 mouth of the shed. Then Dan emerged with a per- 
 turbed countenance. 
 
 * The fool can't make out what's wrong,' he said to 
 Car. * It's most extraordinary — she won't stir ! ' 
 
 Car said sympathetically : * Try her with a lump 
 of sugar or a carrot.' 
 
 With a single reproachful glance Dan returned to 
 the shed, and the audience resumed its attitude of 
 suspense. 
 
 At a quarter-past twelve, without warning, and 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 133 
 
 with three terrific roars, the tractor burst from the 
 shed and rushed half-way across the yard, when it 
 was brought to an abrupt stop by its keeper, in order 
 to save the Hfe of Baby Bullet who, lulled to a fancied 
 security by the delay, was standing precisely in its 
 path, making humorously sarcastic observations on 
 its failure to function. 
 
 * If she might have killed that old man,' said the 
 keeper later to a sympathiser, * she'd have had the 
 field ploughed by now 1 ' 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the conventions had 
 interfered, and the tractor, piqued, it may be supposed, 
 by the frustration of her intentions, had then refused 
 to move any farther. 
 
 At 1.30 all remained unchanged, and it was apparent 
 that a large and immediate lunch alone could relieve 
 the situation. That ancestral strain of munificence, 
 to which allusion has been made, had not failed Mrs. 
 Palliser in the hour of need. In the big corn-loft 
 she had caused two long tables to be prepared, and of 
 ail those who addressed themselves to the admirable 
 repast which she had provided, only herself and Dan 
 might have hesitated to assent to the grace after meat 
 pronounced by Mr. Timsey Coadey ; that same Mr. 
 Coadey who had, on an earlier occasion, crossed swords 
 with Baby Bullet. 
 
 ' Have I enough ate is it ? ' he exclaimed, in 
 response to Tom McLoughlen's assiduities. * You may 
 take your oath I have ! I've ate all was before me and 
 around me ! ** Betther busht than waste ! " as the old 
 woman said when she cooked her cat ! ' 
 
 * That's no bad one ! ' said Mr. Coadey's neighbour, 
 young Mr. Adams. * Faith, there's food to further 
 ordhers here, and drink too, begob ! ' 
 
134 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' Ah, I've joined the Holy and Blessed Order of the 
 Perpetual Thirst,' said Mr. Coadey regretfully. ' 'Twas 
 the wife coaxed me one day I was drunk.' 
 
 ' Well, isn't that a pity ! ' said Mr. Adams, with 
 sympathy. * You were too good-natured always ! Sure, 
 don't they say it's when ye gets drunk that ye must 
 show your manners ? ' 
 
 * Maybe it's drunk the old engine is ! ' suggested 
 Tom McLoughlen, who, a stout and swarthy Ganymede, 
 was making a slow circuit of the tables, laden with 
 bottles of porter, and talking agreeably to the guests 
 where opportunity served. ' And the best manners 
 and the only manners she has, is to sit aisy and do 
 nothing ! Isn't it what they say a pairson should sit 
 aisy when there's a hole in their breeches ? Maybe 
 there's more holes in that one than we seen yet ! I 
 declare to me soul I thought I'd stay laughin' a week 
 when she ran at poor Mr. Coyne.' 
 
 * Why, then, he's not the better of it yet,' observed 
 Mr. Coadey, with a hostile eye on the Baby, who was 
 sitting on the opposite side of the table some distance 
 higher up. ' Look at the pout he have on him this 
 minute 1 He'll have it in for your Boss, and the engine 
 too, Tom ! The Baby's a cross boy when he's vexed ! ' 
 
 ' D'ye know what it is has him vexed, Mr. Coadey ? ' 
 murmured Tom mysteriously. * There's too many 
 altogether joining Mr. Dan's Co-operation Shop ! 
 It'll do no good to the Eskragh General Emporium ! ' 
 
 Such a wink as might, without over-statement, 
 be compared to the slam of a door was the only reply 
 made by Mr. Coadey to Tom McLoughlen's explanation, 
 since the proprietor of the establishment in question 
 was Mr. Nicholas Coyne. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 * Late, late, in a gloaming, KiJmeny cam' hame,* and 
 it was not until six o'clock that evening that the 
 tractor's ill-temper yielded to the blandishments of 
 her attendant, and, with a sudden violence as though 
 a new spirit had been born in her, she started from her 
 stand-point in the yard, thundered away to the field 
 allotted to her activities, and fell to ploughing it, 
 faultlessly and without hesitation. The weather's 
 staggerings had ended, as staggerings often do end, 
 in a fall, a fall of steady and persistent rain, and most 
 of the visitors had departed, but enough of the elect 
 had remained to hurry up and down the long field, 
 regardless of discomfort, following the machine, and 
 saying to each other, ' better late than never ! ' or 
 ' she proved good in the latther end ! ' according to 
 their social standing (since education varies only the 
 form, not the spirit of the platitude). The furrows 
 left Dan's brow in precise proportion to their appearance 
 on the face of his field. His theories were vindicated, 
 and scientific farming was justified of her offspring. 
 The tractor ate up the green field in a manner that 
 defied criticism ; even Tom McLoughlen, like the ranks 
 of Tuscany, could scarce forbear to cheer. Dan and 
 his new toy went home in the dusk, hand-in-hand, 
 as one might say, at peace with each other and with 
 all the world. 
 
 Early on the following day, which was the first of 
 August, and was as fair and gay a morning as its 
 
136 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 predecessor had been depressing, Dan rode up into 
 the hills to gather, as he hoped, an outlying sheep into 
 his co-operative fold. Tara, the young chestnut mare, 
 was fresh and gay as the morning. She pranced and 
 danced and shied and amused herself and her rider so 
 well that the miles seemed nothing to her, and Dan 
 encouraged her in her folly, and forgot for a time to 
 brood over the customary horrors of the morning 
 paper that seemed each day to increase in numbers 
 and in magnitude. But not for long was this immunity 
 granted. He was roughly dragged back to the hard 
 business of life by one of those sights that, even in 
 his reasonably peaceful district, had become a common- 
 place. He was up in the hills now, the purple and 
 pink of heather and ling was all about him. A lovely 
 little stream, clear and tawny as sherry, came gam- 
 bolling down to meet him ; it swooped sideways under 
 a humpbacked bridge, and Dan, looking at it and 
 loving it, remembered where he was. This was the 
 Crooked Bridge of Knockariska, and just beyond it 
 was the wreck that was all that was left of the lonely 
 poHce-barracks of Knockariska. It was but a fort- 
 night since it had been attacked, but it looked as if 
 years must have gone by since it could have been an 
 orderly, human dwelling-place. The roof had fallen 
 in, the window-openings were only blackened sockets, 
 the pierced iron shutters, that had been impotent for 
 protection, hung, twisted, on their hinges ; the 
 entrance door was gone, charred rafters hung down in 
 the opening. One policeman of the small garrison 
 had been killed, and two others badly wounded, in the 
 gallant but unavailing fight, against ten times their 
 number, that they had made. Dan's father had built 
 the house, and Dan himself would, no doubt, presently 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 137 
 
 be awarded a considerable sum in compensation for 
 its destruction, which would, presumably, be levied 
 off the district. 
 
 ' I'd give the money twenty times over,' he thought, 
 ' for it not to have happened ! * 
 
 Up in these higher places flies and dust were not ; 
 the little-travelled road was smooth and bare of stones, 
 and the young mare, having danced off the wild fresh- 
 ness of morning, paced along the close sod of the road- 
 side ribbon of grass with sedate decorum. Her even 
 foot-fall shook the water in the ditches on either side 
 of the narrow road, and the darkened reflection of the 
 sky's blue and silver that they held shimmered and 
 trembled as she passed, their mimicry shattered. The 
 fine day had brought men and women into the bogs to 
 ' foot the turf,' piling the sods into little heaps to dry, 
 before bringing them home, and here and there among 
 the rocks, above the drowning grasp of the bog, the late 
 mountain-hay was being made. 
 
 Most of these lands of Knockariska had belonged 
 to Colonel Palhser ; Dan's progress was slow, by reason 
 of talk with the turf-cutters, or the haymakers, many 
 of whom he knew, and all of whom knew him. He 
 shed the touch of gloom and shyness that tinged his 
 ordinary demeanour, when he talked to the poor people. 
 His manner caught from their's something of its ease 
 and pleasantness, of the social self-possession that is 
 almost Latin in the feeling it imparts of an ancient 
 civilisation, a traditional culture. It needed the 
 evidence of the ruined barracks, the remembrance of 
 the sobbing wife of the dead poHceman, for Dan 
 to realise that this was ' a disturbed area,' and that 
 these friendly men and compliment-paying women, 
 staying their work to talk to him, these bright-eyed, 
 
138 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 upstanding lads who gave him so eagerly news of 
 the foxes and their family affairs, were all, probably, 
 involved, if not actually taking part, in a deep 
 conspiracy against existing law and authority. 
 
 ' Rebels ! ' he thought, * half-conquered rebels 
 of near eight hundred years' making ! Fools, chuck- 
 ing away peace and prosperity for an unforgotten 
 dream ! Romance versus reality — the old story of the 
 " Dog and the Shadow " ! The inborn romantic tradi- 
 tion exploited and made red hot by education, lies, and 
 propaganda ! ' 
 
 His thoughts turned to his own recipe for tran- 
 quilising his fellow-countrymen. Prosperity. Was 
 he making the wrong declaration, playing a hopeless 
 game ? Can romance be stifled with feather beds, 
 however deep and comfortable ? It sounded absurd, 
 from all points of view. He thought of the men who 
 had sacrificed themselves to the ' Plan of Campaign,' 
 and had given up home and land for a cause ; of those 
 who, like ' Shemus O'Brien,' in Le Fanu's poem, had 
 in successive generations, ' taken to the mountains,' 
 in futile insurrection against the greatest power in the 
 world. Fools, no doubt ; and yet he felt kinship 
 with them ; he was a romantic too ; he knew that 
 he, also, but for his upbringing, might have taken to 
 the mountains ; that in him was a spark of that divine 
 folly that makes sometimes for madness, sometimes 
 for misery, yet is sometimes a beacon telling of the 
 high places of human nature. Against his judgment, 
 the poet, that must be in the enthusiast, was stirred. 
 ' I believe I'm half-way with them myself — a rotten 
 position ! — Half-way ! An ass halting between two 
 burdens, a Laodicean, neither hot nor cold ! Good 
 Lord ! I'm worse than that, I'm both ! ' In short, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 139 
 
 Mr. Facing-both-ways, as he had called himself to 
 Lady Ducarrig that night on the hill, the night of the 
 Baal fires. 
 
 Some connection of ideas changed his thought. 
 With an inward shudder he remembered that intoler- 
 able talk with his mother. There could be no stopping 
 half-way about that proposition. He had thought 
 about it often since she had made it a few mornings 
 ago. Uncle Dick's overtures couldn't be ignored, he 
 would have to be given an answer. Why couldn't 
 they let him alone, to plough and to sow and to reap 
 and to mow, and not worry him with a wife ? If the 
 Admiral would lend him the money, on any reasonable 
 terms that didn't include Eileen, what a herd of 
 Friesians he would have ! He used to like Eileen well 
 enough. (He thought rather uncomfortably of those 
 war-time leave-takings, and wondered if she thought 
 of them too.) The question now was how many pure- 
 bred Friesians would make her worth while ? He 
 laughed morosely, and thought of the man who was 
 choosing a wife for his son, and said there wasn't the 
 value of a heifer bechuxt any two women. 
 
 He found himself at the stony bohireen that led, 
 between high fences draped with brambles, to his 
 destination, Patrick Curtin's farm-house. (By the 
 bye, why did those fellows yesterday say ' God help 
 Patsey Curtin ' ? Perhaps he would find that out 
 presently.) ... At this point he was attacked by 
 three large cur dogs, and had to direct all his thoughts 
 and energies to the task of preventing them from 
 biting the chestnut mare's white heels (and thereby 
 probably teaching her to kick hounds for the rest of 
 her life). 
 
 Patrick Curtin met him in the spacious, untidy 
 
140 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 farmyard. He took the mare from Dan, and having 
 immured her in one of the darksome shelters surround- 
 ing the yard, he returned. He was a stout, elderly 
 man, handsome, clean-shaven, save for small iron-grey 
 whiskers. He walked slowly, his face was grave. 
 
 * Come inside, Mr. Palliser,' he said with an effort, 
 that was perceptible, to speak cheerfully, * come inside, 
 sir, and sit down ; ye've come a long way, and the 
 day is warm.' 
 
 Dan was not specially observant, but he knew 
 Patrick Curtin well, and though the courtesy of his 
 manner was unchanged, its accustomed geniality was 
 gone, and his usually jolly voice was lifeless. The 
 farm-house was a large one, with two stories ; Patrick 
 Curtin led his visitor through the empty kitchen into 
 a small sitting-room behind it, and placed a chair 
 for him at the large table that almost filled the room. 
 He took from a sideboard a tray on which were a 
 decanter and a jug of water and some glasses, and 
 took a plate of biscuits out of a drawer. He placed 
 them on the table, and sat down opposite to Dan with 
 his back to the door. 
 
 ' You must take something, Mr. Palliser/ he said, 
 * it's a long road from here to Monalour.' 
 
 He poured out two glasses of whisky, and handing 
 one to Dan, he drank the other off at a draught. 
 
 Dan felt oppressed, he knew not by what. In the 
 room overhead there was constant movement ; feet 
 fumbling to and fro, low voices, and many openings 
 and shuttings of the door. Patrick Curtin's attention 
 was formally his, but it was plain that his ears were 
 Strained to listen to the sounds from above. Even 
 his attitude as he sat at the table had an effect of 
 momentariness, and of temporary arrest. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 141 
 
 Nevertheless, Dan, having no alternative, took up 
 his parable, and becoming interested in his subject, 
 discoursed of his projects, and of the need in these 
 disordered times of * the decent people, like you and 
 me, Patrick, sticking together and doing their best to 
 keep things going, in spite of all ! ' 
 
 He looked at Patrick Curtin's face as he spoke, and 
 saw, with bewilderment, that his eyes were full of tears. 
 
 ' What's the matter, Patrick ? ' he stammered. 
 ' What have I said ? ' 
 
 * You said nothing,' said Patrick Curtin heavily, 
 
 * nothing but what is good, sober sense, and what 
 I'd approve of, and what I'd wish to hear from your 
 father's son.' 
 
 * Wouldn't you tell me — mightn't I ask you what's 
 troubling you ? ' 
 
 The farmer's large, dark blue eyes, red-rimmed and 
 bloodshot, were set on the little square of window 
 behind Dan's head. Tears, that he heeded no more 
 than a child heeds them, ran slowly down his dark- 
 skinned face. 
 
 * Too much trouble I have ! ' He brought his fist 
 down on the table with a heavy gesture of finality. 
 
 * My cup of sorrow is full ! ' — he paused, moving rest- 
 lessly, as if he were in physical pain, his eyes went 
 from Dan's face to the window and back again — * but 
 I cannot speak of it ' 
 
 Dan stretched his long arm across the table and 
 covered Patrick Curtin's hand with his. 
 
 ' Patrick, you've known me all my life — you know 
 you can trust me — give me a chance — I might be 
 able to help.' 
 
 Patrick Curtin withdrew liis fist from beneath 
 Dan's hand, and struck the table, so that half the 
 
142 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 whisky and water in Dan's glass was spilled on the 
 American leather covering. 
 
 * No one can help me ! Man cannot help me, nor 
 God neither.' 
 
 He gazed unseeingly at Dan. He looked as if he 
 were staring into the eyes of Sorrow herself. 
 
 ' Oh God ! My two boys, my fine sons, to be dying 
 above there, shot like dogs ! ' He got on to his feet 
 clumsily and violently, his chair fell with a crash. * I 
 
 call down the curse of Almighty God ' he began, 
 
 raging. 
 
 The door was burst open, and Father Hugh Mac- 
 namara came in swiftly, and put his hand on the 
 farmer's shoulder. 
 
 * Mr. Curtin,' he said urgently, * Tim's going ! 
 Come quickly ! ' He gave Dan a glance of recognition. 
 * Wait ! ' he said to him over his shoulder. 
 
 Dan sat in the kitchen and smoked. One cigarette 
 followed another. Nothing happened. One of the 
 cur collies strayed in through the open door, vaguely 
 wagging her tail ; she investigated a pan or two, and 
 strayed out again. A kettle on the small range boiled ; 
 its lid clattered like a typewriter. The door upstairs 
 opened again, and a tall grey woman, whom Dan knew 
 to be Patrick Curtin's wife, hurried through the 
 kitchen without seeming to see he was there, and went 
 into the sitting-room. He saw her tear open a long 
 drawer in a cupboard, and snatch a brown garment 
 from folds of paper ; then she rushed upstairs, back 
 to the room she had left. He realised that she had 
 fetched * the habit,' the garment that has been blessed, 
 and that blesses and sanctifies the last faint-drawn 
 breath. And ever, in a steady undercurrent of 
 sound, he heard the priest's voice, hushed and solemn. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 143 
 
 and answering murmurs, the answering voices rising 
 and falling in what he knew was prayer. 
 
 Suddenly a hubbub arose outside the house. The 
 dogs barked, there was outcry from the geese and the 
 fowl, and the young mare whinnied loudly. An out- 
 side car had been driven into the yard at full speed. 
 As Dan reached the door, he saw Abina Cashen, 
 dressed all in black, spring from the car. She came 
 running to the house, and as she came she called out 
 to Dan : 
 
 * How is he ? How is he ? ' 
 
 Before he could answer, she was at the door. She 
 took one look at his face. 
 
 * What ! You I ' she cried, with a surprise that 
 seemed to Dan to have horror, even repulsion, mingled 
 with it, and without waiting for a reply she crushed past 
 him in the doorway and ran on up the stairs. 
 
 It was all mystifying, alarming, even dreadful. 
 He wished that Father Hugh had not told him to wait. 
 He could do nothing. He felt himself smothering in 
 the cloud of sinister grief that was on this house. 
 * And how many more like it ? ' he thought. As he 
 stood, uncertain, on the threshold, the voices upstairs 
 that were torturing him ceased abruptly. He heard 
 quick movements, and then out of the sudden still- 
 ness came a succession of shrieks, barbaric, utterly 
 ungoverned, that cleft him as it were with a sword. 
 
 Dan fled from the house with these following him, 
 incongruous and incredible in the sunny morning, with 
 the fowl, restored to calm, moving meditatively in and 
 out of the stables, and a large sow lying on her side, in 
 placid repose, on a heap of litter. The outside car 
 that had brought Abina Cashen was on the farther 
 side of the yard, the horse, dripping with sweat, 
 
144 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 standing with its neck stretched out and its head down, 
 its sides heaving. The driver had gone to a pump 
 near the entrance gate, and had set the water flowing 
 and was drinking from the spout. 
 
 Dan betook himself to the stable in which his mare 
 was standing. With his eyes full of the sun he could 
 but just descry her in the darkness. She eyed him, 
 after the manner of young horses, with suspicion, an 
 unfriendly gaze, as though she had never seen him 
 before, and never wished to see him again ; but those 
 horrible yells were in his ears, and he wanted the 
 comfort of companionship. He went up to her and 
 talked to her, and petted her, and she relented towards 
 him, and softly touched his face with her soft muzzle, 
 and rubbed her head against his arm. He leaned his 
 brow against her silky, scented neck, as though the 
 pressure would steady the whirl of thought. There was 
 a horror in this obscure and secret tragedy, of which he 
 knew nothing, yet guessed all ; with its past a remorse- 
 less intrigue, its present a vain sacrifice, its outcome a 
 hidden grave. It caught his imagination, and drove 
 his thoughts into chaos, as a wind drives and lashes 
 the waves of a lake pent among hills. All that Ireland 
 had suffered in the past, was suffering in the present, 
 would surely continue to suffer in the future — whether 
 by her own fault or that of others he cared nothing — 
 came over him. A wave of emotion rose higher than 
 its fellows, and swept him with it. 
 
 * I dedicate myself to Ireland,' he muttered aloud, 
 his arm over Tara's withers, his brow against her neck. 
 * And Tara is my witness ! What I can do, I will do, 
 so help me God ! * 
 
 Father Hugh started for home with Dan. They 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 145 
 
 rode, one behind the other, down the bohireen, with 
 the briars, laden with their promises of fruit, snatching 
 at them as they passed. On the main road the priest 
 pushed his horse on and joined Dan. 
 
 ' This is an old animal was lent me, Mr. Palliser, 
 and I won't keep you back,' he began, his pale, clear 
 eyes fixed on Dan, in vain effort to pierce the fog of 
 short-sight and read what might be found in his face. 
 
 * I only asked you to wait because I was afraid I 
 mightn't have another chance to see you, and I thought 
 it would be advisable to explain things that you 
 mightn't understand ' 
 
 ' I don't think there's much that I don't under- 
 stand,' said P-^.n, looking steadily at Father Hugh. 
 
 ' You may understand all, but you saw nothing,' 
 said the priest eagerly. * That's the main point ! ' 
 
 * Tell me one thing,' Dan said. * Are both the boys 
 dead ? ' 
 
 * I'll tell you nothing, only what you must know 
 already. Tim Curtin is dead.' 
 
 * I want to know what brought Miss Cashen here, 
 and what she has against me,' said Dan stubbornly. 
 
 Father Hugh forced the old horse he was riding 
 up to the mare ; he put his hand on Dan's knee. 
 
 * I know I can trust you,' he said, with certainty 
 in his voice. ' She was going to be married to that 
 poor boy that's just after dying. She hardly knows 
 what she's saying or doing either.' 
 
 * It wasn't so much what she said,' Dan persisted. 
 
 * It was the way she looked at me — as if she hated me.* 
 
 The priest hesitated, then he said firmly, * Well, 
 now, I'U tell you, Mr. Palliser. She thinks it was you 
 brought the police to take her brother ! ' 
 
 ' / brought the police ! Good God ! ' Dan said 
 
146 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 incredulously. He could hardly find words. ' You 
 don't believe that ? ' 
 
 ' D'ye think I'd be speaking to you Hke this, now, 
 if I did ? ' said the priest gently. ' I told Abina what 
 I thought, but she's distracted — and oh ! Mr. PalHser, 
 don't be angry if I beg you to forget anything that you 
 saw to-day ! All that those unfortunate poor creatures 
 of parents ask now is to be let bury their dead in 
 silence.' 
 
 * You might know me well enough not to ask that,' 
 interrupted Dan roughly. * Didn't you and I settle 
 a month ago we'd work for peace ? How can you 
 think I could want to make bad worse ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! Peace, peace ! ' cried the priest. ' We cry 
 peace where there is no peace ! When was there 
 peace in Ireland ? The lamp of revolt was never 
 quenched in her ! Sometimes it has been only a 
 dagger-point of flame, sometimes a red bonfire is 
 kindled out of it ! Look at what is happening this 
 day, and getting worse every day in place of better ! 
 Oh God ! Will the time ever come when these flames 
 will die in the broad dayhght of peace, and Ireland be 
 left to fulfil her destiny ? ' 
 
 He stopped speaking ; his pale eyes communed 
 with the sky. He had forgotten his companion, and 
 he started when Dan spoke. 
 
 * And what's her destiny ? ' Dan asked. 
 
 His voice was harsh and unsympathetic, the priest's 
 outburst had jarred his quivering nerves and made 
 him angry. The thought ' Is he quoting from an old 
 sermon, or rehearsing for a new one ? ' crossed his mind. 
 He said aloud bitterly : ' To be " The Seething Pot " 
 from one generation to another ! That's her destiny, 
 1 suppose ! ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 147 
 
 ' To be the Sanctuary of Religion,' said Father 
 Hugh, with a hght in his other-worldly eyes, ' to be 
 the one country in the world that cherishes our Holy 
 Church ! ' 
 
 His voice had deepened and his brogue had 
 broadened. The peasant-boy that he had been was 
 in his voice, but in his face was Vision, and assurance 
 of a Peace that is not of this world. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ' Well now, Bill/ said Mr. Ryan confidentially to 
 William Heskin, Dan Palliser's groom, * tell me is it a 
 fact that you and your boss is jumping this mare at 
 the Show ? I wouldn't approve of that at all. She's 
 too green altogether for that work.' 
 
 ' Sure I told him that this while back,' returned 
 Heskin, * but nothing would content him only that I 
 should lunge her over every bank in the barony, let 
 alone himself riding her hither and over, from Dublin 
 to Dingledicooch, as you might say, talking to the 
 people about these fashionable fi-garros of creameries 
 and milk-measuring ! And little they regard him ! 
 With the whole country rotten with Sinn Fein, and 
 too much money in the farmers' pockets already ! 
 It's only to laugh at him they'll do ! ' Heskin, like 
 most countrymen who are not farmers, hated that 
 much privileged class, but remembering that Mr. 
 Ryan was one of them, he continued hastily : ' Hard- 
 shipping the mare, that's all the good it done ! If 
 I had one more fortnight with her I wouldn't say a 
 word, but this past week was too wet to take her out, 
 the banks was no better than bogs. And sure the 
 Show's in four days now.' 
 
 * Well, she's looking good enough after all,' said 
 Jimmy, turning in his saddle, and looking the chestnut 
 mare all over with a search-light eye. * If I never bred 
 a worse one than that I'd do ! That's a mare if ye 
 had her at the Dublin Show she'd sell like a box 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 149 
 
 o' matches at a street corner ! She's the very cut and 
 stand of a good hunter ! ' 
 
 Even though Heskin was well aware that Mr. 
 Ryan never had been known to disparage any animal 
 that he had ever owned, still less, bred, he felt gratified 
 by this tribute. 
 
 ' She's a nice, loose mare,' he acknowledged, ' and 
 she's clever enough too. She'd change feet on the 
 side of a sixpence ; but they makes up them jumps 
 very crabby at that Show. Didn't yourself see Mr. 
 Dan to fall her over the bank that's in it ? And it's 
 very hard to fall that mare. But indeed it's a dirty, 
 ugly old bank enough.' 
 
 * Now, Bill, I'll tell ye what ye'll do,' said Mr. Ryan 
 impressively. ' Take the mare into the show-ground 
 again, and let her have that bank a couple or three 
 times, and she'll make nothing at all of it at the Show ! 
 I'd like well to have her win.' 
 
 ' And in the name of God, how can I do that ? ' 
 asked Heskin testily. ' How can I get her into the 
 dam' place ? ' 
 
 * Come with me now and I'll show you that soon 
 enough ! ' replied Jimmy Ryan. 
 
 It was a chilly morning in the second week of 
 August ; one of those grey, threatening mornings 
 when the conviction that summer cannot last for ever 
 is suddenly born, and arrives at a forced maturity 
 when the threat fulfils itself, as it generally does, in 
 a downpour of cold rain. The two men rode quietly 
 along the hilly road to Eskragh, the two young horses 
 comporting themselves with the bored dociHty that 
 young horses habitually reserve for their professional 
 attendants. 
 
 ' Well now, Mr. Ryan,' said Heskin, breaking a 
 
150 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 meditative silence, * could you tell me of any horses 
 that's going to jump ? What'd be against us if we 
 entered the mare ? ' 
 
 ' I'm told the lord above at Monalour has a good 
 sort of a bay horse that he might enter,' replied Mr. 
 Ryan, * but sure he's strange to the banks that we 
 have here ; there's no need to be afraid of him. He 
 couldn't look at that mare at all.' 
 
 This presumed diffidence on the part of Lord 
 Ducarrig's horse did not allay Heskin's anxieties. 
 
 ' Sure I know that bay horse well, and a good horse he 
 is too. They say he won one time, jumping in Dublin.* 
 
 * Well, he mightn't win here,' said Jimmy con- 
 solingly. ' Did you hear we knocked a Challenge Cup 
 out of his lordship, and a dam' good one too ! ' 
 
 ' He's well able to give it,' said Heskin, ' he's full 
 up o' money. That young lad of a shuffoore he has, 
 told me he wants to buy Monalour House off Mr. Dan ! ' 
 
 ' He may whistle for that,' said Jimmy Ryan, with 
 a scornful laugh. ' Is it get Monalour from Mr. Dan ? 
 No fear he'll get it, and no more will his bay horse get 
 the prize from that mare ! You can be easy about 
 that. Bill Heskin ! ' 
 
 They had arrived at Eskragh and were riding 
 through the town ; as they turned into the chief of 
 its two principal streets Heskin pulled out his watch. 
 
 * I wonder have I the time right ? ' he said, looking 
 up at the building they were passing. * Oh, begance, 
 I forgot ! That's the third time now I'm made a fool 
 of this way ! ' 
 
 Jimmy Ryan, who was an old-fashioned Nationalist 
 and had the courage of his opinions, laughed angrily. 
 
 * It's neither English time, nor Irish time, nor God's 
 time, ye'll get there now, and God only knows what 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 151 
 
 good's to be got out o' this work ! Past time will 
 come again before Ireland '11 make good what these 
 bloody rogues have destroyed on her ! ' 
 
 The building was once the Court-house. Where 
 the town-clock had been, was now a hole with blackened 
 edges. The roof was gone, only the outside walls 
 still stood, frail and windowless, the entrance door and 
 the lower window-openings were boarded over. 
 
 ' That was Sinn Fein work ; next turr'n will be 
 the Black and Tans ! ' said Heskin sardonically. 
 ' Great times for Ireland, isn't it, Mr. Ryan ? " Between 
 the jigs and the reels," as they say, a pairson wouldn't 
 know hardly where he'd be ! Shot dead one day, may 
 be, and burnt out the next ! ' 
 
 They rode on through the quiet town, with its 
 many dogs straying on the roadways, or seated watch- 
 fully on the narrow pavements. A few farmers' traps 
 stood at the shop-doors, and here and there were 
 gatherings of three or four people, engaged, as were 
 most Irish people in that unhappy year, in eager, yet 
 cautious, almost furtive, political discussion. Jimmy 
 stopped at a prosperous-looking public-house. That it 
 was also the ofhce of the Agricultural Show Committee 
 was announced by a placard in an upper window. 
 
 * Ketch this fellow for me,' he said, giving his reins 
 to Heskin, and dismiounting. He went into the house, 
 and in a very few minutes returned. 
 
 ' If ye'll wait one five minutes for me,' he said in 
 a whisper, ' I'll go down to the show-ground with you. 
 There's a small share of business to be done above. The 
 Commytee is having a meeting, and by all that was 
 lucky 'twas the Baby was in the chair ! I told him 
 he couldn't refuse the key to the President's horse, 
 and he didn't either ! ' 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 When Arnold Gilmour, afterwards first Baron Ducarrig, 
 chose his wife, and took her, young and tender, from 
 the schoolroom, as David was taken from the sheep- 
 folds, he considered that he had acted with all his 
 wonted intelligence. She had not betrayed his judg- 
 ment either in looks or in manners. Both were entirely 
 creditable to him. She wore his diamonds with dis- 
 tinction, and played her part in the realms over which 
 he had ruled, with a success that had, he had some- 
 times thought, been even a trifle excessive in proportion 
 to her merits and his. That she had never made any 
 effort or even pretence of affection for him had not 
 troubled him long, since the bonds of matrimony were 
 thereby loosened, and alternative objects of devotion 
 entailed fewer responsibilities, and had the merit of 
 variety. But in one important department of her duties 
 his wife had failed conspicuously. A daughter, who, 
 having had the temerity to take the place of a son and 
 heir, could not contrive even to live, was a disastrous 
 token of Car's inadequacy, an indisputable proof of 
 the unreHability of women. To have acquired, by 
 his own remarkable competence, all that is needed to 
 found a family, and to be frustrated by Fate in the 
 matter of the small but indispensable particular of 
 an heir, was Lord Ducarrig's just grievance. He had 
 many times surveyed the position, but had failed to 
 find in it any promise of improvement. How could he 
 expect to be able to marry again when Car held a handi- 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 153 
 
 cap of twenty-five years ? If on either of them the 
 privilege of a fresh start were to be conferred, he 
 could not conceal from himself that the odds were in 
 Car's favour, and that his prospect of being able to 
 reorganise his matrimonial affairs was a remarkably 
 indifferent one. There had been a moment, some few 
 years ago, when it had seemed possible that one of his 
 A.D.C.'s, good-looking above the average, might have 
 simplified the position by persuading his Chief's wife 
 to anticipate the freedom that Time would probably 
 bestow upon her, and to run away with him. His 
 Chief had waited and watched, with a singular mixture 
 of concealed hope and hatred, for the crash that did 
 not come. Possibly Ducarrig had underestimated 
 his wife's sense of duty, or honour, or her suscepti- 
 bility ; or, possibly, in jealousy of which he was only 
 half aware, he had overestimated the threat of the 
 position. The good-looking A.D.C. was swept away 
 to the war, and fell in Flanders, and Lord and Lady 
 Ducarrig's union continued to present to the world 
 a front of unbroken serenity. 
 
 The large and general garden-party at Monalour, 
 that its new occupants had considered to be incumbent 
 on them, was, as is said of a shower, passing over. It 
 had begun heavily, as is often the case with showers, 
 and there had even been a moment when the possibility 
 of a frost had been indicated. Even as far back in the 
 crescendo of Irish trouble as the beginning of August, 
 1920, the gaiety of Irish gatherings was something 
 thwarted, but on this pleasant afternoon the danger 
 had passed with an early and profuse display of tea- 
 tables under the widespread branches of the big 
 beech-tree near the lawn-tennis grounds, and a genial 
 sense of repletion inspirited ahke the players of games 
 and the talkers of gossip. 
 
154 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Prominent among the latter was that able con- 
 versationalist, Miss Katie de Vere, and round her 
 basket chair was a serried circle of those scarcely less 
 gifted and useful people, whose energies are devoted 
 to the allied art of listening, acceptingly and stimu- 
 latingly, an art possessed in a high degree by such an 
 audience as Miss de Vere's, consisting as it did of her 
 friends and neighbours, for the most part agreeable 
 and well-bred people, typical examples of that com- 
 bination of levity and pessimism, of conscientiousness 
 and good-natured laxity, of practical benevolence, 
 abusiveness, and courage, that characterise the class 
 which is usually spoken of as the Anglo-Irish gentry. 
 Stimulation was, however, superfluous where a 
 narrator as skilled as Katie de Vere was concerned. 
 Raids for arms, burnings, kidnappings, reprisals, all 
 that that troubled summer had to endure, was power 
 to her engines, grist to her mill. With devastating 
 impartiahty she made the worst of every side, and 
 mitigated nothing except the truth. But, since it 
 was Ireland, even the most lurid of Miss de Vere's 
 histories had in it some saving clause of absurdity, 
 some twinkhng point of humour or good-nature. 
 
 ' They broke into the MacDermotts a few nights 
 ago,' said Katie ; * they were looking for arms, and were 
 frantic because the only thing they could find was a 
 duck-gun old enough to be put in a museum ! " Isn't 
 it a shame for ye," said one of the SinnFeiners, *' to 
 have nothing but an old piece like that, that if we let 
 it off maybe would only kill ourselves ? Go down 
 on your knees now," they said to Johnny MacDermott, 
 *' and tell us if ye haven't a good gun in the house." 
 ' ' And can't I tell you a lie on my knees as well as on 
 my feet ? " says Johnny ! And, you know, that made 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 155 
 
 the creatures laugh. It appealed to them. Florence 
 MacDermott says she gave them the scolding of a 
 lifetime. Can't you hear Florence ? I believe they 
 told her they would shoot her if she said another word 
 to them ! I never thought I should have sympathised 
 with Sinn Feiners ! ' Katie swung an eye round her 
 group, and satisfied that her point was taken, went on 
 with her history. ' Florence says they wanted to 
 search all the rooms, but she absolutely refused to 
 let them go into the nursery and terrify the children 
 with their black faces. She told them the baby w^ould 
 ha.ve convulsions if he saw them, and the leader agreed 
 most politely, and looked complacently at his sooty- 
 faced ragamuffins, and said " And he couldn't be 
 blemt if he did, ma'am." ' 
 
 ' They came to us a few nights' ago,' broke in a 
 listener, ' and took Margaret's little rook-rifie. She 
 begged them to take care of it, and they promised 
 they'd return it, later on, when they had done 
 with it ! ' 
 
 * When de Valera is crowned king ! ' suggested 
 someone else, a pessimist. 
 
 * Or George the Fifth ! ' gibed another, an optimist. 
 ' Have they been to the Pallisers yet ? ' asked 
 
 another of the circle, with a glance at Dan, who was 
 playing lawn-tennis. 
 
 ' No, I believe not,' said Miss de Vere shortly. 
 
 ' I shouldn't be very much surprised if they let 
 Dan off,' said Mrs. Caulfield with mild malevolence. 
 Dan was out of favour with his Aunt and Uncle of 
 Fairhaven. ' I'm very fond of Dan,' went on Dan's 
 Aunt Eleanor, ' but things I hear make me rather 
 afraid he's going too far with his Nationalistic 
 tendencies— letting them pass the most disloyal 
 
156 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 resolutions at that District Council without even a 
 
 protest, and * 
 
 ' Good Heavens, he's not turning rebel, is he ? ' 
 burst in an old soldier with a purple face and a clipped 
 white moustache. * I wish the blackguards would 
 steal his cattle, the way they stole three from me the 
 other night ! That'd teach him ! " 
 
 * Yes, or took all his cigarettes and his field-glasses 
 as they did to General Hamilton ! ' said the woman 
 who had first spoken. * You know they're charging 
 the unfortunate farmers six shillings a cow ! And 
 making them pay it too, whether they sympathize or 
 no ! ' 
 
 * Dan's all right ! ' said Katie de Vere pugnaciously. 
 ' I'll answer for it he'll do nothing that he need be 
 ashamed of ! He's doing his best for the country, 
 and it will be a disgrace to the Sinn Feiners if they 
 don't let him alone ! ' 
 
 * They came to my house last week,' said a pretty 
 young woman, dressed in black. * The only arms I 
 had was Harry's sword. I begged them to leave it 
 with me. They were quite civil, but they took it. 
 But do you know. Colonel Kennedy, the next morning 
 I found it under a tree on the avenue ! * 
 
 There was an instant of pause. Harry had been 
 killed in the war, and not many of the listeners but 
 had a reason for sympathy. Colonel Kennedy grunted, 
 and thought to himself that it might be all very well 
 for that poor little Fanny Joyce to love her enemies, 
 but she couldn't expect him at his time of life to do 
 such a thing. Mrs. Caulfield said, acidly, that she 
 couldn't help regretting that Dan should be mixed 
 up in any way with disloyalty. 
 
 ' He's got an M.C., hasn't he ? ' said Harry's widow, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 157 
 
 with a touch of combativeness. Harry and Dan had 
 been friends, and had served together in the war. 
 
 ' My steward tells me/ said the old colonel, ' that 
 there are more fellows killed in these scraps than any- 
 one has any idea of. For instance, that affair up at 
 Knockariska, when they killed a policeman — the 
 shooting wasn't all on one side there, I can tell you ! 
 But they whip away the wounded and no one knows 
 anything ' 
 
 ' Except their people ! ' said Harry's widow, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 ' Or the priests ! ' flung in Colonel Kennedy hotly. 
 ' They know all about it ! ' 
 
 Katie de Vere was looking at the old soldier's 
 angry face with something like consternation. 
 
 * Knockariska, did you say. Colonel Kennedy ? 
 Did the Sinn Feiners lose men there ? ' She was 
 thinking of how she had met Dan Palliser, and that 
 young priest from Eskragh, at the Knockariska cross- 
 roads a few days ago, and had wondered where they 
 had been together. 
 
 Colonel Kennedy did not reply. He had struggled 
 hastily to his feet from the low chair in which he had 
 been sitting, and at this moment was, with his most 
 soldierly and empresse manner, offering it to his hostess. 
 
 Car Ducarrig, very well dressed, very handsome, 
 with her tranquil, yet trenchant simplicity, her wonder- 
 ful voice, and the manner whose cool indifference was 
 contradicted by the sympathy that might, by the 
 person in need of it, be met with in her eyes, was still 
 something of an excitement in the society into which 
 she had dropped, suddenly, like a strange, dazzling 
 bird of passage. Katie de Vere had expressed the 
 feelings of most people when she said : * If I weren't in 
 
158 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 love with her, I should dislike her ! Can any one tell 
 me what Lord Ducarrig's views are ? ' 
 
 Car declined the proffered seat. She said she was 
 trying to beat up people to play golf-croquet. * Arnold 
 has collected some victims. Any volunteers here ? ' 
 
 Katie de Vere, wiry if elderly, and a noted player 
 of games, responded with alacrity. 
 
 ' But you're too good for golf-croquet,' said Car, as 
 they left the group. ' I'll make up a set of tennis for 
 you. I can find some one else for Arnold. Who will 
 you have ? Dan Palliser's rather good ' ' 
 
 * She calls him " Dan " ! ' thought Miss de Vere, 
 registering the fact in a brain-cell with a mental click. 
 * I wonder what Georgina would say ! — Or Arnold ! ' 
 Aloud she said : ' I saw him playing very well just now, 
 in a set with you. I heard he had been laid up by a 
 fall' 
 
 * That was when his mare came down with him at 
 the show-ground,' said Car ; her eyes turned towards 
 Dan who was standing watching the lawn-tennis 
 players ; she decided that he looked very well in 
 flannels. ' I knew he was more hurt than he would 
 admit,' she went on. ' Men are such idiots ! If they're 
 really hurt, they say nothing ; if they aren't, they 
 behave as if they were dying ! They have neither 
 sense nor moderation as we have ! ' 
 
 ' Some of us ! ' said Katie de Vere dryly, and 
 thought, ' I think you may have sense, but I have my 
 doubts about the moderation, my young friend ! 
 Though I don't think the worse of you for that,* she 
 added in a mental postscript. 
 
 The garden-party moved prosperously on its way 
 in the accustomed channels. The weather was agree- 
 able, the restoratives, provided under the beech-tree 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 159 
 
 for exhausted revellers, were admirable ; the golf- 
 croquet, the lawn-tennis, the herded expeditions to 
 the herbaceous borders and the conservatory, all 
 fulfilled themselves according to plan, and the guests 
 felt that they had been entertained well, and in con- 
 formity with all the best traditions. 
 
 It was seven o'clock before the last car had been 
 sped on its homeward way, and of all the company, 
 Dan Palliser and his cousin Eileen Caulfield alone 
 remained. Their hostess had held them back when 
 the general rout set in. 
 
 * " The hour came of her last caress \ " ' she had 
 quoted, letting herself fall into a chair. ' We have 
 indeed drunk the cup of pleasure to the dregs — No, 
 please don't go home, stay for one last dreg! After 
 dinner we can go on the lake and be calm, and take 
 Eileen home. Do forgive me for saying Eileen, I'm 
 too tired to caU you Miss Caulfield. Please hit back, 
 if you hke ! Arnold, do you mind ringing the bell and 
 saying they're staying for dinner ? ' 
 
 Ducarrig's eyeglass, that had been directed towards 
 his wife's face, turned, as it were mechanically, to 
 Eileen's. The charming carmine of her cheek deepened. 
 She laughed a little nervously. It seemed to her, as 
 it had seemed to him, an amusing coincidence that 
 on the same afternoon both Lord and Lady Ducarrig 
 should have elected to call her by her Christian name. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Changes had been made in the famihar dining-room 
 since Dan and Eileen had last dined there. A round 
 mahogany table, almost black from age, had been 
 imported to take the place of that which, long, and 
 robed in white, Dan had always known. Mrs. Pahiser 
 held that there was something dissolute, if not 
 immodest, about an unclothed table ; Dan felt that 
 her portrait on the end wall was regarding the change 
 with severe disapproval. Electric light had been 
 installed, and densely shaded red lights illumined the 
 silver and glass and flowers with concentrated inten- 
 sity, while the faces of the diners were but half-seen, 
 and the rest of the room was dark, except for a light 
 on a screened side-table. 
 
 Dan was very tired. He had spent the morning 
 at a committee meeting of the Farmers' Society in 
 Eskragh, hammering out preliminary details in con- 
 nection with his Co-operative Creamery, and, impelled 
 by that missionary ardour that, in some fated persons, 
 will not be denied, he had spent himself in vain debate 
 with unbelievers. To convert is to bestow. A con- 
 version is a transfusion of soul, and Dan had given 
 without stint. To soul weariness the afternoon had 
 added physical fatigue. When he sat down he felt 
 as if he were in a dream, and wondered if it were indeed 
 the solid oak boards, and the well-known old Turkey 
 carpet, beneath his feet. Gradually, however, as 
 dinner progressed, and food and wine did their work, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST i6i 
 
 he found himself ; his companions emerged from re- 
 moteness, he took a gulp of champagne, and thanked 
 God that Ducarrig had considered that the occasion 
 demanded it. As his forces revived, he became aware 
 that Lady Ducarrig appeared to be as tired as he felt. 
 He watched her, wondering if anything disturbing 
 had happened. Possibly her nerves were tuned higher 
 than usual to-night. Her face in the dim red glow 
 seemed stilled by some exhaustion more profound 
 than mere fatigue. She leaned back in her chair, 
 while Ducarrig's and Eileen's talk flowed by her, as 
 a tired traveller might lean against a tree by a stream, 
 and take no heed of its flowing. Dan's eyes dwelt on 
 her more often than he knew. Once she lifted her 
 dark-lashed Hds as if she found it an effort to do so, 
 and met his look, and he thought the smile she gave him 
 was as tangible a touch of friendship as if she had laid 
 her hand on his. His sallow cheek flushed faintly. 
 
 Car said, with that dehghtful smile, ' Yes ! I see 
 you're thinking I'm the hfe and soul of the party ! 
 I'm sorry to be so dull. I shall wake up when I've 
 had some coffee.' 
 
 * Don't make too violent an effort, my dear,' said 
 Ducarrig sweetly. * Sleepy people are negatively 
 agreeable ; they don't bore you, and they are self- 
 sufficing ; they entertain themselves ! Perhaps our 
 guests will accept my solitary efforts and will overlook 
 our joint faults of omission and commission ! ' 
 
 Lord Ducarrig delivered himself of the apology in 
 his most Johnsonian manner, and the smile with w^hich 
 he turned to Eileen as he ended, had in it the quality 
 of the flourish that some writers add to their signatures. 
 
 ' Touching humihty, isn't it ? ' said Car. It seemed 
 to Dan that she exaggerated the languid drawl with 
 
i62 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 which she sometimes spoke. ' There's always the 
 risk of talking in one's sleep, though, and saying one 
 of the things that are better left unsaid ! There are 
 so many things of that sort, aren't there, Arnold ? 
 Perhaps I had better try and keep awake, after all, 
 even at the risk of being a bore. It's not fair to leave 
 everything on your shoulders ! ' 
 
 ' Hammond, give her ladyship some more cham- 
 pagne,' said Ducarrig to the butler. He leaned back 
 in his chair, and fixing his eyeglass in his eye, regarded 
 his wife. * Perhaps we can induce a little artificial 
 gaiety ! ' he went on. ' These confounded red shades 
 of yours deprive me of the pleasure of seeing you, my 
 dear,' he ended, with a laugh, that, to Dan, listening 
 in acute discomfort, made the words sound an insult. 
 
 ' Serious loss, isn't it ? ' Car said jeeringly. ' No, 
 Hammond, I don't want any more, thank you.' 
 
 * Ah, well, one has to learn to do without many 
 things,' Ducarrig went on affably. ' One acquires 
 philosophy ! Married men have their trials, Palliser, 
 as well as their joys, as you may possibly discover for 
 yourself some day ! But even for such poor devils as 
 I, there are sometimes alleviations ! ' 
 
 The eyeglass focused the party in succession, 
 ending with Eileen. Dan, sitting up very straight, 
 ignored the allusion to himself, and felt his fist clench 
 in his lap in impotent rage. He could think of no 
 reply save that which it might supply, and this reply, 
 owing to the interventions of civilised society, could 
 not be indulged in. Ducarrig emptied his wineglass 
 as though he had proposed a toast. Eileen, who was 
 more successful in a tete-ct-tete than when encumbered 
 with an audience, laughed nervously, and kept her eyes 
 on her plate. There was a moment of silence, during 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 163 
 
 which, had lightning flashed and thunder rolled, 
 neither of the guests would have been surprised. 
 
 Then Car said tranquilly, looking at the watch on 
 her wrist, ' Twenty minutes to ! The Angel on time 
 as usual. I wonder what he thinks of us ! ' 
 
 ' Finds the ladies charming, no doubt ! ' said 
 Ducarrig, letting fall his eyeglass and motioning to 
 the butler to give him more wine. No one could say 
 that Ducarrig drank, but his friends admitted that 
 ' he took his whack.' ' We mere men don't count ! 
 Have some more champagne, Palliser ? ' 
 
 ' No thanks,' said Dan, so curtly, that Car, angry 
 though she was, found it difficult not to laugh. She 
 was used to these disturbances of the domestic atmo- 
 sphere. This was a mere veiled reverberation of what 
 had happened before dinner. Arnold had been rather 
 more horrible than usual then. She averted her 
 thoughts from what he had said. While she exerted 
 herself to talk to Dan, she was remembering a similar 
 small dinner, during which the good-looking A.D.C. 
 had closed his career at Santa Caterina by throwing a 
 glass of port in his Chief's face. ' And I laughed and 
 said, " Any port in a storm ! " ' : thought Car, ' Please 
 goodness I should have more sense now ! But Sir 
 Daniel's not in love with me as poor Gerald Guthrie 
 was, and he's not violent — at least — ' Again she 
 averted her mind ; this was not the moment to dwell 
 upon abstractions. 
 
 The moon had risen over the lake as Dan, at Lady 
 Ducarrig's side, walked down the path from the house 
 to the boat-quay. He recalled the evening when the 
 misty moonhght had beguiled him to wander across 
 the Big Lawn, and he had Hstened to her singing. He 
 had asked her to sing this evening ; she had said she 
 
i64 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 was too tired, and, having definitely refused, she had 
 drifted to the piano and had played a little, and had 
 ended by singing divinely ; as, he told himself, she 
 alone could sing. 
 
 As he now walked beside her, he was saying to 
 himself that it was her voice that made him mad, that 
 filled the air for him with this feeling of something 
 imminent and overwhelming, and set his heart beating 
 as if it wanted to suffocate him. He knew now what 
 a horse feels like who has been over-bitted, and has 
 had his head braced to his chest with the training- 
 harness. Something in him, he didn't know what, 
 trying to get free, to assert itself. He thought of 
 how, in the spring, he had been passing through the 
 stable-yard, and, at his step, the young chestnut mare 
 had uttered so poignant a cry to him, that he had gone 
 into her loose box and found that her head had been 
 strapped in until the veins on her neck stood out, 
 and the sweat was making dark and rough her silky 
 coat. Her beautiful wild eyes tore his very soul with 
 their distress. He felt as if he could never be fast 
 enough in setting her free. What the mare had felt 
 then he was feeling now, and there was no one to set 
 him free. Why had he asked Lady Ducarrig to sing ? 
 It always broke him up. To-night there had been a 
 shake in her voice, a reed-like break in its velvet 
 melody. Whatever devilment Ducarrig had been 
 up to at dinner, he had hurt her. Dan told himself 
 that she would die before she acknowledged that she 
 had been hurt, but her voice had surrendered the 
 truth. That was it. That was what had worked 
 him up like this (that and her singing) — that 
 damnable fellow and his dehberate insults — no, not 
 exactly insults, something behind the words, in the 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 165 
 
 manner. It had been like seeing her slashed in the 
 face with a whip, an invisible whip, that you couldn't 
 snatch at, but you could see the marks it left 
 
 * Dan,' said Car Ducarrig, and paused an instant. 
 (She was caUing him Dan ! — that was his heart 
 
 again — it stopped dead that time ; she had said once 
 that she would do so, but he had never dared to remind 
 her.) 
 
 ' Dan,' she said again, ' I want you to forget that — 
 that sHght fracas at dinner — ' (Then she knew he 
 had felt it !) * It really meant nothing. Arnold 
 was put out about something before dinner, goodness 
 knows what ! Very little does it — then he has to 
 work it off on some one, and no doubt a wife is intended 
 by God to be a safety-valve ! ' 
 
 Dan could hear that there was something forced 
 in the level laziness of her voice. To the ambient air, 
 high above her head, he muttered something incoherent, 
 intended to assure her that he had been aware of 
 nothing, and ended by saying abruptly : 
 
 ' Thank you for calling me Dan ! ' 
 
 * It came quite easily,' said Car ; * with some people 
 it is impossible not to say Mr. or Mrs. You feel you've 
 got to ring and knock before you can get in.' 
 
 Dan did not speak for a moment, then he said : 
 ' You know I feel as if every hall-door — yes ! and a 
 great many farm-house and cabin doors too, were shut 
 against me, and that I might ring and knock till I 
 was dead and they wouldn't open ! ' He broke off and 
 drew a quick breath. Then he began hurriedly, * If 
 you could know how — how grateful I am — what a 
 difference your being here makes ! Do you mind 
 my talking to you ? Don't let me bore you ! But 
 when I hear you sing, I know you will understand 
 
i66 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 everything — I've no right to bother you — only, that 
 night on the hill, St. John's Eve — and not only then — 
 I've thought you might be a little interested in the 
 things I'm keen about — ' He stopped his halting 
 sentences to draw a breath (why couldn't his heart 
 go easy?). 
 
 * I'm interested in everything,' said Car, with that 
 sound in her voice that he knew, and strained towards 
 as unconsciously as a cold and outcast sleeper strains 
 towards the warmth of the camp-fire. 
 
 Just in front were Eileen and Lord Ducarrig. 
 Eileen's laughter came back to them with the scent 
 of Ducarrig's cigar. They had arrived at the boat- 
 quay, and Eileen called to Dan to help to put the boat 
 in the water. 
 
 * Tell me anything you like,' said Car quickly — 
 ' later ' 
 
 The boat was soon made ready. Lady Ducarrig 
 and Eileen got in. Dan, in his white tennis flannels, 
 looking hke an enormous ghost in the moonlight, 
 waited on the shore to shove off. 
 
 ' Aren't you coming, Lord Ducarrig ? In your 
 own nice new boat ! ' Eileen asked. Dan thought her 
 voice sounded proprietary and pert. 
 
 ' No, alas, no ! I'm too old for these midnight 
 water-parties ! I shall see you to-morrow, eh ? That's 
 settled ? Good ! Don't drown my wife if you can 
 help it, Palliser ! ' 
 
 Dan was already climbing over the boat's bows, 
 with one knee on the gunwale, while, with a leg of 
 immeasurable length, he pushed the boat out into 
 the deep water. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Fairhaven Point, with its outpost pines, had been 
 left behind. Eileen's white figure had fluttered away 
 up the lawn into the mist of moonshine and had 
 vanished like a wraith into nothingness, and the long 
 silver levels of the moon-lighted lake lay before them. 
 Dan had pulled out from the shore and the reeds into 
 the open water, now his leisurely strokes slackened. 
 He jerked the sculls out of the rowlocks and ceased. 
 
 * Just a moment,' he said apologetically, ' it seems 
 a pity to go in. May I wait a bit ? ' 
 
 Car assented abstractedly, as if but half her atten- 
 tion were his. Silence had held them both since they 
 had started on the homeward way ; now that he had 
 broken it he felt that he had done wrong. He said 
 no more. The boat pressed on, carrying her way ever 
 more slowly, then she lay still in the radiance that was 
 over all, that strange radiance that, instead of illumin- 
 ing and revealing what it shines on, as does the sun, 
 transmutes into the m^ystery of its own silver the 
 things it loves, and blots all else into impenetrable 
 blackness. 
 
 The break in the measured movement, the ordered 
 creak and grunt of the oars, the little splash at the 
 boat's bows, followed by this utter stillness, seemed 
 to give pause to Car's thoughts. 
 
 * I wonder if we're in this world or the next,' she 
 said languidly. ' It's all unsubstantial, as if the boat 
 and you and I were the only realities left. Wouldn't 
 
i68 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 it be a relief if we found we had glided peacefully 
 into the next plane, and were done with this one ? 
 It isn't much of a place, you know, is it ? ' 
 
 The moonlight was full on her face ; she looked 
 very tired ; her voice had lost its habitual easy self- 
 confidence, and that reedy note, that so shook him in 
 her singing was sounding in it. It seemed to Dan as 
 if to-night he were seeing her for the first time ; as if, 
 in this loneliness of beauty, the screens that each 
 soul hides itself behind had fallen. Even in this last 
 hour, while he had quietly sculled the punt down to 
 Fairhaven, with his two passengers talking idly in 
 the stern, a screen had fallen for him. He thought 
 it fell when she put her hand on his shoulder to steady 
 herself as she got into the boat. But it mattered little 
 when the moment had come. The marvel was that 
 he had not known it sooner. Now, with exultation 
 and with despair, he saw his heart, and, in seeing it, 
 resolved that the screens should be again raised round 
 it, higher than ever. 
 
 * Do you think the world's good enough ? Do you 
 think it's worth while ? ' Car went on ; she laughed, 
 as if at herself for pressing the question. ' Yes, of 
 course you do ! You're young ! Don't answer silly 
 questions.' 
 
 ' I don't see that being young helps you to put up 
 with what you don't like — rather the contrary ! ' 
 said Dan in his deep, matter-of-fact voice ; * and as 
 far as my being young goes — I — I — you — ' he stam- 
 mered, trying to collect his thoughts, and to repudiate 
 the imputation of being younger than she. 
 
 * I'm exactly a hundred years older than you are ! ' 
 said Car with another laugh, ' but possibly on the next 
 plane you may catch up to me and find there isn't 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 169 
 
 so very much difference between us, after all ! Or 
 perhaps it will be the other way — the years will fall 
 off me as a garment, and I shall find myself eight-and- 
 twenty instead of a hundred and twenty-eight, as I 
 am now ! I should prefer that, you know ! ' 
 
 ' As long as we were both on the same plane it 
 wouldn't matter what the difference was ! ' Dan 
 muttered under his breath. 
 
 Car, wrapped in her own thought, did not hear him. 
 
 ' I've a friend who is a Spiritualist,' she said medita- 
 tively. * I think I'm one too — I am, when I'm with 
 her. They say we shall find ourselves at our best over 
 there, and that the people we shall be with will be the 
 ones we have an affinity with. Rather attractive, 
 isn't it ? But don't you think we shall want some of 
 the others too, now and then, just for ginger, you 
 know ? ' 
 
 Dan, in his turn, had not attended to what she was 
 saying. He was staring inwardly into his soul at that 
 wild, hopeless, naked, beautiful truth, that he had so 
 suddenly discovered was dwelling there. He must 
 master its wildness, and clothe its nakedness and drive 
 it out ; its hopelessness it would leave behind it. . . . 
 But not just yet. It was too recent a guest. When 
 every pulse was drumming welcome, and his blood 
 ringing joybells in his ears for the wonder and the 
 glory of it, how could he drive it out ? He sat quiet, 
 fighting for control. Car continued her languid 
 speculations. 
 
 ' I've never tried anything myself — though I am 
 told I may be a little bit of a medium — but I've no 
 one over there I want to talk to. If I go over first, 
 will you try and talk to me — Dan ? ' 
 
 Dan told himself that if she spoke his name again, 
 
 M 
 
170 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 in that voice, there would be no help for it, every 
 screen would go down with a crash. He pulled 
 himself together. 
 
 * If you were to " go over " first ? Do you mean — 
 die first ? That couldn't happen ! * 
 
 ' Why not ? Anything can happen ! Let's make 
 a compact ! Whichever of us gets out of this sphere 
 first must try and communicate with the other ! Will 
 you ? If you have the luck to get away first, will you 
 leave heaven for a few minutes, now and then, and give 
 me a word or two ? Do promise ! ' Again she laughed. 
 
 * It wouldn't be heaven for me if you weren't 
 there,' said Dan dehberately. (If only his heart 
 would steady down ! He pressed his left hand to his 
 side, and gripped the gunwale of the punt with his 
 right.) ' Wherever I am — if you call me ! ' 
 
 Car was startled. He had failed to keep his voice 
 steady. She was wise, but Wisdom is not always 
 justified of her children, and is least so when they 
 wilfully close their eyes and ignore the inevitable. 
 Her eyes were open now, and she knew that what had 
 happened to her more than once or twice in the past 
 had happened again. She had lost a friend . . . her 
 nice, innocent Sir Daniel ! . . . She would not face 
 the sequel now. 
 
 'I'm talking rubbish ! ' she said, rather hurriedly. 
 * I hope I shan't have to call you until you're so old 
 and deaf that you won't hear ! Tell me what you 
 were beginning to speak about just now, before we 
 got into the boat — the things you said you were so 
 keen about ' 
 
 Dan took hold of himself, as a strong, wounded 
 rider will use his last strength in keeping his horse 
 straight. He began to speak of his expiring projects, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 171 
 
 his waning hopes, his growing discouragements, try- 
 ing to give them their due value and importance, as 
 if they had not, in this last hour even, become for 
 him faint and far off and futile. 
 
 A cloud came over the moon, and a thin wind swept 
 the brightness from the water. He looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 * It's getting cold,' he said. * I ought not to keep 
 you out here boring you with these things ' 
 
 He got out the sculls and began to row back to the 
 boat-quay, with one foohsh thought fiUing his mind. 
 Would she put her hand on his shoulder again when 
 she was getting out of the boat ? 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 The Agricultural Show, which was easily the greatest 
 event of the year for Eskragh and the surrounding 
 district, was now an institution of many years' stand- 
 ing. It was, on the whole, prosperous, but, as has 
 been admitted, its hold on solvency was precariously 
 dependent on the weather. There had been nearly 
 a week of heavy rainfall, and since the habit of rain 
 is one which is, for the southern Irish climate, a difficult 
 one to break, only those of the committee who kept 
 their eyes fixed on the silver Hning of all clouds, meta- 
 phorical or otherwise, could derive much comfort 
 from the fact that the Grand Stand had been recently 
 roofed. ' And what good is it for it to be roofed when 
 the divil a one at all '11 come if it's wet ? And if it's 
 fine they'll not want it ! Money thrown away on 
 grandeurment, that's all it is ! ' said the pessimists 
 and the rationahsts who thought that silver hnings 
 were only worthy of consideration where pockets were 
 concerned, and held that once visitors to the Show had 
 passed the turn-stiles the subsequent proceedings were 
 between themselves and that inscrutable Providence 
 that is responsible for the vagaries of the weather. 
 
 Such silver lining as, on the day of the Show, might 
 have been allotted to the clouds was, unfortunately, 
 imperceptible. Rain, thick, fine, and quiet, the sort 
 of rain that has come to stay, had begun at daybreak, 
 and was now continuing, coming down with dreary 
 patience, so that the optimists fell silent, and their 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 173 
 
 opponents indulged in the curious exultation with 
 which pessimists accept disaster. Grim grey clouds 
 roofed the show-ground as solidly as did the corru- 
 gated iron cover the Grand Stand's empty benches. 
 With the exception, perhaps, of the splendour of that 
 iron-roofed Grand Stand, the arrangements of the 
 show-yard could not be accused of an excessive luxury 
 or extravagance. The horses stood in open pent- 
 house sheds, shivering in their sheets, with drips from 
 the iron roof running down the long noses that they 
 persistently pushed forth from beneath its scant 
 shelter. The cattle, even less favoured than they, 
 huddled, muddied and miserable, in pens in the open. 
 * Sure what harm 'd a drop of rain do them ? ' the 
 economists of the committee had said, and had grudged 
 even the pent-house roofs to the horses. The tents 
 of the purveyors of refreshments were thronged, to the 
 just indignation of their proprietors, by a damp crowd 
 who had no intention of refreshing, and formed an 
 impregnable barrier against possible customers. The 
 comparative shelter of the Grand Stand had the dis- 
 advantage of costing an extra shilling, and was sparsely 
 availed of, those young ladies of Eskragh who, on 
 happier occasions, were wont to fill it, beamingly and 
 brilhantly, to its uttermost plank, having — the new 
 roof notwithstanding — recognised the incompatibihty 
 of heavy rain and best hats, and stayed at home (a 
 fact on which the pessimists did not fail to comment 
 at the next committee meeting). 
 
 The judging of the horses took place in the centre 
 of the Jumping Enclosure in front of the Grand Stand. 
 Small knots of men, identical as soldiers in their uni- 
 form of pot-hats, long, drab, waterproofs, leather 
 gaiters, and umbrellas, stood about in dreary 
 
174 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 impassivity, while the animals to whose honour and 
 renown the Show was chiefly dedicated, with tails tucked 
 in, and ears laid back, exhibited their charms wdth a 
 soured parsimony that ignored the stimulation of whip 
 or spur. The judges, two elderly horsedealers, with 
 faces as hard as their hats, stolidly and conscientiously 
 did their work, ' pulling in ' horses for inspection 
 from the procession that moved round them in revolv- 
 ing wretchedness, like sinners in a Circle of Purgatory ; 
 sending them back, humiliated, to the circling ranks, 
 or, in the case of a chosen one, climbing stiffly on to its 
 wet saddle, and beating it round the ring with a flapping 
 wet umbrella. 
 
 Dan Palliser, looking gaunt and gigantic in his long 
 waterproof coat, with his presidential rosette weeping 
 green tears on his drab breast, was leaning on the rail 
 of the ring, watching his chestnut mare being run by 
 Heskin, saddleless, up and down before the judges, an 
 exhausting process for which, in fairness, the groom 
 should receive considerably more marks than the horse. 
 The examination had just ended satisfactorily, and 
 Tara had been put aside with the selected prize- 
 winners, when Dan felt a touch on his arm. 
 
 ' I didn't see you since the day we were back at 
 Knockariska, Mr. Palliser,' said Father Hugh Macna- 
 mara. ' I hope you're well ? ' 
 
 ' I'm bothered,' said Dan wearily, * I was thinking 
 of going to see you.' 
 
 ' Well, couldn't we have a talk now ? ' said the 
 priest. ' I'd be only too glad if I could be any help 
 at all to you.' 
 
 The Grand Stand was behind them ; they mounted 
 its steep stairs and seated themselves on one of its 
 damp, empty benches. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 175 
 
 * Did you hear the Sinn Feiners came to me for 
 money for their " army " three nights ago ? ' Dan 
 began. ' Four of them. They came in the evening, 
 just after dinner — strangers ; anyhow, their faces 
 were blacked and I didn't know their voices. They 
 were quite civil. The police had taken my guns, of 
 course, and I told them so, but they wanted money. 
 They asked me for fifty pounds. My mother was 
 there. She was very angry, and let them have her 
 opinion of them ; but I must say for them they were 
 quiet enough.' 
 
 ' What did you say ? * 
 
 * I told them their army was only making bad 
 worse, and — oh, I needn't tell you all I said ; anyhow, 
 I refused to give them the money. I said I had fought 
 for the King, and I wasn't going to pay men to fight 
 against him.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 * Well, they went off very quietly, and said they 
 saw my point. But that night two of my bullocks 
 were stolen. Driven oft the land and taken God knows 
 where. It would have been cheaper to have given 
 them the fifty quid.' 
 
 ' They were sold at Ardagh Fair yesterday, I 
 make no doubt,' said the priest in his quiet voice. 
 ' I was near Ardagh yesterday on a sick call, and 
 a woman told me cattle were driving hard all night 
 on the roads, and a stray " Polly " broke away, 
 she supposed, for it was on their land on the morning 
 of the fair.' 
 
 * It isn't so much the value of the beasts, though 
 that's a bad enough loss,' Dan went on, ' but the hope- 
 lessness of everything. I thought this part of the 
 country, at least, was fairly quiet, and I thought — ' 
 
176 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 he hesitated — ' I thought they knew that — well, you 
 know, Father Hugh — I have a good deal of sympathy 
 with them. I'm called a rebel by my own lot, and 
 I'm treated as an enemy by the rebels ! ' 
 
 * 'Tis impossible to stop half-way,' said Father 
 Hugh, nodding his head reflectively, without looking 
 at Dan. 
 
 ' But good heavens ! You talk about " half-way," 
 I haven't even started ! I'm not on the road ! I've 
 told them at the Board, I've told every man I've spoken 
 to — and I've spoken to dozens of them— that I've no 
 politics ! That I'm a farmer, simply and solely, out 
 for the betterment of the country ! And then I'm 
 to be bulHed into taking sides ! ' 
 
 * Ah, Mr. Palliser, you're not the only one that's 
 being bullied ! Believe me, there are worse sufferers 
 than you ! ' broke in the priest. ' Poor people who 
 haven't taken sides any more than yourself ! I could 
 tell you of plenty of poor decent creatures of small 
 farmers, that don't know what way they can live at 
 all ! Harried and distracted by those English police 
 by day, and by the Sinn Feiners by night ! I know a 
 little lonely farm-house, high up on the side of Coolowen 
 Mountain. Well, there are fifteen lads on the run on 
 that mountain. The police— them new ** Black and 
 Tans," as they're calling them, I believe — are hunting 
 them all day and every day, and threatening the poor 
 man that owns the house, and his wife, saying they 
 could give up the boys if they chose — and how could 
 they give them up ? And if they could, itself, what'd 
 save them from being shot the next night by the Sinn 
 Feiners ? It's hard to blame them, and they having 
 no protection good or bad ! ' 
 
 Father Hugh paused ; in his indignation he had 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 177 
 
 raised the tone of his voice ; he looked round, and went 
 on in a lower key, * And then, by night, those fifteen 
 boys will come down to the house, and will turn the 
 poor man and the wife out of the bed itself, and get 
 into it themselves by turns, to warm themselves ! And 
 they'll eat all those unfortunate creatures will have in 
 the house for themselves ! Do you wonder that that 
 poor man is distracted ? " If it isn't one side '11 
 shoot me and rob me it's the other ! " he says ; "or 
 maybe it's to burn me little house over me head they'll 
 do ! " says he. " Sure there's no protection for man 
 or beast ! " ' 
 
 * Between the devil and the R.I.C. ! ' said Dan, 
 with a short laugh. 
 
 ' You'd say the remedy was worse than the disease, 
 as bad as it is ! ' said the priest. ' If there's a word said 
 of the police now, the old women are ready to run up 
 the chimney, and the young ones too ! The same as a 
 cat with a dog after her ! ' 
 
 Dan groaned ; then he drew an impatient breath, 
 full of restlessness, almost of fever, and stood up. 
 
 ' The War was peace to what we're having now ! ' 
 he said. 
 
 ' There's worse to come, I'm thinking ! ' Father 
 Hugh said, sighing. Dan made no reply. * I'm sorry 
 to my heart the Sinn Feiners didn't leave you alone, 
 Mr. Palliser. I've never lost a chance of correcting 
 that scandal that somehow went about that 'twas you 
 brought the pohce down on Eugene Cashen. It went 
 all over the country.' 
 
 * They'll believe any lie,' said Dan bitterly. ' It's 
 the truth they've no use for.' 
 
 * Ah, Mr. Palliser, it's hard to blame them — not 
 this generation, anyhow. It's lies they were fed on. 
 
178 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 and bred on. They never heard the truth, and now 
 they're deaf to the voice of the Church ! They wouldn't 
 Hsten now though one rose from the dead ! ' 
 
 ' If anyone did rise from the dead, he wouldn't 
 come back to Ireland, anyhow ! ' said Dan. ' He'd 
 be a fool if he did ! ' 
 
 ' It grieves me to hear you talk this way,' said 
 Father Hugh, looking anxiously at Dan. * I do assure 
 you that there's no man in this district has as much 
 influence as yourself. I never thought to hear you 
 speak like this. Don't give them up, Mr. Palliser ! 
 This is Ireland's black hour ; what will become of her 
 if all her best sons turn their backs on her ? ' 
 
 Dan thought of his vow. ' It won't be that I'll 
 turn my back on Ireland,' he said grimly. ' It'll be 
 the other way about more likely ! ' 
 
 Father Hugh, looking up at his face saw the pain 
 in his eyes, and said to himself he had never known 
 a man that took his politics as hard as this one. 
 
 Since that night on the lake, nearly a week ago, 
 Dan had summoned to his strengthening all the 
 austerity and self-control that were his, and had bound 
 himself to keep away from Monalour House until he 
 had, as he said to himself, faced the position ; a phrase 
 with no very definite meaning, but, like many others, 
 useful as a styptic. He knew he must meet Car at 
 the Show. He told himself that that should be the 
 term of his resolution. In the meantime he had to 
 learn to live with this well of fire that had discovered 
 itself within him. It had been lighted — he knew it now 
 — at Baal's altar ; it was a pagan fire that would 
 burn on, consuming and destroying, and would never 
 be extinguished. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 179 
 
 Probably no man is aware of his own fanaticism. 
 The streak of fury that makes the zealot is blent with 
 the inmost tides of being. He in whom it exists, 
 though he may strain his soul through a sieve, and 
 analyse all that is in it, can never isolate that ultimate 
 thing, that is unconscious of itself and is deeper than 
 any attribute. During this week that had passed 
 the zealot had been blinded, stunned, drugged, any- 
 thing that will express the overthrow of Dan Palliser, 
 patriot and reformer. The thought of Car Ducarrig was 
 with him, a pillar of cloud by day, of fire by night. He 
 had seen her once only during that week of probation. 
 Over the suave slopes of the Big Lawn, patterned 
 with their dignified limes and horse-chestnuts, she was 
 galloping her bay horse. Dan had stood watching her. 
 The bay horse gleamed in the afternoon sun, her white 
 terrier was racing after her, her white linen coat caught 
 the light. There was a windy sky behind her, and 
 the long scarves of cloud were turning saffron in the 
 western light. Dan's eyes, not usually slow to see 
 beauty, were only aware that it was she ; all his forces 
 were absorbed in a determination to bring her to him. 
 Consciously he gathered all the power of his will ; he 
 fixed his gaze upon her, charging his eyes with the 
 message to her to come to him. If she came to him 
 that would be no breaking of his vow. He stood rigid, 
 with fists clenched, concentrating, forcing his will on 
 her unconscious mind. She turned the bay horse. 
 She began to canter towards where he stood, hidden, 
 as he knew, in the shade of the laurels. . . . Some one 
 called to her from the terrace. She swung the horse 
 round, he wheeled hke a bird on the wing, and gaUoped 
 away. . . . 
 
 Curses on them ! 
 
i8o AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' Whatever sickness Master Dan '11 get/ his nurse 
 had said when he was a little boy, ' it'll hit him hot and 
 heavy ! If it was only a little thorn in his finger 
 itself, it'd turn into a pig's foot on him ! ' 
 
 Now there had fallen upon him an illness that had 
 never before come his way, and hot and heavy indeed 
 it had hit him. 
 
 The rain fell and fell. Dan wandered moodily 
 about the wide, wet, grassy stretches of the Show 
 ground, meeting now and then a few of the men and 
 women of his own class who had, like himself, come 
 early to see the judging, regardless of the weather. 
 Through his absorption in what was filling his thoughts, 
 he was aware of a restraint, even a chill, among those 
 to whom he spoke. It was a time of Ireland's stormy 
 history when no two Irish people of the same class 
 could speak together for five minutes without irrepres- 
 sibly diverging into pohtics. But Dan found that 
 the bad weather, and the pity of it, and the consequent 
 state of the roads, exhausted his friends' topics of 
 conversation with him. Even these innocuous and 
 uncontroversial themes received but perfunctory 
 handling ; the tendency seemed to be to cease, and 
 to move on as soon as the scantest courtesy permitted. 
 His colleagues of the Rural District Council were 
 scarcely more cordial. At no time had their public 
 recognition of him erred on the side of effusiveness ; 
 their positions as official representatives of Sinn Fein 
 might be jeopardised by over-ostentatious intimacy 
 with an ex-officer of what they were careful to speak 
 of as * a foreign army,* however liberal his views. 
 But, informally, their friendliness never before had 
 failed. Among those who had no responsibility of 
 office weighing on them he fared but little better. Two 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST i8i 
 
 men turned their backs upon him ; others gave him the 
 impression that they were waiting apprehensively for 
 him to compromise them in some way best known to 
 themselves, and were eager to escape from his society. 
 
 He met Baby Bullet, Vice-President of the Agri- 
 cultural Society, wearing the yellow rosette that 
 proclaimed his office, and realised that the Baby's 
 umbrella and a bundle of catalogues were being 
 employed as a reason for evading the necessity of 
 shaking hands. ' With all my heart ! ' thought Dan. 
 * Same here ! ' He nodded, and was moving on, but 
 the Baby stopped him. 
 
 ' I wish to inquire of you, Mr. PalHser,' he began, 
 with dignity, ' if it is, as I hear, your intention to loan 
 out your engine for the thrashing, and such purposes, 
 this harvest ? ' 
 
 ' I'm thinking of making arrangements by which 
 the members of the Farmers' Society can use it,' said 
 Dan stiffly. ' Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 ' Because, Mr. Palliser, I consider it is a monstrous 
 thing that a gentleman in your position should use 
 the wealth that has been bestowed upon him to inther- 
 fere with the rootheen of the neighbourhood, and to 
 take the bread out of the mouths of the poor ! ' replied 
 the Baby, wheezing hard with the effort of combining 
 oratory and indignation. 
 
 * What do you mean ? ' 
 
 * I mean that my thrashing-machine that has been 
 — as I might say — the prop and stay of this district, 
 and has always done the work well and effeeciently, at 
 a reasonable price, will now be boycotted ! I consider, 
 Mr. PaUiser, that this is an unfriendly act on your part, 
 and not what I have deserved from one whom I have 
 lost no opportunity of obleeging ! ' 
 
i82 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 How and when had the Baby obHged him ? Dan 
 was unaware of any obligation. 
 
 The Baby did not give him time to speak. ' I say 
 nothing/ he continued, on a rising squeak of rage, * of 
 the Co-operative Store that I am told you are proposing 
 to establish — a mean and unworthy method of ruining 
 hard-working traders — but ' 
 
 * Then it you mean to say nothing, I presume this 
 conversation is at an end, Mr. Coyne,' said Dan. 
 * Good-morning ! ' 
 
 He stalked away, leaving Baby Bullet, his open 
 mouth full of an undelivered denunciation, to regret a 
 conversational formula that had never before betrayed 
 him, and to determine not again to employ it where 
 there was a possibility of its being taken in a literal 
 sense. 
 
 Dan said to himself that he was having a delightful 
 day. First Father Hugh, dejected and pessimistic ; 
 then a general and comprehensive cold shouldering 
 from his old friends, followed by snubbing from the 
 farmers, and finally the lid put on the soup-tureen, in 
 which he felt himself to be, by the egregious Baby 
 Bullet ! All that surprised him was how little he felt 
 what, a short time ago, would have filled him with 
 despair. He had no room for despair to-day. All 
 these things were like pictures seen at a cinematograph. 
 They occurred, they passed, they were not. 
 
 While he walked round the show-ground, looking 
 at the exhibits, while he argued with Jimmy Ryan 
 on the merits of the milking-machine (operating on a 
 stuffed Friesian cow, horrible to behold) or condoled 
 with Tom McLoughlen on the defeat (which he had 
 confidently anticipated) of the young bull — (' what 
 can we expect, Tom, with short-horn judges ! ' and 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 183 
 
 Tom had replied, solemnly, ' Before God, and Mr. Ryan, 
 it was throwing money in the mud to go buying the 
 like o' that bull ! '), while he congratulated Heskin 
 on Tara's First Prize, through every moment of that 
 age-long morning, his heart was shaking him, making 
 him almost sick with its violence, because in two hours, 
 in one hour, in half an hour, he would see Car again. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 In spite of the rain the Grand Stand was filling, and the 
 circle of men and boys round the rails of the Jumping 
 Enclosure grew deeper and more impenetrable every 
 moment. The Jumping Competitions began at three 
 o'clock, and cards of the events were now being sold. 
 Dan read : ' No. i. Mr. Palliser's Tara, ch. m., by 
 Wild Minstrel — Lady Meath. No. 2. Lady Ducarrig's 
 Gambler, b.g., by Speculation — Queen of Hearts.' She 
 was safe to come, whatever the weather, if it were only 
 to see her horse jump. 
 
 Heskin came to him into the shed in which the 
 young mare was standing. 
 
 ' I took her a turn around the ground just now, sir, 
 to soople her, and the dealers were like flies after her ! 
 She never was in better heart ! There's no fear but 
 you'll find she's agreeable to jump the bank now ! * 
 
 ' She made a pretty good mess of it the last time 
 she tried it ! ' said Dan, regarding Tara with disfavour. 
 
 Heskin shot a glance at him. 
 
 * She's a different mare now, sir ! Look at the 
 work she done this last fortnight ! I'll engage she'll 
 make nothing of it ! Let you remember to keep her 
 to the western end, the way you'll get a better sweep 
 to come at it.' He pulled a cloth out of a bundle, and 
 began to rub the mare's face that was wet from the 
 drips of the roof of the shed ; then, with secret hissings, 
 he appHed it to general polishings of her already 
 immaculate person. ' There's only but the one here 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 185 
 
 that might beat her,' he went on in a cautious whisper, 
 turning his cunning, wizened face round over his 
 shoulder and looking at Dan, while he rubbed down the 
 mare's legs, ' and that's this bay horse that's next to 
 us here. He got a prize jumping in Dublin last year. 
 He might beat her on forr'm/ 
 
 * Do you mean Lady Ducarrig's horse ? ' 
 
 ' To be sure I do, sir, what else ? ' said Heskin, 
 incredulous that the mere sight of the bay horse's nose 
 had not estabhshed for Dan his identity. ' And 
 Locksley says her ladyship is to ride herself, and sure 
 won't the judges give it to her, right or wrong ! ' 
 
 Dan looked into the next stall. There was 
 obviously a side-saddle under the dust sheet that 
 covered the bay horse. Good heavens ! It wasn't 
 fit that she should ride here ! How could Ducarrig 
 let her do such a thing ? The best horse may make a 
 mistake at a show 
 
 ' What a day ! ' said Car Ducarrig's voice behind 
 him. ' I'm going to ride, so I was bound to come, in 
 spite of the rain ; so are you, aren't you ? W ill they 
 send us round in couples, or one by one ? Couples, 
 I hope, they jump so much freer.' 
 
 ' I beg of you not to ride,' said Dan intensely. 
 * It's a beastly course, and it's all sodden and greasy 
 from the rain, and, and' — he beat his brain for an 
 argument that might move her — ' you might be sent 
 round with some fool that would cannon into you — 
 knock you off the bank, anything ! Wouldn't you let 
 Locksley ride him ? Or Heskin here — he's a nice light 
 weight — wouldn't you change your mind about it ? ' 
 
 His eyes implored her, saying things more appeal- 
 ing than his stumbling lips could utter. 
 
 Car met his look, and in meeting it knew that things 
 
i86 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 were not well with him. The trouble that was in his 
 face was not new to her ; it wouldn't be the first face 
 in which she had recognised its appeal, and had re- 
 jected it. Certainly, if it were only for his own sake, 
 she must not let him turn her from her purpose. ' I 
 won't give in to him, it wouldn't be fair ! ' she thought. 
 His intensity was discomposing ; there was a force in 
 him that she was not prepared for. A faint colour 
 came into her face. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' she said, with a laugh that was not 
 quite like her own, ' I'm keen to ride ! I know 
 Gambler well. He can't make a mistake. Please 
 don't ask me to put any one else on him, he'd be so 
 offended ! ' 
 
 One of the stewards for the jumping hurried up. 
 * Are you ready, please ? You've got your numbers ? 
 One and Two — you're to go round in pairs by the 
 numbers. The judges are ready, don't delay, please.' 
 He hurried on. 
 
 ' You see there's no time to change,' said Car 
 quickly. ' Pull the horse out, Locksley.' 
 
 Dan sat down in his saddle and got a pull on the 
 mare's head. She had treated him to a buck, as they 
 landed off the bank, of a singularly exacting variety, 
 but having survived it, he could now watch the bay 
 horse and his rider. Fast as he rode, his thoughts 
 rushed faster, following Car as she led him round the 
 course. 
 
 How well she was riding ! How gorgeously she had 
 led Tara over the bank ! * Ladies first ! ' she had said, 
 sailing out ahead of him and over it as if it were 
 nothing at all ! A big- jumped horse that ! And the 
 mare was going all the better for the lead he was giving 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 187 
 
 her ; she had made nothing of the bank — (and that 
 was the devil of a buck she had given after it !) — just 
 mad to follow the horse. . . . Steady, mare, steady 
 will you, you fool ! Give him room, hell slacken 
 up a bit for the wall — Oh, well over ! . . . That is a 
 good horse ! He couldn't make a mistake if he 
 tried ! . . . Now then, Tara, our turn ! Steady, mare ! 
 ... By Jove, that was a big jump ! I thought we 
 were never coming down again out of the sky ! No 
 fear we knocked any stones, anyhow, — Stars, more 
 likely ! . . . Now for the water ! ... By Jove, she's 
 putting on the pace ! . . . Well over ! She's done 
 the round now ! . . . That's a real good horse ! No 
 wonder the crowd are yelhng ! Come along, mare, if 
 you jump half as big as he did you'll do ! . . . Good ! 
 We did that all right ! Wo-ho, my pet ! That's enough 
 for this time — Both numbers up ? Good business ! 
 You'll have to do it again presently ! — ' Here, Heskin, 
 catch hold of her — Lead her about ' 
 
 Dan's blood was up, he was like another man. He 
 pitched himself off Tara's back and went up to Car, 
 his face flushed, and a new light in his eyes. She had 
 begun to move her horse about in the clear space 
 behind the starting point for the hurdle which was the 
 first jump of the course. 
 
 ' Bravo ! ' she said beaming at him, ' we did a great 
 round, didn't we ! Now, what do you think of 
 Gambler ? ' 
 
 For that moment, the troubles that had filled Dan's 
 mind were forgotten ; he was just the other half in 
 the wonderful fellowship of horse and rider ; he was 
 glowing mth the self-same joy in effort, in speed, 
 perhaps also in danger, that was making Tara dance 
 round Heskin Hke a big fish being brought up to the 
 
i88 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 bank. He looked back at Car with shining eyes, 
 transfigured. 
 
 Heskin came towards them, clearing his way 
 through the crowd, partly by the aid of the young mare, 
 who was sidling, dancing, and switching her long tail, 
 partly by that of his equally long tongue. 
 
 * Stand out now 1 Make way there ! Stand out, 
 I tell you ! Mind yourselves now ! Kick ? No, she 
 do not kick, but she'll defend herself with her heels 
 if she'll want to ! Mind yourself now, I tell ye, young 
 fella ! I won't be answerable for the mare if ye have 
 her squez up this way ! ' He pushed through into 
 the open space. * That's a grand horse, my lady ! 
 Ah, he's too good for us ! But the young mare proved 
 good, too ! Sure I seen every shoe she has on her 
 shining in the air, she went that high over the wall ! ' 
 
 ' I never saw a bigger jump ! I was afraid Gambler 
 was cutting it too fine.' The rain and the ride had 
 brought unusual colour to Car's face. Dan was 
 standing at her horse's shoulder. She looked at him 
 for agreement, and surprised in his eyes such an adora- 
 tion as startled her. 
 
 ' This won't do ! ' she thought. ' It's very 
 becoming to his looks, but otherwise it's unadvisable ! ' 
 She turned to her groom. 
 
 * Is his lordship here yet, Locksley ? ' 
 
 * Yes, m'lady, I saw him in the Stand with Miss 
 Caulfield and Admiral Caulfield, just before you went 
 out to jump.' 
 
 * Just in time to see us cover ourselves with glory ! ' 
 said Car to Dan. * How nice for them ! ' She moved 
 away and began to walk her horse to and fro in the 
 space grudgingly vouchsafed by the crowd of admirers. 
 
 The waiting interval dragged slowly by, but, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 189 
 
 sharing the common lot of intervals, however harassing, 
 it ended at last. 
 
 ' Ye'll not forget to keep to the western end of the 
 bank, sir ? ' murmured Heskin, as he held the stirrup 
 for Dan to remount, ' and her ladyship should do 
 the same. It's badly built. The eastern end'd melt 
 under you.' 
 
 The rain had nearly ceased as numbers One and 
 Two rode out for their next round. 
 
 * It's between them two ! ' said the crowd, watch- 
 ing narrowly. ' Begob the lady should have it ! 
 That's a lovely cut of a horse she have ! ' 
 
 The starting flag was waved. 
 
 * Let's go round abreast this time,' said Car, picking 
 up her reins, ' there's room enough,' 
 
 * Keep to the left of the bank ; Heskin says the right 
 side is rotten,' Dan answered hastily, while Tara 
 stood up on her hind legs, mad to start. 
 
 The flag went down. 
 
 In a flash they were over the furze hurdle and were 
 galloping at the bank. The six horses that had jumped 
 it since the first round had not improved its condition. 
 All had attacked it on its left, or western end, and the 
 grass in front of the ditch was trampled into mud, 
 and much of the bank was knocked away. Only the 
 right side was uninjured. Dan had started on Car's 
 right, and a trifle behind her, but at the bank he was 
 leading, with Tara pulling double. The green and 
 unbroken end of the bank faced him, and, remembering 
 Heskin's warning, he gave the mare a touch of the spur 
 to ensure her not dwelHng on it. The stimulant was 
 not needed. In her young pride and enthusiasm she 
 flung herself into the air with a deer-like spring, and 
 had she not retained enough sense and self-control to 
 
190 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 remind her to kick back at the bank on the landing 
 side, she would have disgraced herself in the eyes of 
 the judges by flying it. A tremendous roar of applause 
 greeted her exploit, and a still wilder shout followed. 
 Gambler's splendid quarters had lifted him, unfalter- 
 ingly, out of the trampled ground in front of the bank, 
 but on its broken summit the footing was bad ; there 
 was an instant of pause, a staggering scramble, and 
 then from the hundreds of watchers came another great 
 shout of relief as the horse got his feet under him, and, 
 with a mighty spring, was away off the bank and follow- 
 ing hard after the young mare. 
 
 At the wall they were side by side, and were both 
 high in air over it at the same instant. They raced 
 at the water jump, while the roar of the crowd streng- 
 thened with each instant. Up and out sprang the 
 two good horses, flinging themselves at the low hedge 
 with the wide strip of water beyond it. Over the 
 water they sailed, still side by side, and landing, 
 shoulder to shoulder, they galloped in through the 
 shouting people. 
 
 Almost immediately a steward came running to 
 them with a message from the judges. ' You're to 
 jump the bank again, please, one at a time, for the first 
 and second prizes.' 
 
 ' I'll go first,' said Car, still breathless from the 
 round, ' I'll try the east side. It can't be worse than 
 the other.' 
 
 They rode together round the hurdle, and Car 
 set Gambler going, while Dan sat still and watched 
 her. 
 
 Did Gambler's hind feet sHp on the greasy brink 
 of the drain ? Dan couldn't be sure. He had gone 
 at the jump temperately and collectedly, and he had 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 191 
 
 got his forefeet on top all right, but, as the hind feet 
 struck for their hold on the bank, a couple of what 
 appeared to be detached sods slipped under them ; 
 the horse slipped with them, he hung, struggling to 
 make good, for an instant or two, and then sank back 
 into the gripe, falling over into it on his off side. The 
 whole affair was over in half a minute. Dan was off 
 his mare and at the place almost as the end came, 
 but quick as he was, a swarm of men and boys were 
 through the rails, and were already dragging Car out 
 of the saddle before he could reach her. He struck 
 them right and left and caught her from them. 
 
 ' Hurt ? ' gasped Dan, with what felt to him hke 
 his last breath. 
 
 ' No, no, not in the least ! ' 
 
 The power of speech returned to him. ' Make way, 
 you fellows ! Can't you give the lady room to breathe ? ' 
 He swung his great arm furiously and cleared a space. 
 The skirt of her habit and her boots were covered 
 with mud, she felt shaken, suddenly very tired, almost 
 frightened ; yet it was not the fall that had shaken 
 her. She had seen Dan's face, had felt the thumping 
 of his heart as he held her close to him, and had felt, 
 too, some answering stir in her own heart, some thrill 
 of the nerves in response to the pressure of his strong 
 arm. A presentiment of disaster blackened the air 
 round her, something was closing in — a moment of 
 dizziness came on her, she leaned helplessly against 
 his breast, knowing now, without uncertainty, what 
 it was that caused its fierce rise and fall. 
 
 Lord Ducarrig came struggling through the crowd, 
 followed by Admiral Caulfield. 
 
 ' Is she hurt, PalHser ? ' he called to Dan over the 
 heads of the thronging people. 
 
192 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' Let me go, Dan,' said Car in a low voice. ' I can 
 stand quite well now.' 
 
 She moved towards her husband, as far as the crowd 
 permitted her to do so. 
 
 * I'm all right, Arnold,' she called to him, ' nothing 
 wrong except that I strained my left ankle a Httle 
 getting out of the ditch — I wish you'd see to Gambler.' 
 
 The gripe was a shallow one. Gambler was very 
 soon hauled out of it, while a clatter of voices declared 
 simultaneously, that he was all right — that he was 
 destroyed, 'twas the feet failed him. 'Arrah, what 
 way is he destroyed ? ' — ' Look at him now, why ! Going 
 light he is on the foremost leg ! ' — ' Ah, what's that, but 
 the colour o' lameness ! That's no harm to him ! ' — 
 ' He's a grand horse altogether, he'd never fall but for 
 the sods that threw him ' — ' You-to-hell ! What sods ? 
 I tell ye 'twas the feet failed him ' — ' 'Twas not the 
 feet, 'twas the sods that slipped.' 
 
 ' What sods ? ' Ducarrig's cool voice came through 
 the storm. 
 
 * There was too loose sods, sir — Uke stopping two 
 holes they were — there are the holes now for ye ! ' 
 
 A nimble little boy skipped up on to the bank and 
 poked a bare red toe into first one, and then another, 
 of two deep hoof-prints, half filled with earth. Another 
 boy picked up a thick slab of turf from where it had 
 been flung by Gambler's hoofs. ' 'Twas the way he put 
 the hoofs on the sods and they slipped with him.' 
 
 ' Clear the course, please ! ' 
 
 The judges' steward came into action. No one 
 was hurt ? Why, then, this delay ? The judges had 
 to catch their train. Where is Lord Ducarrig ? Will 
 her ladyship jump again ? * 
 
 * The horse is lame,' said Ducarrig angrily, ignoring 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 193 
 
 the form of the question. ' He certainly shall not 
 jump again.' 
 
 ' Then Number One will jump the bank now for the 
 First Prize, and the Second will go to her ladyship/ 
 said the steward. ' Now then, clear the course ! ' 
 
 Baby Bullet pushed himself up to the central point. 
 
 ' Throw them sods into the ditch, boy,' he com- 
 manded, ' we want no more accidents here to-day ! 
 If there are any holes in the bank, in the namiC of God, 
 let them be seen by all concerr'ned ! ' 
 
 ' It's a pity your committee didn't see them ! ' 
 said Ducarrig, with a black look at Gambler who was 
 being led away. The ' colour of lameness ' was now 
 clearly discernible. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Mrs. Palliser was a strong and able walker. Her 
 brother the Admiral's place, Fairhaven, was nearly 
 two miles by the road from the Lake House, while 
 by water it was less than half that distance ; never- 
 theless, Mrs. Palliser, being unable to row, preferred 
 to walk, since, as she was accustomed to say, she 
 always liked being responsible for herself. She strode 
 along the ill-kept and stony road, using her walking- 
 stick with a prodding action that was peculiar to her, 
 her eyes on the ground, her mind buried in thought 
 so deep that she felt a faint surprise when she found 
 she had already reached the Fairhaven avenue gates. 
 
 A man-of-war standard of neatness and propriety 
 governed all things at Fairhaven ; no weed dared to 
 raise its head in the Admiral's garden ; each pebble 
 of its gravelled walks looked as if it were taken up and 
 dusted every morning. Katie de Vere, a rival gar- 
 dener (whose jealousy must, for that reason, be allowed 
 for), said it was easy to keep a garden neat. Neatness 
 was only a matter of money, but she could not see 
 that the Fairhaven flowers were any better than any- 
 one else's ; she only knew, she said, that Dick Caulfield 
 never went to a garden-party that he didn't steal 
 cuttings or seeds or something, and go home with 
 his pockets full. Nor, in this connection, did she 
 hesitate, in congenial society, to add that it was always 
 said in the Navy that he had been the biggest Httle 
 pirate that ever sailed the China seas, and she had even 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 195 
 
 been known to compare the Admiral's return from 
 the other side of the globe with that of Orpheus 
 from the underworld — ' Orpheus with his loot, you 
 know, my dear ! ' she had said. 
 
 But Mrs. PalHser, to whom the gibe had been 
 repeated, had said coldly, and with her usual direct- 
 ness, that Katie would have been less facetious had 
 Dick done as she had hoped and expected, and had 
 married her instead of Eleanor. 
 
 Mrs. Palliser, having navigated the avenue, a 
 smooth mauve ribbon of flawless gravel, steered a 
 course for the flower-garden, feeling reasonably secure 
 of finding her brother there, and thinking that she 
 would at tea-time have quite as much as she desired 
 of her sister-in-law's society. The Admiral was on his 
 knees doing something imperceptible to a flower-bed, 
 that would, to the lay mind, have seemed to be of 
 unimpeachable propriety. He wore a long blue apron 
 and a pair of old white kid gloves. His tidiness was 
 as supreme as that of his surroundings. 
 
 ' Well, Georgina, well ! That you ? That's all 
 right ! And what brings you over ? Your own flat 
 feet, I suppose you'll tell me, eh ? ' The Admiral 
 stood up, and removing the kid gloves, put them in a 
 pocket in the apron. 
 
 * I've come to talk to you, Dick,' said Mrs. Palliser, 
 ignoring this pleasantry. She sat down on a neigh- 
 bouring seat and looked at her brother stonily. She 
 had an old-fashioned belief in the superiority of the 
 male mind, which was not incompatible with contempt 
 for its frequent levity, and its often obsession over 
 what she considered to be trifles. 
 
 * I hear they raided you the other night ! ' said the 
 Admiral gaily (so like Dick to consider it as a joke ! ) 
 
196 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' The scoundrels ! You know they had a go at me last 
 week ? They did very bad business here ! Two of my 
 South Pacific spears, made of human shin-bones, and 
 a Malay kris ! I handed all my guns over to the police 
 in the spring. I can't so much as shoot those con- 
 founded rabbits that are getting into the garden ! 
 They hfted a couple of bullocks ofi Dan, didn't they ? 
 By George, things are in a nice way in this God-forsaken 
 country ! But you know you can't do anything about 
 it — there's no redress for anything nowadays ! 
 There's no Government ! ' The Admiral laughed more 
 gaily than ever at this entertaining thought. 
 
 ' I am entirely aware that we must submit to be 
 pillaged without redress,' replied Mrs. Palliser, with 
 the special compression of her hps and set of her jaw 
 that accompanied any reference on her part to the 
 titular rulers of her country, ' It isn't that that I've 
 come about — I can assure you I have no illusions on 
 that score ! No ! ' She considered a little. ' Dick, 
 do you remember what you wrote to me about when I 
 was away ? That talk we had about ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ! ' Admiral Caulfield broke in with an 
 apprehensive glance round the garden. ' Don't talk 
 so loud, my dear, there are people about — the fact 
 is, Georgina, I'm rather going back on that idea — I'm 
 not so sure that it was very sound.' 
 
 ' And why not, pray ? ' demanded his sister with 
 instant fierceness, ' you asked me to suggest it to Dan, 
 and I did so.' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, my dear,' said the Admiral rather 
 nervously, ' you know it was only tentative, and it 
 has seemed to me since — that Dan — well, Dan ' 
 
 ' Well, what about Dan ? ' 
 
 ' It may be all a yarn, you know — but if I were 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 197 
 
 you, I should try and keep him away from Monalour 
 House. They tell me he's there incessantly — that 
 pretty woman there making a fool of him, or he making 
 a fool of himself, I don't know which ! Both, 
 probably ! * 
 
 ' Who tell you ? ' 
 
 ' I'm very fond of Dan/ Dan's uncle protested, 
 recognising danger. * I didn't like to speak to you 
 before — and you know, Georgina, since we are on the 
 subject of Dan, you must allow me to say that I think 
 he's going too far in his pohtics. People tell me he's 
 greatly inclined to sympathize with the rebels — and I 
 must say that I never see his name as having dis- 
 sented, as they say, from any of that blackguard 
 District Council's disloyal resolutions — and there are 
 all sorts of tales going about that he went to sympathize 
 with a man whose son was shot in that attack on the 
 barracks at Knockariska ' 
 
 ' If you'll allow me to speak,' said Mrs. Palliser, 
 her Hps harder than ever, * I might say that he went 
 to see Curtin, who is an old tenant, about the Co- 
 operative Society that he is getting up.' She might 
 have come over to talk about Dan's delinquencies, 
 but that was no reason why Dick should repeat Hes 
 about him. 
 
 * Well, I can't say as to that,' resumed her brother, 
 * but, upon my soul, I was quite glad to think they 
 raided his beasts ! — For the look of the thing, you 
 know, Georgina.' 
 
 Mrs. Palliser preserved a rocky silence. 
 
 * You know,' the Admiral continued, stilling his 
 conscience's reproach for tale-bearing, as people will, 
 by piling high the accusations, ' that infernal old Coyne 
 — the fat fellow they call the Baby — he boasts — boasts, 
 
igS AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 mind you — that having got Dan on to the Board was 
 all a sort of job, and that Dan, in return, voted for 
 some job of his ! It's all over the country ! I heard 
 people talking about it at the Show ! ' 
 ' What people ? ' 
 
 * Now, my dear Georgina,* said her brother, 
 beginning to bluster a little, * you can't possibly 
 expect me to give people away — of course they say 
 things to me that they couldn't to you ! — but there 
 it is ! I thought it my duty to tell you these things. 
 And, as a matter o' fact, there's another rather un- 
 pleasant yarn going about — I don't know how much 
 you know about that jumping business — when Lady 
 Ducarrig had that fall ? ' 
 
 * Thank you, Dick,' broke in Mrs. Palliser with 
 intense asperity, * you're very kind, but possibly / 
 can tell you something about that. Dan has written 
 to Lady Ducarrig, and sent her the prize. It was that 
 man Ryan, whom I have never liked, and Heskin, 
 between them, abetted by that odious Coyne, who 
 took Dan's horse to the show-ground and did the 
 mischief. Perhaps it may surprise you,' she went on 
 bitingly, * to hear that Dan knew nothing of the trans- 
 action until Lord Ducarrig wrote to him — I imagine 
 Coyne had given him some garbled version of the facts 
 — a very gentlemanlike letter, quite what I should 
 have expected from Lord Ducarrig ; not believing the 
 worst as others appear to do ! ' 
 
 * Nonsense, Georgina ! ' said the Admiral, who was 
 something of a coward, putting down his helm and 
 going away on another tack. ' You know very well 
 why I am speaking of these things to you ! But to 
 return to that other question, I'm not sure' — he 
 hesitated — ' you see, Eileen takes her views from me — 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 199 
 
 she's not in the least tainted with Nationalism * — he 
 cleared his throat — * and it's a goodish time since I 
 first spoke of that idea to you — some time after poor 
 Henry's death, wasn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. After Dan had come in for the property ! ' 
 said Mrs. Palliser, with a voice like frozen iron. * What 
 were you saying about Eileen's views ? ' 
 
 * Oh, nothing very much,' equivocated the Admiral, 
 
 * only various little things made me think she mightn't 
 be so ready now ' 
 
 ' That is perhaps as well for her,' cut in Mrs. PalHser ; 
 
 * as a matter of fact, / had come over to warn you 
 that Dan was not particularly ready either ! ' 
 
 It was gallantly said, and the bluster of the Biggest 
 Httle Pirate in the China Seas died before the unflinch- 
 ing front presented by Dan's mother. 
 
 Little Lizzie, who bit and bullied her son, and 
 fought to the death any assailant from without, could 
 have sympathized with Mrs. Palliser. She had received 
 a blow. Worst of all, when the Admiral had delivered 
 his assault, her indomitable conscience had taken the 
 field at his side. She had denied and countered his 
 accusations, but he had only confirmed her fears. And 
 what could she do or say ? Her distress must be 
 dumb. She knew herself too well to think that she 
 could gently admonish, advise, or entreat. Had such 
 a course been suggested to her she would have said, 
 
 * " Faithful are the wounds of a friend ! " He shall 
 have the truth from me ! ' 
 
 It is not only lovers who are not always able to 
 tell their love, and have, pent in their bosoms, quench- 
 less and undying flames. There are some mothers 
 also in whom a flame burns that nothing can quench, 
 but they have so walled it in with conscientious 
 
200 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 severities that those who might have turned to it 
 for warmth and consoling see only blackness, and so 
 look elsewhere. And though both mother and child 
 suffer, it is the mother's heart that, Hke the burning 
 bush, burns on and cannot be consumed. 
 
 When the Admiral asserted that his nephew spent 
 all his time at Monalour House, he did not expect 
 himself to be taken literally, which was, indeed, an 
 accident that rarely occurred to him ; but since he and 
 Eileen had each, on separate visits of inquiry, met 
 with Dan on the same errand, he was not without a 
 certain justification. 
 
 Dan was getting in his harvest late, and with 
 difficulty ; late, because a wet and chilly summer had 
 kept back all the crops, and with difficulty, because 
 the oats having been left standing, in the hope that 
 such heads as they had achieved might improve, a 
 storm of wind and rain had fallen upon them and 
 nearly half his fifteen acre field had been ' laid,' and, 
 defying the efforts of the reaper and binder, had had 
 to be cut by hand. Politics and * stunts ' of all kinds 
 were set aside in the rush of harvest work. Every- 
 thing was behindhand, and Dan slaved on the land, 
 like any of his labourers, working with his hands the 
 long day through, enjoying the physical fatigue that 
 made him sleep at night, and helped him to overpower 
 thought by day. 
 
 A spell of fine weather had at last been granted, 
 and there had come a week of those rich days of mid- 
 August when the earth seems to have deepened in 
 colour ; the grass is a more fervent green, the corn 
 a hotter gold, and the deep blue of the sky is deepened 
 by contrast with the great boulders of white cloud 
 that sit round the horizon, looking soHd as masses of 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 201 
 
 quartz, hardly moving from early morning till the 
 sun goes west and their whiteness is turned to butter 
 colour. 
 
 It was past five o'clock, and Dan was in the oat 
 field, gathering the bound sheaves and loading a cart 
 with them. His coat and waistcoat were off, an old 
 khaki felt hat was on the back of his head, his grey 
 frieze knee-breeches were stained many shades of green 
 and brown. He loved the work ; he took pride in 
 the skill he could bring to the farm labour. He knew 
 he could beat any of his men at their own job, and why 
 not ? he said to himself, it was his as much as theirs, he 
 was as good a farm-hand, and as good an Irishman 
 too, as any of them, better maybe ! His men watched 
 him, and wondered, and while they respected, did not 
 approve ; they kept out of his way as far as might be, 
 finding, as they said, that the man who'd be working 
 foot to foot with Mr. Dan would be clear dead before 
 the day was out, and saying to each other that it was 
 unknown what satisfaction a gentleman would get 
 out of working himself hard enough to kill a bull. But 
 as none of them had ever been hunted by a swarm 
 of thronging thoughts, as by wasps, they were not 
 qualified to judge. 
 
 Car Ducarrig, wearing a white flannel coat and skirt, 
 a shady straw hat, and tennis shoes, was riding 
 Gambler, her companion in misfortune, at a walk 
 about the fields of the demesne farm of Monalour, 
 taking the air, and giving the horse exercise, with the 
 least possible exertion to him or to herself. From the 
 smooth grass of the Big Lawn she diverged into the 
 stubbly oat field, attracted by the sound of the machine. 
 Then she saw Dan, a tall and splendid figure, tossing 
 the yellow sheaves up to the man who was standing 
 
202 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 in the high-piled cart. She fell to observing him as he 
 worked. ' He is good to look at ! ' she thought, noting 
 how his absolute mastery of his work gave grace to 
 strength. Her sense of beauty lost no detail of the 
 group. Colour, line, and movement, all were there. 
 The field, slanting a little to the west, had for back- 
 ground the dark green mass of the trees of Monalour ; 
 the dotted lines of stooks, the heavy-laden cart, the 
 big grey horse, the lad standing on the piled-up sheaves 
 high against the blue sky, were lit by the low sun ; the 
 shadows, long and purple, intensified the gilded yellow 
 of the corn ; another high-laden cart moved slowly 
 across the middle distance. ' It's a perfect classic 
 of harvest,' Car thought. 'Nothing could be better 
 composed ! And Sir Daniel ' — she was accustomed 
 to think of him half mockingly, she liked to assure 
 herself of her cool dispassionateness — ' Sir Daniel 
 ought to be done in marble for a Colonial Institute — 
 with a kangaroo or a wombat — whatever a wombat 
 is ! ' She found herself amused by the thought of the 
 wombat ; her mind moved on and dwelt, with the 
 special, rather effete pleasure that simplicity gave her, 
 on Sir Daniel's mystification were she to try and 
 expound to him his association with a wombat. 
 
 Dan had not seen her. He was working with his 
 back to her, and the recurring roar and rattle of the 
 machine silenced sound. The cart he was filhng had 
 received its load, it lumbered slowly away to the stack- 
 yard. He threw the old khaki caubeen on the stubble, 
 and drove his pitchfork into the ground, and wiped 
 his forehead with his big, hairy forearm. 
 
 ' A typical Son of Toil and the Soil ! ' mocked Car. 
 ' No earthly relation of Mrs. Palliser's ! She's been 
 quite misinformed about it ! ' She touched Gambler 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 203 
 
 with the mild heel of her tennis shoe, and came near to 
 Dan, who was hghting a cigarette. 
 
 ' I shall report you to Tom McLoughlen for slack- 
 mg ! ' she said, taking him unawares. ' I never saw 
 such idleness ! ' 
 
 Dan took the hand she held out to him. The shock 
 of joy at her presence, so forbidden, so longed-for, made 
 him incapable of speech for a moment. 
 
 ' Thank you so much for coming to ask after me,' 
 Car went on. 'I was nothing the worse, only my ankle 
 a little bit stiff — that's why I'm riding, and now' — 
 she rushed on with what she had to say — * don't 
 interrupt me ! Before we go any further, I just wish 
 to say that I forbid you to bore me with explanations 
 about that affair of the bank at the Show ! I know 
 all about it. That old Coyne talked to Arnold and 
 me until I nearly went mad. And I may say that I 
 hate your sending me Tara's Cup, but if it gives you 
 any subtle satisfaction to do so, I will yield that point.' 
 She looked at him, laughing. ' Oh, I can see you're 
 dying to inflict the whole story on me all over again, 
 but I won't have it ! ' 
 
 The multiplicity of Dan's emotions, all tumultuous, 
 and not one of them such as he could easily give ex- 
 pression to, silenced him more effectually than any 
 prohibition. Car watched his face with a connoisseur's 
 enjoyment of the various nuances of misery that passed 
 over it. This was the simplicity that enchanted her. 
 
 ' So sorry to disappoint you, Sir Daniel, but I can't 
 let you persuade me you wanted to bring me and 
 Gambler down ! ' she said, chaffing him. 
 
 * At all events, I've sacked Heskin ! ' he said 
 at last. 
 
 ' Then I shall make it a personal matter/ said Car 
 
204 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 intrepidly, ' you either forgive him, or I shall not 
 forgive you ! ' 
 
 It was an unequal contest. Dan broke down, and 
 surrendered every point unconditionally. He said to 
 himself that he couldn't argue with her, because it 
 was such ages since he had seen her. Something was 
 choking him, holding his breath from him, murmuring 
 in his breast, over and over again, monotonously as a 
 tolling bell, shatteringly as a minute gun, one foolish 
 word, a word whose value was for him unsullied. 
 ' Darling ! Darling ! ' thought poor Sir Daniel, help- 
 lessly ; and did not know that though his lips kept 
 silence his eyes betrayed him. 
 
 * You know, you look as if you had been overdoing 
 it ! ' said Car. * Haven't you worked your eight hours 
 or whatever it is ? Come back with me and I'll give 
 you some tea, and we might have a little music if you 
 like. Arnold's out.' 
 
 She couldn't do otherwise, she thought, the poor 
 thing looked so tired. That presentiment of trouble 
 that she had had at the Show had been all nonsense. 
 It was nearly a week ago, and he had not been near 
 her — only just asked at the door how she was — that 
 didn't look as if things w^ere very serious. She would 
 ask him to tea if she wanted to. It was all very well 
 to be prudent, but that was no reason why she should 
 be inhuman. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Eileen Caulfield was beginning to wonder whither 
 her success, her indisputable success, with Lord Ducar- 
 rig was going to lead. She had begun by accepting his 
 attentions with gratification, even with elation, and 
 without any definite consideration as to their drift. 
 He was a novelty, he was distinguished, he was rich. 
 He was old enough for her to sail with him under the 
 flag of friendship, and yet not so old as to deprive the 
 friendship of the spice of adventure. Moreover, since 
 the Admiral had ' put down ' his motor during the 
 war, and had not as yet put up another, it was 
 agreeable to have the Monalour cars practically at 
 call. 
 
 But, since Eileen was gifted with more than her 
 share of that sense which is called common, and is 
 very much the reverse, it seemed to her that the 
 possible disadvantages of her success might outweigh 
 
 its advantages. ' After all ' she said to herself, and 
 
 although she left the sentence unfinished, its implica- 
 tion was clear in her mind. The ' runs ' with Ducarrig 
 in the little two-seater car, that had become so familiar 
 a feature of the mauve gravel sweep in front of the 
 Fairhaven hall-door, had generally ended at Monalour 
 House in the croquet or lawn-tennis that had been 
 their ostensible object, and at Monalour she found that 
 Dan had become as frequent a visitor as she, while 
 Lord Ducarrig appeared to be almost as ready to ex- 
 tend his friendship to her cousin as to herself. Eileen 
 
2o6 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 was changing her mind about Dan. Her father's 
 overtures to Mrs. PaUiser, and their reception, had not 
 been concealed from her by her mother, and the 
 daughter of the biggest httle pirate in the China Seas 
 had no intention of wasting powder and shot on an 
 enterprise that would not result in spoils. Perhaps 
 she had hoped for other consequences from the growing 
 warmth of her friendship with Lord Ducarrig ; the 
 other and older friendship might revive in response 
 to a stimulant of an efhcacy so recognised and respected. 
 But the spur had failed, the stimulant, well-tried and 
 recognised though it was, had been of no avail, and 
 the blue eyes of the pirate's daughter had recognised, 
 with inherited perception, that Dan was a sacked town. 
 She had not even the satisfaction of feeUng that she 
 had in any degree afflicted or injured that rival pirate, 
 Lord Ducarrig's lawful owner ; it was but too apparent 
 to Eileen that, far from being regarded as a disturber 
 of trafhc by Lady Ducarrig, she was being encouraged 
 as a benefactor. There emerged, however, from the 
 situation, two pleasing features : that she was credited 
 by the neighbourhood, and notably Miss de Vere, 
 with the subjugation of Lord Ducarrig; and that 
 she had clearly indicated her complete indifference 
 to Dan. 
 
 Yet even these achievements left something still to 
 be desired, and Eileen debated with herself vainly as 
 to how a state of affairs so complicated and so un- 
 paralleled in her experience was going to arrange 
 itself. She only knew that she was beginning to dread 
 the soft, ghding, grind of the tyres of the two-seater 
 on the Fairhaven gravel. The sound had, she thought, 
 something inexorable and pitiless in it, like what it 
 would feel to be pursued by an elephant. The pleasing 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 207 
 
 note of the horn, so far from emulating John Peel's, 
 was beginning to have a precisely opposite effect, and 
 would send her flying to ground in her own room, until 
 summoned by her mother, or the Admiral, to fulfil 
 her duties as the Girl-at-home, to pour out the tea, 
 and to make herself agreeable to the visitor. The 
 visitor's behaviour was all that it should be. He 
 listened to Mrs. Caulfield's platitudes, whose sole 
 social claim to attention consisted in their ill-nature, 
 and showed remarkable address in responding to them 
 without making either himself or his hostess ridiculous, 
 which, in the process of exchanging ideas with Mrs. 
 Caulfield, was not always as simple as it might seem. 
 He indulged in reminiscences of tropic climes with the 
 Admiral, and succeeded better than he in keeping the 
 temperature of the stories something below that of 
 the places with which they dealt. And always, below 
 and beyond these amenities, Eileen was aware of an 
 unremitting observation of herself, and of allusions 
 that would recall to her, and her only, some incident, 
 or conversation, in which she had been involved. The 
 visits had generally ended with a run for her, or for 
 the Admiral, in the two-seater. Eileen understood 
 perfectly why her father, sometimes her mother, w^as 
 invited to take what Lord Ducarrig was accustomed 
 to speak of as her place in the motor. 
 
 * Diplomacy has its laws,' he had said to her, in 
 the seclusion of the two-seater, 'and the Eleventh 
 Commandment is to honour the father and mother of 
 your friends ! I suppose I may consider myself to be 
 a friend by this time ? ' 
 
 One afternoon, not long after Mrs. PaUiser's visit 
 to Fairhaven, Ducarrig had taken Eileen for what he 
 had called a stroll round the lake. The little car, that 
 
2o8 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 was the latest expression of comfort and luxury, slid 
 noiselessly along the smooth bog road and the wind 
 of its going was pleasant. The lake was of a blue as 
 intense as the sky ; a haze of heat had turned the 
 distant hills to silver. At a place where, by a group 
 of willows, the road stooped to the lake's level, and 
 cart-ruts and hoof-marks told of thirsty horses, 
 Ducarrig stopped the car. A hght northerly breeze 
 was blowing the lily leaves out of the water ; they 
 looked like black half-moons against its ruffled blue 
 and silver. A string of wild duck broke from the reeds 
 and steadied into low strong flight towards the willow- 
 grown islands lower down the lake. The car had 
 stopped opposite to Monalour demesne, and the grey 
 old house was just visible between the heavy green 
 screens of trees. Some cattle were standing out in 
 the lake, more stood on the gravel shore by the boat- 
 quay. The Lake House, away to the right, had caught 
 the sun in its windows and they were flashing like 
 electric Hghts ; farther still to the right, the Admiral's 
 snowy boat-house set its standard of propriety to the 
 neighbourhood. Behind all were the silver ghosts 
 of the hills, wanly beautiful, with the paler northern 
 sky behind them. A few gulls from the distant sea 
 were floating on the lake, and a lengthy, lazy heron 
 rose with an effort from the rushes near the road, and 
 flapped slowly away with creaking wings. 
 
 ' His works want oiling, eh ? He makes more 
 noise than the car ! ' said Ducarrig. ' Charming view 
 this ! Full of all the poetry and sentiment of Ireland ! 
 It is quite one of my favourite spots. We might enjoy 
 it for a moment or two. We have no need to hurry.' 
 He let his left hand drop from the steering-wheel. It 
 fell on Eileen's which was in her lap, and remained 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 209 
 
 there. A vivid pink rose in Eileen's cheeks, after 
 an instant of hesitation she gently drew her hand 
 away. 
 
 ' Ah, why ? ' murmured Ducarrig, almost inaudibly. 
 He sighed. He had cultivated an eighteenth -century 
 manner with young women, considering that it suited 
 his type. * This it is to grow old ! To be — hateful 
 word ! — elderly ! Why be unkind ? ' He sighed 
 again, and again his hand found Eileen's. Since I 
 cannot have the privileges of youth, why do you refuse 
 me those of old age ? ' He leaned close to her and 
 pressed her hand, and told himself that he had turned 
 the sentence very neatly. 
 
 ' Oh, please. Lord Ducarrig,' Eileen said nervously, 
 ' won't you — isn't it getting late ? Don't you think 
 
 we had better ' She removed herself from him 
 
 as far as the narrow limits of the car permitted. 
 
 Ducarrig released her hand with a lingering pressure. 
 ' I bow to your decree ! ' he said impressively, ' '' la 
 helle dame sans merci I " This is the tragedy of age, 
 to have a heart of five-and-twenty in a body of 
 fifty ! ' 
 
 Eileen's practical mind flew, in spite of her pertur- 
 bation, to that page of the peerage whereon was set 
 down, plain for all men to see, the regrettable fact that 
 Arnold, Lord Ducarrig, was on the shady side of five 
 and fifty, but she said, with a nervous laugh, ' You see, 
 Lord Ducarrig, it's just the opposite with me ! and my 
 fifty-years-old good sense assures me that it is time 
 for us to go on round the lake if I'm not to be late for 
 dinner, and you don't know what a scrape I shall get 
 into if ' 
 
 ' Enough, enough ! ' said Ducarrig, with melancholy 
 chivalry, * you have only to utter your command.' 
 
210 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 With another sigh he started the car. ' Well, let us 
 choose a more cheerful topic ! Let's talk about my 
 love for — no, don't look frightened ! — my love for 
 this country ! Scenery, climate, society, all perfect ! 
 Not even Sinn Fein can poison it for me ! What shall 
 I do when I have to give up Monalour ? Is there the 
 least chance that your cousin would sell ? I should 
 make very little difficulty about the price, I can 
 assure you, if there were a hope of its coming into 
 the market ! ' 
 
 ' It seems rather unlikely, I think,' said Eileen, 
 doubtfully. * I know father is always sajdng that Dan 
 won't be able to afford to live there unless — unless he 
 marries money.' 
 
 A fainter replica of the pink flush showed itself 
 for a moment, and Ducarrig's heart, in spite of the 
 peerage, was young enough to feel a stab of jealousy. 
 
 ' And a very sensible thing to do ! ' he said blandly, 
 ' marrying for love is the most foolish game in the world, 
 and those that have played it will be the first to tell 
 you so. Though there may be a few exceptions.* 
 
 * The present company are always exceptions, 
 aren't they ? ' said Eileen, with a sideways flash of her 
 long eyes. She felt safe now that the car was going ; 
 she was confident that whatever she might say to the 
 man at the wheel, he would not run any risk for the 
 sake of sentiment. 
 
 * I think you know as well as I do that that isn't 
 fair,' said Ducarrig, in a voice that combined reproach- 
 ful tenderness with the fortitude of a warrior who 
 makes light of his wounds, ' you may withhold your 
 sympathy from a poor devil who has made a mess of 
 his life, but you might draw the line at laughing at him ! 
 And I'm going away to-morrow, for three weeks at 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 211 
 
 least, so that even if you repent, you won't have a 
 chance of saying you're sorry, and you'll have for- 
 gotten all about it by the time I come home ! ' 
 
 ' But I wasn't laughing, really ! ' said Eileen. ' I 
 shouldn't dare to laugh at anyone as grand as you ! ' 
 She risked another glance, laughing as she spoke, and 
 met his eye. 
 
 ' I'm afraid you're a naughty little girl ! ' said 
 Ducarrig, with a fatherly smile, ' incorrigibly naughty ! 
 Let's talk of some one more interesting than I am. 
 Dan, for instance ! Cousin Dan ! What about him ? 
 We haven't seen him at Monalour for an age. Car is 
 inconsolable. She has no one to sing to ! I'm a 
 Philistine, of course, quite unworthy of such a privilege. 
 And, between ourselves, that doesn't altogether break 
 my heart ! Though there are songs I'm very fond of. 
 There was one I used to sing myself, when I was 
 young and when it didn't fit my case in the least ! 
 Let me see, how did it go ? Ah yes, it comes back to 
 me now, rather too vividly, alas ! 
 
 * Had I met thee in thy beauty , when my heart and hand 
 were free, 
 Ere another claimed the ditty, which my ha-ha-heart 
 must yield to thee ! * 
 
 He sang the words with much satisfaction, slightly 
 out of tune. * Ah, I used to warble that very feelingly, 
 I assure you, little as I thought it might ever come 
 true ! ' He looked sideways at Eileen. * After all, 
 there's always a sporting chance, isn't there ? What 
 is known as the tertium quid may come into play ! 
 but you know nothing about that — ! Let's come back 
 to Cousin Dan. He likes the right kind of music ; 
 Car will sing to him by the hour ! He knows all about 
 
212 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 it ! But perhaps he's a humbug ! What do you 
 think ? ' He was watching Eileen while he spoke. 
 
 * Dan's devoted to music/ said Eileen primly ; ' he 
 adores Lady Ducarrig's singing/ 
 
 ' Ah- — her singing/ said Ducarrig in a level voice, 
 turning the car out of the bog road into the high road 
 that followed the Monalour demesne wall and would 
 bring them back to Fairhaven. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Car Ducarrig's resolution not to permit humanity 
 to be mastered by prudence had held, unshaken by 
 indications that the counsels of prudence might, after 
 all, have been identical with those of humanity. The 
 harvest, that year, after the passing of one resplen- 
 dent week, was being brought in slowly, and with 
 difficulty. Mornings, that promised respite from rain, 
 snatched at ; afternoons, that had begun cheerfully, 
 dissolving into inconsolable tears, of remorse, perhaps, 
 for the broken promise of the morning. It seemed 
 to Car that whenever she looked out of her sitting- 
 room windows, that gave her a view of the oak- 
 shaded back-avenue, she saw Dan Palliser striding 
 along it in shining oil-skins, with Lizzie at his heel, 
 or driving one of his own carts, piled high with straw. 
 She said to herself that he lived up to his doctrines, 
 and she liked him for doing so. 
 
 It was, she told herself, only natural that in these 
 times of stress he should turn in to what was, after all, 
 his own house, for a cup of tea, instead of going all 
 that endless way home across the Big Lawn to the Lake 
 House, with that severe old Mamma to give it to him. 
 Car said to Prudence that she defied it and all its 
 warnings, and having declared her independence, she 
 bestowed upon her landlord a standing invitation to 
 come in at any moment that suited him, ' for any meal, 
 from breakfast, down to a glass of hot water at bed- 
 time.' Arnold was in the north, shooting, and the 
 
214 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 people who had been coming to stay with her had 
 failed her at the last moment. 
 
 ' Afraid of coming to Ireland ! Her own sister one 
 of them ! Cowardly hounds ! ' And now that the 
 trains were stopped — it was too troublesome to go 
 away, and too difficult too. She didn't much care, she 
 said. She had the dogs ; and she was not the least 
 afraid of raiders or anything else. She rather liked 
 being alone ; yes, really, but he could see, couldn't 
 he, that it really was a kindness to come in and have 
 a cup of tea, and tell her what was happening in the 
 great world of Eskragh, and give her someone to 
 practise for — she got so lazy about singing if she 
 hadn't an audience now and then. 
 
 ' Turn in, my lord ! Turn in ! ' said Jael, the wife 
 of Heber the Kenite, with the perfidy of the East in 
 her heart, and Sisera had accepted the invitation, and 
 the visit had ended badly. 
 
 Car, the wife of Arnold Ducarrig, had nothing but 
 good will in her heart for this tall Sisera, whose need 
 for shelter and comradeship appealed to her. Never- 
 theless, it might have been better for him, also, if the 
 door of the tent had been closed. 
 
 But that is a matter of opinion. Dan, at all events, 
 assured himself that now that he had squarely faced 
 the position, and knew exactly how he stood, there was 
 no object in keeping away. * Nothing will make it 
 better for me, and it can't be worse. It's nothing to 
 her, anyway.' Dan turned in to the tent. 
 
 Errors of judgment are often made by those whose 
 consciences are of a water-clear innocency. Yet 
 unfair though it may seem (and perhaps, is), such 
 errors are no more ignored by the avenging deities 
 than are those that have been committed defiantly and 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 215 
 
 in full hearing of the advance of those felt-shod feet. 
 Possibly the authority whose affair was to attend to 
 the errors of Car Ducarrig had a sense of humour ; it 
 cannot be denied that the aptness of the retribution 
 appears to argue a resolve to make the punishment 
 fit the crime, accompanied by a mental gesture that 
 might be rendered, outwardly, with a wink, and a 
 shadowy finger laid lengthwise on a metaphorical nose. 
 
 August was over, and the glories of the autumn 
 flowers were at their height. The gardens at Monalour 
 shouted aloud with colour. Nothing short of a brass 
 band could express their stridency. The glaring 
 outcry of the tall scarlet lobeHas, the barbaric splendour 
 of the dahUas, with their shrieks of orange and flame, 
 magenta and canary ; the murmuring harmonies of 
 the phloxes, in softly-mingled pinks and mauves and 
 whites, with a red or a purple here and there among 
 them, to give an accent, and to save them from the 
 reproach of too sentimental a sweetness of tone. In 
 one of his Eastern satrapies Lord Ducarrig had bought 
 wisely and well of those bronze flower-vases of China 
 and Japan, that are, of all objects in which art and 
 utility are combined, the most perfect and satisfying. 
 The temperaments of the flower-gardener and the 
 flower-arranger are seldom united, and it is sufficiently 
 apparent why this should be so. The gardener, with 
 his caution, his instinct for preservation, his inveterate 
 stinginess, is inevitably incapable of the free and 
 buccaneering sacrifice of the fittest that marks the 
 true flower-arranger. 
 
 Car Ducarrig was a buccaneer with an eye for colour 
 and a gift for decoration. Under her rule the stiff 
 old drawing-room of Monalour took on a new aspect. 
 Its gaunt individuality was ejffaced, subdued into 
 
2i6 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 becoming no more than a drab background for the 
 imperious beauty of achievements of form and colour, 
 such as it had never before dreamed of. Nothing 
 short of fire could obliterate the heavy foot-prints of 
 Mrs. Palliser, but Car's flowers, in the Eastern bronze 
 vases, could, at least, cause the beholder to forget 
 them. 
 
 Dan PalHser, hungering for beauty, starved of it 
 at home, finding no sense of it abroad among the men 
 to whose service he was devoting his enthusiasms, 
 came in through this open tent door, after days of 
 hard work in his harvest fields, or of discouragement, 
 daily deepening, among his back-sliding converts, 
 and, lying back in his father's big chair, let his thirsty 
 eyes and ears drink beauty, wandering from the 
 flowers to their buccaneer arranger, seated at the piano 
 singing. It was an added enchantment for him that 
 she sang for her own pleasure no less than for his. 
 She would breathe a song into the twilight, perfect as 
 a star, and while he was realising that it was essential 
 to his peace that he should hear it again, and instantly, 
 she would break into it once more, helplessly, as if his 
 need of it was hers also. And meanwhile the avenging 
 deity to whom had been committed the correction of 
 Car's errors (who must, certainly, have been heavily 
 shod with felt, so unaware was she of his nearness), 
 was coming nearer every day, bearing in his hand a 
 dart that he must have borrowed from quite another 
 deity, waiting for the moment when he should cause 
 her to suffer for that sacrifice of prudence to humanity. 
 
 It was lonely enough for Car in the big house. 
 People came to lunch and to tea and to play lawn- 
 tennis, but ' these bad times ' — that was the formula 
 every one used — they went home early. * It isn't 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 217 
 
 quite safe, you know — I promised we should be home 
 
 by ' by, in short, a time that would have left Car 
 
 a couple of grey hours of soHtude, had not her sense of 
 humanity suggested that offer to her landlord of such 
 hospitahty as might help him to bear his burden of toil. 
 That it might at the same time mitigate her own 
 loneHness had been an afterthought, and had seemed 
 to her the reward of well-doing. 
 
 She told herself serenely that she liked Dan, quite 
 definitely and decidedly. One felt absolutely sure 
 of him ; he was such a Sahib ; and it was delightful 
 to sing to him ; one knew he treasured every note, 
 and he knew the good from the less-good as well as 
 she did. And he was very good-looking, and it was 
 entirely to his credit that he irritated Arnold. Yet 
 Arnold, contrary to his custom in such cases, concealed 
 his irritation ; it was only discernible by her, who had, 
 as she said to herself, the misfortune of knowing him 
 well. Arnold's attitude was, on the whole, rather 
 obscure. Perhaps he considered that Dan served as 
 a screen for his flirtation with Dan's cousin. There was 
 nothing obscure about the flirtation. Car thought 
 disdainfully ; it was even possible that — at last — 
 Arnold was hit a little harder than he liked. An old 
 story recurred to her, a story that treated of an un- 
 successful marriage. * Years rolled on,' said the widow, 
 ' and th' obstackle was removed ! ' Was that Arnold's 
 game ? Was he being civil to Dan in the hope that he 
 might ' remove th' obstackle ' ? Her head went up, 
 and her colour rose. That would be for her to decide ! 
 She was not going to be manoeuvred one inch out of 
 whatever path she might choose for herself ! 
 
 In the meantime, thank goodness ! Arnold was 
 away, had been away for a fortnight, and another week 
 
2i8 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 of blessed grass-widowhood was still hers. Though, 
 she reflected, it was impossible to feel that Arnold's 
 absence had in any way the effect of widowing her. 
 It was impossible to regard him as her husband. He 
 was an unpleasant man who occupied the house that 
 she was condemned to live in, and sat opposite to her 
 at meals. (Breakfast, never ; lunch, seldom.) Some- 
 times she had felt a httle sorry for him, especially dur- 
 ing their oflicial life, when the sepulchre had to be 
 kept so carefully whitewashed, and the resident raven- 
 ing wolf — that was herself— was never allowed to 
 show its nose — (its snout, she corrected herself, well 
 powdered) — except at dinner parties. She wondered 
 if her father, now dead, and her mother, re-married, 
 had ever realised what they had let her in for ! Some- 
 thing under six months of what might, by a straining 
 of definitions, be called affection, then Purgatory. 
 Well, she was having a moment of respite now — some- 
 one must have said a mass for her. 
 
 ' Dan, do you mind shutting the window behind 
 me ? It's quite cold this evening.' Car was sitting 
 at the piano ; Dan got out of his father's chair by the 
 fire, and shut the long window, and came over and 
 leaned on the end of the piano. He hated feeling 
 that he was towering over her, and when he came down 
 to the level of the desk, he could look straight into her 
 eyes, because she never put the desk up — that was one 
 of the splendours of her music ; she needed no book, 
 it welled up in heavenly streams straight from her 
 heart. . . . 
 
 He was thinking that the last of the corn had 
 been carried that afternoon, and there would be 
 in future no special reason why he should come in 
 every evening, as he had been doing, for — how long ? 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 219 
 
 He couldn't think. Time doesn't exist in Heaven. 
 Long or short, it was coming to an end. 
 
 * We carried the last of the corn to-day,' he said 
 abruptly. * It's all safe now.' His voice was full of 
 depression, and his eyes were tragic. 
 
 Car began to laugh. She stood up and shut the 
 piano. * What a disaster ! Come and sit by the fire 
 and tell me about it, and I'll condole with you — though 
 I can't imagine why I should ! ' 
 
 It was six o'clock on a dark and rainy September 
 afternoon, and the fire of turf and w^ood made a com- 
 fortable point of Hght and warmth. Dan sat on the 
 fender-stool and looked up at her. How delightful 
 of her to laugh at him — that low, delicious laugh 
 
 * Well ? ' said Car, with another laugh. * If it's all 
 safe, why do you look so heart-broken ? ' 
 
 * I believe you know,' Dan muttered ; ' if you 
 thought about it you would ! ' 
 
 * I wish you to tell me,' said Car idly, despotically. 
 
 Dan thought, ' I must be careful ! I must be care- 
 ful ! If once I began I mightn't know where to stop ! ' 
 He got up restlessly. * Well, you see — I suppose — 
 you've been awfully kind letting me come in every 
 day like this, Lady Ducarrig, — but ' 
 
 * I thought I told you to call me Car ? ' 
 
 (It was as though she had plunged that white hand, 
 with the rings that were ghttering in the firelight, into 
 his breast and caught his heart. It wasn't fair — Oh 
 God, did she know what she was doing to him ?) 
 
 But here, before he had collected his ideas, the door 
 opened, and Hammond came in. 
 
 * Miss de Vere is at the door, m'lady, and asks if it 
 is too late for you to see her ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least ; ask her to come in, Hammond.' 
 
220 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 She turned to Dan. ' Don*t go ! Stay and help 
 me — oh, and lest I forget later on — I can't ride with 
 you to-morrow, — people coming — but I will the next 
 day, and I can sympathize with you then about the 
 unfortunate saving of the harvest ! There's no time 
 now/ 
 
 This was indisputable, as Katie de Vere was already 
 sailing up the long room, and had even entered upon 
 the monologue which was the form her conversation 
 was wont to take. 
 
 * I was passing the gates, and I thought I would 
 chance your letting me in. An outrageous hour to 
 call, I know ! I'm quite relieved to find I'm not your 
 only visitor ! ' Some shade of expression in Katie 
 de Vere's very intelligent, very plain face, as she 
 turned to Dan, annoyed Car. 
 
 ' Oh, he doesn't count as a visitor. He's only the 
 landlord ! He comes regularly every day to see I'm 
 not making away with his property — he doesn't trust 
 me a yard ! Do you, Dan ? ' she said coolly. 
 
 * It's a novelty in Ireland to find landlord and 
 tenant on such good terms ! ' responded Miss de Vere, 
 her green eyes expressing a desire to be more facetious 
 than her discretion permitted. * I congratulate you, 
 Dan, on your luck ! I've just been having tea with 
 your mother. She tells me she never sees you now, 
 what with your farm, and your various rebel enter- 
 prises ! ' 
 
 ' I've been pretty hard at work, but I don't know 
 what you mean by " rebel enterprises," ' Dan answered 
 sulkily. 
 
 * You know half the country says you're a Sinn 
 Feiner, and the other half thinks you played Judas 
 to that firebrand, Eugene Cashen, and delivered him 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 221 
 
 over to the police ! ' continued Katie, ignoring Dan's 
 interpolation. * I hear it was being talked of at the 
 chapel on Sunday/ 
 
 * That's a very old story now. It's a month since 
 he was arrested/ Dan growled, regarding his kinswoman 
 with disfavour. He resented Katie's ruthless cross- 
 examinations. What was it to her what might have 
 been said about him at the chapel, or anywhere else ? 
 ' As a matter of fact, it was Father Hugh Macnamara, 
 who asked me to meet him at Cashen's, to talk over 
 different things, and it happened we were both there 
 when the police came.' His temper was rising, and 
 his nerves were strained. ' I'm getting pretty sick of 
 lies and misrepresentations ! ' he ended violently. 
 
 ' My dear boy, don't imagine that / believe any 
 thing I hear ! Least of all such obvious absurdity as 
 that ! I'm far too wily a bird to be caught with chaff 
 of that kind. But you know, most people will believe 
 anything ! ' said Katie cheerfully. ' And, by the by, 
 I met your friend. Father Macnamara, as I was coming 
 here. He asked me where you were. He had been 
 to the Lake House to try and see you. I suggested 
 to him to try here — in the farm-yard, I mean, of 
 course ! ' she added, with a swift glance from one to 
 the other of her audience. ' I spoke to him for a minute 
 or two. He says these new police, that they've sent 
 over from England, are burning houses right and left, 
 and that your friend Eugene's wiU be the next ! It 
 seems a funny way of settling the country, doesn't 
 it ? But one hears the wildest stories ! I simply ignore 
 them. All / say is ' * Laissez-moi planter mes pois, ' ' and 
 don't bother me with politics or gossip ! You'll get no 
 thanks from these people, Dan,' she went on. ' It's 
 always been the same way, from Emmett down to 
 
222 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Parnell. They lick your boots to begin with, but 
 as soon as they think things are not going as they Uke, 
 overboard goes Jonah ! ' 
 
 ' Jonah's going overboard on his own this time ! ' 
 said Dan, letting loose some of the exasperation that 
 the super-intelligence in Katie's green eyes had kindled 
 in him. ' I've no doubt but that all you people will 
 be delighted ! There's a meeting of the Farmers' 
 Society to-morrow, and I'm going to chuck — they've 
 beaten me. That He you heard about Cashen is all 
 part of the same thing — they've let me down over 
 everything ! But I'm not going to wait till I'm kicked 
 out. I'm going out on my own ! ' His eyes, full of 
 anger, met Katie de Vere's, challenging her to exult 
 over him. 
 
 * I'm not a bit deHghted, Dan,' said Katie de Vera 
 soberly, * only sorry for another honest man that's 
 fallen among thieves ! There it is, you see. Lady 
 Ducarrig,' she went on, turning to Car, * that's the 
 hopelessness of Ireland ! It's always the reverse of 
 the old proverb ! The honest men fall out, and the 
 rogues come by their own — that is, the honest men's 
 own ! No, Dan, my dear boy, take example by your 
 Uncle Dick and me, and stick to your farm and your 
 garden ! Not that I hold with Dick's gilt-edged garden- 
 ing, with his apron and his white kid gloves ! / always 
 say that no one has a right to call himself a gardener 
 unless he's prepared — when he's pricking out seedlings, 
 for example — to hold a slug in his mouth until he has a 
 spare moment when he can squash it ! ' 
 
 Response to this stalwart confession of faith was 
 spared to either of Miss de Vere's hearers by the re- 
 entrance of Hammond, this time bearing a telegram. 
 
 ' May I ? ' asked Car, and opened it. ' No answer. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 223 
 
 Hammond/ She turned to her guests : * It's from 
 Arnold. He says, ** Arriving Thursday afternoon 
 with three guns ask Palliser to dine to meet them ! " 
 I didn't expect him for a week. I suppose he wants 
 to shoot the mountain, and wants you to tell him 
 how to do it, Dan. Some one told me there were a lot 
 of grouse on it.' 
 
 * With all due respect to Lord Ducarrig, I call that 
 a very rash telegram,' said Katie de Vere, shaking her 
 head. ' Does he imagine that it won't be all over 
 the country that he's bringing three guns here ? Even 
 if Dan's Sinn Fein friends don't know that " guns " 
 mean men, they'll know well enough that in this case 
 men mean guns ! ' 
 
 ' How do they think they can shoot ? ' said Dan, 
 his voice still sullen with anger. * The police will stop 
 them if no one else does. Though there are no police 
 here to do it now — not nearer than Eskragh, anyhow. 
 And they say the mountain's full of chaps on the run ! ' 
 
 * Thursday afternoon,' repeated Car. ' That's the 
 day after to-morrow, isn't it ? You wiU come and 
 dine, Dan, won't you, and tell them about it ? ' She 
 was looking absently at Miss de Vere as she spoke, 
 and her eyes moved onward to Dan. He was standing 
 erect, his hands in his pockets, staring across the dusky 
 room out of the window. In the fading light his face 
 looked haggard and unhappy. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Father Hugh Macnamara found it difficult to decide 
 if he were relieved or disappointed at having failed 
 to find Dan Palliser at the Lake House. He had things 
 to say to him that he felt he could not write, even if 
 he would ; advice to offer of a sort that he might convey 
 by look and tone of voice, but that require a medium 
 more supple and evasive than pen and ink. 
 
 ' I must warn him ! ' he thought. * But God knows 
 'twill be a hard job ! He may tell me it's no business 
 of mine — indeed maybe it isn't either — I wonder 
 was it for a sign to me that I couldn't see him 
 just now ? ' 
 
 Father Hugh's cob slackened, unnoticed by her 
 driver, into a walk, at a level piece of the road which 
 offered, as she was well aware, no justification for such 
 a liberty on her part, but the priest was too deeply 
 engaged in planning the course of an interview with 
 Dan to be aware of her manoeuvres. * The dear 
 fellow I ' he was thinking, with a glow of affection 
 for the man who had disregarded the barriers of class 
 and creed, and had recognised a kindred and lonely 
 spirit, and offered himself to be a friend. ' He's no 
 match for those that are against him ! Let him be 
 vexed with me ! He'll know I'm only acting out of 
 regard for him, " Though he slay me yet will I trust 
 in him ! " He knows as well as I do that '' Faithful 
 are the wounds of a friend ! " ' A quotation whose 
 employment by both Mrs. Palliser and Father Hugh, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 225 
 
 in the same connection, would seem to be a confirma- 
 tion of the theory that extremes meet. 
 
 The priest's way back to Eskragh took him past 
 Jimmy Ryan's farm, which lay beyond Monalour at 
 the end of the lake. He had but just passed its gate 
 when he met its owner, riding home. 
 
 * Turn back now. Father, with me,' said Jimmy 
 hospitably, ' and Herself will give you a cup o' tea, 
 You have a good bit between you and home yet ! ' 
 
 ' Tis a tempting offer, I beheve I shouldn't Hsten 
 to you, Mr. Ryan,' said the priest hesitating, finally 
 yielding. ' Tm ashamed to think what hour of the 
 night it'll be before I'm home I ' 
 
 ' Ah, what matter ? There's a light moon ! Sure 
 I'll give the pony a handful of oats and she'll go home 
 all the quicker for the rest ! ' 
 
 The hospitahty of such as Mrs. Ryan is no idle 
 affair, * no laughing-joke at all,' as she would herself 
 have said. The soda-bread, and the fresh butter, the 
 eggs and the honey, the cream and the strong tea were 
 nqt there to be looked at only. 
 
 * Indeed 'n if I'd known his Reverence 'd be in it, 
 I'd have had things some way decent er — if it was only 
 a seed cake, or a nice pork chop — sure we're just after 
 kiUing a pig ' — Mrs. Ryan reproached Jimmy and 
 herself. 
 
 But Father Hugh, a martyr to indigestion, thanked 
 heaven secretly that his invitation had been an im- 
 promptu one, and shocked his entertainers by his calls 
 upon the kettle. 
 
 There has not often been a time in Ireland when 
 what is ambiguously spoken of as Unrest has not been 
 an integral feature of the country's hfe, a skeleton 
 in the cupboard, whose bones give an occasional 
 
226 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 disquieting rattle, whose moods are as incalculable as 
 those of the weather. But in the year 1920 the skeleton 
 had come forth, bribed, cajoled, flattered, persuaded 
 of his wrongs. Slowly, at first, he had declared himself, 
 but by the early autumn there were not many houses 
 where he was not sitting, master of the feast, calling 
 the tune, and making others pay for it. 
 
 _' God knows what the end of all will be, and worse 
 it's getting every day in the place of better ! ' said 
 Jimmy Ryan, as he Ht a pipe after supper, and prepared 
 to enjoy a large and general denunciation of all things 
 and most people. * I'll say the prices are good always, 
 but look at what we has to pay for labour ! It's well 
 for me I've got five good lads and three gerr'ls coming 
 on, and won't be trusting to these blackguard labourers 
 always ! There's little Johnny able to tackle up a 
 horse and cart as good as meself this minute, and 
 Hannah and Julia that can milk three cows apiece, 
 thanks be to God ! — ' The eulogium was interrupted 
 by the furtive entry of an assortment of the offspring 
 that were its subject. ' G'wout o' that ! ' roared the 
 proud father, with an ebullition of fury shattering 
 in its suddenness. ' G'wout I tell ye ! What satis- 
 faction have I of meself with the hke o' ye hanging 
 out o' me mouth this way all day long ! ' 
 
 The assortment vanished, as drops of water evapo- 
 rate on red-hot iron. Mrs. Ryan followed swiftly. 
 
 * I have them well regulated,' said Jimmy com- 
 placently. ' They're good children, all, only the 
 youngest little fellow. He folHes the mother's family 
 — them Lyonses was always very mawkish about the 
 face — well, no matter ! Light your pipe. Father — 
 what's this I was saying when them youngsters came 
 annoying us ? ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 227 
 
 ' I don't smoke, thank you, Mr. Ryan. I want to 
 say a word to you, I'm thankful for this chance,' said 
 the priest quickly. * I know you're a friend of Mr. Dan 
 PaUiser's ; maybe you didn't hear all the nasty talk 
 that's going about him in Eskragh ? Nicholas Coyne 
 that's going about saying to all he meets that Mr. 
 Palliser had no right to the prize for jumping he got 
 at the show ; and that it was against the rules his 
 sending his horse in to practise over the bank. I 
 heard he was going to call a commytee meeting to 
 inquire into it. He says Lady Ducarrig's horse 
 should have had it. I don't understand these technical 
 matters ' 
 
 Father Hugh was interrupted by a bellow of rage 
 from his host. 
 
 * What hell's tricks — I ask your pardon, Father 
 — what in the name-o '-goodness tricks is that old 
 schemer after now ? The dirty, low, raving old scamp ! 
 Why, wasn't it himself gave me the key o' the ground 
 when I asked it from him ! ' shouted Jimmy, with a 
 fine disregard of the general ethic of the case, and 
 recognising only the necessity of exonerating Dan 
 of complicity. * Sure 'twas Bill Heskin and me done 
 the whole thing ! Bill's after getting the sack on the 
 head of it from Mr, Dan. Tearing mad Mr. Dan was ! 
 He ate the face off meself too. Sure he told me he'd 
 sent the Cup to Lady Ducarrig, and himself has a 
 meeting of the commytee called, and he says right or 
 wrong he'll resign ! I hope in God he'll not ! I told 
 him there wasn't a year that horses didn't get schooled 
 over that bank, and what harm too ? ' ended Jimmy, 
 who was a man of liberal views. 
 
 * Well, Mr. Ryan, I can assure you that Nicholas 
 Coyne has it given out that he couldn't refuse the key 
 
228 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 to the President when he sent his man for it. There 
 was no talk at all of you. I was trying to see 
 Mr. PalHser to-day to get the truth ' 
 
 * By the holy smoke, doesn't the Baby beat the 
 bees in the making o' wax ! ' Jimmy said, with indig- 
 nation that was not untinged with respect. * Didn't 
 I tell Mr. Dan there'd be trouble yet out of his Co- 
 operative Stores ! That's where he's treading on the 
 Baby's toes, and that's what no man done yet without 
 he was sorry for it after ! He knows well once Mr. Dan 
 has that started it'll cut the ground from under his 
 profiteering prices ! And a good job too ! But the 
 Baby'll make it hot for them that does it, no fear but 
 he will ! ' 
 
 * There are other stories going too, Mr. Ryan,' 
 Father Hugh began again anxiously. * I hardly hke 
 repeating them indeed, but you being a friend — ' His 
 pale, spiritual eyes, set, lamentably, on Jimmy's jolly 
 red face, saw it but dimly, like the setting sun in a mist, 
 but encouraged by what he divined, rather than saw, 
 of its sympathy, he hurried on. * They're saying — 
 and they're saying it this long time, that 'twas Mr. 
 PaUiser told the police the day they'd find Eugene 
 Cashen at home ! They had poor Abina half mad, 
 God help her, with their lies. Why don't they say 
 it was I told the police ! Sure it was I asked Mr. 
 Palliser to meet me there 1 And that's not all,' he 
 went on quickly ; * it's being said now that he's hunting 
 with the hounds and running with the hare. That 
 he's denouncing bribery and taking away the character 
 of other men when he's no better than themselves, 
 and would sell his vote as well as another ! A man said 
 them very words to me T 
 
 * Ah-ha ! There's the old Baby again ! ' said Jimmy, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 229 
 
 ' Wait awhile till I get to come at him 1 Well, and what 
 else have they to say, Father ? ' 
 
 * Indeed, Mr. Ryan, I couldn't tell you the half 
 of it. I'm in the way of hearing a good deal, and I 
 declare you'd say it was because of the regard I have 
 for Mr. PalHser that they come to me with their 
 stories ! I'm sick and tired of them.' 
 
 ' I know that well. Father,' said Jimmy respectfully. 
 
 * There's another thing they have against him,' said 
 the priest, with perceptible hesitation. ' They say he's 
 a friend of Lord Ducarrig's, and that no man could 
 be friends with Lord Ducarrig and be a friend of 
 Ireland ' 
 
 ' He's no friend of the lord's,' broke in Jimmy 
 fiercely, ' but I'll tell ye who is, and that's the Baby 
 himself ! ' 
 
 The priest was too much absorbed in his own 
 recital to attend to what Jimmy said. * BeHeve me, 
 Mr. Ryan,' he said deprecatingly, ' I hate these back- 
 bitings and slanders as much as any man could. I'd 
 not speak of them at all, even to yourself, only I 
 thought you might be able to stop them some way. 
 I went to see Mr. PaUiser myself just now, but he was 
 out of home. I must go again — I'll be this way again 
 on Thursday — He was up at Monalour this afternoon, 
 and, and ' again he hesitated. 
 
 ' Have they more yet against him ? ' Jimmy roared, 
 being of those whose emotions release themselves in 
 noise, Hke thunder-clouds. 
 
 ' They're saying,' said Father Hugh in a low tone 
 of infinite distress, ' that it isn't only Lord Ducarrig 
 he's too friendly with. It's said he's too much at 
 Monalour House.' 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 The meeting-place in Eskragh of the Farmers' Society 
 was a long and dreary room that had begun its career 
 as a Masonic Hall, had declined to an auction room 
 and furniture mart, and had now fallen upon evil days 
 of idleness, with a relapse into active life but once 
 a month, when the farmers assembled in it for their 
 deliberations. Its windows that faced the street 
 were boarded outside to conceal the ravages of stone- 
 throwing small boys. On the inside their broken panes 
 were muffled with dust-laden cobwebs. Sufficient 
 light for the purposes of the Hon. Secretary was 
 admitted by a tall, circular-topped window at the 
 back of the platform, that looked into a deserted 
 garden at the back of the hall, and still retained enough 
 unbroken panes to be spared the indignity of being 
 boarded over. A sour green distemper, streaked with 
 damp, coloured the walls, which were further decorated 
 with some very old, German, framed chromo-litho- 
 graphs, that had defied the persuasive powers of 
 successive generations of auctioneers to secure for them 
 a change of scene. In the corner by the door a few 
 incurably crippled chairs were huddled, one on the top 
 of the other, as if in panic they had rushed into each 
 other's arms. Close under the platform were a dozen 
 heavy benches with desk attachments, refuse from a 
 school, and on these were disposed the Society, to the 
 number of some twenty-five or thirty men, middle-aged 
 or elderly for the most part, representing the fine fleur 
 of the farmers of the district. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 231 
 
 On the platform were seated the Chairman, Mr. 
 John Tobin, a prosperous old farmer from the Vale 
 of Esker, and the Secretary, Mr. Timsey Coadey. The 
 Vice-Chairman was standing in front of the Secretary's 
 table, addressing the meeting. The Vice-Chairman 
 had begun stumblingly, being, unlike the large majority 
 of his brother members, averse from the sound of his 
 own voice, even in as small, and what might be 
 considered confidential, a gathering as this. What 
 might have proved a further handicap to his eloquence 
 was the noise of the wind, and of the rain which was 
 beating upon the roof and windows of the hall with 
 a violence that made it necessary to shout each word 
 if it were intended to be heard by anyone seated 
 farther away than on the front bench. But the noise, 
 and the darkness that accompanied it, seemed to Dan 
 to make things easier for him. They gave a feeling 
 of contest and of opposition ; anything was better 
 than the unsupported sound of his own voice breaking 
 the silence. 
 
 He felt over-strained and irritable. * Rattled and 
 ready for a row ! ' he thought. He had left Monalour 
 last night with Katie de Vere, and had then walked 
 up and down the path by the lake, thinking of the 
 chaos that life had turned to for him, until even Lizzie 
 had abandoned the water-rats and whined to be taken 
 home. He had then been late for dinner, had been 
 reproved by his mother, had again lost his temper, and, 
 on the pretext of farm accounts, had spent the evening 
 in his own room, smoking incessantly, distracted by 
 the thought of the speech that he would have to make 
 to the farmers, yet incapable of steadying his mind 
 to its consideration. Three or four hours of dream- 
 filled sleep had done but little for his nerves. And 
 
232 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 here he was, on this stormy afternoon, in this dark 
 and dirty room, with these men, who embodied for 
 him the downfall of an ideal, waiting, in a silence that 
 he believed to be hostile, for him to speak to them and 
 make a public acknowledgment of his failure. 
 
 If they would only ask questions, interrupt, declare 
 their emotions in any way, it would be easier for him. 
 The hall, with its boarded windows, was so dark that 
 he could not discern their faces, and his own height, 
 together with the height of the platform, had the effect 
 of isolating him still more. The crowns of four and 
 twenty hats do not form an inspiring audience, and it 
 seemed to Dan that the faces that were presumably 
 beneath them were deliberately withheld from him 
 by their proprietors. He began to get angry, and 
 though anger does not always conduce to ease, or 
 lucidity of statement, it is a useful solvent for nerves 
 or self-consciousness. 
 
 ' I have told you, gentlemen,' Dan said, selecting 
 a hat that he believed to be Jimmy Ryan's, as his 
 objective, ' that I was gratified by your having given 
 me the position of Vice-Chairman of this Society, and 
 I have done my best to deserve the compliment you 
 paid me. I think you will allow that ? ' 
 
 A muffled ' Hear, hear ! ' came from beneath the 
 hat that might be Jimmy's. 
 
 ' I have been Vice-Chairman of your Society, and I 
 have been Chairman of the Agricultural Society, since 
 my father died, and when I joined these societies I 
 had every intention of sticking to them as long as I 
 lived. I didn't think then that in less than six months 
 I should be saying good-bye to them both I Still less 
 I thought that the reasons for leaving them would 
 be that the men whom I worked with and trusted, 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 233 
 
 wouldn't trust me ! I've done my best for the farmers 
 and their interests. I never spared myself, you 
 know that.* 
 
 Mr. Coadey, behind the secretary's table, said 
 
 * Hear, hear ! ' with an impulse of gratitude awakened 
 by a memory of that lunch in honour of the tractor, 
 at which he had proclaimed his intention of bursting 
 rather than waste the food provided for him. 
 
 ' I told you I was going to stand clear of politics, 
 and I have done so, but that hasn't saved me from the 
 mud-slinging that politicians deal in. I don't beheve 
 that one of you believes in his heart the lies that, I 
 understand^ are being told about me, but that doesn't 
 seem to stop any of you from repeating them.' 
 
 A restless movement was apparent among the hats, 
 and above the roar of the rain, an uneasy shuffling 
 of heavy boots made itself heard. 
 
 ' I daresay I don't know the half of these lies, but 
 I know enough, and too much • ' 
 
 ' Don't mind them ! ' said Jimmy Ryan's voice. 
 
 Dan ignored it. 
 
 * And it isn't only that these damned lies are being 
 passed round about me that has sickened me of your 
 societies ! ' Dan went on, gathering rage as he went. 
 
 * You haven't the pluck, nor the perseverance, nor 
 so much as the decency, to stick to a thing, even though 
 you've put your hands to it ! What have politics to 
 say to a Co-operative Creamery ? And I'd like to know 
 the connection between milk records and shooting 
 pohcemen? But because I don't call myself a Sinn 
 Feiner, you make that an excuse to go back of your 
 promises to back me up in things that are only for 
 your own advantage ! ' 
 
 Dan was beginning almost to enjoy himself. He 
 
 Q 
 
234 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 had made them look at him. He could hear growl- 
 ings and mutterings, and an angry voice said, ' No, 
 faith, you're no Sinn Feiner ! Ask Eugene-the-Talk 
 about that ! ' 
 
 ' And no more are you Sinn Feiners ! ' Dan shouted 
 back. * I'd respect you if you were ! I'd know where 
 you were ! But you're sitting on the top of the fence, 
 afraid to move for fear you'd tumble down the wrong 
 side ! You're too afraid of your own boys to hide their 
 breeches from them and keep them at home o' nights ! 
 You're afraid of each other ! Shall I tell you what a 
 poor woman, whose son was a policeman and was 
 shot from behind a fence like a mad dog, said to me ? 
 I said to her, Hke a fool, that this dirty work wouldn't 
 go on : I told her, like a fool, that you farmers were 
 decent men, and that you'd put a stop to it ! She said 
 to me, " The farmers ! they're afraid ! They'd be 
 afraid of a rabbit in their own field ! " ' 
 
 The mutterings deepened and grew louder. Dan 
 thundered on : * I'm tired of all this bragging about 
 Ireland and Irishmen and what fine fellows they are ! 
 And then I see all of you fine Irishmen being stampeded 
 to hell, like a lot of sheep over a cliff, because you're 
 afraid to say what every one of you thinks of these 
 blackguards, these strangers and Bolshevists — I 
 wouldn't believe anyone who told me they were Irish- 
 men — who are teaching, yes ! and forcing your 
 innocent boys to burn and rob and murder and are 
 bringing ruin on Ireland and on her industries and 
 her people ! ' 
 
 Dan had lashed himself to fury and his audience 
 to uproar. The men were howling abuse at him, 
 contradictions, foul epithets, incoherent and senseless. 
 The squeak of Baby Bullet topped the clamour. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 235 
 
 ' Come down here and we'll show ye are we cowards ! ' 
 * No, but ourselves '11 come up to him where he is 
 and teach him the difference ! ' 
 
 Jimmy Ryan shoved his way through the yeUing 
 crowd and scrambled up beside Dan, his face wild with 
 excitement and the love of fight. And, as the King of 
 Israel cried to Elisha, when the Bands of Syria were 
 delivered into his hand, * Shall I smite them ? Shall 
 I smite them ? ' so did Jimmy Ryan, brandishing a 
 heavy ash plant, shout to Dan, * Will I crack their 
 polls for them, Mr. Dan ? Come on the two of us ! 
 There isn't one of the lot's any dam' good ! We'd 
 squeeze them all like rotten cabbages ! ' 
 
 * I'll not touch them ! ' said Dan, his head up and 
 his eyes alight. ' I don't want to kill them ! ' 
 
 He jumped off the platform and strode down the 
 room, looking neither left nor right. 
 
 ' He was hke a king for them ! ' said Jimmy Ryan 
 afterwards, giving to the faithful partner of his admira- 
 tions and antipathies — (which estabhshes a far more 
 intimate relation than the mere sharing of joys and 
 sorrows) — a history of the proceedings. ' He lepped 
 down off the platform to them. Not a one o' them dar' 
 rise the hand to him ! " Will I strike them. Sir ? " 
 says I. " I'll not touch the bloody curs ! " says he, 
 " If I left a finger on them I'd kill them dead ! " 
 says he ! ' 
 
 Thus does the historian grace and honour his 
 subject, and who shall say that he does not well to 
 do so ? 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Car and Dan rode slowly along the lonely road by 
 Monalour Lake, the mildness of the afternoon coming, 
 soft-handed, against their faces, and the grey sky 
 musing over the already tarnished glory of the wood- 
 lands, over the brown, broad-ridged potato-fields, 
 where men and women stooped to the spade. There 
 come such evenings often in an Irish autumn, when 
 September is learning resignation, and, with eyes 
 misty with unshed tears, is schooling herself, like a 
 young nun, to renounce earthly pleasures and riches, 
 all the pomps and vanities of a world whose fascinations 
 are still more apparent than its wickedness. 
 
 Dan, also, was trying to school himself to renuncia- 
 tion, trying to face Fate as a man should, to take 
 Hopelessness to his bosom, and to shut her in, deep 
 and safe, so that no one should guess what was hidden 
 there. Even if Car were free, he knew — he was telhng 
 himself the same as he rode beside her now — that 
 she was as far above him and beyond his reach as was 
 that great grey heron that was now winging his way 
 in strong, rhythmic flight to the far fir-trees on Fair- 
 haven Point. It was the same heron that Ducarrig 
 and Eileen had startled, since it had chanced that Car 
 had checked her horse at the quiet, willow-shrouded 
 bay which that particular heron always selected for 
 the scene of his evening meditation, the spot at which 
 Ducarrig had stopped his motor. But while Dan's 
 eyes travelled eastward on the swinging curves of the 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 237 
 
 heron's flight, he was telling himself that Car's wings 
 were bound. She was captive : a princess and a 
 prisoner, ' crown'd queen and thralled.' Yes ! Hope- 
 less from every point of view. 
 
 The air was absolutely still ; the dove-grey water 
 was as still as it, only that now and then a coot would 
 slide out of one of the pale islands of reeds, and jerk 
 its noiseless course across a space of the stillness to 
 another hiding-place, leaving a tiny ripple on the 
 smooth path. 
 
 Gambler, of his own initiative, left the road and 
 moved down the grass track behind the screen of the 
 willow-trees to the edge of the water, the dry reeds 
 with which it was strewn cracking and rustling under 
 his feet. 
 
 ' Very well, you may just wet your bit, old man,' 
 said Car caressingly ; she yielded to him the full 
 length of the reins, and he stood in the shallow and 
 drank. A little contented him. Car had taken off 
 her straw hat and hung it on her arm ; in the sheer 
 quiet of the afternoon her thick, soft hair was unstirred 
 by a breath. She smiled back at Dan. 
 
 ' It was just tricks and affectation ! He didn't 
 want it in the least ! What about Tara ? Don't be 
 unkind to her, let her have a drop too.' 
 
 (How dear she was, he thought, how utterly 
 adorable ! — never more so than where a horse or a 
 dog was concerned ; she became a schoolgirl, a child : 
 perfectly silly, perfectly adorable.) 
 
 ' She doesn't want it either,' said Dan, but he did 
 not check the mare as she eagerly followed Gambler to 
 the lake's edge, pushing close to him, as horses will, 
 so that Dan's knee was pressed against the flap of 
 Car's saddle. 
 
238 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' I told you she wanted it ! ' said Car, turning 
 to him. 
 
 The smile in her beloved eyes, her sudden nearness, 
 mastered Dan's will. Helpless, overborne, he leaned 
 towards her, resting his left hand on the cantle of her 
 saddle. Her face was very near him, her eyes held 
 his. He saw fear in them, recognition, quick under- 
 standing of the meaning in his ; then — oh God ! Did 
 he see response ? 
 
 The gentle horses stood still as in a dream, waiting, 
 arrested who knows by what magnetic comprehension 
 of the mood of their riders. Dan's left arm was 
 round Car, his right hand held hers in a grip that said 
 more than his tongue could tell. There was so much 
 to be said, and of what avail was it to say anything ? 
 Better for this moment to live in the present, to have 
 no thought for the morrow, to make no sign that they 
 were even aware of the despair that was implicit in 
 the ecstacy, as the blackness of a storm cloud will 
 intensify the radiance of sunset light, and as the grasp 
 of a dying hand grows more tense as the soul readies 
 itself for flight. 
 
 Now and again a cart loaded high with turf would 
 slowly rumble along the yielding bog-road, or a few 
 shawled and barefooted little girls would go padding 
 and whispering by, or a donkey-cart would rattle past ; 
 and once a shabby trap, drawn by an old white 
 horse, and with a fat old man in it, jogged past them. 
 Car and Dan sat there, unnoticing, saying little, content 
 only to exist in this enchanted hour that was theirs. 
 
 The jingle of a little bell, the sound of trotting hoofs, 
 bespoke the approach of some one from that world 
 that they were both trying so hard to forget. They 
 were still standing by the brink of the lake. Dan 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 239 
 
 was holding Car's right hand in his ; she drew it 
 from him. 
 
 * We have stayed here too long, we must go/ she 
 said in a voice that was low and shaken, not like her 
 own. * Arnold and his people will be there as soon as 
 we are.' 
 
 As they regained the road the pony-trap that they 
 had heard met them. Car pulled her horse on to 
 the grass by the side of the narrow road, and Father 
 Hugh Macnamara drove quickly past. He smiled at 
 Dan, taking off his soft black hat, and, turning in his 
 seat, called out to him : 
 
 ' I've just been to try and see you. Will you come 
 to my house to-morrow before you go to the Board ? ' 
 
 ' All right,' Dan answered, looking back also, and 
 watching the trap till it turned a corner and was lost 
 to view. 
 
 With the sight of the young priest and at his 
 message, the memory of all his broken hopes, his 
 vain enthusiasms, returned to Dan. He rode close 
 up to Car. 
 
 * All the same, I shan't be there ! That's a shut 
 book ! ' He drew a quick, impatient breath. ' Give 
 me your hand. Car ! — Yes — I must have it ! Give it 
 to me ! Let me hold it.' He caught it and held it, 
 pressing his lips on it. 
 
 * What use is it to give it to you, Dan ? You can't 
 keep it,' she said, looking at him with eyes that were 
 emptied of their wonted content of humour, indifference, 
 sophistication, and that uttered only that same helpless 
 appeal of passion that they met in his. 
 
 Father Hugh Macnamara drove on his way not 
 as easy in his mind as he had been. Such hght as 
 
240 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 the grey sky gave had been full on the faces of Lady 
 
 Ducarrig and of his friend, Dan Palhser, and it seemed 
 
 to him that he had never seen two people, whose 
 
 position in life might have assured to them paths of 
 
 peace, look as storm-tossed, as suffering, as they did. 
 
 ' How beautiful she is ! ' he thought. * Please God 
 
 such beauty may not be a snare and a danger to either 
 
 of them ! But I never saw more trouble in any man's 
 
 face than Dan's, and indeed, in the lady's too, for the 
 
 matter of that.' Their faces reminded him, he thought, 
 
 of the faces in some picture he had seen in a gallery, 
 
 that memorable time when he had gone to France for 
 
 a hoHday with John Coffey, just after they had both 
 
 left Maynooth, before John had gone to China. He 
 
 had never forgotten that picture. Two poor creatures, 
 
 it was of, a man and a woman, being swept along 
 
 together in a windy swirl of darkness that was a circle 
 
 of Purgatory — what was this their names were ? John 
 
 had a book about them — a poem — Yes ! he had it 
 
 now, Paolo and Francesca ! That was what Dan 
 
 Palliser and Lady Ducarrig were reminding him of. 
 
 Very hke them too, they were. The man with those 
 
 deep eyes, just Uke poor Dan's, and the lovely face 
 
 the lady had ! It was as Hke Lady Ducarrig's as two 
 
 pins. God help them ! Father Hugh sighed ; he 
 
 had a tender heart. He touched the Httle gold cross 
 
 that he wore, and put up a prayer for those two 
 
 troubled souls, that was the more fervent for the fact 
 
 that they were not of his communion. 
 
 At the cross roads at the end of the lake he over- 
 took old Nicholas Coyne, and checked his cob's demure 
 trot as he passed him. 
 
 ' A fine evening, Father,' the Baby squeaked, * and 
 we're not the only ones who are enjoying it ! ' He 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 241 
 
 pointed backwards with his whip, and fell into the long, 
 many-hinged wheeze that served him for laughter. 
 
 The young priest drove on ; he would have given 
 a great deal not to have driven along the lake road 
 that afternoon. Still more not to have met old 
 Nicholas Coyne at the Lake Cross, and known that 
 he had done the same. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Dan parted from Car Ducarrig at the steps of Monalour 
 hall-door. The gravel told that the motor had arrived, 
 and gun-cases, rugs, and the usual agglutinations of 
 those who travel in comfort were still heaped in the 
 doorway, telling that the travellers had but just come. 
 
 ' You're coming up to dine,' Car said to Dan, 
 ' Au revoir, sans dire adieu!* She did not look at 
 him, and let herself slip from the saddle, only just 
 touching his proffered arm. Two men came out of 
 the house to meet her, vociferous in greeting. Dan 
 remounted and led Gambler away to the yard. 
 
 He rode very slowly across the Big Lawn towards 
 the Lake House. Four lines that he had read some- 
 where were in his mind : 
 
 Let not him who seeketh cease from seeking until he 
 
 has found : 
 And when he hath found he shall wonder ; 
 And when he hath wondered he shall reign ; 
 And when he hath reigned he shall rest. 
 
 He had sought, hardly knowing he was seeking ; 
 he had found — Yes ! of a certainty he had found ! 
 His whole soul was trembling with the wonder of that 
 finding. But the other lines were no more than 
 mockery. How should he ever reign ? And ah ! 
 what rest would life have henceforth for him ? It 
 was all a mockery . . . But she loved him ! In the 
 might of that wonder was he not reigning now ? . . . 
 
 At the back of his mind was a fact : something 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 243 
 
 practical, definite, certain, power-giving too, for 
 money is power. The sale of a part of the estate had 
 just ' gone through ' the last of the many stages and 
 processes of the Land Purchase Court. To-day there 
 were fifteen thousand pounds waiting to be invested, 
 and meanwhile standing to his credit at his bank in 
 Eskragh. Would rest come to him that way ? 
 Could he and she leave this troubled Ireland, and go 
 away to the other side of the world. New Zealand, 
 East Africa — anywhere, where they could begin life 
 again, as though they had died, and gone to that 
 other plane that Car had talked to him about now 
 and then ? His imagination began to run riot. In- 
 voluntarily he checked his mare ; he sat rigid in his 
 saddle, and saw scene after scene, all lit by the golden 
 light of that fifteen thousand pounds. It, at all events, 
 was a certainty, he could do as he liked with it ; he 
 was the last in the entail. He could sell Monalour 
 to-morrow if he liked, and Ducarrig would buy it fast 
 enough — no trouble about that ! He would let him 
 have it cheap. Ducarrig would think he had made 
 a good exchange ! Dan told himself he was not going 
 to sneak about another man's place, steaHng what he 
 could take. Car should come to him openly, and no 
 one would be less injured or distressed than her hus- 
 band; He would have gained the place he wanted, 
 and lost the wife he didn't want ! Dan gave a short 
 laugh, and said to himself, what shall it profit a man 
 if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul ? 
 His soul ! She never was Ducarrig's soul — nothing 
 but his captive, and he was tired of her. Tired of 
 her ! The music of one of her songs rose like the rush 
 of a river, flooding his consciousness : 
 
 ' Du meine Seek, du mein Herz ! ' 
 
244 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Yes ! she was his Soul, his Heart ! What was the whole 
 world in comparison with her ? He felt the storm 
 rising in him, disintegrating, uncontrollable, shaking 
 him, breaking him. He leaned forward in his saddle 
 and pressed his forehead against the mare's neck, as 
 he had done before, up in Patrick Curtin's stable at 
 Knockariska Farm — only that now it was no vision 
 of a desolate Erin, crying for help, no abstract ideal, 
 appealing to his patriotism, that was overwhelming 
 him, but a living creature, whose lips had but now 
 given back his kiss, a Real Presence that drew him 
 to it by every quivering nerve, as the moon draws 
 the sea to follow her. 
 
 Perhaps it was some sub-conscious memory that 
 was awakened by the touch of the warm silk of Tara's 
 neck ; slowly the recollection of that impulsive dedi- 
 cation of himself to a Great Cause rose to the surface 
 of his mind, and swam there for a moment, struggling 
 to keep afloat, and sank again. But it had asserted 
 itself. Gradually, from a mere wordless ecstacy of 
 emotion, Dan's mind began again to consider outside 
 things. A cloud, the size of a man's hand, came into 
 his heaven ; hardly perceptible, not worthy of con- 
 sideration. That little struggling memory of Knock- 
 ariska — a mere fanatic impulse — why should it push 
 itself in now ? He shook his head impatiently, and 
 gathered up the reins. He would give the mare a 
 breather before he went in. It was quite early ; it 
 might steady him too. He set her going. 
 
 Three rounds of the Big Lawn, something over a 
 mile ; not too bad for pace, and she had hardly turned a 
 hair. It spoke well for her condition. And her wind 
 was dead right too. He wished he felt as sound as 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 245 
 
 she was. This coward heart of his, thumping in his 
 side and pumping him. He went another round of 
 the grass, at a walk, before he rode the mare in, 
 and even by that time it was Httle more than six 
 o'clock. 
 
 Little Lizzie was sitting in the stable-yard, waiting 
 for his return ; she crept into the house after him, and 
 followed him to the room known as his office. She 
 watched him as he threw himself down in an armchair, 
 and began to try and read a book — anything to steady 
 him — and then betook herself to her own basket in a 
 remote corner. She did not lie down, but sat with her 
 head up, and her small eyes fixed on him as if he were 
 a hole from which at any moment a rat's head might 
 emerge. Lizzie never obtruded her affection on the 
 god of her adoration ; she disapproved of demon- 
 strations as much, even, as Mrs. Palliser, but she, 
 unlike Mrs. Palliser, had a soul sensitive as an aneroid 
 to variations of mood. When Dan dropped the book, 
 and leaned back in his chair with a long sigh of nerve- 
 tension, she was probably unaware that that cloud 
 that had been no bigger than a man's hand had again 
 showed above his horizon, but, in some occult way, she 
 understood that he was troubled, and consequently 
 in need of the prop of her presence. She noiselessly 
 left her basket and stole across the room., and abruptly 
 poked a nose that was as sharp and fine as a fox's into 
 the big listless hand that hung near to the floor over the 
 arm of the chair. The hand instinctively gathered 
 the little head into it, fondlingly. She waited an 
 instant, and then, with a hop sparingly adjusted to 
 the effort of reaching Dan's knee, she landed herself 
 in the haven where she would be, and having given 
 the god's chin a lick so brief and stern and dry as 
 
246 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 to suggest the striking of a match, she settled down, 
 with a shght groan, on his knees. 
 
 ' Thank you, Lizzie,' said Dan, who was always 
 polite to dogs, ' that's very kind of you. But I'm 
 afraid you can't help me much.' 
 
 The cloud had become larger and more definite. 
 He knew it now for the dedication of himself to that 
 stricken country that was called Ireland. Was it 
 going to be a difficulty to him, he thought angrily ? 
 If Car could face all that she would have to face if 
 she left her husband to come away with him, if she 
 were ready for his sake to break her marriage vow, 
 and to ignore the obloquy, the reprobation, the 
 reproaches of her world, surely he could face the dis- 
 illusioning of a handful of enthusiasts who still believed 
 in him, the reproaches of his own conscience ! The 
 cloud grew larger and blacker. Father Hugh, Eugene 
 Cashen, Jimmy Ryan, such of his farmers as had 
 stuck to him, his own workmen ; he would have to 
 throw them all over — and his mother ? Her pride 
 would be hurt, cut to the quick, but she might be 
 consoled, he thought bitterly, by finding that her 
 low opinion of him was justified. Mrs. Palliser's 
 system of repressing feelings, and her disapproval of 
 demonstrations, had been more successful than she 
 knew, since it had extended from the repression of her 
 own feeUngs to the atrophying of those of her son. 
 It is to be feared that Dan's mother contributed 
 hardly a shade of added darkness to the cloud. 
 
 Dan sat in the growing twihght, the exultation and 
 the glory fading with the daylight, the hated exhor- 
 tations of conscience growing louder, as the sound of 
 the sea will deepen and strengthen at night-fall with 
 the on-coming of storm. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 The dinner at Monalour was excessively, almost 
 over-excessively festive. The three men who had 
 come with Ducarrig, General Morant, Colonel Frazer, 
 and Sir George MacNeill, were all, save MacNeill, who 
 was rather younger than the other two, of about the 
 same standing as their host, and were all equally bent 
 on exhibiting to his handsome young wife their 
 superiority to him in agreeability and true youthful- 
 ness. Gradually, however, the oldest of the party, 
 a good-looking, Uttle, retired general, with a tiny 
 black dyed moustache and white hair, made the posi- 
 tion his own, and succeeded in estabhshing so success- 
 ful a barrage of conversation of the special type that 
 he reserved for the subjugation of those whom he 
 called * pretty ladies ' that his fellows could but 
 rarely make themselves heard, and had to content 
 themselves with the minor gratification of offering to 
 their host and Dan those harangues upon the handling 
 of Ireland, that are so dear to the heart of the visitor 
 to her shores, and that are the more dogmatic in pro- 
 portion to the ignorance of the dogmatists. 
 
 It is not easy to say in which of these alternate 
 conversations Dan was less likely to shine. He had 
 been asked, as was soon apparent, in order to give as 
 much information as he could about the mountain 
 and the birds. He did not feel that shining was 
 incumbent on him ; he would tell them as much as he 
 knew of the grouse, which was very little, he hadn't 
 
248 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 carried a gun on the hill for two years ; and he would 
 explain what, in his opinion, would, with four guns, 
 be their best plan of action. He would also inform 
 them that the mountain was beUeved to be the haunt 
 of Sinn Feiners, * on the run,' and he would go home as 
 soon as he could, with decency, after dinner. He didn't 
 see how he could stand this cursed old peacock spread- 
 ing his tail to Car much longer. He had only come 
 because she had asked him to do so. He felt degraded 
 by the necessity of being even conventionally civil to 
 Ducarrig. He swore to himself that he would never 
 again break bread in his house. 
 
 * I didn't write to ask you to come out with us, 
 PaUiser,' said Ducarrig blandly, * as the posts have 
 been raided so often, and I didn't know if the letter 
 mightn't get into wrong hands, but ' 
 
 * Thanks, I've got no gun,' said Dan, cutting short 
 the apology, ' I've no arms in the house at all now — 
 except,' he added, ' my father's old sword, that he had 
 in the Crimea.' 
 
 * Ah, I was able to hang on to my guns,' said 
 Ducarrig, with a laugh. ' I said nothing about them — 
 I don't think the poHce imagine I've got any ! ' 
 
 * It's a pretty good risk to go shooting on the 
 mountain now,' said Dan, in his gloomiest voice. 
 ' Even if the police don't happen to meet you, you can't 
 be sure that these fellows, who they say are in the hills, 
 won't ambush you and take your guns from you, or 
 shoot you.' 
 
 * By Jove ! ' said MacNeill, ' the biters bit, eh ? 
 How the grouse would laugh if the Sinn Feiners or the 
 Black and Tans potted us ! ' 
 
 Ducarrig didn't laugh. ' Damned country ! ' he 
 said, under his breath. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 249 
 
 The other guest, a Scotchman, looked at Dan 
 dubiously, and said, * D'you mean to say that's a 
 fact ? ' 
 
 * Perfectly,' said Dan uncompromisingly. * There 
 are known to be fellows on the run on Coolowen. The 
 soldiers have been trying to round them up with a 
 bi-plane. I've seen it. They're there right enough, 
 and they're all armed/ 
 
 * Good God ! ' said the Scotchman. He turned to 
 his host. * What do you think of this, Ducarrig ? 
 Mr. PaUiser says they're hunting these rebels over the 
 hill with a bi-plane ! I think we had better let the 
 birds alone and get out our rods ! I suppose neither 
 the police nor the Sinn Feiners will object to our trying 
 to catch a fish ! ' 
 
 ' Fm not going to be stopped by scares and rumours/ 
 said Ducarrig, helping himself to port, * but you can go 
 fishing if you like, Frazer.' 
 
 Dan preserved a grim silence. He was not here 
 to give advice ; he had told them what he knew of the 
 dangers, and Ducarrig had summarised what he said 
 as * scares and rumours.' All right, let him ! He 
 could say what he liked. 
 
 * Well, but you know, Ducarrig,' said Frazer, 
 spluttering and hesitating a little, as men will, when 
 they are gathering courage to admit that there may, 
 after all, be occasions when valour can yield, without 
 discredit, to discretion — ' Why, dash it all, you know — 
 you can't call a bi-plane a rumour ! Mr. Palliser's 
 actually seen it ! You've been away, you know — 
 PaUiser here must know.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he can give us a safe-conduct ! ' said 
 Ducarrig, with a laugh. ' You're said to have friends 
 in both camps, aren't you, PaUiser ? I wish I had ! 
 
250 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Deuced convenient it would be, if one wasn't over 
 particular ! ' 
 
 Did he want to have a row ? Or was it intended 
 to be taken as mere chaff ? Frazer and the other 
 fellow were laughing. Before Dan had decided the 
 point, Car had risen quickly from the table, and he 
 sprang to his feet to open the door for her. 
 
 ' Don't fight with him I ' she murmured as she passed 
 him. 
 
 ' Not if I can help it/ 
 
 Car turned in the doorway and smiled at her Gen- 
 eral, as he stood, devotedly, watching her departure. 
 
 * Don't forget. General ! ' she said gaily. 
 
 ' Never ! ' replied the General, with empressement. 
 
 Dan sat down beside him ; peacock or no, the main 
 thing was to keep away from Ducarrig ; but what was 
 the General not to forget, he wondered ? It trans- 
 pired when the end of his cigarette was arrived at. 
 A song was to be sung for him, on condition that Lady 
 Ducarrig was not left to endure her own society for 
 longer than ten minutes. 
 
 * A charming singer, and a charming old song ! ' 
 said the stout little General romantically, twisting 
 the dyed moustache, ' one of those Uttle Irish things — 
 I used to sing it myself, once upon a time ! ' 
 
 He hummed a phrase in a very high tenor, and his 
 shirt-front crackled in sympathy with a dramatic sigh. 
 He pushed back his chair and stood up. 
 
 ' Ducarrig, I'm going to forsake you ! I'm to 
 have the pleasure of hearing her ladyship sing ! ' 
 
 Ducarrig was in the act of drinking ; his face was 
 very red. He set down his glass and proceeded to 
 refill it. * Just as you like, my dear fellow. There's 
 no accounting for tastes. Do you remember your 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 251 
 
 Omar Khayyam ? / like my *' flask of wine," and when 
 I've got it I can do very well without the lady singing 
 beside me in the wilderness ! You going too, Palliser ? 
 You like the lady better than the wine, eh ? ' 
 
 Dan thought ' The beast's drunk ! * 
 
 He made no reply and followed General Morant 
 out of the room. What was Ducarrig up to ? He 
 
 seemed to be out for a row. He'd always been d d 
 
 civil up to to-night. Well, if he wanted a row, he was 
 bound to have it, but not if Dan could help it. Things 
 were black enough without that. 
 
 Car had never sung with more fatal effect than she 
 did that night. The little Peacock (to whom Dan 
 was becoming attached), who was emotional, and had 
 not entirely slighted the flask of wine in favour of the 
 singer, sat entranced on the sofa by the fire, beating 
 time on his knee with a stubby little hand, while an 
 occasional tear, which he hoped might be perceived 
 by the singer, and of which he was excessively proud, 
 ran down his thick red little hooked beak. 
 
 ' Come o'er the sea * was the song the General had 
 asked for. Car had sung it to Dan very often, and 
 her voice, singing that tear-laden tune, had always 
 seemed to him like a treasure-house of grief that was 
 stored and hidden behind half-closed doors, half 
 acknowledged. But to-night, as she sang, the doors 
 stood open and within them he saw her naked heart. 
 Hardly knowing what he did, he went to the piano and 
 leaned on it, and gazed at her. 
 
 Usually, when Car sang, she looked away, over 
 the heads of her audience, to a point in space, where, 
 as it seeemed, dwelt the spirits of her songs, and met 
 her eyes, and informed her with themselves. But 
 this evening she had no need to look to them ; the 
 
252 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 song and she were one, and Dan was one with them. 
 His eyes drew hers to him. That tear-laden tune, 
 those so well-remembered words, in that heart-piercing 
 voice, were uttering what he and she alike felt. 
 
 * Come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me ; 
 Mine thro' sunshine, storm, and snows. 
 Seasons may roll, but the true soul 
 Burns the same where e'er it goes I 
 Let Fortune frown, so we love and part not — 
 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not I 
 Then come o'er the sea. Maiden, with me ; 
 Come where e'er the wild wind blows ! * 
 
 The first verse ended. Car played a few bars of 
 interlude. 
 
 ' Dan,' she whispered, ' please, Dan — you mustn't 
 stay there — I can't bear it.' 
 
 ' One more verse,' said Dan, not moving. She 
 smiled at him, but her eyes, though they clung to his, 
 were anguished. 
 
 ' 7s not the sea made for the Free, 
 Land for courts and chains alone ? 
 Here we are slaves, but on the waves 
 Love and Liberty's all our own I 
 No eye to watch us, no tongue to wound us, 
 All earth forgot, and all Heaven around us ! 
 Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me; 
 Mine wherever the wild wind blows I ' 
 
 The General was enchanted, voluble with delight. 
 
 ' Most touching ! Lovely Httle thing ! ' he repeated, 
 ostentatiously wiping his eyes and poHshing his beak. 
 ' No, you mustn't leave the piano ! Positively I can't 
 allow it ! If you knew what a treat it is ! ' 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 253 
 
 * What would you like ? ' said Car to him, but she 
 looked at Dan. 
 
 ' The same again ! ' said Dan, in a low voice. 
 
 The General did not hear him. 
 
 ' What ! May I call the tune ? Dear Lady 
 Ducarrig, what a privilege ! But how can I ever pay 
 such a divine piper ? ' Could but the Uttle Peacock's 
 tail-feathers have been materiaHsed, they would have 
 been seen spread out to the uttermost, glowing and 
 quivering with gratification. * If I may ? Really ? 
 There is a dear old song I used to sing — long before 
 your time, of course, but you may know it — by Salaman 
 — his only song that any one ever heard of, but you 
 know he put his heart in it ! "/ arise from dreams of 
 thee ! " Shelley's words, you know — ' the tenor, 
 higher than ever, warbled the first fine meltingly. 
 
 * But you shall sing it yourself. General ! ' declared 
 Car, ' I've got the music somewhere, I know. It's a 
 deUcious song, but it's too high for me. I think it's 
 in that bureau over there.* She went to the end of 
 the room, where the bureau stood, and knelt down, 
 Dan opened a drawer for her, leaning over her, as if 
 helping her to find the song. The cloud had lifted ; 
 he had forgotten past and future, his nerves were 
 clanging and flashing in the stress of the present 
 moment, till it seemed to him that their tumult could 
 not longer be hidden. 
 
 ' Dan,' Car breathed in his ear, ' you must go away. 
 Arnold has had a horrible letter — he's going to make 
 trouble — please go ! He wants ' — she stopped for a 
 half second^' to compromise us.' 
 
 ' Let him ! ' said Dan ; he leaned lower and kissed 
 her neck as she bent over the music. * " Come o'er the 
 sea ! " ' he whispered. 
 
254 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 The thought in his mind was ' If only he forces it 
 on me ! If only I have no choice ! ' 
 
 Car found the song she was looking for. She took 
 it to the farther room where the piano was, and while 
 the General, who had turned nervous, was still fever- 
 ishly adjusting his eyeglasses, the door opened and 
 Ducarrig and the other men came in. 
 
 Ducarrig's face, and even his bald head, were 
 scarlet, Frazer and MacNeill looked disturbed, and 
 showed a disposition to surround their host and enmesh 
 him in a web of conversation. The General, with a 
 good deal of preHminary clearing of his throat, em- 
 barked upon his song. Dan retreated to a distant 
 sofa, and sat down, his head in his hands, his knees 
 apart, his elbows resting on them, listening to the song 
 with his eyes on the ground. 
 
 The Peacock, unHke most of his tribe, had a pretty 
 voice, if a small one, and had the skill to hint at a note 
 when unable to achieve it otherwise. Yes, Car was 
 right. It was, as she had said, a delicious song. It 
 was a long time since Dan had heard it ; he set his 
 mind adrift on the remembered melody, following the 
 words with the singer. 
 
 * A spirit, a spirit in my feet ^ hath led me, who knows 
 
 how ' 
 
 He was aware of a presence near him : he raised 
 his head and saw Ducarrig was standing in front of him. 
 
 ' I want to speak to you,' said Ducarrig, swaying 
 a little as he stood. 
 
 Dan rose to his feet, and waited. They were at 
 the farther end of the room, and where they stood 
 could not easily be seen by those at the piano. It was 
 evident to Dan that Ducarrig had drunk more wine 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 255 
 
 than was good for him, but his manner was collected 
 and he spoke in a low voice. 
 
 * I want to show you a letter that was left here for 
 me, after my return this evening,' Ducarrig went on, 
 * would you mind reading it ? ' There was a tinge of 
 satisfaction in his manner, almost of triumph. 
 
 Dan took the letter from him. The words * By 
 hand ' were on the envelope ; the writing, illiterate 
 and decorated with many flourishes, was familiar to 
 him. There was nothing to tell who the writer was, 
 save what might be deduced from the words ' A friend,* 
 but Dan had more than once had letters from old 
 Nicholas Coyne. He read it with an anger and disgust 
 that deepened with each line. It had to do with 
 himself and Lady Ducarrig, and was such a letter as, 
 given the intention to malign, might have been 
 expected from such a source. 
 
 Dan returned it to its envelope, and handed it back 
 to Ducarrig in silence. 
 
 * Well ? ' said Ducarrig, * what do you say to that ? ' 
 ' Nothing ! ' said Dan, * I don't answer anonymous 
 
 Hes.' 
 
 * Ah — lies, are they ? ' said Ducarrig, grinning at 
 him, ' that's as it may be ! I should like to know a 
 httle more about the matter before I decide if they are 
 hes or no ! ' 
 
 The song was going charmingly, the General's 
 confidence quite restored. Now he was fluting the 
 second part. 
 
 * The Champak odours fail, like sweet thoughts in 
 
 a dream, 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream. . . .' 
 
 Was it aU a dream ? Dan looked down from his 
 
256 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 height into Ducarrig's red, sneering face. It was 
 more like a nightmare. Did he expect that any 
 gentleman could condescend to deny categorically 
 what was written in such a letter as this ? 
 
 ' 1 can tell you this much more/ said Dan steadily, 
 ' Coyne wrote it. That's a guarantee of its truth, 
 isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes one meets with statements that can 
 stand alone without a guarantee 1 ' said Ducarrig, 
 grinning again, * there's a touch of inherent prob- 
 ability about them — ' he fumbled at the envelope and 
 
 took out the letter. ' For instance ' he screwed his 
 
 eyeglass into his eye and unfolded the sheet of paper. 
 
 ' Look here,' said Dan, bending down, and speaking 
 in a very low voice, * if you read aloud one word of that 
 letter to me, I'll smash in your damned face — don't 
 make any mistake about it.' 
 
 ' The Nightingale's complaint, it dies, it dies upon, 
 upon her breast ' — 
 
 sang the General. Thus did Ducarrig's complaint die, 
 returning, temporarily, into his bosom. He looked 
 at Dan's dark face ; then he refolded the letter. 
 
 * Force is no argument,' he said, with a suavity 
 sHghtly marred by a hiccough, * but at my age it has 
 to be recognised. I am sorry to have interfered with 
 your enjoyment of the music ! ' He moved away ; 
 Frazer and MacNeil, who had hovered at a little 
 distance, in obvious alarm, closed in on him again. 
 
 The last line of the song was fading on the air in 
 sugared sweetness. 
 
 ' As I must on thine, as I must on thine. 
 Beloved as thou art. Beloved as thou art ! * 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 257 
 
 Dan walked down the length of the long room to 
 make his farewells to his hostess. She was very white ; 
 he saw her bite her Hps before she looked up at the 
 General to congratulate him on his performance. 
 
 ' Going ? Must you ? Isn't it very early ? ' 
 
 But he saw profound relief in her face. 
 
 She didn't know, he thought. The first vial had 
 been broken, and no special harm had been done. But 
 it was only the first. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 For the second time that day Dan went home across 
 the Big Lawn to the Lake House. As he went down 
 the terrace steps to the bridge across the sunk fence 
 Lizzie joined him, emerging from the secret hiding- 
 place in the shrubbery in which she had waited patiently 
 for him (even though she may possibly have solaced 
 the ennui of waiting for him with the uprooting of a 
 rat-hole or two). Dan stooped and caressed her, and 
 talked to her. She lessened his loneliness, he felt less 
 forsaken with that little faithful spirit at his heels. It 
 was a mild and gentle night. There was no moon, but 
 some stars showed ; there was light enough in the sky 
 by which to see the outhne of the trees, and Dan could 
 hardly have gone astray in that well-known ground had 
 his eyes been blind-folded. 
 
 When he came to the lake shore he sat down on the 
 big boulder at the edge of the narrow strand. He 
 could just see faint gleams here and there, that told 
 where, on the still, sleek lake water, stars were reflected. 
 The intense excitement, that he had had to master all 
 the evening, had turned to profound unhappiness. 
 Even as he left the house at Monalour, he was enveloped 
 in the cloud, no longer the size of a man's hand, but 
 overwhelming and strangling, like the net that was 
 thrown over the gladiator. 
 
 ' Is there no way out ? merciful God ! Is there 
 no other way ? ' was what he was saying to himself 
 over and over again. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 259 
 
 He got up and began to walk backwards and for- 
 wards, in uneven paces, stopping often, on the path 
 above the strand. He couldn't go into a house. He 
 felt he had to reach out and up into that dark sky for 
 help from the God to whom his heart cried. Out here 
 He was nearer. There were no limiting human 
 barriers . . . Why should this be asked of him, and 
 of her too ? Why should they give up happiness for 
 a convention that forbade him to break a captive's 
 chain, for the sake of a marriage that was no marriage ? 
 And why must he choose the way of Renunciation, for 
 a country that killed her prophets and stoned them 
 that loved her — for a vow beyond his keeping, made in 
 a moment of senseless emotion ? He raged at that 
 fatal, implacable, inner self, declaring to it that these 
 were not vaHd reasons, that his honour was involved ; 
 he had — (Oh wonderful and beautiful, whatever the 
 issue might be !) — he had been given Car's love. How 
 could he desert her for the sake of his own shabby 
 soul ? . . . Oh, it wasn't that, he groaned. No, not 
 his own soul, that was a small thing. 
 
 The zealot that still ordered half of it, that had 
 ordered it all, until another had entered in to possess 
 it, awoke and joined battle. His vow had been made 
 in God's name to his country, to Ireland. He had 
 offered himself to be a standard-bearer — (but nothing 
 important, his other self urged, a leader in local affairs 
 only, and they had rejected him. Greater than he, in 
 greater issues, had failed Ireland before now — These 
 were trivial and local affairs, it was fantastic to consider 
 such.) 
 
 ' Your vow ! ' answered the zealot. . . . 
 
 Lizzie, sitting miserably on the damp gravel of the 
 strand, cried to him to go home. The night grew 
 
26o AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 colder. The last lights in the cottages across the lake 
 died. The big house behind him was all dark. Dan's 
 uneven, distracted pacings up and down the path ceased. 
 Beside the big boulder, on which he and Eileen 
 had seen Car sitting — how many centuries ago ? — he 
 knelt, and laid his burning forehead on the cold stone 
 with the pathetic animal instinct of self-abasement 
 that forces men and women to their knees. As a dog 
 crouches before a stern master, so he knelt to his 
 jealous God, and kneeling, knew that for him the way 
 of Renunciation was prepared. 
 
 The big house at Monalour was asleep. All the 
 downstairs windows were shut, and had turned green- 
 bhnded eyes to the world. Of the upstairs windows 
 some were open, but only those of Car's room showed 
 any sign of Hfe. They had light in them, and were 
 wide open, but as they looked westwards, towards the 
 shrubberies, their light was not likely to tell anyone 
 that Lady Ducarrig was still up and awake at some 
 two of the clock. She had sat, motionless, by one of 
 the windows, in her dressing-gown, after her maid had 
 gone away, meditating, in thought so deep and stormy 
 that it had absorbed even the physical restlessness 
 that had at first driven her, as, down by the lake, it 
 had driven Dan, to and fro in her room. 
 
 Bats were wheeling and darting outside the window, 
 and moths and night-flying beetles whirred past her 
 to the light, but she paid them no heed. Should she 
 face all that it would mean ? Could she do so ? She 
 had sung to him, with all her heart in her voice, * 'Tis 
 life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not I * She 
 had meant it then. Her heart had truly been in her 
 voice, it had been a confession, a promise. . . . Yes I 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 261 
 
 she told herself, she meant it still. She yielded to the 
 thought of him . . . 
 
 And down by the lake Dan knelt, with his forehead 
 on the cold stone. 
 
 Car stood up, and found herself chilled and stiffened. 
 She was drawing the curtain, when she heard a con- 
 fused sound of many footsteps on the gravel at the 
 other side of the house. She waited, listening intently. 
 Almost instantly there followed a loud noise of rappings 
 and hangings, as if the hall door were being attacked 
 with sticks, and kicks from heavy boots. The methods 
 and proceedings of those organised bands of insur- 
 gents that were known as Raiders, were by this time 
 a commonplace of every day, or, to speak more strictly, 
 every night life. Car needed no telling, had no un- 
 certainty. She caught up a candle, and ran at her 
 best speed down the long corridor to her husband's 
 room. It was a corner room on the south and east 
 sides of the house, and looked out towards the lake 
 and the drive. 
 
 ' Arnold ! ' she called, * wake up ! I think Raiders 
 are trying to get in ! ' She caught him by the shoulder 
 and shook him. 
 
 (How sodden and red he looked ! Horrible !) 
 
 ' They've come for the guns, of course ! ' she panted, 
 ' wake up ! I'll call the others ! ' 
 
 In the corridor she met Hammond hurrying, 
 half-dressed and wholly scared, to call his master. 
 
 ' Call the other gentlemen, Hammond ! Quick ! 
 His lordship knows.' She darted to the door of one 
 of the guests' rooms, and knocked frantically. 
 
 ' Coming ! Coming ! ' answered the General's ex- 
 cited voice, ' What is it ? Fire ? ' 
 
262 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' No, no, Raiders ! They've come for your guns ! * 
 
 The door burst open, and the General, in such 
 costume as may be accompHshed in two minutes, 
 dashed forth. 
 
 ' Where are the guns ? We'll let the devils have 
 them in a way they won't like ! ' 
 
 ' In the pantry, General,' gasped Hammond, 
 breathless with running, * I was getting them ready 
 last night — 111 show you * 
 
 Hammond was stout and middle-aged, as becomes 
 a butler, but he ran downstairs, and led the way to his 
 pantry, at a pace that would have been creditable to 
 his own pantry-boy. He was carrying a light, and as 
 he ran through the hall, with Car and the General 
 behind him, the thunder on the door increased, with 
 wild shouts and yells, and a shot or two, adding to the 
 uproar. 
 
 The hall door was of heavy oak, iron-studded and 
 iron-barred. One of Colonel Palliser's last acts in the 
 winter of the preceding year, the last winter of his life, 
 the winter the troubles began, had been to strengthen 
 the defences on all his windows and doors. The bars 
 that secured the hall door would need more than sticks 
 and kicks to master them, the windows in the area were 
 equally strongly barred, and the upper windows were 
 ten or twelve feet from the ground. By the time that 
 Hammond and the General, with Car to help them, 
 had brought from the pantry as many guns and cases 
 of cartridges as they couM carry, the other three men 
 were already downstairs. 
 
 Ducarrig went to the door and shouted. The noise 
 ceased. 
 
 ' Who's there ? ' 
 
 * Th' Irish Republican Army ! Open the door ! 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 263 
 
 We've come for your guns ! We know ye have 
 them ! ' 
 
 ' Youll get what's in them ! ' roared the httle 
 General, his eyes dancing in the candle light. He 
 looked twenty years younger, in spite of an unfortunate 
 omission, the result of stress of haste, which the dyed 
 moustache failed to conceal. ' Where can we fire 
 from, Ducarrig ? ' he asked gleefully. 
 
 ' The end windows of the dining-room, General,* 
 broke in Hammond. ' Across th' area, m'lord, and 
 you'll get them sideways at the hall door.' 
 
 ' The top-landing windows for me ! ' Ducarrig said. 
 ' Come on, MacNeill, some one come too and hand us 
 cartridges — you, Car. Hammond, stay with the 
 General and Colonel Frazer.' 
 
 Ducarrig was wideawake now. Car had never 
 liked him better. Heavy and elderly as he was, he 
 was playing the game. She snatched up two cases of 
 cartridges, and rushed upstairs to the windows at the 
 end of the corridor, to be ready with the cartridges for 
 the slower-footed men with the guns. The windows 
 were open and unshuttered. 
 
 ' Put out the light ! Quick, Lady Ducarrig ! ' said 
 MacNeill. ' Shut the shutters. Now ! — Ducarrig, for 
 God's sake keep behind the shutter except when you're 
 firing — don't give the brutes a chance if you can help 
 it ! Now then ! Into the brown ! ' 
 
 Four shots in rapid succession followed, and a 
 similar volley from the dining-room told that the 
 General and Frazer had also opened fire. A reception 
 so unusual staggered the raiders, whose nightly ex- 
 cursions of this kind were usually of the nature of a 
 walk-over. Yells of rage, cries of pain, and a stampede 
 across the gravel, followed the defenders' fusillade. 
 
264 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 ' About forty of 'em/ said Ducarrig. ' Cartridges, 
 Car, quick ! Look sharp ! ' 
 
 ' Bagged a brace, I think ! ' said MacNeill cheerfully, 
 rapidly reloading. ' I saw two fellows being dragged 
 over into covert.' 
 
 Another eight shots, from the upper and lower 
 windows, were sent into the bushes into which the 
 raiders had retreated, but this time the fire was re- 
 turned. Between twenty and thirty shots came from 
 the hidden enemy, and crash after crash of glass 
 responded. 
 
 ' They can hit a house anyway ! ' jested MacNeill. 
 ' Cartridges, please ! We got one, anyhow, that last 
 round, I heard him squeal ! ' As he spoke, the 
 attackers fired another volley. Their aim had hitherto 
 been wild, but they were now obviously trying to con- 
 centrate on the windows held by the garrison. All the 
 glass in their panes was smashed to atoms, shot rattled 
 on the shutters, and some pellets came through the 
 openings of the shutters, and, striking the ceiling, fell 
 on the floor of the corridor. 
 
 ' They're getting the elevation better, do keep well 
 to one side. Lady Ducarrig ! ' called out MacNeill 
 breathlessly, from his window. ' Look out, Ducarrig ! 
 I can see two chaps on the move — going your way ! 
 Mark cock ! ' 
 
 ' Right ! ' answered Ducarrig, who had been firing 
 incessantly, ' but I'm nearly out of cartridges. I've 
 only four left. Run to my room, Car, there's a case 
 on the dressing-table. Don't take a light, you'll only 
 draw their fire.' 
 
 Car flew to Ducarrig's room. She tore open the 
 curtains of the window behind the dressing-table 
 in order that the faint starlight might help her. 
 
AN ENTHUSIAST 265 
 
 The window was open ; the noise of the firing was 
 tremendous. How would it end ? 
 
 Afraid to strike a match, she groped feverishly 
 about on the table for the case of cartridges. As she 
 did so, through the open window she saw in the dim 
 light a man running fast across the tennis lawn, with 
 something in his hand, a stick, she thought. A rein- 
 forcement for the raiders, no doubt ; a very tall man 
 he seemed to be. Secure in the darkness she leaned 
 out of the window. The man was very near now. 
 Her heart stopped beating. Surely she saw a patch 
 of white that looked like a shirt-front — and the height 
 — had Dan heard ? 
 
 She put her hand on the table to steady herself, 
 and it fell on the case of cartridges. At the same 
 moment the firing from the bushes ceased. She heard 
 Dan's big voice shouting, and then a couple of shots. 
 She sprang to the other window, oblivious of her 
 mission, and leaned far out. She saw figures scattering 
 in hasty flight down the drive and between the bushes 
 towards the entrance gates. She could not see Dan, 
 but she knew he had come in the nick of time and had 
 routed the faltering foe ! Victory ! He had routed 
 them ! Victory ! Victory ! 
 
 She dashed back along the corridor and ran almost 
 into the arms of MacNeill, who was running in search of 
 her with a lighted candle in his hand. 
 
 ' They're off ! They've bolted for their lives ! ' he 
 shouted. * We've beat them ! A fellow came running 
 up to reinforce them, a thundering big fellow he was 
 too, but Ducarrig got him ! ' 
 
 ' Has he killed him ? ' 
 
 ' Ra-ther ! ' said MacNeill exultingly. ' He never 
 even kicked ! — Good God, Lady Ducarrig ! What is it ? ' 
 
266 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 Car had tottered back against the wall of the corri- 
 dor, her eyes held MacNeill's, while slowly, slowly, she 
 sank to the ground. Without a sound, she fell over 
 at his feet, and lay there in the short moment of respite 
 that only unconsciousness can give. 
 
 Dan lay on the gravel, in front of his own house, the 
 old Crimean sword in his hand, his face to the stars ; 
 and little white Lizzie stood by the body of her god, 
 lamenting. 
 
 ' Not tithed with days' and years' decease 
 
 He pays the debt He owed, 
 But with imperishable peace, 
 Here, in His own abode, 
 Thy jealous God.' 
 
 FINIS 
 
Printed by Spottiswoode, Ballantyne cS" Co. Ltd. 
 Colchester, London & Eton, England 
 
^^ummings School of Vetennary Medidn® a* 
 
 Tufts University 
 
 200 Westboro Road 
 
 Ntorth Grafton, MA 01536