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 "^ 
 
 THE SILVER WHISTLE,
 
 THE SILYEH WHISTLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 "NASEBY." 
 
 Author of " Oaks and Birches;'' " Only Three Weeks,'' dx., &c. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 W. H. ALLEN & Co., 13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W- 
 
 1890.
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 THOS. SCOTT AND CO., WARWICK COURT, HOLBORN. 
 
 LONDON.
 
 6^^ 
 
 THE SILVER WHISTLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 pTwIiHERE is one view of the phonograph which 
 JJil I have not as yet seen in print, and that is that 
 — it has been made as a quiet satire on the 
 modern higher educated child. It is, as we know, a 
 mere machine for storing up, botthng with care and 
 reproducing words. The resemblance does not alto- 
 gether cease with modern childhood. A breath of the 
 satire rustles the leaves of the creepers which cling 
 round the walls of our universities. , 
 
 As, in the middle ages, men who stayed up at Oxford 
 
 after they had attained the degree of bachelor of arts 
 
 attended the ordinary lectures of a regent master and 
 
 plodded steadily, stolidly on with that eternal old 
 
 phonograph, Aristotle, so, now-a-days, they let loose 
 
 Jj their words and suffocate their ideas in a perpetual 
 
 J round of history and philosophy, psychology and 
 
 § metaphysics, and if their minds retain one original 
 
 chord of music, then comes the great and final Thug 
 
 ^ — logic. 
 
 ^ The best tutor at Oxford generally asks his pupils 
 
 v^ who go up to him in a state of fuss about the honour 
 
 school of Literce Hamaniores : " Do you want really 
 
 ;j^ to learn any philosophy, or do you want simply to 
 
 J know enough of it not to spoil your class in history?" 
 
 In other words : '^ Do you wish to be a real phonograph 
 
 or a sham one?"
 
 2 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 There is, however, one Institution at Oxford which 
 is not only distinctly non-phonographic, but whose 
 influence runs directly athwart phonographism. This 
 is the Union. The debates at the Union are carried 
 on on the principle that the best way of learning to 
 say what you think is to say what you think. In 
 order to say it you must think it first. This implies 
 some sort of thought. Hence the dethroning of the 
 phonograph — for the time being, at any rate. 
 
 It was a short time before the Union debating 
 was to begin at Oxford, and an undergraduate was 
 sauntering along, dropping in, first to one shop and 
 then to another, buying some little thing he did not 
 want a bit here, and something he wanted still less 
 there, and burying in sweet oblivion the day when 
 his " little account " would come in, with a polite 
 intimation as to immediate settlement. He was 
 standing with his hat rather on one side and his hands 
 in his trowsers pockets, surveying some gaudy neckties 
 in a shop window, when two other undergraduates 
 joined him. 
 
 The taller of the two slipped his arm through his 
 and said : " Why, how many neckties do vou want ? 
 I saw about fifty in your rooms yesterday. Let me 
 lead you out of temptation to the Union, or else 
 — or else — perhaps you may find yourself in another 
 union.'' 
 
 The speaker was Edgar Sydney, a tall, athletic, very 
 active-looking, rather spare young man. Leaning on 
 his right arm was a fair, delicate, small-featured youth, 
 very tiny, and with the air of a choice toy from the 
 Rue Rivoli. 
 
 He was, in fact, French. He was a young French 
 Royalist nobleman, the Vicomte de Laboulaye. 
 He was a great friend of Sydney's, and had come 
 up to stay with him for a few days, and see Oxford. 
 Sydney had spent a great deal of his youth in Paris, 
 and had made many friends there.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 3 
 
 '* Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Lucas — the 
 Vicomte de Laboulaye." 
 
 The young men bowed. Then Lucas shook hands 
 in an informal, rough-and-ready, good natured manner, 
 and welcomed him to Oxford. 
 
 " Go on with what you were saying, Laboulaye." 
 
 Laboulaye was giving an account of a Skye terrier 
 he had which could walk on his head, with his hind 
 paws in the air. There was something irresistably 
 comical in the way he described how " Ze leetle beeste, 
 him stike ze leges up high in ze air, and pat, pat, pat, 
 on ze fi'ont paw." 
 
 Lucas laughed immoderately, which pleased the 
 Vicomte, who enjoyed feeling his wit tickled English 
 intellects, and he ended up by inviting Lucas to go 
 and stay with him at his chateau at St. Cloud. And so 
 the three young men sauntered on towards the Union. 
 They arrived about one minute before the president. 
 They had scarcely sat down when a thin, wavy-haired 
 boy, in gown and cap, strode in, and taking huge steps 
 seemed almost to fly into the president's chair. 
 
 The first speech was from a fat, curly haired young 
 man, who stood up and said, before the important 
 business of the evening began, he wanted to remark 
 that the coffee cups at the Union were a great deal too 
 small. He had to stop drinking before his thirst was 
 half satisfied. 
 
 " I'd rather pay double," he declared emphatically, 
 waving his arm, " and have my drink out, than be 
 baulked in that way." 
 
 This caused a good deal of laughing and much 
 sympathetic' applause. The president promised the 
 matter should be attended to. 
 
 Then a dull-looking youth, without one atom of fire 
 or enthusiasm, stood up and made a speech. As 
 plainly as the tough and perfectly idiotic old hen — for 
 all hens are perfect idiots — can be discerned in the 
 bewildered-looking chick which maunders out of the 
 
 B Z
 
 4 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 incubator in Regent Street, so could the future bore be 
 discerned in him. The man who at the bar, in the 
 pulpit, on the select committee, or in the unfortunate 
 House of Commons, would drive the more alert minded 
 and fidgetty of his fellow men to the very gates of 
 Bedlam. But now, as in the days of Wolsey, the 
 undergrads. will not stand much boring. This boy was 
 soon reduced to a state of silent quiescence. 
 
 Then up stood a i-ather remarkable looking fellow. 
 He was extremely broad shouldered and ungainly. His 
 brow was heavy and overhanging ; his eyebrows were 
 black and bushy ; his jaw was huge, out of all 
 proportion to the rest of his face ; his lips were thick, 
 curled outwards, and shook when he spoke; his 
 expression was that of a Uase London club haunter of 
 fifty. 
 
 " Vel, zat ese an ugely man," remarked Laboulaye. 
 He thought he must have been sent to college for the 
 sole object to develoiyper la force physique. As to 
 intelligence, the light ethereal Gaul thought he could 
 not have any. 
 
 Sydney surprised him by saying in his ear : " Listen; 
 you'll hear a lot of things from him, whether true or 
 not, said in a way that will make you think about 
 them." 
 
 "Yes," assented Lucas, who was sitting on the other 
 side of Sydney. '' That is Maxton, the most unpopular 
 man at Oxford. He has not much real intellectual 
 power, and not one faintest grain of heart ; but, 
 somehow, ho makes you follow what he is saying." 
 
 The discussion that evening was about perfect liberty 
 of expression for every thought and feeling in the life or 
 the modern man of the day — Query: Could it be 
 allowed or not? Maxton argued that it could and 
 should. 
 
 " Do we not see the mischief which has arisen from 
 the contrary view in the pages of the history, not only 
 of our own country, but of all surrounding nations?"
 
 The 8ilve7- Whistle. 5 
 
 " This is a fine opportunity for bim to air his history," 
 muttered Lucas. " He came out at the top in history. 
 Why is it that history students are always the most 
 hateful prigs on the face of the earth '? " 
 
 " I don't think they are, Lucas," said Sydney, 
 smiling. " I know one or two capital fellows amongst 
 them." 
 
 " Well, your experience is more fortunate than mine, 
 then." 
 
 " We see," continued Maxton, whose hard, harsh 
 voice was, perhaps, the thing most against his power as 
 an orator, " that in studying history, there must be a 
 fundamental classification of influences. It may be 
 briefly put as those influences which make for liberty, 
 and those which make against it. We have, in history, 
 a passive copy of what things have to say of themselves 
 even more than of what people have to say of the 
 things ; and we shall find, as we traverse up the long 
 line of history, that on every side we are met by the 
 inarticulate cry for liberty ; and if inanimate things 
 seem to cry for liberty, and if animals really do cry for 
 liberty, how much more must it be necessary to man. 
 Nature herself has had perfect liberty in selection, and 
 on that foundation rests the whole of the magnificent 
 doctrine of development ; and unless we reconstruct 
 the whole system of creation, and substitute illusory 
 distinctions for real differences, we must come to and 
 cling to the inevitable conclusion that every created 
 man should have perfect and absolute liberty for every 
 thought t)f his mind, word of his lips, or action of his 
 body." 
 
 There was a flash in Sydney's eyes as he threw 
 himself back in his seat with his arms folded, a flash 
 of strange depth and earnestness, which greatly 
 enhanced the interest of his speaking face. 
 
 " The attempt to restrain this legitimate liberty, this 
 fundamental law of liberty," continued Maxton, " has 
 always led to disastrous results. We have evidence of
 
 6 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 this in the tew unfortunate mistakes which an 
 infinitesimal minority of men, who happened not to be 
 possessed by an adequate conception of the relation of 
 ideas to things, perpetrated during the crisis of that 
 grandest movement the world has ever seen, the grea 
 French Eevolution." 
 
 Some of the audience seemed to sympathise with 
 this, but the majority frowned, and put on that stolid, 
 rather sulky look, which stands with Englishmen for 
 what a shrug does to Frenchmen. 
 
 " The French Revolution has taught us grand lessons. 
 It was the most vigorous attempt man ever made 
 towards the discovery of an alkahest, or universal 
 menstruum — a panacea, or grand universal remedy. The 
 leaders of that Revolution were the true alchemists 
 of the world. And how have they been treated 
 by those kings who have ever been the bitterest 
 foes of true liberty? How have they been treated by 
 those historians who are but the paid lackeys of 
 kings ? Why, just as the Roman Emperor, Diocletian, 
 true to the traditions of his caste, treated the old 
 alchemists. The earliest mention we find of alchemy 
 is an edict of his ordering all books which treat of 
 the art of making gold and silver to be burned. Thus, 
 in the same spirit, have kings, and an efi'ete and 
 tyrannical aristocracy, endeavoured to crush down, 
 when living, and to malign when dead, all those 
 true pioneers of liberty, like Robespierre, Voltaire, 
 Danton, and Maillard, who are the glory of 
 mankind, the bulwarks of freedom, and the crown 
 of intellectual revolt." 
 
 " Nice this for a French Royalist visitor to hear," 
 muttered Lucas. But Laboulaye looked quite composed 
 and even amused. 
 
 The remainder of Maxton's speech was merely an 
 enlargement of his original propositions ; he wound 
 up with rather a bombastic period, then he sat 
 down.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 7 
 
 Amidst loud murmurs of applause, Sydney stood up. 
 The most popular man in Oxford pitted against the most 
 unpopular. Here was an interesting evening. Sydney 
 had masses of soft brown hair, which hung somewhat 
 over his forehead, and brilliant dark grey eyes, full of 
 life, spirit and intelligence. 
 
 " It appears to me," he said, in a voice full of 
 enthusiasm and vivacity, "that the matter resolves 
 itself into one, and one only, most simple question : 
 Which men are to have perfect liberty ? AH men cannot 
 have it, for that is a contradiction in terms. If one man 
 is to rob and murder another, he may have liberty, but 
 his victim has not. There are ghosts who could rise and 
 say Maillard had not given them their idea of liberty. 
 The only question, then, for society in the present day to 
 settle is, who shall be the tyrants, and who their slaves? 
 Who shall be the liberty men, or libertines, and who their 
 martyrs. Everything else is beside the mark, and so 
 much wasted breath. Let all the civilized world call 
 one huge convention, and in it decide for ever, and 
 have done with it, who shall be up and who shall be 
 down." 
 
 Either the logic of this argument, or the personal 
 popularity of the speaker at this moment, seemed to 
 strike the assembly with singular force, for a storm of 
 applause for an instant drowned Sydney's voice, and 
 prevented him from going on. 
 
 Seeing plainly that, as usual, everything he said 
 would probably be greeted with the most encouraging 
 approbation, he was too utterly unbumptious, and too 
 thoroughly a good fellow, to take advantage of such 
 leniency; so, after a few more remarks he sat down. 
 During these remarks he said it seemed to him that 
 Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette and their children, 
 and Madame Elizabeth had been allowed a very 
 microscopic portion of individual liberty, and Lucas 
 interpolated, quite loudly, they had certainly not been 
 given their heads.
 
 8 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Sydney sat down amidst great applause. 
 
 Laboulaye chided him for not speaking more, but 
 he only said the fellows were too kind, and he did 
 not like to take advantage of it ; and added, he 
 was really nothing of a speaker, and knew very 
 little about anything but horses, and ended by 
 suggesting they should go and have some coffee out 
 of the little coffee cups, which they did, and quite 
 agreed with the speaker who had suggested their 
 enlargement. 
 
 As they were walking home, Laboulaye again 
 expressed his regret that Sydnev had not spoken 
 more. 
 
 " The fellows are so awfully good natured, you see," 
 said Sydney, humbly, ^' I don't like to take advantage 
 of them. L know I'm nothing of a speaker ; I go 
 blundering on, taking up any word that suits at the 
 moment, and why should they be bored because they 
 are good natured ? I wish Lucas would have spoken ; 
 he has ' the gift,' if you like it ! He'll do great 
 things at the Bar yet, you'll see." And Sydney ran 
 his arm kindly through Lucas's. 
 
 Lucas shook his head. 
 
 *' Yes, yes, you will, old fellow," insisted Sydney 
 warmly. '' When we both reach the seventh age of 
 man I shall be tottering off with my two sticks to try 
 a little change of air for the gout, by a visit to my old 
 friend Lord Lucas, Lord Chancellor of England." 
 
 Again Lucas shook his head 
 
 " Let us hope for ze beste," said Laboulaye, earnestly. 
 
 This made Lucas laugh immoderately 
 
 "Of course, I feel all that might have been said on 
 the side of true liberty," said Sydney. " I wish you 
 could have spoken, Laboulaye ; not a man amongst us 
 could have told them the truths you know." 
 
 " Thanks ; a zousand thanks. I would like greatly 
 to have spoke, but I know not ze English well 
 enough."
 
 The Silver Whistle. 9 
 
 " That which in the history of liberty appeals most 
 deeply to one's imagination is the way those who most 
 madly seek most cruelly slaughter her," said Lucas, 
 throwing out his arm, with an oratorical and slightly 
 bombastic gesture. 
 
 This delighted Laboulaye, who said : '' Bien oui ! 
 Bien oui! Bien oui!" over and over again most 
 emphatically. 
 
 And so they sauntered on through the quiet moonlit 
 air.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 t^EVERAL years have passed since the events 
 ^ narrated in the last chaptei'. A young lady 
 ^ was reading the notices posted up on the door 
 of a fashionable church at Turnham Green. With the 
 assistance of her eye-glass she read : 
 
 " You are requested to kneel at the more solemn 
 
 farts of the service. Kneelers a.re hung on iron 
 
 hooks down each side of the church ^ 
 After studying this ecclesiastical document for several 
 minutes, she took out her pencil and wrote at the. 
 bottom of the paper : " Surely, with this appalling 
 martrydom in prospect, even the most enthusiastic 
 devotee will be deterred from adopting the position 
 of devotion alluded to." Then she put up her silver 
 pencil-case in her pocket, and hurried to the railway 
 as fast as she could ; for (she had come down to pay 
 a visit to a friend in the suburbs) she spied an ascetic- 
 looking curate approaching in the distance. 
 
 As soon as she reached home, she took off her things, 
 and went down to the drawing room as fast as possible. 
 An old gentleman looked up from his newspaper as she 
 entered. 
 
 " Well ! did you tell the cook she had perfectly 
 spoiled the soup last night by putting nearly the whole 
 salt cellar into it?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " She said ; ' Indeed ! ' " 
 
 " Did she seem sorry? "
 
 The Silver Whistle, 11 
 
 " She looked as if I was giving an account of a 
 journey I had taken to Jerusalem in the night ; as sur- 
 prised, and as personally unconcerned." 
 
 The speakers were Captain O'Neill Sheil, a fat man, 
 with grey hair, and his daughter. Miss Bridget Sheil, 
 a girl of seventeen, with red hair and blue eyes. 
 
 " I cannot think why it is that cookery seems as 
 much a lost art as the Italian opera," he sighed. " They 
 went out together. How different things were in my 
 young days!" 
 
 ^'What more did you say to the cook?" 
 
 Proportionate to a man's interest in his dinner is his 
 interest in his cook's temper. 
 
 " Well, I thought I would manage very diplomatically, 
 so I said : 'Cook! Cookie! I've got a secret to tell you," 
 and Bridget's voice fell, and she adopted the mysterious 
 air she had apparently put on when speaking to the 
 cook. 
 . "Well ; and what did she do?" 
 
 " She began to roll some dough with the kitchen 
 roller, and said, abruptly : * Secrets is like measles ; they 
 take easy, and spread easy.' " 
 
 Captain Sheil, or, as he was called at his home in 
 Ireland, " The Captain," for he was captain in the 
 navy, sighed. 
 
 " J fear the case is hopeless ! And we got such a 
 flaming character with her ! Curry equal to any in 
 India; turtle soup superior to Mansion House dinners ! 
 Life is full of disappointments !" 
 
 " When I went into the kitchen, I found her with 
 her arms akimbo, a position I have told her never to 
 stand in ; sol said to her, anxiously : ' I 'm afraid you 
 have a bad pain in your sides.' " 
 
 The captain laughed. " Well ; and what did she say?" 
 
 " ' There's some mistresses would give pains to a 
 broadside of servants.' She is engaged to a sailor, 
 you know, which accounts for her familiarity with 
 nautical expressions."
 
 12 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 At that moment some visitors were announced. 
 
 Bridget had lost her mother when she was only 
 three years old. Captain O'Neill Sheil had tried, 
 with tolerable success, to supply the place of both 
 parents to his daughter. He had been a captain in 
 the navy, but on inheriting a property in Ireland 
 from his uncle, he left the service, and went to live 
 in his native land. A year or two before this story opens 
 Bridget had taken it into her head that she was not 
 being sufficiently well educated by the old governess 
 her father had provided for her. She had, therefore, 
 seen fit to go to Newnham for a year, to give the 
 finishing polish to brains which, faulty in many par- 
 ticulars, at no time could have been considered rusty. 
 
 During the time she was at Newnhara Captain Sheil 
 had been cruising with a friend in his yacht. He had 
 yielded to her desire to go to Newnham instantly, as he 
 yielded to all her wishes. Her word was law to him, 
 down to the smallest minuti^ of everyday life. She 
 was his only child, and his spare thoughts were occu- 
 pied in planning to make her happy ; except such 
 thoughts as were necessarily absorbed in how to bring 
 the ever more and more obstreperous cook into sub- 
 jection, and to coax some rent out of his tenants. 
 
 On Bridget's return from Newnham she exhibited a 
 knowledge of the technical terms of diiferent sciences 
 such as to lead Captain Sheil to the gratifying con- 
 clusion that she had obtained the full value of her 
 college fees.
 
 CHAPTEE 111. 
 
 ^Tj^g^RIDGET and her father, who had taken a 
 J^l^^ small house in London for the season, had 
 
 -^ received an invitation to be present at a 
 
 grand Elizabethan pageant, which was to take place 
 at a Mrs. Beesting's country seat. Beeswing Park. 
 " Twelfth Night " was to be acted, and the whole 
 entertainment was to wind up with a fancy dress ball. 
 All the spectators of the play, therefore, would be in 
 fancy dress. They left town early so as to arrive in 
 good time for dinner. Soon aft.r dinner the guests 
 began to pour in, and the ball room was crammed \yith 
 spectators in every sort of attire that ever came into 
 the head of man, and still more of woman, to put upon 
 his back. There was a good deal of pushing and 
 squeezing to get good places for seeing. The chairs 
 were all tied together in long rows, about the most 
 uncomfortable arrangement for sitting down that 
 civilization has produced. 
 
 Bridget and her father, as they were staying in the 
 house, had tolerably good seats, in the second row from 
 the front. A temporary stage had been erected at one 
 end of the ball room, and when the curtain drew up it 
 disclosed a tableau, with Queen Elizabeth sitting in 
 the middle of the stage, surrounded by her courtiers. 
 Presently, Mary, Queen of Scots, attended by Darnley, 
 and with several Highlanders playing bagpipes in the 
 rear, walked across the stage. She stopped exactly 
 in the centre, and looked Queen Elizabeth full in the
 
 14 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 face for three minutes ; Queen Elizabeth rose to her 
 feet and looked at her in silence. This produced a 
 striking effect Then, in silence, Mary passed cff the 
 stage. 
 
 After the applause had subsided, Queen Elizabeth 
 ordered the play of " Twelfth Night " to begin in her 
 presence, which it did. She remained seated at the 
 back of the stage on a throne. 
 
 It was well acted, though Bridget thought a little 
 less dignity and more vivacity would have enhanced 
 its merits. Still, it was decidedly well acted, and 
 Captain Sheil, who was a great admirer of dignity, 
 was delighted with it. Bridget's attention from the 
 first had been captivated by one of Queen Elizabeth's 
 courtiers, a tall, active-looking young man, in a splendid 
 dress of marone-coloured velvet and gold, cut and 
 slashed with satin of the same colour. He had a broad 
 forehead, on which his hair grew low, or rather, his head 
 rose considerably under his hair, which he wore parted 
 down the middle. His features were well shaped, and 
 he had a slight soft beard and moustache, which just 
 shaded round his cheeks and mouth and chin. But his 
 eyes were what riveted Bridget's too wandering fancy. 
 They were dark eyes, with a look beaming from them 
 of earnestness and thoughtful reflection, unusual in so 
 young a man. 
 
 Bridget's eyes could not have been accused, by her 
 most ardent admirer, of earnestness ; this may have 
 been why she admired earnestness so much in others. 
 The whole pageant was one of luxurious splendour. 
 A great part of the walls of the room and the sides 
 of the stage were covered with exotic flowers, set ofl" 
 at intervals by huge drooping ferns and palm trees, 
 which reached almost to the ceiling. Draperies of 
 crimson and gold hung round the back of Queen 
 Elizabeth's throne ; in fact, truth obliges us to confess 
 that the accessories surpassed the acting. The Queen's 
 dress, and the dresses of all her ladies and courtiers
 
 The Silver Whistle. 15 
 
 were correct to the smallest particular, as a gentleman, 
 celebrated for his study of old costumes, had designed 
 them. They were made of rich materials, and, in 
 many instances, partly covered with precious stones. 
 
 " 1 wonder who that young man is, papa?" Bridget 
 said, in a stage whisper. 
 
 " Don't know, my dear, I'm sure." 
 
 " I can tell you," said a good-humoured looking old 
 dowager, who was sitting next to Bridget, " He is a 
 Mr. Sydney — Edgar Sydney — and he is acting the 
 part of Sir Philip Sydney ; but he is certainly not a 
 descendant of his," she added, with a sarcastic little 
 laugh. 
 
 " Really ? " said Bridget. 
 
 " No, no ; " and the old lady shook her head and 
 laughed again. 
 
 Bridget found out afterwards that the old lady had 
 a daughter to whom Sydney steadily refused to pay 
 any attention, though his property joined hers. 
 
 As soon as the play was over the chairs were cleared 
 away, and the dancing began. • 
 
 Bridget waltzed lightly. She was small, with a 
 tiny head and small features, and a little, quick, short 
 manner, which irritated some ladies, but which had 
 about it a mysterious element that fascinated some 
 men. As a rule, ladies did not admire her ; they 
 thought her insignificant, and some of the elderly ones 
 considered her pert. But some gentlemen thought 
 her passable-looking, and many liked talking to her, in 
 spite of her freckled cheeks. 
 
 This evening she was dressed as Erin, in white 
 nun's cloth, with wreaths of shamrock worked on it 
 in raised green silk, and an old Tara harp brooch on 
 her shoulder. She danced a great deal, but never 
 with the one partner she wished for. 
 
 At last, escaping from a tiresome heavy man, who 
 pounded round on his heels, and pushed her persistently 
 in the opposite direction to the one he was going in
 
 16 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 liimself, she stole up to her father and whispered, 
 " Papa, dear papa, do get me an introduction to 
 Mr. Sydney." 
 
 " Eh? eh? " he said, looking puzzled, " How's that 
 to be done, eh ? " 
 
 " Get introduced to him yourself, and then, after a 
 few minutes, you can bring him up to me." 
 
 Bridget turned away. 
 
 Poor Captain Sheil was a submissive man, and he 
 took a look around him to see how his daughter's 
 commands could be best obeyed. That they must 
 be obeyed, sooner or later, he was well aware, if he 
 wished for a quiet life, a thing which, of all others, he 
 desired. 
 
 In his difficulty he applied to his hostess, a good- 
 natured woman, who herself took Sydney up and 
 introduced him to Bridget. 
 
 " Sir Phillip Sydney dancing with Erin ! Curious 
 combination? " remarked some of the bystanders. 
 
 "Have you ever been in Ireland, Mr. Sydney?" 
 asked Bridget, between the rounds of the valse. 
 
 " No. I have a great desire to go ; but, somehow 
 or other, something has always happened, just as I 
 was on the point of starting, to prevent me." 
 
 " You must not let it happen the next time, and 
 you must come and visit our part of the country." 
 
 " I should like it immensely. I feel as if every 
 Englishman ought to try and become personally 
 acquainted with Ireland just now ; her wrongs and 
 her rights have got the entree, and go in at the side 
 door, before any other subject, in Parliament, literature 
 and conversation, at the present hour." 
 
 " And likely to be the question of a good many 
 hours," said Bridget. 
 
 " Too true, indeed," he said, thoughtfully. " I fear 
 we English have much to reproach ourselves with in 
 regard to your country ; but tell me what you think is 
 the real cause of all the disquiet."
 
 The Silver Whistle, 17 
 
 " That the peasants have not amusement enough," 
 she answered decidedly. " I intend, as soon as I go 
 back, to try and find some more for them." 
 
 " A good idea," he said. " But what amusements 
 would you suggest ? " 
 
 " Theatricals of all kinds. Only those who know 
 the Irish know how they take to the theatre." 
 
 Bridget had never enjoyed a dance as she did this 
 one, and when he asked her for another, she accepted 
 with an almost too transparent pleasure.
 
 CHAPTEH IV. 
 
 fT was somewhat early on Cup Day at Ascot. A 
 white haze, like rolls of cotton wool, hid the 
 — lower part of the wooded heights. Now and then 
 the faintest whisper of a breeze, like a troublesome 
 acquaintance who has forgotten us for a moment, but 
 soon remembers to come back and tease us, stirred the 
 golden blossoms of the gorse. It was a cold, piercing 
 wind when it came, due east, and blighted the good of 
 the sun. 
 
 The three-horsed omnibuses, with their freights of 
 Londoners, were beginning to arrive from "Windsor. 
 The driver of one of these had just flung his reins 
 on to the backs of his horses, and was rubbing his 
 hands, preparatory to having a glass of " hot and 
 strong," when a man in a black coat, with a scarlet 
 jersey under it, and a scarlet band round his cap, came 
 up and offered him a tract. The driver looked at the 
 young enthusiast for a moment, then at the tract, then 
 said politely, as he handed it back, " No, thank yer ; I 
 hattends to hall them matters of a Sunday, not of a 
 Cup Day." 
 
 A jockey, who was taking a turn on the famous 
 Berkshire heath, and renewing his acquaintance with 
 its odd and unsuspected ups and downs, heard this 
 remark, and laughed heartily. 
 
 Just at that moment a policeman came up, in that 
 state of fume and fuss which always precedes the 
 royal procession amongst the constabulary. 
 
 " Clear the course ! Clear the course."
 
 The Silver Whistle, 19 
 
 Our friend, the jockey, had sauntered out on to the 
 centre of the course, and was investigating it with those 
 peculiar perceptions which none but jockeys possess. 
 
 " Clear the course ! Clear the course ! " And the 
 policeman roughly pushed him out of the way. He 
 used a naughty, such a naughty, word, and reluctantly 
 bent his slight figure under the iron rail. At that 
 instant a crow flew, only about twenty feet from the 
 ground, squalling in a rude and defiant voice just over 
 the heads of the spectators. The policeman looked up 
 in a haughty and injured manner. 
 
 " Aha ! You can't keep 'im in order, my fine fellow," 
 said the jockey, triumphantly. The constable's face 
 grew red. He scowled, but scorned to reply. It was a 
 remark that was bad to beat for causticity. The 
 jockey laughed loudly, and the bystanders joined with 
 him. 
 
 This jockey was not a perfect character, but he had 
 many redeeming qualities. His name was Baltimore. 
 He could tell in one glance when a horse which had 
 done well on other courses must be classed at Ascot 
 amongst the helpless division. And this because he 
 knew the course at Ascot as well as the letters of his 
 own name. At this moment he wore a loose grey suit 
 of dittoes, a black hat, and a very polished pair of 
 elastic sided boots. He looked like a pious choir 
 boy slowly sinking into a consumption. He was silent 
 during the next ten minutes, while he was taking his 
 walk, and appeared to be ruminating deeply. Who 
 shall divine his meditations ? Sydney always said that 
 the knife to open the oyster of a jockey's private thoughts 
 has not yet left Sheffield, and may not be expected to 
 leave it to-morrow. 
 
 The coaching enclosures were beginning to get 
 crowded. After the wearying, hateful debates, or rather 
 wrangles, of the past few weeks, many M.P's. felt that 
 the only thing which stood between them and Bedlam 
 was a breezy spin through the rhododendrons and 
 
 c2
 
 20 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 under the laburnums which make the road to Ascot the 
 prettiest in the county. 
 
 Drags full of hereditary legislators were drawing up, 
 moment after moment. Specimens of that shy, skittish 
 animal, of such curious and solitary habits — the Filius 
 Maximus — having been pursued, and harried on the 
 drags by diligent students of " mama's own book," were 
 seeking a " campo pulito," where they could escape to. 
 Many of them found welcome cover in the paddock. 
 The grand stand was, to their peculiar vision, all hung 
 round with red flags of danger, the royal enclosure 
 little better, the paddock safish^ but not altogether 
 safe. 
 
 Some of them found the merry-go-rounds at the 
 lower end of the course the most absolutely impreg- 
 nable shelter, and were feign to put up with a certain 
 sea-sick motion, and with the still more certain reproach 
 of, ^' He has such low tastes." " Beer and skittles 
 fancy!" rather than hazard the perils of squashed 
 strawberry satins and green seaweed hats. 
 
 Meantime, that charming, wholly delightful, though 
 somewhat gregarious ground game, " The Frater 
 Junius," was to be found heroically facing every point 
 of danger. In spite of frowns from matronly brows, 
 rautterings of " Two negative younger sons make one 
 positive nuisance," etc., he unblushingly smiled blandly 
 on; put his round smiling face entirely under the 
 shadow of Duchess of Devonshire hats ; squeezed little 
 hands, which had been practising the scales of precedence 
 for weeks, so genially that sometimes even French kid 
 gave way. His feet were equally at home on the 
 sacred soil of the royal enclosure as on the steps of 
 his elder brother's drag. Profane creature ! He did, 
 indeed, dare to rush in where angels feared to tread, 
 as dear mamma so often thought, and sometimes 
 remarked to her daughters. Luncheon was the peculiar 
 swarming hour of the genus ; salmon a la mayonnaise^ 
 etc., etc, washed down by dear brother's Moselle of '78,
 
 The Silver Whistle. 21 
 
 was not only partaken of by themselves, but, far worse, 
 handed by them to those little mouths which were 
 never made to receive libations from an orsedew (which 
 is what some matrons called these detrimentals). [An 
 orsedew is an inferior kind of gold-leaf, or rather hrass- 
 leaf, prepared from a sort of fine brass]. These mouths, 
 to the disgust of chaperones, did not disdain to smile 
 upon their boldness. 
 
 In the meantime, the Filius Maximus was in some 
 instances consoling his disconsolate interior with such 
 husks as stale penny buns, short bread, made with 
 rancid butter, and flat lemonade, near to where Aunt 
 Sally was being played, while eminent daughticul- 
 turalists were wondering where he had transplanted 
 himself. 
 
 A great crowd had gone down to see the arrival of 
 the royal procession. They were standing chattering 
 in parterres of many colours behind the walk and under 
 the overshadowing trees of Miss Thacker's charming 
 demense. They listened to the music of their own 
 voices, but failed to notice that of the whispering 
 breeze stirring amongst the sharp spires of the firs. 
 Clouds hung heavily over Windsor Forest, but the 
 chill wind kept the sun dogs so far at bay in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Ascot that the new mile was bathed in a 
 flood of delicious sunshine just as the royal procession 
 turned in to it from Swinley Bottom. 
 
 The crimson and gold liveries of the royal huntsmen 
 danced about like a drop of vermilion in the middle 
 distance. Sweeping up the long undulating vista of soft 
 sward, at an easy trot, came the dark Lincoln Green of 
 the rangers, showing the master of the buck-hounds his 
 way to the winning-post ; then that showy livery, 
 which England, the most unshowy country in the 
 world, is so proud of; then the open carriage, with 
 the fat, good humoured face by the side of the sweet 
 lovely one which England is still more proud of. As 
 they approached the grand stand, a perfect roar, like a
 
 22 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 salute from a line of battle ships greeted them. Not 
 a voice was silent. 
 
 The Vicomte de Laboulaye, who had come down with 
 Sydney on his drag, was greatly struck by the burst 
 of universal enthusiasm. He observed the cheers came 
 from the poorest tramps with greater vigour than from 
 the curled darlings of the grand stand. He sighed as 
 he thought of the sort of reception the King of Fra.nce 
 would be likely to receive from the blue bloused work- 
 men at Longcharaps. 
 
 A dark blue drag, called by the ladies " spick-and- 
 span," and by the gentlemen " tidy-looking," was drawn 
 up ahnost opposite the winning post. The luncheon 
 board of the first and earliest luncheon had been 
 pushed somewhat in the back-ground, and the 
 champagne bottles, corkless and half empty, seemed 
 to invite gipsies to help themselves. 
 
 On the front seat was a lady, in crushed strawberry 
 muslin, with white work on it and parasol to match. 
 She was fair-haired and blue-eyed, handsome, with a 
 good-tempered, easy-going face and manner. All the 
 people on the surrounding drags seemed to know her, 
 and she appeared popular. Everyone came to her for 
 help in their troubles. 
 
 A young man on one of the other drags had cut his 
 finger with a bit of broken glass. He climbed up and 
 sat down by her. He was a cousin. 
 
 " Dear Gracie " (everyone called her that), " have you 
 got a bit of sticking plaster ? " 
 
 And she quickly produced from her pocket a nice 
 little case full of plaster. She washed his wound, and 
 then put the plaster on so nicely that he could not resist 
 bending down and pressing his lips lightly on her 
 soft, plump cheeks. 
 
 " Dear Gracie, there's no one like you." 
 
 She smiled; and in another minute he was gone. 
 Hardly had his shadow grown faint, when a girl pulled 
 herself up and sat down by Gracie. She had torn a bit
 
 The Silver Whistle, 23 
 
 of frilling off the QdigQ of her dress, and she knew 
 Gracie would mend it. And Gracie took out a little 
 rolled leather needle and thread holder, and mended it 
 quickly. And then the girl kissed her, called her 
 " dear old Gracie ;" said she did not know what anyone 
 would do without her, and went back to her drag and 
 her flirting, and Gracie had a few moments to herself 
 to enjoy the races. Only a few, for a young man who 
 had driven one of the drags down had just given a slit 
 to his whip. He and Gracie were cousins and old 
 friends, friends from childhood. To her he fiew at 
 once. She immediately brought forth from the depth 
 of that " Universal Provider" of a pocket, a nice little 
 bit of thin whip-cord, and with a splinter, wielded 
 by her deft fingers, soon set the whip to rights. The 
 young Jehu was delighted, and for a minute or two 
 gazed first at his whip and then at her. 
 
 *^ Dearest Gracie " (this was a refreshing change 
 from the usual formula), " Darling Gracie " (this was 
 still more refreshing) ; then, as there was a row going 
 on on the race course, which absorbed everyone's 
 attention, he took her right hand and pressed it 
 to his lips. She smiled in such a nice, good-tempered 
 way, and looked as if she was not at all angry, to 
 say the least. Just then the move came for the second 
 and important luncheon. This is how Gracie went to 
 the guard's tent. A young man who, about half-an- 
 hour before, had twisted his ankle, leaned somewhat 
 heavily on her right arm, though making pretence she 
 was leaning on him. In front of her went a middle- 
 aged man carrying two shawls. Behind her came a 
 girl, who kept pulling the back of her dress, and saying, 
 " Wait, Gracie ; wait for Mabel," and she turned her 
 head, " she will be here directly." 
 
 " Yes ; when she's done flirting with Hollands," said 
 the young man who was leaning on her, impatiently. 
 " Don't stop, Gracie," he added, as he urged her 
 forward with his arm.
 
 24 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Do what you like, Grracie, just for once in your 
 life, by way of a change," said the middle-aged man 
 with the shawls. 
 
 '"'• Dear Gracie," said the invalid, " it's awfully good 
 of you to let me lean on you. Of course, I could have 
 asked any of the fellows : they're awfully obligin', and 
 all that ; but it would have bored them." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I know ; and I like to have you. Lean 
 as heavily as you like." He was an old, old friend. 
 
 When they reached the tent, as she carefully lowered 
 her invalid into his chair, he said: 
 
 " Dear Gracie, why are not all women like you ? 
 By Jove ! he'll be a lucky fellow who gets you." 
 
 He had no intention of asking her himself, however. 
 His heart w^as at that moment captivated by a pert, 
 sharp little minx, the exact opposite of Gracie in every- 
 thing, whose exquisitely-fitting dress concealed no 
 heart under its smooth surface. Now, Gracie's dresses 
 did conceal a heart, but never seemed quite to fit her. 
 No matter how handsome her clothes, she never looked 
 well dressed. Always untidy, and her hat or bonnet a 
 little crooked. 
 
 Luncheon over, she supported her invalid back to 
 his drag, then climbed up on her own, and was, as 
 usual, surrounded by friends. Suddenly a gipsy, in 
 an old red shawl, and a black bonnet failing off the 
 back of her head, stopped opposite the drag, and asked 
 if she might be allowed to tell the fair-haired lady's 
 fortune. 
 
 "Yes ; come along," she said, good humouredly. 
 
 Up climbed the gipsy on to the wheel, looking not a 
 little elated at having obtained a permission she had 
 been vainly seeking for all the morning from the other 
 fair occupants of carriages. All the ladies on the other 
 drags now became alert and interested. They leaned 
 forward, and called out to know what was going on. 
 
 " Gracie's having her fortune told," passed from lip 
 to lip.
 
 The Silver Whistle-. 25 
 
 " What fun!" exclaimed everyone, laughing. 
 
 " Any good shots, Gracie? " 
 
 " Not yet," she said, shaking her head. 
 
 A great deal of crossing of the hand with half-crowns 
 and two-shilling bits had to take place. These were 
 supplied by a tall young man, in the regulation full- 
 dress square cut coat, with a huge pink carnation in his 
 buttonhole, who was sitting just behind Gracie on the 
 drag. 
 
 " Your fate will overtake you this year," said the 
 gipsy. 
 
 " No, no ; not this year," said Gracie, shaking her 
 head. " Next year ; not this year." 
 
 " Any good shots yet, Gracie? " called out the girls 
 from the other drags. 
 
 " No," said Gracie, shortly. 
 
 " You must wish now, m'am," said the gipsy, once 
 more claiming half-a-crown for crossing her palm. 
 
 " I've wished," said Gracie. 
 
 " You must tell me now," said the old woman. 
 
 "Tell you what?" said Gracie. "Tell you my 
 wish?" and she looked full into the old woman's face, 
 "Not quite!" 
 
 The old woman pretended that she did not want to 
 know what she had wished. 
 
 Here the gentlemen leaned over and listened, with 
 great interest and anxiety. 
 
 " Shall I marry the man I love ? " Gracie's voice 
 was low, and her face very pink. 
 
 Just at this juncture a policeman came up, and 
 seizing hold of the gipsy by the shoulder, ordered her 
 to get down at once. 
 
 " These ladies asked me to come here," said the 
 gipsy, with much dignity, " and I shall not go away 
 till I've finished telling them their fortunes, for which 
 I'm paid." 
 
 " Yes," said Gracie, leaning forward and speaking 
 decidedly, " I told her to come."
 
 26 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " 0, jou did, did you? " said the coQstable. " I 
 suppose you think you'll get told something nice?" 
 And he turned away with a shrug. " Another five 
 minutes and you'll be a wantin' me to interfere to take 
 'er away ; " and he walked off with a sulky face. 
 
 At that moment a race was being won, and while 
 everyone turned to look at the horses, Gracie bent 
 down and whispered again, " Shall I marry the man 
 
 The gipsy looked puzzled. She examined and 
 re-examined each line on the plump pink hand ; she 
 crossed the palm repeatedly with a two shilling bit ; 
 she wrinkled her bronzed brow, until it looked like a 
 fir cone. 
 
 The girl watched her with an anxiety which she 
 did not try to conceal, because no one was at that 
 moment watching her. 
 
 At length the old woman said, " Not for many 
 years." 
 
 " What matters years ? " exclaimed the girl im- 
 petuously. " I do marry him in the end ? " 
 
 " Yes ; you do in the end." 
 
 While everyone was still staring at the race she 
 slipped half-a-sovereign out of her purse and trans- 
 ferred it to the gipsy's hand. 
 
 It so happened that for two years Grracie had been 
 attached to Sydney, and had gone so near to proposing 
 for him, once or twice, that he had found some difficulty 
 in making his escape with becoming gallantry. 
 
 Why he should have made his escape he wondered 
 afterwards, for Gracie was well off, good looking, and 
 quite marvellously good tempered. He knew he must 
 marry some day. It would have pleased his mother 
 if he could have married her ; but it did not seem to 
 him that he was in love with her, and that was the 
 whole thing in a nut-shell. 
 
 She was the only daughter of a marquis, whose 
 property joined his. Like everybody, he was fond of
 
 The Silver Whistle. 27 
 
 her ; but though he had never been in love, he thought 
 that he could be more in love than he was with her. 
 
 Meantime the tears came into Gracie's eyes. The 
 horses finished the race, and, laden with many half- 
 crowns, the gipsy climbed down from off the wheel, 
 and made her way through the crowd as fast as she 
 could. 
 
 Two hours later luncheon, in general, was over, as 
 far as it ever is over at Ascot. The paddock was 
 crowded. A very interesting race was to come off 
 shortly. Sydney was going to run a young Irish 
 horse, called Clauricaune — a new horse, who had his 
 spurs to win. Pitted against him were horses with 
 splendid pedigrees, and some of the most renowned 
 racing blood in Europe in them : horses which had 
 made big bids for a place before now. 
 
 Lord Hashtheboy was the owner of a formidable 
 rival in the shape of a filly ; a magnificent — apparently 
 magnificent — youngster, called La Tosca, for which he 
 had given a sum worthy of his fortune and his 
 gullibility, but which he was not aware had Keen 
 fattened for sale. However, even Baltimore, Sydney's 
 jockey, allowed that she " looked dangerous." 
 
 There are some men who strut about the paddock 
 at Ascot in a manner which gives you the idea that 
 they think the whole thing was got up entirely for 
 them — races, royal procession and all. Such a man 
 was Hashtheboy. He was fat, thick necked, apoplectic- 
 looking. When first he fixed his eyes upon you, their 
 expression seemed always to be saying, " Pause, 
 inferior lump of clay ; I'll give you until next week 
 for reflection as to whether you will fall down and 
 worship me ; if not, I'll make you regret it the 
 week after." He had taken a great interest in, and 
 been present at, many a curious race and many a 
 false run one ; but he had not lost in the estimation 
 of the world by that. What he had lost by was his 
 pa;ssion for boasting. Some men bluster and swagger
 
 28 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 in life's game to such an extent that their ace of 
 trumps is shaken from their hand, and drops, unper- 
 ceived, at their feet ; then they trample it into the 
 dust with their heel, boasting all the time of their 
 knowledge of cards, while every one is laughing at them. 
 
 Hashtheboy had several times lost much that he 
 valued by his bluster, but he was not aware of it. He 
 liked also to make those he was pleased to consider 
 beneath him in position feel his power over them. The 
 result was, he saw nothing but melancholy faces round 
 him ; for no one is in good spirits when they are 
 conscious of being the slaves of a bully's caprices. But 
 he liked those melancholy faces. Just as every Italian 
 gentlemen tries to have cypress trees round his villa, so 
 did he evidently consider that every English gentleman 
 ought to have sad faces round his hall. It proved the 
 owner's power to make inferiors subservient to his 
 will in mind as well as body. But, to give every man 
 his due, he was not altogether devoid of personal 
 bravery ; and, in spite of his taste for racing, was, 
 in some respects, better suited to the ring than the 
 hippodrome Much as he avoided bodily pain, and 
 disliked a scratch on his own skin, provided his 
 antagonist was a lighter weight than himself, and 
 was in bad condition, he would not have objected to a 
 three-round contest. Under such conditions pugilism 
 becomes brutality, and brutality had been second 
 nature to him since his schoolboy days. The fact was, 
 he was fond of boxing and beating another person, 
 either mentally or physically ; otherwise, where personal 
 danger was apparent, he gave signs of belonging to 
 the Prudential Assurance Association. 
 
 At the present moment he was talking to his jockey. 
 Bill Mathers, w4th an expression of genuine tyranny 
 and assumed politeness. Every now and then he put 
 on a look of cunning ; the reason he did this was because 
 he wanted Bill to think that he was up to his tricks. 
 Now, Bill would have thought that without his putting
 
 The Silver Whistle. 29 
 
 on the look ; in fact, Bill's feeling was, that he was 
 not quite up to his tricks. As a matter of practical 
 experience — everyday experience — Sydney had caught 
 him out in so many lies that he usually called him 
 " Lord Cram de la Cram." It is, therefore, not to be 
 wondered at that a poor, innocent little jockey should 
 feel that he might unconsciously become the victim of 
 deviations from the truth which his unsuspecting 
 nature could not have fathomed. Many a young 
 masher who had suffered from Hashtheboy's over- 
 bearing, dictatorial bluster, eagerly caught up the idea 
 of " Lord Cram de la Cram." He was particularly 
 fond of treading on mashers' polished Tory toes. The 
 name seemed singularly appropriate, for he thought 
 himself, in spite of the most singular and essential 
 vulgarity of mind and manner, such as is to be found 
 nowhere as it occasionally is in the peerage, the very 
 cream of the whole aristocracy. 
 
 As the mashers aged a little in years, and a great, 
 great deal in experience, they came to question — though 
 they kept the question to themselves — whether there 
 was not more than one peer of the realm by whom the 
 quaint old legend, " Cram de la Cram," might not 
 have been adopted as a family motto. 
 
 Mathers was a clever jockey and a very good 
 sort of a fellow. At present he looked sulky, and as if 
 he had the toothache. His cap was pulled down over 
 his eyes, and his straw-coloured bristles stuck out 
 angrily from under it. His full, girlish lips, in the 
 shape of Cupid's bow, were pouted out, and his fair 
 brow knit. It was easy for an intellect like his to read 
 between the lines of the bland balderdash Hashtheboy 
 considered it judicious to bestow on his servant on 
 the eve of the most important race of the day. The 
 snobbishness of that nobleman's manner, as he half 
 patronized, half bullied, looked as if he longed to 
 thrash, yet fawned before, the boy in whose hands the 
 fate of many thousands of his pounds lay ; the boy
 
 30 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 he considered his inferior, but who was so vastly his 
 superior, tickled Sydney's fancy immensely. 
 
 He was standing, leaning his shoulders against the 
 rails, his right knee was bent, and the heel of his boot 
 was caught on the low ground rail. His hat was 
 cocked forward until its rim reached his eyebrows, for 
 the sun was shining full in his face. He was watching 
 the movements of Hashtheboy, and there was a twinkle 
 in the corner of his eye, as if he was having fun in the 
 recesses of his soul. 
 
 There was something in his lordship's appearance 
 which added a zest to bucolic manners. His moustaches 
 were in round, heavy rolls, like German sausages. His 
 whiskers were large, straggling, and three-cornered in 
 shape. Short, stubbly hair grew in a continuous ridge 
 from one whisker to the other, underneath his second 
 double chin. 
 
 He considered himself, both in appearance, manner 
 and character, like Julius Caesar. But the great man's 
 mantel had lost somewhat in transit. 
 
 Laboulaye was standing, smoking a Spanish cigarette, 
 on Sydney's right. 
 
 " What do you think of that specimen of our insular 
 aristocracy ? " 
 
 " He looks horriblement fagotee," answered the 
 Frenchman, gazing, with a very odd expression, at 
 Hashtheboy. Laboulaye's English was now, in 
 consequence of much practice, almost as good as an 
 Englishman's. 
 
 " Well, he's trying to be civil, and no doubt that 
 unusual amusement would fagotee him within an inch 
 of his life." 
 
 At that moment, Baltimore was seen approaching 
 across the paddock. He was now in his best temper ; 
 but he had developed a cold in his head, or hay fever, 
 or some such thing, during the last hour or two, and 
 was buttoned up in a thick brown ulster, with a red 
 worsted comforter round his throat.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 31 
 
 As he passed Bill, he pinched the back of his elbow, 
 and gave him a knowing little wink, as much as to say, 
 " I sympathise with you." He did whisper, low and 
 rapidly as he passed on into his ear : '' Keep up your 
 spirits. You know how to pay him out." Bill's severe 
 tension of expression relaxed for a minute ; but as he 
 continued to listen to his temporary master, soon the 
 frown gathered again. " My deaw boy," Hashtheboy 
 said, constantly. In fact, this was the formula in 
 which he addressed numbers of his friends. 
 
 Meantime Baltimore had reached Sydney's side. 
 He looked up at him, saw the direction of his 
 eyes, and let his follow them. He shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " 'E's only fit for leather flappin' meetins, w'ere 'e 
 could give 'is blessin' to rowdyism and questinibble 
 practises of all sorts." 
 
 Sydney smiled. He knew a jockey could not say a 
 more severe thing. 
 
 " His reel mates is spivs and sharps." 
 
 Bill must have said something pert, for at that 
 instant, Hashtheboy brought the point of his silver- 
 headed stick down with a bang on the earth, and 
 stamped his foot, while he used a word not to be found 
 in any dictionary ; not knowing that his revered political 
 leader, in whose sight he ever wished to appear as the 
 blameless knight of Tintagel, was passing close behind 
 him. Thus are the best of us, now and then, caught 
 tripping by our idols. Meantime, his thinly-disguised 
 passion continued to break bounds. 
 
 *' Behold ! ". exclaimed Sydney, flinging out his arm, 
 "Radical Aristocracy, out of Humour, by Bluster." 
 
 " Eh ! indeed," assented Baltimore, " or Snobbery 
 out of Jobbery, by Trickery, 'ud do 'im as well." 
 
 " Or Socialism, by Incendiary, out of Communism," 
 muttered Sydney, reflecting on his political opinions. 
 
 At that moment, Hashtheboy's great political leader, 
 swinging his field glasses, and his lips moving, as if
 
 32 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 holding sweet converse with his inmost soul, passed 
 close to them. 
 
 " Ah — a ! " said Baltimore, with a long-drawn note 
 of admiration. He was a strongly pronounced Liberal 
 of the most advanced school. " Ah — a, there goes a 
 'eaven born genius for yer." 
 
 " Well, if he is," remarked Sydney, laconically, " all 
 I can say is, I hope the heavens won't be in the family- 
 way again in my lifetime." 
 
 Laboulaye knew English well enough to catch the 
 fun of this, and laughed with that peculiar lightness 
 and gaiety belonging to his nation. 
 
 By this time Hashtheboy's voice was rising, so as to 
 attract attention in those near him. 
 
 '' By Jove ! " said Sydney, whose eyes returned to 
 him with irresistible attraction, " I do believe he thinks 
 he will bully the paddock into accepting his starting 
 prices, and rule the settling." 
 
 " There's a few Hinglishmen left in the paddock 
 yet," said Baltimore, dryly. 
 
 After sneezing several times, he fell to watching the 
 growing irritation on Sydney's face with much 
 interest. 
 
 " 'Twill soon be Mr. Sydney, out of Patience, by 
 Bloated Aristocrat." 
 
 Baltimore was a wag in a quiet way. Had he 
 happened to have lived in the days of Sydney Smith, 
 and been born of a family which disliked horses, there 
 is no knowing the position he might have occupied in 
 the social circle. 
 
 Sydney smiled. " True," he answered. " But, upon 
 my word, it's extraordinary what a number of members 
 of the present House of Lords are ^ a distance ' from 
 being gentlemen." 
 
 Laboulaye had been listening intently to the sporting 
 conversation, hoping to pick up an expression here and 
 there. 
 
 "A distance ! " he exclaimed, caught by the word used
 
 The Silver Whistle. 33 
 
 in its present position, " Quel est, that is, what is, then, 
 a distance? " 
 
 '' Two hundred and forty yards, my lord," replied 
 Baltimore, promptly. He had been told that Laboulaye 
 was a viscount. 
 
 " A long way that, Laboulaye, for a nobleman to 
 be off a gentleman," said Sydney. 
 
 '' A breather," said Baltimore. Laboulaye did not 
 quite grasp the position of affairs. 
 
 " If he could get on Clauricaune's back, now," 
 continued Baltimore, " which he can't, for Clauri. 
 would shoot such rubbish ; but if he could, he would 
 soon cover the ground, for Clauri. takes twenty-four 
 feet in a bound when galloping." 
 
 ''Does he?" said Sydney. "So you've turned into 
 a literary character. Master Baltimore, and been taking 
 foot notes, eh? " 
 
 Baltimore laughed and looked pleased. 
 
 Pleasant as Sydney was to everyone, it was in his 
 intercourse with his dependents that the perfection^ of 
 his manners came out. Without losing his own 
 dignity, he put them at their ease immediately. I do 
 not mean to say that Sydney never fell out with his 
 jockey, for he did. 
 
 In spite of his cherub-like appearance, Baltimore's 
 temper was anything but angelic. He occasionally 
 flew into furies with saddles and girths, and used 
 naughty, naughty words. And then, if Sydney 
 attempted to interfere, he turned on him, and was 
 
 frightfully disrespectful. A few big D s, however, 
 
 on both sides, usually tided over the difficulty, and 
 united what threatened to be a breach. A good 
 ringing cement is dammar, as every chemist knows. 
 
 At that moment a horse in his stable clothes passed 
 slowly, led by a groom. He was one of the future 
 antagonists of Clauricaune. 
 
 " Good looking and fit," said Sydney, eying him 
 carefully. " Moves well."
 
 34 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Yes," assented Baltimore, with a sarcastic smile. 
 " I'm told the commission agent was given thirty to six 
 for a limit." 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Sydney, laughing. " The stable 
 followers can't be called cormorants this time." 
 
 Laboulaye had an intense admiration for English sport 
 of all sorts, but especially English racing. Sydney was 
 his hmu ideal of an English sportsman ; and, truly, he 
 could not have made his d^hut on a racecourse under 
 more favourable auspices. No one was better "up " to 
 the heterogeneous elements of which the turf is 
 composed. Few knew the ins and outs of its 
 complicated machinery with such a practical knowledge. 
 
 Laboulaye never doubted for an instant that 
 Clauricaune would win. He had a, great deal of 
 the simple trust and confidingness which so many 
 Boyalists have found to be devoid of speculative 
 insight. " When Clauricaune win," he said, eagerly, 
 " I telegram to my brothere, who is at my chateau at 
 St. Cloud. He get it immejitely, and have ze news 
 before anyone else in Paris. That make heme ver' 
 proud." 
 
 Sydney smiled. " I fear you may be disappointed, 
 Paris may know it sooner than you think. It is said 
 that when Iroquois won the Derby, it was known in 
 New York twenty-five seconds after the horse passed 
 the winning post. 
 
 " Ese possible ! " exclaimed Laboulaye, " Well, could 
 not be quikere than that. You English do do things 
 quike. 
 
 " We telegram our victories quick, but are not quite 
 so quick to pay." 
 
 " Once I see Clauricaune fly past ze post, I telegram 
 ze victory, then collect all my bets at once." 
 
 Sydney and Baltimore looked at each other. 
 
 '' First-past-the-post style of thing ! " said Baltimore, 
 with a knowing smile. Sydney smiled back upon him, 
 then said kindly to Laboulaye : " You are not allowed
 
 The Silver Whistle. 35 
 
 to bet on first past the post ; that is to say, a backer in 
 the ring can't get his money the moment his horse 
 is first past the post, and the number is hoisted ; the 
 Jockey Club won't allow it." 
 
 " Not allow you to get your monie when your horse 
 he win? " exclaimed Laboulaye, in amazement. 
 
 Baltimore turned away, and dragged up his red 
 worsted comforter over his mouth to hide the impolite 
 merriment which the expression of the Frenchman's 
 face caused him. 
 
 " I told you England was not altogether such a 
 delightful place as you thought," said Sydney, biting 
 his lips, because no gravity of politeness could long 
 have withstood the dismay on the vicomte's fair, boyish 
 face. 
 
 " You will have to wait till Clauricaune weighs in 
 ^ all right,' before you see the shine of a sixpence, me 
 lord," said Baltimore. 
 
 " Too true," said Sydney, shaking his head, and 
 looking quizzically out of his kind blue eyes at Jiis 
 young friend ; " and, if an objection is raised, you 
 will have to wait until the breeze blows over, and 
 they fight it out to the bitter end ; perhaps for 
 months." 
 
 " Mais ! Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed Laboulaye, looking 
 aghast. 
 
 ^'I tell you, Laboulaye, the slowest thing Englishmen 
 do is parting with their money." 
 
 " And dem slow it is, too ! " muttered Baltimore, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 At that instant two very smart young mashers, who 
 were sauntering about, arm in arm, with cigarettes in 
 their mouths, came and shook hands with Sydney. 
 They shook hands with a cordiality foreign to their 
 temporary nature — for their nature is temporary ; they 
 chan^ it after forty. With that natural selection 
 which exists even amongst mashers, each masher chose 
 Sydney as his first favourite, and, though hating to 
 
 d2
 
 36 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 show cordiality, each one was betrayed out of his 
 correct judgment by Sydney's manner. 
 
 At a certain fashionable ckib, it sometimes happened 
 that a row of a dozen mashers stood in the windows. 
 There were four windows, and three stood in each 
 window, each one sucking a tooth-pick. Occasionally, 
 one went out of the room for a moment to drink 
 barley-w^ater ; then he came back and stood just where 
 he had done before, having put the tooth-pick back into 
 its previous position. Not one spoke to the other. 
 The fundamental conception of a masher is a cold, still, 
 scornful thing, in the presence of males of his own age 
 and class. Mashers are a distinct race. They seem 
 to have been established ^^er saltum^ and to have 
 bred true from some primeval Qg^] for, under one 
 name or another, they are to be found in the most 
 remote ages of history ; indeed, implements have been 
 recently discovered which might place their origin 
 even higher up. It is not possible to point out any 
 obvious reason for the appearance of the variety. No 
 doubt there were determining causes for it, as for all 
 other phenomena, but they are not given in any 
 scientific work which is offered to the ordinary student 
 at either of the universities. 
 
 In the case of the twelve mashers in the four 
 windows, to which I have alluded, their particular 
 silence arose From a well defined reason. Each masher 
 thought himself so grand that it would be out of the 
 question he could speak to any other masher. 
 
 They stood with an austere but somewhat wrapt 
 expression on their countenances. To look at them, 
 they might have been listening to some strains of the 
 music of the future, not audible to other ears. Or 
 perhaps another view might be taken : each one might 
 have been carrying a private jubilee musical cigar case, 
 which, instead of playing the National Anthem, rolled 
 on incessantly with " See, the Conquering Hero Comes! " 
 adding, with a burst of trumpets, " He is here, he is
 
 The Silver Whistle. 37 
 
 here; I am the man, I am the man!" So there 
 they all twelve stood, and thanked the great unknown 
 cause of all other things except themselves that they 
 were not as these eleven mashers here. 
 
 This was interesting, so far as it went ; but an 
 indefinite prolongation of unlimited contempt is apt to 
 lead to a total eclipse of almost every other pleasureable 
 sensation. Now, the mashers were, in point of years, 
 young; therefore a personification of Mephistopheles in 
 his sterner moods palled after a time. 
 
 When Sydney appeared, with his fresh, open-air, 
 sportsman-like look, his gentle but genial manners, 
 and his apparent indifference as to whether he was 
 spoken to or not, it was found impossible to resist the 
 setting in of a slight thaw. 
 
 Sydney was so evidently not going to think he was 
 insulted if spoken to, and still less so if he was not 
 spoken to, that the more courageous spirits, after a hem 
 and a haw or two, took the plunge. And Sydney 
 answered and enjoyed himself. He usually did enjoy 
 himself; his sense of humour was one of the most 
 engrained of his characteristics. He managed to get 
 a good deal of fun out of his intercourse with human 
 nature; his fascinating sympathy of tone and manner 
 put the vainest men completely off their guard ; his 
 eyes, too, were so truthful, clear and sympathetic- 
 looking, that the most touchy and bumptious swaggerer 
 could not fail to trust them. It was odd that that 
 quiet twinkle in their remotest corner always seemed 
 to escape observation ; the fact was, every masher and 
 almost every man who knew him, except his few 
 enemies, was pleased and not a little proud when 
 Sydney^voluntarily addressed him. His reputation 
 as the keenest sportsman in England, to do the mashers 
 justice — and they have their good points — went not a 
 little way in breaking down the monotony of the 
 gigantic fetish worship which was perpetually going 
 on in each one's soul. It enabled him to see, if only
 
 38 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 for a moment, that a man might live for other things 
 than the perpetual worship of self's unexampled position 
 in the social world. Also, the contrast Sydney pre- 
 sented was in itself attractive. Each masher might 
 affirm for ever that the masher style of man was the 
 grandest ever known ; but, apart from negation, pure 
 affirmation has no meaning. 
 
 These two mashers were respectively the eldest son 
 of a well-known and deeply religious baronet, and the 
 youngest son of an equally well-known, but not so 
 religious. North of England horse-breeder. Sydney 
 greeted them with his usual politeness, but without 
 implying that he considered his position a preposterously 
 fortuna,te one in being honoured by their notice. 
 
 Laboulaye became much interested in watching 
 them, and in taking notes about the cut of his own 
 future shirt-collars, and of the way to put a huge 
 carnation into his buttonhole without its getting top- 
 heavy and tumbling out. While they were talking, 
 two or three noblemen who kept racers came up and 
 joined the group. They all liked to have a word with 
 Sydney ; he, poor fellow, never could have a quiet five 
 minutes anywhere. The human nature in everyone 
 he met came out towards him, and people who once 
 found themselves in his company liked to remain and 
 bask there. It was like going from a London fog to 
 sit under the orange groves at Monte Carlo ; to go 
 from the thoughts of the ordinary society mind to sit 
 under the shadow of his thoughts. That exhaustive 
 scrutiny of their own perfections which many men 
 delight in, could be carried on under his eye with- 
 out any danger of a drop of cold water falling on 
 it, or a fog obscuring it. After all, the really popular 
 man with men is the one who knows how to play second 
 fiddle to a large assortment of firsts. To listen to other 
 men's bump without bumping himself. Nowhere is 
 bump more predominant than in a paddock. If you 
 listen you will hear I, I, I ; my horse, 7ny jockey, my
 
 The Silver Whistle. 39 
 
 judgment of a horse, over and over again, like the few- 
 notes of air in a fugue of Bach's. 
 
 The burden of many paddock men's conversation 
 might be summed up in the one dramatic line : "See 
 how we pippins swim." A micrometer, of comparatively 
 small range, could usually decide the question ; but this 
 is not what they want. What their soul really desires to 
 find is a listener who will say, " My word, how you 
 do!" A listener of weight in the political, official or 
 social world, who will say it heartily, is what makes 
 life worth living. Now, women, as a rule, will say it 
 ten times as quickly and fifty times as heartily as men. 
 This is w^hy men vary the monotony of existence by 
 occasionally talking to women when men can be had ; 
 but, then, it is an unfortunate fact in conversational 
 economy that one man's, " My word, how you do ! " 
 is worth five hundred women's : no, five million ! Now, 
 Sydney was always ready to say gently, but in a very 
 charming voice, " My word, my word, my loord^ how 
 you do ! what a swell you are ! Why, you can afford* to 
 keep a wet coachman for rainy nights !" LikeMelchior 
 Anderegg, the great Meiringer guide, he could listen 
 with a calm, unmoved face, while Eton boys and Oxford 
 undergrads. described their marvellous feats of prowess 
 in mountaineering, and merely put in a note of admira- 
 tion now and then. 
 
 This is the sort of fellow who is your man's favourite. 
 The grand, heroic fashion, or in the Queen's English, 
 the bumptious, black-haired, blusterer is your woman's. 
 Had Hashtheboy been about a foot and a half taller 
 and adorned with coal-black hair and moustache, and 
 sooty eyes, with gleaming whites, he would have been 
 the idol of every lady in the country. Women always 
 take men at their own valuation. 
 
 While they were all talking, a quiet, shy-looking 
 young man, with a pale face and somewhat starved 
 expression, sauntered by, glancing nervously out of 
 the sides of his eyes to see whether Sydney meant to
 
 40 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 speak to him or not. His coat was old and worn, and 
 his shirt-collar was in a state in which the fundamental 
 texture of linen could be conveniently studied. 
 
 The moment Sydney saw him, he started forward 
 with an eager, genuine exclamation of pleasure. 
 
 " Massinger, old fellow ! Delighted to see you ! " 
 and he wrung his hand heartily. 
 
 The young man's face brightened. It was worth a 
 nugget of gold to see the change which came over his 
 whole manner and expression. He had been at the 
 Bar for some years ; but he was not a clever fellow ; 
 he had no interest, and had a straightforward way of 
 speaking his mind which is only to be endured from a 
 man who can give good dinners as a panacea. He had 
 one or two fast friends and many enemies. He had 
 never as yet held a brief. The small private fortune 
 which had enabled him so far to hold his bead above 
 water was derived from land in Ireland. He had not 
 got a penny for two years. He had been obliged 
 entirely to renounce society, and had retired to a garret 
 in the east end, where he lived on bread, salt butter 
 and bloaters. He could not have lived at all upon 
 anything, had it not been that Sydney persistently 
 sought him out, and every now and then pressed a 
 twenty pound note into his hand. The mashers in- 
 spected his threadbare coat with their eye-glasses. 
 
 " I'm so awfully glad to see you, old fellow ! " said 
 Sydney, linking his arm in his. '' I was wondering, 
 only this morning, what on earth had become of you. 
 I shan't lose sight of you, now that once I've caught 
 you. You must come home to dinner," and he looked 
 down with his sunny smile into Massinger's careworn 
 face. " Come along ; now we'll go and have a final 
 inspection of the hope of the house of Sydney " (he 
 meant Clauricaune). 
 
 Nodding to the other members of the group, he and 
 Massinger and Laboulaye walked away, pioneered by 
 Baltimore, towards the stables.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 41 
 
 The moment of the start drew near. A heavy 
 shower of cold ram, which had fallen about half-an- 
 hour before, made the ground in rather a staying con- 
 dition, which was bad for Clauricaune. When he was 
 brought out and stripped, Hashtheboy got redder than 
 usual. 
 
 Sydney, Laboulaye and Massinger did not go down 
 to see the start. They took up a good position 
 on a friend's drag, where, with field glasses, they 
 could obtain the best view, taken all round, of the 
 race 
 
 Hashtheboy was on an American speculator's drag 
 next to them. He was employed tearing a cigar to 
 pieces with his fingers, and throwing the bits on to the 
 heads of the rural spectators who were clustered round 
 the drag. One old gipsy, who happened to be looking 
 up, got a bit into her eye. In return she used some 
 language which was altogether unsectarian and even 
 secular. For once those curses which many had, out 
 of fear, kept to themselves in his presence, got a gooj 
 airing. 
 
 Baltimore, sitting Clauricaune like a glove to the 
 hand, cantered down the course with the other horses. 
 La Tosca did not look her best. Bill Mathers was 
 thoroughly out of temper, and stooped forwards pain- 
 fully, as if subject, from his earliest years, to imperfect 
 ossification of the vertebral column. Presently, how- 
 ever, in an evident fit of crossness, he teased La Tosca 
 into a canter, and soon put daylight between her and 
 Clauricaune. 
 
 At last they reached the starting post, and were all 
 drawn up in line. Sydney, who was watching intently 
 through his field glasses, was irritated at the absurd 
 number of false starts. But he was not half so much 
 irritated as Baltimore. 
 
 Just as Clauricaune was making a splendid bound 
 forward, he had to be torn ruthlessly back, destroying 
 his mouth, and taking all the spirit out of him.
 
 42 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 At last Lord Marcus told the jockeys that he would 
 stand no more of it. After this the tiag fell in good 
 earnest, and off they went. Up they came, breasting 
 the rise in a somewhat uneven fashion, Clauricaune not 
 doing so well as might have been expected, in conse- 
 quence of the numerous dragging-backs he had gone 
 through. There could be no doubt La Tosca was 
 leading. Just as Clauricaune was drawing up to him, 
 Vulcan, a black horse, belonging to a friend of 
 Hashtheboy's, rolled on to him and knocked him out 
 of his stride, and then gave him such a squeezing 
 against The Bloomer, another horse, that Baltimore 
 afterwards said : " 'E felt as if 'e was decidedly ' a 
 day's march nearer home,' for Clauricaune was carried 
 off his legs." 
 
 However, when the horses passed the grand stand 
 they were all pretty close together, La Tosca leading 
 by about two feet. Hashtheboy turned his yellow 
 eyes on Sydney, and there was a gleam of most tiying 
 triumph in them. At that very instant Baltimore, by 
 some invisible magic, made Clauricaune swerve slightly 
 so as to be clear of La Tosca, and bound forward at 
 such a rate that he passed the winning post full half a 
 length ahead. 
 
 Laboulaye and Massinger waved their hats, and 
 shouted with delight, the Celtic blood manifesting itself 
 with singular uniformity of action. 
 
 Hashtheboy scowled in many directions now. Extin- 
 guished blusterers lie about the tomb of every race, 
 like strangled snakes round the cradle of Hercules. 
 
 When Sydney stood smoothing Clauricaune down, 
 and looking up at Baltimore, as he talked to him, he 
 little thought what a race he would one day ride upon 
 the trusty horse ; a race, not against a mortal horse, but 
 against death on his black horse. 
 
 Afterwards, with his arm tightly linked in Massinger's, 
 and followed like his shadow by Laboulaye, he made his 
 way through a host of congratulating friends. It was
 
 The Silver Whistle. 43 
 
 odd that, at that moment the thought occurod to hhn, 
 " I wonder, if I ever put that horse upon his mettle, in a 
 matter upon which life and death depended, if he would 
 stand me in good stead ? " 
 
 He remembered, later on in life, that he had thought 
 this, and could only account for it as one of those strange 
 presentiments which visit us, apparently without reason, 
 from time to time ; the way a doctor sometimes looks in 
 when we are quite well.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 p^jiHREE months have passed since the events related 
 JJll in the last chapter. Bridget and her father have 
 returned to their home in Ireland, and Bridget, 
 true to her determination to introduce a little amusement 
 into the monotonous life of the Irish peasant, had 
 determined on getting up an Elizabethan pageant. 
 Several English guests were coming to stay in the 
 house, amongst others, to her immense delight and 
 gratification, Edgar Sydney. Her energies were now 
 strained to provide a spectacle worthy of such a critical 
 assemblage. She determined to enrol in her service, a 
 family of Hegartys, some respectable tenants of her 
 father's, who lived about a mile from Shell Castle, or 
 Hall, as it was indifferently called. 
 
 The position of the Hegartys was a difficulty in the 
 social life of the neighbourhood. Mr. Hegarty belonged 
 to one of the oldest families in Ireland. He was 
 descended in a direct line from kings, and was, at the 
 present moment, connected with several families of 
 the aristocracy. As far as Sir Bernard Burke's table of 
 precedent went, he ought to have walked into dinner at 
 the Castle before the greater part of the guests assembled 
 there at a state dinner party. But, then, a long series 
 of reverses and misfortunes had brought his great 
 grandfather, his grandfather, and his father so down 
 in the world that he now occupied the position of a 
 struggling, hard-working farmer, and mixed only with 
 his brother farmers. He had received no education 
 beyond the village school.
 
 The Sliver Whistle. 45 
 
 Bridget was always trying to drag them up to their 
 proper rung on the social ladder. The old people did 
 not like being dragged, the young ones took more 
 kindly to the process; but their whole past life and 
 surroundings made them feel strange when Bridget 
 tried to treat them as equals. Times had been bad 
 lately, and they were very poor. The two daughters 
 had only three pairs of stockings between them, and 
 these required constant mending. It therefore became 
 a matter of honour to wear them as little as possible. 
 
 it was a balmy afternoon at the Blue House, as 
 Hegarty's Farm was called, because it was one of the 
 very few red-brick farmhouses in Ireland. There were 
 plenty of blue houses, but they were mostly called red. 
 Moyrah Hegarty, the eldest daughter, was sitting out 
 on a wall near the house. She was reposing upon one 
 foot, while the other hung down lazily over the wall 
 in front of her. It was a pretty leg and foot, clean, 
 snow-white and well-shaped. The palm of her right 
 hand rested on the top of the wall ; with her left hand 
 she shaded her eyes from the sun, which was shining 
 brightly this morning, as she looked away into the 
 distance. 
 
 '' Shure, that's one av Dolen's sheep grazin' on our 
 land," said Timothy Hegarty, aged seven years, who, 
 in an old caubeen of his father's, placed considerably 
 on the back of his head, a tail coat with one tail off, a 
 large boot on one foot, and a small shoe on the other, 
 was leaning against the wall, with his elbows resting 
 on it. 
 
 " Well, can't ye lave the baste alone ? Sure it's ate 
 all the grass on Dolen's contemptible scrap av ground, 
 and now, 'twill have a dacent bit off ours." 
 
 Moyrah was very fond of animals, and could not 
 bear to see their legitimate pleasures interfered with. 
 
 Suddenly, a boy a year older, and rather more 
 fashionably attired than Tim, approached from behind, 
 and hit him a smart blow on his back.
 
 46 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " What arc ye doln' here, ye pup ? " he said. 
 
 " As much as ye're doin' there," replied Tim, 
 laconically, without turning round. 
 
 " Kape yer manners now, Dan, me boy ; I'll have 
 none of yer low fightin' here," said Moyrah. 
 
 " I'll suet mesilf," replied Dan shortly. 
 
 " Ye will not do that same while I'm here ; I'll 
 lerrun ye how to behave before ladies." 
 
 " Faix, 'tis Daniel in the lion's den I am," 
 
 " If it is, then, ye're the lion, an' 'tis yer den 
 we're in." 
 
 Dan had an old leather strap in his hand ; he put it 
 round Tim's waist, and began to strap him up as he 
 might a portmanteau. Tim howled. 
 
 " Now, look here, Dan, I'll have none of yer 
 riotin' here. Ye lave Tim alone this moment, or I'll 
 box yer ears on ye." 
 
 Dan desisted. 
 
 *' Ye two bates a fair for the noise in yez, any 
 day ! " soliloquised Moyrah, as she turned to look 
 dreamingly away in the distance again. 
 
 '' Where did ye get that shoe ye've on yer?" said 
 Dan, in a peremptory stage whisper, regarding sus- 
 piciously the small shoe on Tim's right foot. 
 
 " Faked it out av Moyrah's top left-hand drawer," 
 whispered Tim. 
 
 " Ye little divile av a thief," said Dan, angrily. 
 
 '' Conduct yersilf now, Master Dan ; I hear ye. I 
 won't have that langige used in my presince," said 
 Moyrah, sternly. 
 
 Dan now devoted his attention to scooping lumps 
 of mortar out of the wall with a pointed bit of stick, 
 so as to loosen the stones, possibly with the hope of 
 eventually bringing down the wall. 
 
 " Big-tare-an-ouns ! can't ye lave the wall alone," 
 said Tim, who got sundry pushes and pokes during the 
 process. 
 
 " Silence, ye pup ! "
 
 The Silver Whistle. 47 
 
 Moyrah's eyes were straining anxiously towards the 
 distant valley which lay beneath the Blue House. 
 
 It was August ; and already the woods, which had 
 remained insensible to the wooing of the brightest rays 
 of the sun in his June and July splendour, were 
 breaking forth into rainbows and jewels under his 
 parting smile. The vivid crimson of the lowest faded 
 leaves of the St. John's wort and the wild field-sorrel 
 strewed the fields. The trees were just moving through 
 the balmy air, and the little flowers which grew at 
 their feet were dancing slowly like minuet dancers in 
 the breeze. The rocks in the distance were dashed 
 with russet and yellow, and coming out in masses 
 amongst the moss and ferns so purple, and with such 
 a soft, trembling blue haze over them, that you could 
 scarcely tell at first what was rock and what was 
 heather. 
 
 The ripple of a distant river in the valley — a river 
 which had small waterfalls in it — came stealing softly 
 through the sweet-briar hedge round the garden. 
 
 Lower down the river Moyrah could see — over % 
 knoll, and at one side of a thicket of mountain ash 
 and alder — the green and brown turf roofs of two or 
 three hovels, built on the edge of a morass. Her eyes 
 were fixed on these. A half dreamy, half anxious look 
 was in them. Beautiful eyes, which reflected every 
 feeling of her heart the moment it was felt — eyes 
 once seen never to be forgotten. 
 
 Lower down the river was a little old mill, by a 
 waterfall. Tufts of grass and trailing weeds waved 
 from the cracked walls, and caught the sparkling drops 
 dashed upon them by the foam. It was to this mill 
 Moyrah's father had gone. 
 
 '• Troth, an' I wundhur is he safe wid that skit av 
 a red filly he's taken out ? She'd joult the life out av 
 anny Christian man, lepping up and down like a crazy 
 lobster." 
 
 Moyrah was thinking of her father, for whom she
 
 48 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 had an extraordinary devotion, and who had taken a 
 yoLin^ chestnut filly out to exercise. 
 
 "It's leppin' about on her I'd like to be," sighed 
 Dan. 
 
 '*■ Troth, an' so would I," echoed Tim, plaintiv^ely. 
 
 " Here ! I say ! Heh ! Tim ! Dan ! come in here, 
 I say, wid ye, ye lazy little beggars ! Ye must take 
 all that dirty straw out av the hay-loft, and make 
 haste wid it, now ! " It was Mrs. Hegarty who spoke. 
 Her voice was never long silent, and was shrill and 
 piercing. 
 
 Moyrah had not been left long alone on the wall 
 before she heard a rustling in the shrubs, and in 
 another minute she saw Bridget, in her straw hat, with 
 its bright ribbons, and her fashionably-made cotton 
 London dress, coming towards her over the grass 
 plot at the edge of the little strip of garden. 
 
 Moyrah slipped quickly off the wall and dropped a 
 pretty little curtsey. 
 
 When first Bridget saw Moyrah after an absence, 
 she always indulged herself by looking at her for a 
 minute or two before she spoke to her. Bridget was 
 a great admirer of female beauty in all ranks of life 
 but her own. She was a great admirer of male beauty 
 in all ranks of life — much greater than she was of 
 female beauty in any rank. Still, she considered 
 Moyrah did credit to her county. 
 
 Even without her shoes or stockings Moyrah was 
 rather above middle height. Her figure was light and 
 agile. She was perfectly proportioned, and her 
 movements had a grace, and a sort of wild dignity, 
 which struck a stranger directly, but which her own 
 family never noticed, and which those who were 
 tolerably well acquainted with her soon forgot, as they 
 became absorbed in the interest of watching her face. 
 She was like a typical portrait by a great artist ; 
 everyone who looked at her found what they wanted in 
 her. The thinker found thought ; the colourist, colour.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 49 
 
 and the idealist — were he the most critical that modern 
 aestheticism has developed — found his ideal. To bring 
 her before one who never saw her, all that can be said 
 is that her features were, all except her mouth, faultless. 
 If her mouth was a trifle too large, and distinctly weak, 
 there were a thousand strange movements about it, 
 expressions of tender feeling continually passing over 
 it, which more than compensated for such defects. 
 Her eyes were large, and of a deep violet, with black 
 eyelashes above and below. Her throat was like a 
 magnolia blossom, as soft and stately ; her hair of a 
 sunny golden brown, sometimes darkish and sometimes 
 fairish, hung far below her waist in a huge plait. 
 Sometimes this plait was tied with smart ribbons, and 
 sometimes it was not tied at all, but hung loose, with 
 glossy waves of hair escaping from it at various points. 
 Such was the case to-day. Moyrah was annoyed to 
 be caught en demi toilette. Except in the warm 
 weather, and then only quite en famile^ she wore shoes- 
 and stockings. 
 
 " This is your seventeenth birthday, Moyrah ! I 
 congratulate you ! See, I did not forget it. I have 
 brought you a present from London," and Bridget 
 shook out of a bit of silver paper a smart rose-coloured 
 silk neckerchief. 
 
 " Long life to yer honour ! " and Moyrah, dropped a. 
 curtsey. '' Arra, me darlin' Miss Bridget ! if I'm not 
 glad to see ye home again ! " 
 
 " Are you very glad to see me'? " and Bridget looked 
 as if she expected a flattering answer. 
 
 " Shure, an' it warms the cockles of me heart! " said 
 Moyrah, with enthusiasm. 
 
 Bridget drew her head up with a gratified air. She 
 liked affection, and it greatly pleased her to think how 
 popular she was with her father's tenantry. After 
 some little time had been spent in greetings and 
 admiration of the neckerchief, Bridget said, " Who's 
 in the house ? "
 
 50 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Marthur and the bhoys." 
 
 " Well, we'll sit here on the wall for a few minutes," 
 said Bridget, who had a strong &-relish for Mrs. 
 Hegarty's tongue. " Do you know, Moyrah," and she 
 climbed into a comfortable sitting position on the wall, 
 " I've been thinking over a great many things since 
 I've been in England, this time, and I've come to the 
 conclusion that the Irish peasantry haven't got enough 
 amusement." 
 
 "That's a grand idea, enthirely," said Moyrah, with 
 the heartiest possible concurrence. 
 
 " Well, I am determined to try and remedy it." 
 
 " May the hivins be yer bed ! " said Moyrah, 
 fervently. 
 
 " They're pretty sure to be that," said Bridget, 
 complacently. " I hope they'll be equal to the task. 
 Well, now listen, Moyrah. I'm going to get up a 
 grand Elizabethan pageant up at the house, I want 
 you to come up and help. I think I shall make you 
 Mary, Queen of Scots." 
 
 Moyrah looked extremely pleased. The idea of 
 steppmg into regal dignities with such rapidity, and 
 such an absence of exertion, captivated her. 
 
 " A quane, och ! dear heart ! to think av the loikes 
 av that," she said, with a slightly shy look in the 
 corner of her eye, and a little blush, as she began to 
 plait the end of her hair, but a deep undertone of 
 delight in her voice. 
 
 " Yes. You may, perhaps, never have heard of 
 her. She was beautiful ; and she perished on the 
 scaffold." 
 
 " May the Lord have mercy on her soul ! " said 
 Moyrah, devoutly crossing herself. 
 
 " Oh, it's long ago," said Bridget. 
 
 " An' what vagabone kilt her? " 
 
 " I! " exclaimed Bridget, " I, Queen Elizabeth. I 
 am going to act the part of Queen Elizabeth, and she 
 killed her."
 
 The Silver Whistle. 51 
 
 " This day's Teusdaj. God betwixt us and harm ! " 
 said Moyrah, again crossing herself. 
 
 " Well, Moyrah, you must bring Michael, too. I 
 must have him ; he is such a spruce, clean, smart- 
 looking lad. I'm going to make him Marquis of 
 Dorset." 
 
 " Faith, his head will be turned enthirely, now," said 
 Moyrah, with not quite such a pleased expression as 
 when she heard she was going to be queen. 
 
 " And Moyrah, Miss Moyrah," and a very saucy 
 look came into Bridget's face, as she took one of 
 Moyrah's hands and looked up into her liquid dark 
 eyes, " there's someone else who must come, aye. Miss 
 Moyrah?" 
 
 A blush rose to Moyrah's cheeks. Her skin was 
 so soft and fair that the slighest blush showed on it, 
 as the small pink spot shows so vividly on the white 
 horse chestnut blossom; not because the spot is so 
 pink, because it is not, but because the blossom is so 
 white. 
 
 '^ Aye, Moyrah, if the road is in good repair enough, 
 you must bring the jaunting car, and you and Cormac 
 must come on one side, and Michael and Eileen on the 
 other." 
 
 Moyrah did not speak. 
 
 " Moyrah," said Bridget, severely, looking intently 
 into her face, " you havein't been treating him badly ? " 
 
 " Faith, I thrated him well enough." 
 
 " Oh Moyrah ! Moyrah, you'll be driving him to 
 ruin. That road's always in repair. Those who travel 
 on it see to that," and she sighed a little. 
 
 " Shure, when he axed me, six months ago, I tould 
 him I was over young to be gettin' marrid awhile, yet ; 
 but if he liked to be lookin' me up agin, whin I was 
 seventeen, I'd enter into considurayshin av the 
 mattur." 
 
 '^ Then, if I know anything of him, he'll be here 
 some time to-day," said Bridget decidedlv. 
 
 e2
 
 52 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " He's off now, havin' great sport at the stations,'^ 
 said Moyrali, meditatively smoothing down the back of 
 her hair with the palm of her hand. 
 
 " He'll be back before the moon rises this evening." 
 
 " Faith, I'm not a grayit match at all," said Moyrahy 
 humbly ; " but, 'tis somethin' to have a jauntin' car in 
 the family," she added, in a low tone. 
 
 " He doesn't care for anything of that sort," said 
 Bridget, warmly ; " he's a real good fellow. My father 
 says he is prouder of him than of any young man on 
 the estate, I am going to give you the wedding break- 
 fast out of my own private pocket, and in return you 
 must let me come and dance at the wedding; eh, 
 Moyrah?" 
 
 " The prayers will be before yer honour ; long life 
 to ye all the same for that." 
 
 '' And may I live to see the day, Moyrah, when, in 
 a fine house of your own, the bouchaleens and the 
 colleens are all round you." 
 
 Moyrah blushed and looked down at her white feet, 
 with the blades of grass curling over them. 
 
 " And 1 hope it will be a fine day, Miss Moyrah," 
 continued Bridget mischievously, greatly enjoying 
 Moyrah's blushes ; " that same wedding-day, at any 
 rate, the bride's part of it." (Up till noon, in Ireland, 
 is called the bride's part of the wedding-day, and it is 
 considered unlucky for rain to fall during those hours.) 
 
 " The blessin' of hivin rest on yer honour for yer 
 goodness." 
 
 " O, blessings don't bother me much." 
 
 She was going on to have said something stronger 
 on the subject, but a soft light in Moyrah's. suddenly 
 raised eyes stopped her. There was a great deal of 
 mystery about Moyrah ; her character was all below 
 the surface; her affections were so deep, so clinging, 
 that even at her early age, and in her unsophisticated 
 life she had learned it was better to conceal where 
 she could not control them. Her love for her father
 
 The Silver Whistle 53 
 
 and for her little sister, Eileen, was so unusually- 
 powerful that it would have been a great bore to 
 them had she not vigourously smothered down the 
 outward demonstrations of it. She was absurdly sen- 
 sitive to a slight or a severe word from one she loved, 
 or even a look which she was pleased to consider harsh. 
 She would brood over such signs for days and weeks. 
 She had none of Bridget's boisterous, high spirits and 
 self-assured complacency ; none of her pugnacity or 
 power of caustic speech. A sarcastic reply never came 
 into Moyrah's head, and had it done so, she would have 
 died rather than utter it. She knew so well the long 
 brooding torture which such speeches from others had 
 cost her, that no power could have induced her to inflict 
 the same on another. She had a vivid sympathy 
 with every form of pain, either of mind or body, 
 in others, and sometimes dwelt on their troubles to 
 a morbid degree ; for, when Eileen or her father had 
 some quiet little unimportant ailment or misfortune, 
 she took it so to heart that it affected her long after 
 they had forgotten all about it. 
 
 Now, with Bridget it was just the reverse ; she 
 forgot her own sufferings and other people's with equal 
 rapidity. She had a springing elastic " inner man," 
 which, coupled with a bold independence of nature, 
 would enable her to pass through life without feeling, 
 with much acuteness, the blows which must fall to the 
 share of all before the pilgrimage is ended. Bridget 
 Avas thoroughly of the opinion that learners owe to their 
 masters only a temporary belief and a suspension of 
 their own judgment until they are instructed, and not 
 an absolute resignation and captivity. 
 
 Now, Moyrah would have liked to resign her judg- 
 ment, her reason, all her faculties into perpetual slavery 
 to one she loved. Her power of loving was something 
 quite out of the ordinary ; but that which is quite out 
 of the ordinary from some specific difference distinguish- 
 ing it from other species of the same thing, is carelessly
 
 54 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 observed if it be but familiar. No one noticed Moyrah's 
 love. 
 
 After sitting on for some time longer, Bridget said she 
 must be going. She first went into the house to pay her 
 respects to Mrs. Hegarty. Mrs. Hegarty was a fine 
 specimen of an Irish woman, five feet eleven, thirty- 
 nine inches round the waist, with cheeks which spoke 
 either of the extreme healthiness of the water in that 
 neighbourhood, or else of its great unhealthiness, so as 
 to oblige resort to less innocent liquids. She was 
 delighted to see Bridget. 
 
 Eileen, aged thirteen, was rather untidy at that 
 moment, as she had been helping her mother to clean 
 up. She was a gentle looking girl, and would have 
 been considered pretty in any other family ; but, having 
 so lovely a sister as Moyrah, she was thrown into the 
 shade. After a few kindly words of greeting on each 
 side, Bridget went home.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 |^i^|HERE was a little sort of familiar gathering that 
 JiJ[[ ' night, in honour of Moyrah's birthday, at the 
 
 Blue House. In the middle of one of the jigs, 
 
 when the floor was bounding up and down, and the 
 dust flying right and left, in walked Cormac. 
 
 " So here ye are at last, Cormac," said old Mr. 
 Hegarty, advancing to meet him, " The top of the 
 mornin' to ye, me boy." 
 
 " He'll be a diver boy to catch that at ate o'clock at 
 night," said Michael Hegarty, shaking his hand. 
 
 Moyrah was dancing, with a hand on each hip, and 
 her head thrown back, when he came in, and she did 
 not stop until she had finished the figure. He stood, 
 with an expression of intense admiration, watching her. 
 It would be absurd to pretend she did not see him. 
 Moyrah was an Irishwoman through and through. She 
 had that fineness of structure of the body which made it 
 capable of tlie most delicate sensations, and of structure 
 of the mind which made it capable of the most delicate 
 sympathies. She knew Cormac's character well, and 
 she knew he would be feeling shy and awkward; so, 
 when the dance stopped, she went straight up to him 
 and gave him a half shy, but wholly sweet and cordial 
 greeting. The look of gratitude and delight in his 
 face recompensed her. Yes ; she knew his worth. 
 She knew he was as innocent and good as St. Louis of 
 Gonzague. The priest said he was the best boy in his 
 parish. He had served mass in Latin from the age of 
 seven upwards. He was never absent from the " sta- 
 tions"; and no one had ever seen him with "the drop 
 taken " in his life.
 
 56 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Come, jintlemin," said Michael Hegarty, who always 
 liked to lead everything, and to keep the ball rolling, 
 " the next sport is in the milintary line ; white cockades, 
 jintlemin and ladies." 
 
 The game of white cockades, as played in Ireland, is 
 this : — The leader of the sports puts everyone in their 
 seats. He then gets a white handkerchief from one of 
 the girls, which he wreaths in a festoon round his hat ; 
 after this he walks round the company two or three 
 times singing 
 
 " Will you list and come with me, fair maid ? 
 An' folly the lad with the white cockade." 
 
 While he is singing this he takes oiF his hat and puts 
 it on to the head of the girl who is to him the girl of 
 girls. She rises and puts her arm round him. Then 
 they both go about in the same way singing those 
 charming white cockade words. She then puts the hat 
 on to some young man, who gets up and goes round with 
 them, singing as before. He next puts it on his girl of 
 girls, who, after singing and going round in the same 
 manner, puts it on another, and he on his sweetheart, 
 and so on. When every young man has pitched on the 
 girl he likes to be his sweetheart, they all sit down and 
 sing songs, for once which do not treat of politics, except 
 of that family political economy which is the same in 
 all nations. 
 
 Now, this game suited Cormac well. He borrowed a 
 white handkerchief from Moyrah, and tied it round his 
 caubeen ; then he began to sing in a marked way, and 
 with his eyes fixed on Moyrah, 
 
 " Will you list and come with me, fair maid ? 
 An' f 'lly the lad with the white cockade." 
 
 Suddenly, as he passed Moyrah, he turned, and with 
 a quick movement, and a deepening colour in his honest 
 face, he snapped his caubeen off his own head, and 
 popped it on to hers. Then, as she rose and slipped her 
 arm round him, he looked down at her with a rather 
 bashful, but very winning smile.
 
 The Silver Whistle, bl 
 
 After the White Cockade, while the elders, and a 
 good many of the youngers, were refreshing themselves 
 with whiskey punch, cold ham, porter and potatoes, 
 a few of the youngers sauntered out into the open air. 
 Amongst these were Corniac and Moyrah, arm in arm. 
 They went and sat in the moonlight, on the wall where 
 Bridget and Moyrah had sat in the morning. 
 
 " This is a happy kailee. Ah ! Moyrah dheelish ! 
 Shure, an' from the veins of me heart I'm glad to see 
 JQ again. Ye said, Moyrah, whin ye was seventeen 
 1 should come again ; an' shure it's struck this mornin'. 
 Faith, an' ye've put yer comedher on me, and T feel 
 I can't live widout ye at all, at all." He looked at her. 
 " Why, then, Moyrah, manim asthee hu (my soul is 
 within you). Tell me, darlin', what do ye feel for me ?" 
 
 " How can I tell ye, Cormac, but that I think I like 
 ye very much?" she said gently, and somewhat placidly, 
 aye, somewhat placidly. 
 
 He seemed satisfied. As his arm stole round her, 
 and she felt his first kiss on her cheek, and leaned her 
 head on his shoulder, she was peaceful and happy. 
 But if the whole exact truth must be told, she did not 
 feel quite so happy as she had expected to be when she 
 was engaged. She felt secure. But, at the age of 
 seventeen, security does not represent the sum total 
 of human bliss. 
 
 As for Cormac, he felt as if Paradise had already 
 begun. He was certain that the brightest smiles the 
 human face had ever worn were but a mockery of 
 interpretation of the joy which now possessed him. 
 
 1'he moon shone down on the trees, giving them a 
 shadowy and ghost-like appearance, and then went on 
 to touch with silver the distant river. Every now and 
 then the low murmur of the stream broke the stillness 
 of the balmy air. It was a calm night, the air close 
 and somewhat sultry, as if before a storm, and not a 
 breath stirring. 
 
 As Cormac looked down upon Moyrah, he felt that
 
 58 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 kround her was thrown a halo of poetry, which, to the 
 vivid imagination of his race and the chivalry of his 
 nature, raised her to the dignity of a being who, if not 
 herself more than human, had something more than 
 human about her — a divine breath somewhere. 
 
 Chivalry did not raise woman from her lowly posi- 
 tion. Christianity raised her, and chivalry paid her that 
 honour and reverence with which it found her invested. 
 
 Now, Moyrah, in spite of her faults, was a true 
 Christian, and Cormac was as chivalrous as any knight 
 in the middle ages. To be sure, he was not like what 
 we are accustomed to fancy knights were. He was. 
 not above the middle height, with a round, plump, 
 homely figure, a fat rosy face, reddish hair and whiskers, 
 and a freckled skin ; but the kindness of his expression^ 
 and the genial look in his honest blue eyes, more than 
 compensated for the absence of romance in his general 
 appearance. He was twenty-five years old, and Captain 
 Shell had promised to let him have a nice little farm 
 at a very low rent, the day he married. He had saved 
 some money, too, and did not come to Moyrah by any 
 means empty handed. 
 
 " Do ye know, Cormac, ye're to come up to the 
 big house wid me to-morrer? Miss Bridget herself 
 came down to-day to ax me and ye ; so ye'll have to 
 be puttin' yer company manners on. How will ye like 
 that, me boy ?" and she looked up roguishly into his face. 
 
 " Shure, anny where I wint wid ye, was it to the 
 bog of Allan, would be loike the gates of heavin ! 
 Moyrah. avourneen, give, or let me steal, another 
 slewsther — a sweet one, now, alanna dhas ! " 
 
 Moyrah smiled as he kissed her, placidly and 
 happily. She felt a great sense of security, consolation, 
 and of fortifying support. Henceforth there was some- 
 one she could always look up to as better than herself, 
 someone whom she could lean on in every trouble, 
 and feel he was leading her feet each da}' more securely 
 into the narrow path.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WEEK before the ^rand performance was to 
 take place, a few English jj^uests arrived to 
 stay at the Hall, and one or two families from 
 neighbouring houses. Amongst others, Edgar Sydney 
 arrived, and his cousin, Mr. Lucas, a barrister, who had 
 never been in Ireland before, and wished to study the 
 question of the hour on the spot. 
 
 Sydney had been on the verc:e of starting for a tour 
 on the Continent with his mother, and had engaged a 
 courier to accompany them, so that his mother might 
 be saved all trouble travelling ; but, at the last moment 
 she had been taken ill, and they were obliged to postr 
 pone the trip indefinitely. Having engaged the courier 
 for a month, and being obliged to pay him, he thought 
 he might as well take him to Ireland to valet him, and 
 to look after his luggage travelling. He proposed 
 going for a little tour to Killarney and GlengarifFe 
 afterwards; and the man, whose name was Alphonse 
 Lenoir, said he knew L'eland, and could direct him to 
 the best routes and the best hotels. Indeed, after he 
 conversed with him several times about Ireland, Sydney 
 discovered that his knowledge of the country and the 
 people was quite unique — sometimes he was inclined to 
 call it uncanny. How could he, a Frenchman, come to 
 know all this ? True, Lenoir spoke English just like 
 an Englishman, and gave one the idea of a man who 
 had either Hved in England or amongst Englishmen 
 the greater part of his life. There was something in his 
 manner, too, which gave Sydney the impression that he 
 had not always been in the position of life which he at
 
 60 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 present occupied. He was a tall man, with large, black 
 moustaches, much curled at the points — indeed, so much 
 curled that they almost seemed as if they dragged up 
 the ends of his mouth with them. Really of dark 
 brown, his eyes had such a strong, yellowy tinge, that 
 some people declared they were yellow. They were 
 long and narrow, and his brows were so clearly pen- 
 cilled as to lead to the supposition that he had pencilled 
 them with brown paint and a camel's hair brush. He 
 had as much hair as a hairdresser's model, brushed in 
 peculiar sort of curly queues all round his head, and 
 covered with a strongly scented hair wash. 
 
 Bridget was delighted to welcome Sydney. She had 
 given him the very best room in the house, and that in 
 spite of having two married ladies amongst her guests, 
 both with small but decided titles. Some titles are not 
 decided now-a-days. She had taken into this room all 
 her most interesting and best bound books, and ranged 
 them in bookcases on the wall, and had even gone to 
 the trouble of taking down one or two beautiful pictures 
 out of other rooms and hanging them in good lights in 
 this one. She had picked a bouquet of the choicest 
 flowers, and put it in a small Sevres china bowl on his 
 dressing table. She felt that she had never seen any 
 man in the world who gave her the impression of so 
 thoroughly deserving the best of everything as Sydney.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 /f^^NE bright, sunny morning with an occasional 
 \^LI) cloud or two, Sydney, Captain Shiel, Lucas, 
 ^"—^ Bridget, and Mr. and Mrs. Massinger set off to 
 make a three days' pic-nicing tour at the lakes of 
 Killarney. The journey there was only about an hour 
 by express train, They took their tents and cooking 
 materials with them, and determined to give houses in 
 general, and hotels in particular, a wide berth. 
 
 Though thinking much of her theatricals, Bridget 
 had felt she must show Sydney Killarney. She was in 
 great force. She did the cooking, assisted by Lucas. 
 She talked Irish to the carmen and boatmen and women 
 who came out to sell milk and mountain dew from the 
 shebeens. She chaffed everyone all round. * 
 
 Sydney thought her more noisy, queer and disagree- 
 able than ever, and devoted his attentions to Mrs. 
 Massinger. She united the happiest characteristics of 
 the Irish nature. She was genial, courteous, full of 
 fun, and without those sharp points and irritating 
 bristles which marred Bridget's wit. 
 
 An Englishman of the most touchy susceptibilities 
 could argue out the Irish question with her without 
 coming to any of those unhappy collisions which 
 engender so much heat and so little light. Proud of 
 her country, and devoted to its poorer inhabitants, she 
 could yet acknowledge, without flying into a tantrum, 
 that they were a people easy to deceive. That they 
 seemed doomed to occupy amongst the nations the 
 position of Tantalus — thirsting to find political truth, 
 and baffled at every point by their teachers. She was 
 the wife of a landlord whose place joined the captain's.
 
 62 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Sydney found, to his great pleasure, that her brother- 
 in-law was his friend, the poorish looking man he had 
 met at Ascot. Their house used to be one of the 
 pleasantest and most hospitable in the county. But 
 latterly things had altered. 
 
 With that charming polish of manner Mr. Mathew 
 Arnold has so admirably described, their tenants told 
 them they were very sorry for them, and even offered 
 to lend them money ; but rent they could not pay. They 
 had suddenly become, like the Merino, a Spanish variety 
 of sheep, remarkable for the fineness of its fleece. 
 Because they were so polite and nice over it all, that it 
 was impossible not to like them, and to recognise, even 
 in their fleecing, the fineness of inborn gentlemen. Had 
 they only not been so fusible to the agitator's heat, and 
 in their fusion retained their opacity to his tricks, life 
 might have been so comfortable amongst them. 
 
 Well, for some time the Massingers had got no rents, 
 and had been obliged to give up entertaining. They 
 had a family of young children, and no rich relations to 
 help them, as they had always been looked on as the 
 rich ones of the family. 
 
 But not entertaining did not prevent their being 
 entertained ; and there was no one in the neighbourhood 
 Bridget delighted so much to honour as Mrs. Massinger. 
 She was a woman it was impossible not to admire. She 
 had never been absorbed in her entertainments, but had 
 devoted a good share of her time to visiting the poor, 
 teaching them different kinds of needlework, and 
 establishing reading classes amongst them. Besides, 
 she regularly kept open house for them, and they 
 walked in and out of her kitchen like their own parlour, 
 and even cut slices of the ham and bacon to take home 
 to the village. Massinger was the captain's greatest 
 friend. They sat side by side on local boards ; used, 
 before hunting was stopped, to ride to the hounds 
 together ; and every first of September saw them 
 stumping away on the same leafy path, gun in hand.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 63 
 
 In spite of Bridget's occasional failures in temper, 
 and general quirkiness, they managed to have great 
 fun. They trotted up and down hill on wild mountain 
 ponies. They sang melodies as they laid back in the 
 boats, rowing slowly over the calm water on 
 moonlight evenings. They waked the echo by the 
 eagle's nest with a variety of political and social 
 remarks, which would have frightened the cow out 
 of her traditional three acres, if she had them. They 
 bought three little, tiny, black Kerry cows from a little 
 weather-beaten old man, the father of a charming and 
 lovely dairymaid, who scorned shoes and stockings, and 
 wore a plaid shawl over her head. As they were all 
 standing in a large, distinctly sunburnt party before 
 this girl one day, having just bought a good supply 
 of butter for their al fresco breakfast, Sydney asked 
 her if she had any new laid eggs for sale. 
 
 "No, yer honour," she said; " the cows in Kerry don't 
 lay manny eggs, an' ours haven't laid anny to-day." 
 
 Lucas was pleased ; and Sydney laughed as h§ 
 seldom did since the cares of life were gathering over 
 him. But Bridget told her she was saucy, and would 
 give the English strangers a nice impression of Irish 
 manners. 
 
 Although they had decided to cut civilized society, 
 still, as a brother of Mr. Massinger's was living at a 
 small though comfortable country house in the neigh- 
 bourhood, they could not ignore his existence. 
 
 Mr. Septimus Massinger was a land agent. They 
 declined his hospitable entreaties that they would come 
 and stay with him, and even refused his invitation to 
 dinner : but Sydney could not resist when he asked 
 them if they would care to see a unique specimen of 
 the inner life of the country, as exhibited on the local 
 board of guardians. 
 
 Accordingly, one morning saw Sydney, Captain 
 Shiel and the two Masisingers entering a barely- 
 furnished apartment with a number of excitable looking
 
 64 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 men sitting round a rickety table, covered with red 
 baize. 
 
 Their entrance did not create much impression, 
 because a most absorbing topic was in process of 
 discussion at the moment. They noiselessly slid into 
 four chairs which were ranged against the wall, with 
 their backs to the window. A tall, fine-looking man, 
 with hazel eyes and a foxy beard, was standing up 
 speaking, with his right arm and hand extended. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, as ye may, perhaps, be aware, I have 
 just returned from a thrip to Italy. I'm not one to be 
 advocatin' lavin' yer own counthry at ivry minnit, the 
 way the landlords do be doin' " (" hear, hear ") from 
 the other members of the board ; " but I had the cough 
 upon me, an' the docthor says, says he, thry now, may 
 le Italy would be the mendin' av ye ; an me wife 
 she says the same thing " (here there was suppressed 
 laughter), " and so I tuk me eldest daughther, and off we 
 wint to Italy." 
 
 " Spindin' Oirish money among a parcel av rogin' 
 forinners, " muttered one of the other members crossly. 
 
 " Well, whin I was there I wint to Venice, a town 
 that's built enthirely on the sea." 
 
 " There's a good one for yer ! " said the chairman, 
 sotto voce ; " tell another now." 
 
 " 'Tis, indade, I give ye me oath upon it, there's not 
 a strate in it, 'tis all wather." 
 
 "Well, go an, now!" exclaimed the chairman, 
 impatiently, "time's pressin'," and he looked at his 
 watch. "We don't want to be wastin' our time listenin' 
 to a copious flood of what ye saw whin ye had the drop 
 taken. M\ that's within easy reach of intellectual 
 mediocrity." 
 
 " Whew, there's for yer ! " exclaimed one of the 
 other members. '' 'Tis the new dictionary he's been 
 sleepin' wid his head on." 
 
 " ^ell, jintlemin, I was tellin' yer I wint to Venice, 
 and there I saw gon-do-las " — he paused and waved his
 
 The Silver Whistle, 65 
 
 hand — " an' ses I to> raesllf as I looked at 'em, them's 
 the very things for the beautayful wathers of me native^ 
 lakes at home, the very things." Agahi he paused, and 
 brought his fist down on the table, then rubbed his 
 lips with his thumb and first finger. 
 
 " Could I see these lovely wathers enlivened by them 
 how happy would I be. VVhat an inprovemint ! There 
 would then be left no peg on which to hang hostile 
 criticism of their attractions, such as I was readin' 
 awhile ago in a dirty London paper, which said that 
 afthur all, there wasn't much to be seen when ye got 
 there, meanin' here, nothin' like the English lakes, and 
 so on." 
 
 "Yar've spoken more toime now than yer worth," 
 said the chairman, who was suffering from indigestion, 
 " we'll refer the matter to the treasurer." 
 
 " I won't sit down at yer tellin'." 
 
 " Ye'U have to, then, or I'll git the polaise to ye." 
 
 " Kimimber, jintlemin, there's strangers present," said 
 another member in a would-be stage whisper. ^ 
 
 "There's no wan stranger present than the chairman,'^ 
 muttered the traveller. 
 
 " Sit dowm," shouted the chairman. 
 
 Down sat Mr. Fagan, Venetian traveller, and up 
 stood the treasurer. He was the very beau ideal of all 
 a treasurer should be, simple, innocent, trustworthy, 
 unsuspicious. "I entirely agrees wid what Mr. Fagan's 
 bin sayin'. 'Twould be fine, an' no mistake, to have thim 
 gon-do-las. 'Tis no doubt after that, that manny 
 pairsons would come and winter here instead av goin' 
 to Italy. 'Tis all a matter of sightseeing that takes 'em 
 there. Import the sights over here, an' they won't go 
 there, ses I." 
 
 " Thrue for ye," exclaimed the Venetian traveller, 
 looking much pleased. 
 
 " But there is wan consideration of great importance, 
 which my peculiar position as treasurer forces me to 
 pondhur over, and that is, pounds, shillins and pince." 
 
 F
 
 66 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 He paused, and looked at a well thumbed paper he 
 held in his hand. 
 
 " But I have a suggestion to make, which I think will 
 answer all purposis ; an' it is this jintlemin : that we 
 import one fine male gond-o-la, and one fine 
 female gond-o-la, and with the singular advantages for 
 breedin' possessed by our mild and charming climate, 
 no doubt the waters of Killarney would soon be covered 
 with innumerable little gond-o-las." 
 
 Captain Shiel folded his arms and leaned them on 
 the back of a chair in front of him. Massinger stuff'ed 
 a red silk handkerchief almost entirely down his throat, 
 then polished the top of his black silk hat vigourously 
 with his coat sleeve, and looked at it as if it was the only 
 object of interest on earth to him. Sydney was so 
 perfectly certain that the treasurer had spoken in satire, 
 that he laughed out loud innocently, in the guilelessness 
 of the ingenuous Saxon nature. But he soon found his 
 mistake. Black looks were fixed upon him by the 
 treasurer and his friends. The Venetian traveller, how- 
 ever, kept him in company, and laughed loud and long 
 while he stood up to explain matters. But Captain 
 Shiel could not return to a decent state of gravity. So, 
 at a sign from him, they soon all slid away as noiselessly 
 as a row of gondolas.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 fT was the day before the grand Elizabethan pageant 
 at Shiel Castle. It was to take place in the 
 — dining room, Captain Shiel having kindly con- 
 sented to allow the library to be turned into a temporary 
 dining room. This was distinctly inconvenient, as 
 already several parties of guests had arrived, and more 
 were expected, and the library was not a large room. 
 Bridget had caused to be erected at the end of the room 
 a singular structure, which she called a stage, and 
 which had bright green chintz curtains to it, in honour 
 of its country, no doubt. The dining room was long 
 and very airy, capitally suited to be an amateur theatre. 
 Behind it was a commodious pantry, which opened 
 into it with a door just at the back of the stage. This 
 made a first-rate green room. At the present moment 
 it was full of paint pots, saucers of rouge, plates of 
 sticking plaster and white lead, wigs- moustaches and 
 beards, and various marvellous garments, which Bridget 
 had actually gone to the expense and trouble of getting 
 all the way over from a celebrated theatrical shop in the 
 Hay market. 
 
 There was to be a dress rehearsal this afternoon, and 
 already the actors were beginning to arrive. Bridget 
 was — well, busy is not the word for it. Like Figaro — 
 and also like a celebrated modern statesman, she seemed 
 to be here, there and everywhere all at the same time, 
 and to be talking all the time at the top of her voice. 
 
 Bridget wore an enormous top ruff with several small 
 ones under it ; a huge farthingale with a bushel of mock 
 pearls — mere glass beads of the commonest description, 
 
 f2
 
 68 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 but which showed up very well at a distance. Her hair 
 was curled, frizzled and crisped, laid out in borders from 
 one ear to the other, and for fear it should fall down, 
 it was under-propped with forks and wires. To her 
 flaxeny, chestnut locks, thus wreathed and crested, she 
 had hung bugles, ouches, rings, gold, silver, glasses, etc. 
 After the first scene with the meeting of the queens, 
 she retired for a minute or two and came back with a 
 high velvet hat and a close cap of gold and silver tissue. 
 She had a jewelled stomacher, and small wings at the 
 back of her jerkin. " Though," as she then remarked, 
 " the Virgin Queen never having yielded to Cupid, the 
 wings appeared somewhat de trop.^^ In the green room 
 there was such a fussing with looking glasses, pinning, 
 such a bustle with sticks, combs, castanets, puffs, ruifs, 
 pusels, fusles, fardingales, kirtles and busk points, that 
 any less comprehensive intellect than Bridget's would 
 have been driven wild. 
 
 Terence O'Flynn, the head boatman, as " Duke of 
 Buckingham," had a suit of white uncut velvet, with 
 an imitation of the richest embroidery that lace, silk 
 and gold could contribute, and set, both suit and cloak, 
 with huge, glittering glass imitation diamonds, besides 
 a giant feather from his hat, stuck all over with mock 
 diamonds, as were also his sword, girdle, hat-band and 
 spurs. How he wished they were real ! 
 
 The continual fault-finding would not have suited 
 some dispositions, but it sat lightly upon Bridget. 
 
 Patrick Flyn was dressed up as " Lord Burghley."" 
 When " undressed " he was the under gardener. He 
 had been told on no account to speak, but only to nod. 
 Surely, so great a call had never been put upon any- 
 actor as for an Irishman to personate Lord Burghley ! 
 
 As Bridget was flying past him, with her satin train 
 over her arm, she exclaimed, "What are you doing 
 nodding now? No one is speaking to you." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " You're not to shake your head either. What are
 
 The Silver Whistle. 69 
 
 you doing?" and she stood still and glared indignantly 
 at him. ^' What are you doing?" 
 
 At last, Celtic human nature could bear it no longer, 
 and he burst out in a piteous tone with — " Shure 
 there's a buckle in the middle av me back hurtin' me 
 in the most awfil manner." 
 
 "Tiresome, to be sure!" exclaimed Bridget, impa- 
 tiently. " I suppose you will have to go and be 
 undressed all over again, delaying the play so ! Irish 
 -skins and smart clothes never have agreed." 
 
 " Plase your honour," said Tim Dolen, a boatman, 
 who, even in his gorgeous attire as '• Sir Edward 
 Coke," smelt rather tarry and tarpauliny — " Plase yer 
 honour," and his voice sank to that startlingly decent 
 whisper with which the extreme refinement of the Irish 
 lower orders always induces them to approach such 
 subjects, "the ' Quane av Scottishe's' petticoats is all 
 comin' off." 
 
 "Dear, dear!" said Bridget, stamping her foot, 
 " what a dreadful bother!" She bent her brow for> an 
 instant. " She must get some kind of string, or ribbon, 
 or tape, or something to sling them over her shoulder 
 with, under her white satin body. Tell her, will you, 
 nothing else will be safe." 
 
 " I will, yer honour," and he was off like a dart, with 
 a business-like expression of countenance. 
 
 Meantime, Bridget hurried round a group of actors, 
 and came suddenly face to face with Michael Hegarty, 
 attired as Marquis of Dorset, in a suit of blue velvet, 
 while from his hat waved a plume of silver and azure 
 feathers. Now, Michael was at all tunes rather a 
 bumptious man. He had often been told of the fault 
 hy father, mother, brothers and sisters, and by the 
 parish priest. But he always declared he was not more 
 bumptious than other men, and his mother, at any rate, 
 took his word for it. 
 
 " Michael, do, for goodness sake, put your hat straight 
 upon your head."
 
 70 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Moyrah had considerately placed a long cheval glass 
 at one end of the pantry. Michael was standing 
 opposite this now, with his head in an affected position, 
 admiring himself. 
 
 '' Faith, I'm thinkin' it looks more iligint a wan side," 
 he said ruminatingly, sucking the knuckle of his thumb. 
 
 Bridget carried a stick with a gold head in her hand. 
 She banged this sharply on the floor. " Obey me this 
 moment, or I'll have your head off." 
 
 " The Lord save us ! " he exclaimed, crossing himself. 
 
 " Don't do that," she exclaimed irritably. " Queen 
 Elizabeth's courtiers never did that." 
 
 " I will yer honour," he said submissively, rubbing 
 his thumb dry on his blue velvet knickerbockers. 
 
 " You should say you won't, you old muddle head." 
 
 " I won't yer honour." 
 
 "You won't say you won't?" 
 
 " I will yer honour, I will." 
 
 At this instant Dolen came up and said, " Plase yer 
 honour, they can't find anny sort av thing that 'ill go 
 over the Quane av Scottishe's showlders, they're a long 
 way up enthirely, and all the strings is too short." 
 
 " Then the Countess of Salisbury must take off one of 
 those garters I gave her a while ago, and give it to her; 
 I gave her two beautiful bits of broad red ribbon, full a 
 yard long each, to garter with ; she must manage to give 
 her stocking a little pull up, from time to time, when no 
 one is looking : she has such fat legs that I don't expect 
 it will come down at all." 
 
 "I will yer honour," he said hurrying away. 
 
 " I dare say," muttered Bridget, consolingly to 
 herself, "that the real Lady Salisbury's often came down, 
 I don't think they wore garters in those days ; at least, 
 I don't remember hearing of them. They seem to have 
 come in with that French fellow, and his honey soir and 
 mallie ponsing thing." Though good at physics and 
 botany, she had not gone in for the history chair at 
 college.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 71 
 
 When Bridget was not looking pretty sharply- 
 after him, Michael Hegarty was a little inclined to 
 order the others about, and to introduce innovations in 
 costumes and conduct, which he considered improve- 
 ments. 
 
 " Shure that's not the way to use a fan" he exclaimed 
 to the Countess of Nottingham, while he snapped the 
 fan out of the poor bewildered lady's trembling lingers. 
 " Look now ! watch me now ! now watch me^ and I'll 
 show yer," and he began to fan himself, with his head 
 on one side and a ridiculous air of coquetry on his cleanly 
 shaven mouth and dancing blue eyes. Though nothing 
 to be compared to his sister for beauty, he was decidedly 
 a well looking man ; and he held his head up, and gave 
 you the impression that he was well worth looking at, 
 while too many of the others slouched along with a 
 down-trodden air, and their heads poked out. 
 . The poor Countess of Nottingham now stood staring 
 at him, with her eyes very wide open. " Ye are a 
 poor ignorant crathure," he remarked eyeing her "v^ith 
 patronising condescension, as he handed her back her 
 fan, " but if ye only watch me, that'll lerrun ye how to 
 behave." 
 
 " Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert. Your 
 fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current," said 
 Bridget, who had stolen up, unobserved, behind, and 
 stood watching the scene for a moment in silence. Queen 
 Margaret's words to the real Dorset in Richard 111. 
 had irresistibly flashed through her mind. 
 
 Hegarty looked a little ashamed, and slunk away. 
 
 " Come back, Mick," she said, imperiously. " You 
 must put your hat straight upon your head," and she 
 snapped it off his head and re-adjusted it more in 
 accordance with the rules of the perpendicular. 
 
 At that moment Jimmy Flanagan came up. He 
 was Sir Walter Raleigh, and was dressed in armour, 
 with helmet, to represent a knight. 
 
 "You ought to have something to ride on," said
 
 72 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Bridget. "You are are a knight, and books never 
 represent knights walking except on their tombs." She 
 knit her brow. " If I could only get that old donkey, 
 that white donkey, don't you know, of Mulcahy's, to 
 come in and behave herself walking across the stage." 
 
 Now, Jimmy had been told that a knight was not 
 nearly so grand a thing as an earl or a marquis ; and, 
 besides, being exceedingly hot and uncomfortable in the 
 armour, he felt he had been unfairly treated in being- 
 given, without any fault of his own, a lower position than 
 his comrades. 
 
 " Faith, it's not aisy to find assis in these parts, now- 
 a-days," he remarked, bitterly ; " they're all made into 
 erruls or markisses." 
 
 " Don't be cross now, ' Sir Walter,' " said Bridget^ 
 pacifyingly. " Remember, you first introduced the 
 potatoe into Ireland, and that is honour enough for 
 anyone." She turned away with a smile towards ' Lord 
 Bacon.' " Remember, ' Bacon,' you present me with a 
 white satin petticoat." "Bacon" blushed and looked 
 modest at the bold introduction of this questionable 
 garment into ordinary conversation. " It is in that 
 card-board box there in the corner — you kneel on one 
 knee, and hold it up to me on a cushion ! " 
 
 " Blazes ! but shure yer honour's nivir going to put 
 on your petticoat, an' all the quality sittin' there lookin' 
 at ye?" His most proper countenance wore an 
 expression of horror. 
 
 " II faut le dire qu'il n'est pas blase celui la," muttered 
 Bridget with a slight smile. Then, sucking the top of 
 her little finger, she continued, meditatively : " He did 
 not present it to her on his knees, it is true — no doubt 
 he sent it by parcels post — but that is just one of those 
 little alterations which I, in common with most historians, 
 like to make in history." She continued to suck her 
 finger. " It would not be history without them." 
 
 At that instant Moyrah, as Mary, Queen of Scots, 
 walking with Cormac as Darnley, passed, keeping
 
 The Silver Whistle. 73 
 
 somewhat in the back ground and apparently absorbed 
 in conversation. His arm was round her and his head 
 bent down towards her. Bridget could not help 
 thinking " what a pretty picture ! " She gave a little 
 sigh. "Ah, yes ! " she said, " the sleeves of ladies dresses 
 are worn of many different fashions now-a-days, but 
 the coat sleeve still continues the favourite. 
 
 Suddenly she looked round and w^as fairly exasperated 
 tit the spectacle which met her gaze. The Countess of 
 Salisbury was hobbling along, holding up her stocking 
 by one hand. In order to do this, she had to drag up 
 lier petticoats, and cruelly crush her handsome pink 
 satin train. Bridget's indignant eye fell on creases in 
 that garment which she knew were fatal. 
 
 "Put down your dress!" she shouted, banging 
 her gold-headed cane on the floor. " I'd like to know 
 what your skirt will be like after this !" 
 
 Tears came into poor Lady Salisbury's eyes. 
 
 " I declare I'm at my wits' end to know how to manage 
 you all!" sighed Bridget; "and if I'm at that, I'j^^e 
 gone a long way, and no mistake. But, though I am 
 at that bourne from which few travellers return, I can't 
 find anything there to help me out of my dilemma. I 
 have it! I know what I'll do. I'll box them. 
 Queen Bess always did when she was at her wits' end. 
 Capital !" She ran back into the green room out of 
 which she had just come. There every person was 
 trying to push every other person away from the front 
 of the cheval glass, in order that they might see them- 
 selves in it. Michael Hegarty was still flourishing and 
 bowing and scraping before it. 
 
 " Now, just listen. Just you listen, now," said 
 Bridget, banging her cane on the floor. " Do you know 
 what I shall do if you don't conduct yourselves ? What 
 •<3o you think, eh ?" 
 
 Staring eyes and open mouths were turned towards 
 her. 
 
 " Box you !" An expression of astonishment,
 
 74 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 followed by one of laughing submission, was the 
 response. 
 
 " Odds bodkins ! but I will," she continued, giving 
 her head a little decided wobble to the left side, so as 
 not to crush her ruff. 
 
 " ' Lord Leicester,' do, for goodness' sake, hold your 
 head up ! I implore of you, try to remember you are a 
 handsome English nobleman. There you are again, 
 strealing along with your head poked out as if you 
 were a persecuted school-boy hunting for sparrows in a 
 hedge with a pop-gun. Throw back your neck, man ; 
 dash down your feet before you so as to make the 
 boards rattle; fling your head between your shoulder 
 blades, and try to look as if you had just ordered fifty 
 of your enemies' heads to be stuck on Temple Bar !" 
 
 '' Lord Leicester " held up his head, but some of his 
 clothes gave an ominous crack as he did so. He looked 
 with a roguish twinkle at Hegarty, who looked back 
 at him with good humoured contempt. Michael had 
 studied his illustrious countryman, Sir Bernard Burke, 
 to some effect, and knew, to his own great consolation, 
 that a marquis was considerably above an earl. 
 
 " Here, ' Lord Cobb am ' !" said Bridget, seizing Bill, 
 the under boatman ; " hold up your head — remember, 
 you are a bitter enemy of ' Lord Essex's ; ' Mick 
 Dogherty, there," and she pointed to Dogherty, lookmg 
 sheepish and shy. 
 
 " Shure he's going to get married to me sisthur ! he's 
 wan av the only dacint boys in Boreen ! " 
 
 " That doesn't matter ; he's a deadlly enemy ! He's 
 got the wardenship of the Cinque Ports away from you ; 
 and you are very jealous of him, because you think I 
 like him better than you." 
 
 " Do 1 now ? " he said, with a puzzled expression. 
 
 " Here now, Peggy Maguire, you are Lady William 
 Hatton, a widow, young, handsome, and w^ith a good 
 fortune, and Bacon wants to marry you. Here, Lord 
 Bacon, you want to marry her."
 
 The Silver Whistle. 75 
 
 " Bedad, an' I wouldn't take her if she had six 
 cows an' tin acres of land to her back ! " he exclaimed 
 impetuously. "Don't I know what sort av a tongue 
 she's got ! Why ye can hear her half way down the 
 street on a Sunday morning, scoldin' her old sister 
 like blazes ; de ye think I'd take her into me house to 
 blow the roof off over me head ? " 
 
 " Well, she won't have you, so it doesn't matter," 
 said Bridget, pacifyingly, putting her hand over Peggy's 
 mouth to stop an outburst. But the instant she 
 removed it, out it came. 
 
 " Ye mean, contimptible gomeral ! Ye baste ye ! 
 De ye think I'd marry ye iv ye wint on ye four 
 knees to me ? Did'nt ye let yer poor ould uncle die av 
 starvation, an' you wid twinty pound nailed up in the 
 chimney in an ould stockin' ? A nice husbin' for a 
 daycint girril ! " 
 
 " Kemember, Peggy you are a gentlewoman ; that is 
 what respectable females were called in those days." 
 
 Bridget bit her lips to hide a smile as she turned to 
 look for Moyrah. 
 
 " Come, now, the acting is going to begin," and 
 Bridget raised a small silver whistle which she wore 
 attached to a little gold chain at her waist, to her lips 
 and gave a long piercing whistle with it. " You 
 know, actors, I whistle when a scene is going to begin ; 
 and when any one has got to speak I give a little, low, 
 tiny whistle and look them full in the face. Pray, 
 remember this !" 
 
 They all adjourned to the stage, and Bridget seated 
 herself on a splendid throne somewhat in the back- 
 ground while she ranged her courtiers in groups round 
 her. 
 
 Then, after a few moment's pause, from a door at the 
 opposite side of the stage was to enter Mary, Queen of 
 Scots, leaning upon Darnley. She was to advance 
 slowly, with her head bent slightly forward, and her 
 eyes on the ground. The programme was that she
 
 76 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 should advance in this position until she was just 
 opposite to Bridget; then she was to look up suddenly 
 and for the first time become aware of her presence, 
 whereupon she was to start violently, and retreat at 
 least a whole step backwards, while Darnley raised his 
 right arm between her and her hated rival. Meanwhile, 
 Elizabeth started to her feet, and remained glaring — 
 a part of the programme which, to tell the truth, was 
 not uncongenial to Bridget — at her hapless victim, 
 with right arm stretched out to its full length and first 
 finger pointed. This was a grand tableau. They were 
 to remain in their respective positions for three minutes, 
 while complete silence, so that you could hear a pin fall, 
 was expected to reign around amongst the audience. 
 A few yards behind her Eileen, as Mary Seaton, in 
 electric blue satin was to stand. 
 
 Seated with much dignity on her throne, Bridget now 
 awaited the entrance of her too lovely relative. 
 
 There was a pause. The Tudor Queen became 
 impatient, and was on the point of sending the Earl of 
 Leicester to enquire the reason of the delay, when the 
 door opened and in came Mary and Darnley. 
 
 They advanced with slow and not altogether unstately 
 steps. Moyrah, in a rich and handsome ]Marie Stuart 
 cap and dress, looked beautiful beyond description. 
 Even Bridget, accustomed as she was to her face, was 
 startled into momentary self-forgetfulness by the vision. 
 
 " Don't walk too fast ! Take care ! Take care !" she 
 called in a stage whisper. 
 
 On came the devoted couple, keeping exact time 
 -with each other's steps. 
 
 Suddenly just as they were in the very centre of the 
 stage, and almost touching the footlights, by some 
 extraordinary movement of the body on which it was 
 pinned, Moyrah's regal handsome skirt came off; at 
 first, with a slight struggle, and then with a sudden 
 flop. 
 
 Poor Moyrah ! It was more than her excited and over-
 
 The Silver Whistle. 77 
 
 taxed Celtic nervous system could stand. Gathering 
 her face up into a pucker, she began to cry, just as she 
 had been in the habit of doing, from the age of five 
 minutes and u])wards, when anything went very much 
 against her. 
 
 Bridget started forward in a whirlwind of irritation 
 and excitement, stumbled over the crimson velvet and 
 gold-legged stool in front of her, caught her foot in her 
 long, rich satin robe, and fell headlong on the somewhat 
 rickety stage. 
 
 Alas ! for the meeting of the two queens ! 
 
 Though rather shaken and hurt, when Bridget was 
 on her legs again, she tried with her usual fortitude to 
 carry the unfortunate occurrence oif with a high hand. 
 
 " What's the use of a Lord Keeper, I should like to 
 know," she exclaimed, turning to Bacon, " if he cannot 
 keep me from such a fall as that?" 
 
 Poor Bacon hung his head. 
 
 " By-the-bye I don't think you ever were Lord 
 Keeper. You wanted to be, and your father was ; bu| 
 I knew better than to make you," and she nodded at him^ 
 saucily. 
 
 " Ye silly crature !" exclaimed Michael, angrily, to his. 
 sister, " why in the name av all the saints couldn't ye 
 kape yer clothes about ye? Bedad, I'll quarril wid 
 ye now directly." 
 
 '' No malice, sir : no more than well becomes so good 
 a quarrel and so bad a peer," said Bridget, recalling 
 Suffolk's famous words. This stroke of wit restored 
 good humour to the company. 
 
 After a time Moyrah's tears were dried : Cormac — 
 holding up the ill-behaved skirt — took her into a 
 retired corner of the green room, and kissed them all 
 away. 
 
 Would that the tears she was to be called upon to 
 shed in days to come could have been dried so easily ! 
 
 With her body and skirt united by at least as secure 
 a tie as England and Ireland, Moyrah re-appeared. She
 
 78 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 advanced until she stood before Elizabeth ; then the 
 tableau took place ; after this she retired to a throne, 
 much inferior in size and poorer in decoration than the 
 English Queen's, at the opposite side of the stage. 
 The throne was hung about with tartan plaids, and a 
 wreath of real thistles and heather encircled the tinsel 
 crown over it. After this a play, supposed to be acted 
 in the presence of the two queens, took place. 
 
 The play consisted of one scene out of " Twelfth 
 Night." Bridget found that just as much as they 
 could manage. Sally Louray and Nora Corrigan took 
 the two principal female parts. Now, when Sally was 
 told that in her part as " Olivia " she was in love with 
 Nora, she burst into an explosion of repudiation. 
 
 " Shure I alwis hatid her ! " she exclaimed. " Hasn't 
 
 Didn't I swear I'd take a stick at her at the next 
 'MLara^'ahmore V 
 
 " Hush ! Hush ! " Bridget had said. " None of 
 your sticks for me, but plenty of mine for you. " She 
 had reduced her to amiability by making Dairmuid 
 O'Duibhne, a young man whom she wished to marry, 
 take the part of " Orsino," and profess to be much in 
 love with her. She called him a little bit of a kippeen, 
 and pretended to turn a deaf ear to his wooing; but, in 
 reality, she was completely pacified 
 
 They all learned their parts with aptitude, and repeated 
 the words with energy and spirit. Whether the cour- 
 tiers of Queen Bess's time would have recognised 
 Shakspere's English in its Celtic colouring is another 
 question, though it is said that the Irish brogue is the 
 old English of Elizabeth's time, which came to Ireland. 
 It is said so by the lips which never told a lie, viz., 
 historian's lips. 
 
 Tyrone, who stood looking sweet and amiable, bland 
 and somewhat waggish in the press of nobles round
 
 The Silver Whistle. 79 
 
 Elizabeth — very unlike the accounts of his illustrious 
 namesake — would probably have considered it spoken 
 properly for the first time. He was the village postman. 
 
 " But let consaylemint " — 
 
 " No ! " shouted Bridget, " you must say con-ceal- 
 ment." 
 
 " Let the consaylemints," said poor Nora, becoming 
 nervous and flurried, " feede like a snail in a rose bush." 
 
 " Tush ! tush ! tush ! " called Bridget, furiously 
 banging her stick on the floor, " and here's the last 
 night of rehearsal! Prompter, read it out." 
 
 ^' Let consayelmint," began Eourke, the prompter, 
 whose brogue was as marked as Miss Corrigan's. 
 
 " Tut, tut, tut ! " exclaimed Bridget, waxing terribly 
 wroth. " Say now, after me — con " — 
 . "Con" 
 
 '^Seal" 
 
 " Seal " 
 
 " Ment " 
 
 " Ment " 
 
 " Now then ! " • 
 
 " Let consayelmint " — 
 
 Bridget rose and made two hasty steps towards the 
 trembling Nora." 
 
 " Shure, yer honour," said Kourke, pacify ingly ; 
 " couldn't we lave it out altogether, and put in interior 
 parts if its consayelmints they're afthur describin'." 
 
 Bridget fell back a step or two, with a hopeless stare 
 from one to the other. 
 
 " Shure, Nora Corrigan alwis had a fearful brogue ! " 
 soliloquised Sally, contemptuously. 
 
 " Go on ! " said Bridget, shortly, a whole world of 
 suppressed fury in her suddenly self-controlled voice. 
 
 " And wid a grave and yaller melincholy," said poor 
 Nora, who, by this time had quite lost her head, " sittin' 
 on a monimint." 
 
 " Here, listen to me now, Nora Corrigan," said 
 Michael Hegarty, stepping forward. " I'll tache ye in
 
 m The Silver Whistle. 
 
 two minnits how to say it." He snapped the book 
 from Rourke — " ' But let con say el-mint, like a worrum 
 i' the bud, fade on her dam-misk chake ' — she poined 
 in thought, poor crathure," he soliloquised, compas- 
 sionately — " ' an' wid a grane an' yaller melincholy, she 
 sat, loike Payshiense on a moniment, smoilin' at grafe/ 
 Was not this love indade? We min may say more, 
 sware more — ah ! that's thrue indade," and he shook 
 his head with a sigh, and stopped short for a minute 
 as if ruminating : " 'tis very unfortinit min are loike 
 that." 
 
 " Go on !" shouted Bridget, in perfect despair. But 
 he still seemed lost in contemplation. 
 
 " ' Bat, indeed our shows are more than will — ' '^ 
 continued Bridget herself, at the top of her voice ; 
 ^' ' for still we prove much in our vows, but little in our 
 love.' " 
 
 " Bedad, English or not, he spoke the thruth thin,'^ 
 said Rourke, shaking his head again, more sadly than 
 before. He had now had drawn from him an open 
 avowal of sentiments with regard to his own sex which 
 had long been immured in his bosom, and which he had 
 certainly found it safer to keep so immured, mixing, as 
 he did, principally in male society. 
 
 " The only thing for you to do, Nora," said Bridget, 
 with the utmost despondency of tone, " is to hurry over 
 the word as fast as ever you can — con-s-mint — some- 
 thing of that sort. Do you see what I mean?" 
 
 " I do, yer honour," said Nora, in a deeply humiliated 
 tone. 
 
 At that moment the '^ Countess of Salisbury" — who 
 had partaken somewhat freely of the good things, 
 especially the porter, which Bridget always provided 
 for her faithful amateurs before they plunged into the 
 toils of rehearsing — got a fit of giddiness, and began 
 to cry 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" exclaimed Bridget, " that will never 
 do. Good gracious me ! Suppose you begin like that
 
 The Silver Whistle. 81 
 
 on the night of the performance ! What is to become 
 of us all V Run quick, " Tyrone," and fetch her a glass 
 of water. Remember, for the future, you must eat 
 nothini^ but dry bread and water before coming on the 
 stage." 
 
 '^ I will, yer honour," said the poor Countess, sub- 
 missively, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Troth an' wasn't she alwis the greedy girril ! " said 
 Sally Louray, roguishly. " She'd ate the heads off 
 a herd av sheep as soon as she'd look at yer ! " 
 
 '' Shure she's daughter of a gombeen man, what 
 could ye expect av her ? " said Nora, who resented the 
 interruption to the play. 
 
 Just then, the " Countess of Salisbury " got a fit of 
 sneezing, which made her drop her rosary, which she 
 habitually wore tucked into her breast : it was a large 
 wooden rosary, and made a great clatter. For an 
 instant Bridget's eyes flashed. 
 
 Then, after a minute's silence, she said gently and 
 kindly, " pick it up." 
 
 As she turned away she muttered, " little Poperies 
 everywhere." 
 
 She was a strong Protestant ; though she knew Latin.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 pTpjjHE evening of the theatrical performance arrived. 
 jjI The neighbouring families drove over armed, 
 
 as they would have to return late along lonely 
 
 roads. The gentlemen put their pistols down in a pile 
 in the outer hall. They had refreshments in a small 
 boudoir of Bridget's, as the supper was laid in the 
 library. Then they adjourned to the dining room. 
 They entirely filled the upper half, so much so that 
 numbers of gentlemen had to stand. 
 
 The lower half of the room was reserved for the 
 farmers and villagers. It was divided by a thin red 
 cord. Near this cord, dressed in full evening dress, of 
 the most fashionable Parisian cut, leaning gracefully 
 against the old stone work round one of the windows 
 stood Lenoir. 
 
 An awful pause took place before the curtain rose. 
 The very flames of the candles seemed to bend towards 
 the stage in breathles suspense. It was an experiment ; 
 and the elite prophesied failure. The very audacity of 
 the scheme, many thought, was sufficient to ensure 
 its breaking down with a fiasco. Suppressed smiles, 
 cross glances, with little shakes of the head, and other 
 signs of the sort, passed freely amongst the company 
 in the front rows of chairs. Captain Shell went about 
 amongst his guests with true Irish geniality, trying to 
 make everyone talk to everyone, and all to feel at home. 
 The Irish county families, who all knew each other, 
 chattered away fast enough, but the English visitors 
 were more silent and shy, though their faces wore an 
 expression of placid contentment, as if they expected a 
 nice little bit of fun.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 83 
 
 Up went the curtain with a jerk, and a little hitch 
 and grizzly noise half way up. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth walked in, surrounded by her cour- 
 tiers, and conducted to her throne by Lord Leicester. 
 The remarkable phenomenon of a Union Jack waved 
 over the throne. A murmur of applause greeted the 
 correctness and richness of the dresses, and the general 
 and most unexpected air of smartness about the actors. 
 
 Once seated on her throne, and the heavy folds of her 
 regal dress arranged gracefully, and so as to show off 
 the material to the best advantage, Elizabeth turned her 
 eyes with some anxiety towards the door by which her 
 hated rival was to enter. 
 
 A pause of expectation, which extended to a nervous 
 length, took place. A pin could have been heard to fall. 
 On these occasions it is to be observed a pin never does 
 fall, &o there is no way of testing the assertion. 
 
 The spectators all leaned eagerly forward as a door 
 somewhat timidly opened opposite to Her Majestyjs 
 throne. The " Great Eliza," the " Sacred Queen," th'e 
 " Bright Sun which gave light to sense and soul," was 
 visibly trembling ; for, to tell the truth, she felt far more 
 anxious about Moyrah's entrance, considering the 
 persistent elasticity of her garments, than about any 
 other part of the performance. She felt that her proteg^ 
 would be either a great success or a great failure. It 
 was rather like some celebrated maestro bringing out a 
 new soprano at St. James's Hall. 
 
 The door by which the hapless Mary entered was 
 rather in the shade, and at least a minute elapsed before 
 she summoned courage to advance into the full light. 
 
 It was a perfect blaze of candle light which fell upon 
 her as she did so. There was no need for Bridget to 
 feel any anxiety about the success of her scheme after 
 tw^o minutes had passed. Leaning on Cormac's arm, 
 with her long, dark eye-l ashes and beautifully veined 
 eye-lids, trembling and downcast from humility, and an 
 exquisite deep blush of shyness and modesty on her 
 
 g2
 
 84 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 shell-like cheeks, the vision of the most beautiful woman 
 recorded in history seemed completely realised. 
 
 For an instant the audience's breath was taken away; 
 then the applause broke out, no longer in a subdued 
 murmur, but led by Mr. Lucas, who was fairly bewitched, 
 into a regular unmistakable storm of delight. This 
 made Moyrah blush more and more, and so look more 
 and more lovely. The Marie Stuart cap and dress 
 suited that sweet, soft, yielding, rather coaxing manner 
 under which she hid the fire of her Celtic nature. There 
 was something exceedingly pretty in the way, when the 
 clapping was at its height, that she looked up just for 
 one instant into Cormae's face to see what he was feeling. 
 Then she advanced slowly, followed by Eileen, as 
 Mary Seaton, looking very simple and sweet and 
 childish, and conducted by Darnley until she stood 
 opposite to the Virgin Queen. 
 
 Then the rich folds of Bridget's satin were disturbed 
 as she rose hurriedly, or it might be more correct to say, 
 sprang to her feet, and with outstretched arm pointed at 
 her rival. 
 
 This was the grand tableau ; but the stupid audience, 
 composed mainly of the excitable Celtic element, would 
 not sit in breathless silence, as Bridget had arranged 
 they should do. From the first moment that the tabler.u 
 took place they clapped and applauded in a deafening 
 manner. 
 
 Bridget's gimlet eyes could see that Moyrah's 
 petticoats, though slewed a little to one side, were 
 secure, as she stood before her ; and she breathed a sigh 
 of relief. This was, indeed, a load removed from a 
 breast already too heavily weighted with cares for one 
 evening. 
 
 The stockings of the " Countess of Salisbury," who 
 stood at the side of her throne, had also been made 
 gratify ingly secure with two stout pieces of twine. 
 Bridget's reddish hair and fair, somewhat fi-eckled skin, 
 suited the popular ideal of " Queen Bess " admirably.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 85 
 
 As the rulers of the divided kingdom stood face to face, 
 the courtiers formed in a semi-circle round the English 
 throne, and stood in a sort of mosaic of colour previously 
 arranged by Bridget, with a view to showing off the 
 different dresses. The effect was exceedingly pretty 
 and striking. At the same moment the band, consisting 
 of a piano, a cornet, two fiddles and a flute, struck up 
 a bit of bravura music, composed by Bridget, called 
 "The Good Old Days." Cormac's conduct was 
 admirable all through, for he was so completely wrapped 
 up in Moyrah, and hoping all would go well with regard 
 to her, that he forgot to think about himself at all, and 
 therefore made the very perfection of an actor and a 
 lover. When the applause had somewhat subsided, 
 at a sign from Bridget, Moyrah turned away, and 
 walked to her more modest throne ; then came the 
 critical moment when the play was to begin. 
 
 It consisted of one short scene out of '' Twelfth 
 Night." When it came to " Let concealment," there 
 was an instant's agonized pause. Bridget's QJQ^^ 
 almost starting from her head with anxiety, were fixed 
 on the trembling "Viola." 
 
 " ' But let, ' " a pause, in which Rourke's voice 
 
 was audible, " ' Con-say le-mint.' " Bridget's brow 
 wrinkled up in torture. Another pause, during which 
 the front rows of the audience looked at each other 
 with amused but restrained smiles. 
 
 " ' But let consmint, loike a worrum i' the bud, fade 
 on her dammisk chake,' " came all rattled out in one 
 breath, like an alarum clock going off at midnight. A 
 sigh of relief broke from Bridget as she bit her under 
 lip vigorously. 
 
 In two or three minutes more the play was success- 
 fully over without any fiasco whatever, and the curtain 
 fell amid prolonged applause. It fell, but only for a 
 few minutes. With a rapidity which might — can we 
 say, perhaps may, in days to come— be imitated at 
 some of our best London theatres, it rose again upon a
 
 86 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 final tableau arranged, at the last minute, by Bridget. 
 This represented Queen Mary on her way to the 
 scaffold. Her dress had been rapidly changed, and was 
 now of black velvet, her cap of black velvet, with the 
 pointed pearl row round her face. A string of beads 
 hung at her side. An Agnus Dei was round her throat, 
 and a crucifix was clasped in her hand. So far, history 
 was followed. But now came a divergence. Cormac, 
 dressed as a jailer, with his head bent down, walked a 
 few feet in front of her. How that scene came before 
 Bridget in after days ! Half way across the stage she 
 met her brother Michael, dressed as an old man, in deep 
 mourning, with grey wig and beard, to represent 
 " Melville." He flung himself on his knees before her, 
 apparently overcome with grief. 
 
 Stooping with great dignity she raised and en> 
 braced and kissed him, saying as she did so, " ' Good 
 Melville, sayse to lemint ; this day thou shalt see the 
 ind av Mary Stewart's thrials.' " 
 
 There was something very soft and touching in 
 Moyrah's voice at all times ; and now she had thrown 
 herself so thoroughly into the part that it took a 
 deeply melancholy cadence which brought tears into 
 the spectators' eyes. Lucas fairly hid his face in his 
 hands, and the tears trickled down between his fingers. 
 Sydney, too, was much moved, and carried away 
 altogether out of himself to three hundred years ago. 
 It seemed as if the scene on that cold February 
 morning, three centuries ago, was being enacted over 
 again before the spectators' eyes. Moyrah's beauty 
 was of that touching, pensive sort, with the half-veiled 
 suspicion of southern fire about it, which vividly 
 recalled most people's ideal of Mary Stuart. 
 
 For some reason Cormac became nervous, and totally 
 forgot a nice little speech of consolation, about four 
 lines long, which Bridget had composed for him. 
 
 Melville held up the heavy folds of the black velvet 
 train, and slowly followed the ill-fated Queen's faltering
 
 The Silver Whistle. 87; 
 
 footsteps. Arrived at the door off the stage, Moyrah 
 turned round and gave one last look at the assembled 
 company. In that one instant her eye caught Lenoir's. 
 There is a mysterious magic in some looks which thrills 
 through the person who first catches that look. So it 
 was with Moyrah. She felt a something come over her, 
 such as she had never experienced before, as those dark 
 eyes rested on her for an instant. 
 
 As she stood in the half-shadow by the door, with a 
 sort of farewell expression on her face, Sydney could 
 not help thinking of the spathe which a lily throws off 
 before it bursts into the beauty of its flower. Her 
 bodily beauty appeared like that. The beauty which 
 was within her body, and which would live after her 
 head was cut off, seemed to shine out like the snowy 
 petals gleaming through their commoner binding. 
 
 " Who is that young lady who is acting " Queen 
 Mary?" asked Lenior of the Sheil's housekeeper, who, 
 in her best bib and tucker, with her fat, rosy face 
 wreathed in smiles, was sitting near him. 
 
 '' Moyrah Hegarty ; mind what you're say in'," sl^e 
 added in a whisper, " for that's her ould father not five 
 feet away from ye." 
 
 Lenior waited a little, and then quietly edged his 
 way up to old Mr. Hegarty. In one minute Lenior 
 had seen what he was ; a bettermost farmer by position, 
 a good simple man in character ; a little nut browi^ 
 wrinkled old man, with thin iron grey locks, in outward 
 appearance. 
 
 '' Been a pretty good harvest Mr. Hegarty, eh ? " he 
 said, with that insinuating manner which enabled him to 
 make his way amongst all sorts and conditions of men. 
 
 Instantly old Hegarty 's face lighted up. The 
 harvest was the one thought which, at this time, was 
 never absent from his mind. " Faith, sir, not very goodt 
 A power av moisture ! " 
 
 So strange ! because in England and France they 
 were calling out for rain." , p;
 
 88 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 ^' Oirelan' is altogithur a dIfFrint place ! " he responded 
 gloomily, shaking his head again. " There's no nagerly 
 spirit in the hivins wid regard to wathur." 
 
 " You have a nice little farm, I believe. T should like 
 greatly to see it." 
 
 " Shure an' ye're welkim, sirr, whiniver ye loike 
 to come. 'Tis but poor hospitality we can be ofFerin' 
 strangers now-a-days, but such as it is, ye'll get it 
 wid all heartiness." 
 
 " A thousand thanks, I am sure," said Lenior, with 
 empressement. " The country's a good deal upset just 
 now," he continued, pretending to look indifferent, but 
 keeping the corner of his eye fixed on Hegarty. 
 
 " 'Tis so," said Hegarty, shortly. 
 
 " 1 suppose you're in favour of Home Rule ? " 
 
 There was a silence for a minute. 
 
 " If it 'ud give us good crops," he said, shortly, and 
 keeping his eyes fixed straight before him. 
 
 '•'- Ha ! ha ! very good ! " laughed Lenior. " You 
 Irish have so much wit that you ought to be allowed 
 to rule yourselves, really you ought." 
 
 " There's not much wit in the potato blight," said 
 Hegarty, with a little toss of his head. 
 
 *' But why should Ireland be condemned to grow 
 nothing but the potato ? " said Lenoir, insinuatingly. 
 " If each man had, as he ought to have, a little plot 
 of ground of his own, he could grow wheat and barley, 
 and cereals of all kinds, and so compete with England 
 and' foreign markets." 
 
 " Bedad, I'd loike to see him ! How is he going to 
 buy all thim new jim-crackery tools an' maysheenes for 
 his farming ? an' he wid naythur bread nor milk to put 
 into his childer's mouths the while. Shure an' iv it 
 wasn't for his honour, the captin there, givin' me all 
 thim new stame ingins for threshin' and the loikes, I'd 
 nivir make a haypinnie at all ! " 
 
 *' But why should you be beholden to anyone for what 
 you have a right to yourself? "
 
 The Silver Whistle. 89 
 
 ** Faix, I don't clearly see how I have a right to 
 another man's threshin' machine." 
 
 " If every man had an equal amount of property, then 
 no one would possess one threshing machine, or one-half 
 a threshing machine more than another." 
 
 " Hum ! " 
 
 " Everything everj'one has should be equally at the 
 service of everyone else." 
 
 A sensible looking man, sitting just in front of Lenoir, 
 turned round and fixed his eyes on him for a moment. 
 
 A slightly cynical curve came in the thin lines round 
 Lenoir's mouth. He turned the conversation back 
 again to the crops. 
 
 After the conclusion of the theatricals, the chairs were 
 cleared away, and a dance began amongst the village 
 people. The quality stayed a short time, and watched 
 the jigs and country dances, and then retired to supper 
 in the library, much delighted with their entertainment. 
 
 " Most lovely girl girl I evaw saw in my life," said 
 Lucas to Sydney, as he helped himself to champagne 
 cup. ^' By Jove ! talk of pwofesshnal beauties ! not one 
 of them could hold a candle to her ! " 
 
 Sydney was helping some blanc mange on to a plate 
 for a lady. He nodded. 
 
 " Doesn't seem to have impressed yoaw unsusceptible 
 hawt." 
 
 Sydney smiled. " On the contrary," he said, in a 
 thoughtful voice. " I was much struck with her. There 
 is something more in her face than the mere outward 
 beauty of its form." 
 
 " Well, I was quite satisfied with that, I confess. 
 Confoundedly good champagne cup ! Didn't think they 
 could brew such a beverage in this benighted land." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, didn't you ? " said Captain Shell good- 
 huraouredly, who happened to be passing at that 
 moment ; '' I fear England will wake up to learn we 
 have brewed such a cup as she may find it diflicult 
 to drink."
 
 90 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 In the meantime, the actors, havlnp^ changed their 
 costumes to their ordinary Sunday best, had come out 
 from behind the scenes and mingled with the dancers. 
 
 The moment Mojrah appeared she went towards 
 her father, who was still sitting by Lenoir talking 
 about the crops. Lenoir stood up as she approached, 
 and when she was close to them he made a fashionable 
 bow. 
 
 " I must congratulate your Majesty upon still having 
 your head on your shoulders." 
 
 Moyrah smiled, blushed, and looked down. 
 
 " We who saw you are not^all so fortunate," he added, 
 in a low voice of deep meaning. 
 
 Moyrah did not understand the drift of his remark. 
 
 " I have seldom seen such acting. Miss Hegarty, and 
 I have attended some of the best theatres in every 
 country in Europe." 
 
 " Ye're very kind sur, I'm shure," said Moyrah, 
 a bright blush of gratified vanity flying to her cheeks. 
 
 " Not kind, surely, for merely speaking the truth," he 
 said, with an insinuation of manner which would have 
 disgusted Bridget, but which to Moyrah appeared 
 irresistible. 
 
 '' Do you know. Miss Moyrah, that, though you, 
 perhaps, take me for a foreigner, I can dance an Irish 
 jig? and I claim you for my partner." 
 
 Again there was a double meaning in his tone. 
 
 " Moyrah looked up into her father's face. " Farthur, 
 darlin', will ye be lonesim loike iv I lave ye agin, wid 
 all these strange people about?" 
 
 He looked at her with a slight smile. Her affection 
 for her father was something quite out of the ordinary. 
 She fulfilled Shakspere's injunction, and he " was to her 
 as a god." Five minutes spent with him was greater 
 happiness, and she felt always would be, than hours spent 
 with Cormac. Yet she loved Cormac, too. She knew 
 she loved him. It was strange ! Let faith beat our 
 hearts out on the anvil of common sense, and see what
 
 The Silver- Whistle. 91 
 
 remains of the pure gold. Her faith in her love for 
 Cormac was doing that now. 
 
 " Acushla agus asthore machree," said Hegarty, 
 looking with deep tenderness at his daughter's blushing, 
 beautiful face, "shure, I'm nivir so happy as whin ye're 
 enjoyin' of yersilf." 
 
 So Moyrah went off, for the first time leaning upon 
 Alphonse Lenoir's arm. 
 
 The windows of the dining room opened on to a 
 terrace. They were open down to the ground. 
 
 " Let us take one turn on the terrace before our jig, 
 Miss Moyrah," said Lenoir, who privately had no 
 attrait for bouncing and jigging about, like a crazy 
 acrobat, amongst all the peasants, whom he despised. 
 
 Once out in the calm moonlight everything took a 
 romantic turn. But it was a misty moon — a moon with 
 a halo of tears round it. A moon that did not bode 
 well for those who first made friends under its light. 
 
 " You had a sad part to act to-night, Miss Moyrah. 
 Do you know much of the ill-fated queen's history?" 
 
 " She perished on the scaiFold," said Moyrah, in a 
 low, mysterious voice 
 
 " She did." He paused. '' But before she died she 
 had lived, because she had loved." 
 
 Moyrah was silent. 
 
 " There is no real life until we love." He paused for 
 a minute and looked at her. " I fear you do not agree 
 with that. Perhaps you think with my countryman — 
 
 " 'Le premier soupir de I'amour 
 Est le demier de la sagesse.' " 
 
 Moyrah looked fairly puzzled now, though she much 
 admired the grandeur of a man who could speak a 
 foreign language in so elegant a manner. 
 
 " You don't, then, know the history of Mary Stuart's 
 life?" 
 
 " I know she was married to Darnley — ^that's Cormac, 
 poor boy !" she added, in a low, kind tone, as if think- 
 ing of some one not present.
 
 92 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 "But she did not love Darnley," he said, looking at 
 her intently. 
 
 "Didn't she?" said Moyrah, with an air of great 
 surprise, almost incredulity. 
 
 " No," and he bent over her while he spoke very low ; 
 "she loved another." 
 
 " She was wrong, then," said Moyrah, in a very low, 
 half hesitating voice. 
 
 " Love takes no account of right and wrong, Miss 
 Moyrah," he replied, with so deep an emphasis on his 
 words that Moyrah was startled. 
 
 " But love is right in itsilf." She looked puzzled. 
 'Tis, sartin shure, for the Church taches that." 
 
 " Whatever the Church teaches is right, of course." 
 
 Moyrah's unsophisticated ears detected no shade of 
 satire in the tone. 
 
 " I can fancy only living, just as you do, within the 
 narrow scope of a little village like this, that you" — he 
 paused, a certain dignity in Moyrah's manner, in spite 
 of its soft yieldingness, prevented him from finishing 
 the sentence as he had intended. 
 
 Fungi, unlike most plants, are to a great extent 
 insensible to the influence of light. Lenoir's mind was 
 like a fungus. But there was a light in Moyrah's 
 conscience which could influence even that toadstool. 
 After a few minutes' silence he said : " I should think, 
 Miss Moyrah, your face expresses all you feel. You 
 keep no store of masks in your green-room, like so 
 many of those who consider themselves above you in 
 position." 
 
 Moyrah did not quite follow this. 
 
 " Not, however," he continued, looking at her intently, 
 " that any mask can long conceal love where it exists, 
 or feign it where it does not." 
 
 " Faith, I think that's thrue enough," she said, in a 
 low, half shy, half doubtful, half pondering, wholly 
 bewitching voice. 
 
 " It is, indeed," he said, fervently, looking much
 
 The Silver Whistle. 93 
 
 pleased at having elicited such an assent. " Love is not 
 a fire which can be confined within the breast. Every- 
 thing betrays us ; the voice, silence, the eyes." 
 
 Moyrah's beautiful dark eyes, looking larger, darker, 
 and softer than ever in the pale moonlight, were raised 
 to his for one instant. There was surely a magic in 
 that glance ; a vision of joy beyond anything she had 
 imagined possible rose for an instant before Moyrah's 
 mind. 
 
 "Just then came the low co-o-e of the wood pigeons, 
 in the large old trees round the house, awakened and 
 annoyed, no doubt, by the revelling, the lighting up, the 
 noise, the dancing in a house usually so quiet. 
 
 "And when once we are betrayed, our whole life seems 
 to hang on whether we get a response to our feelings or 
 not." 
 
 At that moment Bridget and Sydney came out 
 of the drawing room window, which was also wide open, 
 and began to walk down the terrace towards where 
 Moyrah and Lenoir were walking. Instantly Lenoir 
 suggested they should return to the dining room, and 
 join in the dance; she assented. Bridget was perfectly 
 happy in having Sydney for her companion in a moon- 
 light stroll.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MOYRAH had danced oftener than a careful 
 mother would have sanctioned — I mean a 
 
 — Mayfair mother — with Alphonse Lenoir. He 
 
 continually hung about the place where she was, even 
 when he was not dancing with her. 
 
 But Mrs. Hegarty was too busy attending to her own 
 libations, and to a gossip, Mrs. Downey (who was 
 always out about the village picking up stray bits of 
 news), was having with her, to think much of Moyrah. 
 Besides, she was not accustomed to going out to balls ; 
 and her duties as a chaperon were as vague to her, and, 
 in fact, as little within her comprehension as the eighth 
 commandment appears to be to some political people. 
 Hegarty, meantime, was much taken up by a neighbour- 
 ing farmer, who began about the crops, went on to boast 
 of some fishing he had enjoyed off a landlord's bit of 
 a river, and ended by wanting to swop horses. A man 
 who can tell you about his own fishing exploits and 
 swop horses with you without lying is as fit for the 
 canonization of biography as men ever become. But 
 Hegarty had no intention of swopping horses. The 
 horse which he drove to his jaunting car, on the rare 
 occasions when he used that vehicle, was not his at all. 
 It was Moyrah's, and had been given to her by Bridget 
 when it was a little foal. With it Bridget had also 
 given a tiny silver whistle, and had told Moyrah she 
 must teach the foal to come to her at the sound of the 
 whistle. Nothing loth, Moyrah had quickly set about 
 fulfilling these instructions 
 
 Presently the jigs became fast and furious. The 
 band had been treated with true hospitality. So,
 
 The Silver Whistle, 95 
 
 indeed, had the guests. The captain was a man who 
 followed the precept — " Don't despise your poor friends : 
 they may become suddenly rich, and then it will be 
 awkward to explain things to them." Therefore, 
 whisky had flowed like water in London milk. 
 Mrs. Hegarty, who was overworked at home, and 
 always wanted a little bracing, had taken rather more 
 than her husband. She began to feel very sleepy. 
 Eileen was scudding about, here, there, and every- 
 where, with a pack of girls of her own age. Sometimes 
 they joined the jigs ; sometimes they got tired of them. 
 People were beginning to go home — trooping off in 
 threes, fours, and fives in the moonlight. Blue cloaks 
 were drawn over heads. Farewell slaps on the back 
 were given. Hegarty, who ha'd been yawning tremen- 
 dously for some time, began to look about for his 
 spouse. 
 
 " There ye are, idlin' about," he said, good 
 humouredly, coming up to her. " The divil goes 
 into an idle man's house widout knockin'," he added, 
 with a sly wink in the corner of his eye. 
 
 " Shure, ye ought to be a good judge av that, since 
 the house is yer own." 
 
 " Where are the childer ?" 
 
 " 'Tis ye ought to know that, kickin' yer seventy- 
 three-year-old heels, as I seen yer, along wid 'em in 
 the jig a while ago." 
 
 Presently the Hegarty party were all gathered in the 
 yard climbing up on the jaunting car. 
 
 Lenoir was there, seeing the last of Moyrah. Mrs. 
 Hegarty was highly flattered and pleased with his 
 attentions, as she looked upon him as quite the gentle- 
 man, and when she was by he took care to be more 
 polite to her than to Moyrah. She was not accustomed 
 to much attention from the sterner sex, or indeed, from 
 any sex, and this struck her as charming conduct. She 
 was only too ready to give a hearty response to his 
 humble request that he might be allowed to visit the
 
 96 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 farm. He declared he took the greatest interest in 
 farming. He loathed it in reality. His adieu to 
 Moyrah was not spoken. It consisted of a long pressure 
 of the hand, made under the flap of the well of the car, 
 so that no one could see it. 
 
 They bowled quickly along through the moonlight, 
 and it was the strangest feeling drive on the strangest 
 feeling evening Moyrah had ever experienced. 
 
 When they had driven through the ever hospitably 
 open gate of the yard at the Blue House, Moyrah was 
 the first to jump down, and she, with her own hands, 
 helped Michael to unharness her adored horse — her 
 adored one, as she called him — then she walked on, first 
 towards the loose box in which he was kept, and, as she 
 went, gave a little low whistle with her silver whistle 
 which hung round her neck. 
 
 The animal gave his ears a prick forward,rstretched 
 out his nose towards her shoulder, and walked proudly 
 after her of his own accord into his stable. Moyrah 
 gave him a gentle rub down all over, kissed him several 
 times, and then went into the house, and stole up the 
 creaky old stairs, to the little bed room she shared with 
 Eileen. 
 
 The room, though low in the ceiling, was not, rela- 
 tively to the rest of the house, small. There was room 
 for an old, dark, wooden chest of drawers, with all the 
 handles off the drawers, and the middle drawer 
 habitually open at an angle ; also a little round deal 
 table, a good bit scratched and cut about ; also a long 
 narrow table in the window, on which some straggling 
 geraniums stood ; also the bed in which Moyrah and 
 Eileen slept. This was a curious article. It consisted 
 of an old black oak chest of huge dimensions, in which 
 Mrs. Hegarty had brought all her wedding garments, 
 and general contributions to the household linen, when 
 she arrived as a bride. The lid had been taken oif this. 
 Mrs. Hegarty had all but died when Moyrah was born, 
 and in thanksgiving for her recovery, she presented
 
 The Silver Whistle. 97 
 
 this lid to the church. It now himi^, by a somewhat 
 creaky iron chain, over the pulpit, and acted as such a 
 capital sounding board, that the most nervous, timid, 
 and retiiing- curate Maynooth ever sent out could 
 completely till the entire building. This was a great 
 reward for her charity ; and Mrs. Hegarty sat with an 
 allowable feeling of triumph every Sunday at last mass, 
 on her little wooden bench, close under the pulpit, and 
 gazed aloft at her charitable donation. Many persons 
 who go to different churches gaze aloft at their past 
 charitable donations, for their good deeds do follow 
 them wherever they go. One's virtues do come before 
 one in church in a way they do not at any other time. 
 
 It may be that the enforced close proximity to so 
 many people whose failings we are acquainted witli 
 brings out their faults into more startling prominence 
 than they assume when a wider distance divides us ; 
 and then the human mind, always in want of the relief 
 of a background, seeks one in the luxuriant foliage 
 of personal virtues. 
 
 Be that as it may ; the lid was gone off the client 
 we are speaking about, and it was just as well for 
 Moyrah and Eileen that it was fulfilling a nobler 
 function than possibly smothering them. This chest 
 was pulled up close to the little lattice window, which, 
 with that hatred of fresh air which is one of the most 
 salient characteristics of that old-fashioned race to 
 which Moyrah belonged, was tight shut, though the 
 thermometer had stood at eighty in the shade all. day. 
 There was no blind to it, and the moonlight streamed, 
 and fell in little three-cornered patches on the snow- 
 white pillow, partly covered by Eileen's golden curls, 
 which mingled with Moyrah's glossy, but darker, locks. 
 
 Eileen's nervous system was not highly strung. She 
 was well worn out with the fatigues of the past evening, 
 and she slept the dull, dreamless sleep of perfect repose. 
 Not so Moyrah. The strain which had been put upon 
 her had been too much. That strange antipathy which 
 
 H
 
 98 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 she had to deeds of violence, and which, in her case, 
 amounted to an idiosyncrasy, like the sight of a drawn 
 sword to James I., or the rattling of a carriage on a 
 bridge to Peter the Great, had been cruelly outraged. 
 Her mind had been fixed consecutively for hours upon 
 herself as the principal figure in one of the most 
 thrilling tragedies recorded in history. What wonder, 
 then, if the round white arm which lay outside the 
 blanket moved about from side to side, and if the fingers 
 clutched convulsively, first at empty air, then at the 
 side of the old chest, as though they were seeking the 
 straw which should save the drowning man. There was 
 no rest for the brain in her sleep. 
 
 The little oval shadows of the leaves of the ash 
 tree outside the window, like bunches of waving 
 almonds, moved up and down over her pale face and 
 marble-like throat. She muttered something, rather 
 loud, too, but Eileen slept on. Suddenly, Moyrah 
 started bolt upright, with a piercing shriek, and 
 seized her own throat, screamin^^ : " Me head is gone 
 enthirely. 'Tis gone enthirely ! " 
 
 " Sure, what are ye afthur now ? May the saints 
 protict us!" exclaimed Eileen, half frightened, half 
 sleepy, as she sat up and crossed herself devoutly. 
 
 "A massacray ! a massacray!" continued Moyrah, 
 only half awake, '"' an' it's the fardorougha (the dark 
 man) that's done it." 
 
 " The hivins presarve us, Moyrah ! Whativir are 
 ye dramin' of? " and Eileen, who was fairly exasper- 
 ated, gave her sister a hearty good shaking, and one or 
 two smart slaps on the shoulder. In a rebound 
 Moyrah's head got a slight blow against the side of 
 the wooden chest, and this annoyed, while it thoroughly 
 awakened, her. 
 
 "Lave me alone, can't ye?" she said, rubbing her 
 eyes." 
 
 " Begorra, I'll shake ye 'till ye behave yersilf," 
 said Eileen, who had been given a great fright.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 99 
 
 Moyrah pushed her away with her hand. " I drimt 
 just like the life now," she said, apologetically, still 
 rubbing her eyes, '' that me head was oiF; but it wasn't 
 a knife at all or an ax that cut it off, but a rope ; there's 
 a quare thing for ye ! '' 
 
 '' 'Tis a quare thing ye wakin' me up scrachin' like 
 that, that's whut I'm thinkin'," said Eileen, grumpily, 
 settling herself to sleep again. 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry for ye, avourneen machree." Her 
 voice took that sweet, loving cadence those who lived 
 with her knew so well. She slipped her arm round 
 her sister's neck, leaned over and kissed her. 
 
 Eileen growled, and then was asleep again in half 
 a minute. 
 
 Not so Moyrah. She had none of the salt of wis- 
 dom, the alembroth of the ancients, in her composition. 
 She could not argue herself into quietness. The key 
 of that art of common sense which has calmed so many 
 excited nerves had never been committed to her keeping. 
 We know that in some families there is one member to 
 whom the latch-key of the house is never entrusted,* 
 generally the most worthy member, too. Thus it was, 
 spiritually, with Moyrah. 
 
 There is an old adage of good advice which might 
 well be followed in the race of life : — " If you want to 
 win at a race, keep calm. Turn your head away when 
 you see the horse you have bet against a good length 
 ahead, and your rival helpmg your lady-love to cham- 
 pagne which you have paid for." 
 
 But Moyrah knew nothing of that secret of keeping 
 calm. That latch-key had been stoutly withheld from 
 her. She felt too excited to go to sleep again; so, 
 gently, for fear of waking Eileen, she got up and 
 throwing a ragged, old, green worsted shawl round her 
 shoulders, went to the window, and did what was most 
 unusual for her, or any member of the family to do. 
 opened the lattice and leaned out. The night was very 
 still. Not a breath was stirring just then. The breeze 
 
 h2
 
 100 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 had died down for the moment. A sort of awe came 
 over Moyrah. She was not accustomed to be up alone 
 in the middle of the night. Her ears strained from the 
 tension of the quietness. Suddenly she heard a sound. 
 Was it Emmett munching his oats in the stable? No; 
 it was more human than that. 
 
 It came again, and this time nearer. The public road 
 ran in a curve, not ten yards from the side of the Blue 
 House, out of which Moyrah was looking. A low sweet- 
 briar hedge divided the Hegarty's garden from the road. 
 Moyrah now observed three men standing at one side of 
 this hedge, under a chestnut tree. One she quickly 
 recognized as a well-known rascal in the village, 
 O'Leary, by name ; the other she thought, as well as 
 she could see, for only part of his profile was towards 
 her, was a young miller's clerk who had recently been 
 dismissed for dishonesty, Flanagan, by name. The 
 third she could not make out at all ; the collar of his 
 coat was turned up and his hat was dragged down over 
 his face. He was a head taller than either of his 
 companions, and had altogether a different air from them. 
 
 Moyrah now leaned forward, with intense eagerness, 
 to try to catch what they were saying. Her ears, like 
 all her other senses, were abnormally keen. They 
 muttered, in what probably they considered a whisper, 
 but still, she heard : 
 
 " The captain's put him into that farm himsilf," 
 said O'Leary. 
 
 " He has so-a," and Flanagan nodded. 
 
 " And Tim Whelan evictid from it." 
 
 " That's thrue ! " He scratched his head. " Whelan, 
 bedad, is the right name for him, for he was wheeled 
 out in a wheel barrer, dhrunk as a piper, as, indade, he 
 mostly was." 
 
 " That's naythur here nor there. He was evictid, 
 and Cormac O'Weil has got the farrum." 
 
 As Moyrah heard her lover's name, she started and 
 grew deadly pale ; but still, she listened on intently.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 101 
 
 Flanagan had evidently made good friends with the 
 whisky bottle at the beginning of the evening, and was 
 in one of those sociable moods which are the bugbear 
 of conspirators. 
 
 " He was denounced at the Harvest Bug Meeting 
 to-day. Funds have come from America. We must 
 not betray our trust," This time, the tall mysterious 
 man spoke. He had no Irish accent. 
 
 " He's goin' to get marrid imajatelee to Moyrah 
 Hegarty," said Flanagan. 
 
 The tall man nodded as if he already knew. 
 
 " He'll marry in his windin' sheet," said O'Leary 
 with a bitter sneer. 
 
 Moyrah's heart seemed to stop beating. Then the 
 hot blood rushed over her face and the whole of her 
 body, and a paroxysm of fury siezed her. 
 
 O'Leary and Flanagan both had guns. 
 
 Flanagan was continually moving his about all the 
 time he was talking ; cocking it, pointing it, looking 
 down its muzzle. He was a fidgety boy. 
 
 At this juncture their voices fell ; but Moyrah's eari 
 caught the words, " losing time ; Flanagan, lead the 
 way." 
 
 Oif they set, stealing and slouching slowly along, 
 keeping as much in the shadow of the trees as they 
 could. 
 
 Moyrah closed the window. She stood at it with her 
 hands folded, pale and cold, in the weird moonlight. 
 She stood about five seconds in this position. Then 
 she went on tip-toe to a cupboard at one end of the 
 room. She opened the door so as not to make a sound, 
 and yet quickly. She put in her hand and took down 
 a long, light grey cloak, made of a coarse woolly stuff, 
 with a hood to it. It was much the colour of the moon- 
 light. This she wrapped tightly round her, and drew 
 the hood over her head. Opening the door very 
 cautiously she slipped down the old wooden stairs, her 
 bare feet not making a sound. Unfastening the front
 
 102 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 door was the real difficulty. There were one or two 
 tough iron bolts which had creaked from time im- 
 memorial ; a rusty old lock in which, struggle as you 
 might, the key would go round with a jerk. It did ; 
 and what a jerk ! She stood quite still for a minute 
 afterwards, to hear if the noise had awakened anyone. 
 But the Hegarty family were sound sleepers by nature, 
 and to-night they were extra sleepy, from the unwonted 
 excitements, not to mention actual fatigue from the 
 exertions of dancing. Mr. and Mrs. Hegarty's room 
 was just over the door ; but Moyrah knew that her 
 mother was at no time a woman to get out of bed when 
 she could lawfully stay in it. 
 
 Once outside in the chill night air, Moyrah drew a 
 long breath of relief, and then stood still to consider. 
 A cold, grey mist was rising from the ground, not very 
 dense, but still sufficient to be of use to Moyrah. 
 
 Once really off she flew like the wind. Her long 
 legs and agile figure had always made her a good 
 runner, and there was not a boy in the village who 
 could approach her speed in running races. She did 
 not seem to touch the ground at all ; and objects whirled 
 past her and she past them, the way they do to pas- 
 sengers in an express train. 
 
 She knew a short cut across the fields to Cormac's 
 house. It was a way not generally known. In fact, 
 Michael had himself pulled one or two holes in the 
 corners of certain hedges, so as to make a passage for 
 himself against his father's wishes. But she had filled 
 these holes up again with withered boughs, which 
 could be easily removed at a moment's notice by any- 
 one who knew how they were placed. Now she 
 whipped them away as if they had been paper, and 
 flung them on one side, not stopping, as she had hitherto 
 done, to replace them cautiously, so as to keep Michael's 
 secret of the holes. She bounded through these holes 
 like a hunted hare. 
 
 The cows and sheep looked much surprised as she
 
 The Silver Whistle. 103 
 
 whirled across the fields through the midst of the 
 flocks. Soon she saw the outline of Cormac's house 
 before her. It was a small yellow house — square, like 
 a doirs — with three windows at top, and two at each side 
 of the hall door. 
 
 " I've bate 'em," she muttered, as she cleared her 
 last hedge. " Shure the divil was alwis bad on his 
 legs, since he was made to crape in the gardin of 
 Eden." 
 
 Up the little narrow back boreen, which led to the 
 back door of her lover's abode, she sped. Once at the 
 door, she stood for a minute panting, and in doubt. 
 If she knocked loud enough to wake Cormac, she would 
 give an alarm signal to the assassins. This was exactly 
 what she wished to avoid. She bit the top of her first 
 finger, bent her brows, and stared about her in anxious 
 thought. Suddenly her eyes lighted on half-an-inch of 
 the scullery window left inadvertently open. Without 
 a moment's hesitation she flung it up and bounded into 
 the room. She stole on tip toe across the floor, then 
 up the narrow creaky wooden stairs, three steps at-a 
 time. Cormac snored, and you could hear his snores 
 before you got half-way up stairs. 
 
 " Faith, they'd have kilt him aisy, slapin' like that," 
 she muttered, shaking her head. " A dead man as iver 
 was alive before the mornin'.'' She turned the handle 
 of the door, and stole in. 
 
 Cormac was sleeping heavily on the outside of the 
 bed, in all his clothes, just as he had thrown himself 
 down, dead tired, after his unwonted festivities. He 
 was on a red railway rug, which the captain had given 
 him, curled up into the shape of an " S," with his arm 
 under his head. Moyrah shook him by his collar, at 
 first gently, but presently, as he took no notice, more 
 violently. Suddenly he started up, and striking out 
 wildly with his fists, shouted : 
 
 " Hullo ! ye ould blackgird ! how dar yer ! Murlherl 
 murthcr ! "
 
 104 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Cormac, Cormac, me boy, 'tis me, 'tis Moyrah. 
 Quiate, me boy, quiate." 
 
 " Moyrah ! " and his tone was one of stupefied 
 amazement. " Shiire, my girl, 'tis no toime for ye to 
 be here." 
 
 " Get up now, like shot wid ye ; shure the moon- 
 lighters are afther ye." Her voice fell to a whisper. 
 " Hurrie, hurrie, for the liofe of ye, don't stop now, an 
 instant ; follee me down stairs an' out the back gay it, 
 an' I'll show ye the rate at which ye should cut the 
 short way to the Blue House across the fields. Kape 
 quiate, now ; don't spake as much as would make a 
 mouse trimble. Who knows but those divils may be 
 widin hearin'." 
 
 As his faculties returned, Cormac quickly grasped 
 the situation, as only an Irishman, living in Ireland at 
 the present moment, could grasp it. 
 
 He sprang from off the bed, and shook himself like 
 a dog ; then, without a word, but with an expression of 
 ghastly terror on his face, he followed Moyrah down the 
 stairs, and out the scullery window. As Moyrah was 
 closing the window after them, voices became distinctly 
 audible approaching up the road in front of the house. 
 
 " Bind doun double, and crape afther me," whispered 
 Moyrah. 
 
 He obeyed ; but Moyrah could hear his teeth chat- 
 tering, and saw he was shaking all over, as if he had 
 the ague. 
 
 " Kape up yer heart, avick machree," said the weaker 
 vessel, encouragingly, as she advanced, bent double, 
 with cat-like steps, turning her head round every few 
 yards, with the anxious, listening expression of a hare, 
 which hears the distant footstep of a man. So they 
 proceeded until they came to the end of the lane. Here 
 one of Michael's holes came into requisition. Stooping 
 down, still more, she crept first through it, and 
 Cormac followed so quickly that his head touched her 
 heels.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 105 
 
 They were within one field of the Blue House when 
 a sudden light in the sky caused them to turn sharply 
 round. As they stared open mouthed, open eyed and 
 speechless, tongues of flame were seen shooting up above 
 the tops of the trees, and the sky, for a long distance 
 round, was illuminated with a lurid glare. The heroes 
 who are to bring salvation to the peasants of Ireland 
 were beginning their work of mercy. 
 
 " An' all me hay, me hay !" burst from Cormac's lips, 
 in a voice of anguish, while he flung his arms above his 
 head in wild despair. 
 
 A gleam of strange passion came into Moyrah's eyes 
 for a minute. 
 
 " May the burnin' house fall on 'em !" exclaimed 
 Cormac, while a look of ferocity came over his face. 
 
 " They think they've got ye inside the house, gintle 
 crathurs," said Moyrah. 
 
 Even at that distance, as they stood still, they could 
 hear the crash of the falling roof. As it fell, the flames 
 flew up higher and more brilliant than ever. They 
 looked at each other, and each knew that the other wa* 
 longing for vengeance. But vengeance at that moment 
 could not be taken. 
 
 Moyrah was the first to move. She walked quickly 
 on to the Blue House. He followed with halting steps, 
 looking round every minute at the devouring flames, 
 sighing, striking his breast, and shaking his fist 
 towards them. Moyrah seemed half to dread that 
 Cormac's feelings would turn his head, and that he 
 would burst away from her to rush back and avenge 
 his cruel wrongs. She seized the collar of his coat, 
 and, by main force, dragged him inside the portals of 
 the Blue House. Then she locked, barred, and bolted 
 the door ; after which she made a sign to Cormac to 
 help her to push a heavy old deal box against it. 
 
 '' Faith ! 'tis as well to be ready ; but they won't 
 come here. They're cock shure, now, they've done for 
 ye enthirely, an' there's only yer cinders left. They'll
 
 106 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 git home, now, as quick as convanyent ; the divil him- 
 silf is ashamed av himsilf sometimes." 
 
 "Tis thrue" said Cormac, ^' or else, why does he hide 
 himsilf enthlrely in hell , whin thar's plinty av' places 
 conganeal to him in this wurruld." 
 
 " He's here more than most people are thinkin'," 
 said Moyrah, as she pulled an old eider-down quilt, and 
 a couple of pillows out of a cupboard and laid them 
 on the kitchen table. 
 
 " Can ye make yerself at home there, me boy, till 
 the mornin' ? " 
 
 " The Lorrud bless ye, mavourneen !" he exclaimed, 
 seizing her hand, and kissing it. 
 
 ^' This wurruld's a dangerous place," sighed Moyrah, 
 as she thought of the risk they had just run. 
 
 "'Tis so then; very few get out av it alive !" he 
 echoed fervently : for the first time, all she had done for 
 him seemed to dawn upon his mind. 
 
 " 'Tis me loife I owe to ye enthirely ; an' shure ye 
 risked yer own for it ; may the blessed Vargin, and all 
 the saints reward ye ! " His voice trembled. '^ Faith, 
 I worship the ground ye walk on." 
 
 They sat by the not quite extinct embers of the fire 
 for half an hour listening for footsteps and talking in 
 whispers ; but no footsteps were heard. The murderers 
 were careful not to go back by the road they had come. 
 
 Presently Moyrah made a suggestion, and she and 
 Cormac knelt down, side by side, and said the mag- 
 nificat, in thanksgiving for their escape. After that, 
 no more was said ; and Moyrah stole upstairs, where 
 she found Eileen sleeping placidly, and soon, in spite of 
 her adventures, she was slumbering as calmly by her 
 side.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 pTpjiHE next morning Moyrah's first thought on 
 ^jj[[ waking was, how it would be possible to 
 provide for Cormac's future safety. 
 
 A man who has suffered brutal wrongs, in his pro- 
 perty or his person, from the Harvest Bug Society, is 
 not an object of pity or consideration to the rest 
 of the community ; rather, he is looked upon as 
 other hens look upon a sick hen, to be pecked to death, 
 if he won't die of himself. He is fair game for the 
 village bully to tyrannise over : for cowards, who fancy 
 they owe him a grudge, to maim. He is not allowed, 
 if possible, to have any property, and his person is 
 in danger every hour. 
 
 Moyrah knew this perfectly well. She knew, more- 
 over, that anyone who sheltered the outcast, was 
 equally in danger. Her beloved father, who was 
 already suspected of half-heartedness, in the Socialistic 
 cause, would become a marked man, as soon as it was 
 known he was sheltering Cormac. The Blue House 
 itself would- not be safe from those devouring flames 
 which had made her blood run cold. 
 
 " What a fearful thing !" she thought, as she laid 
 half awake, half asleep. Those first few moments of 
 awaking to misery which are so terrible now came 
 over her, and for a short time were worse than any 
 wholly waking moments can ever be. At length, she 
 shook herself quite awake, and getting stealthily out of 
 the side of the old chest, without waking Eileen, dressed, 
 and went downstairs. It was nine o'clock, but no one 
 in the house was yet astir. All were worn out with last
 
 108 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 night's gaieties, and the house was so profoundly still 
 that Moyrah started at the little noises she accidentally 
 made now and then ; the inadvertent pushing of a 
 chair, the creaking of one particular board in the floor, 
 which always did creak when stood on, and which she 
 always forgot did creak. 
 
 Cormac was in as heavy a slumber on the kitchen 
 table as he had been in his own house. 
 
 Moyrah stood and looked at him for several minutes 
 with a sad smile. Then she pulled her red and green 
 plaid shawl over her head, and went out to see her 
 beloved horse. 
 
 She always declared that she knew his heart beat for 
 joy when he heard her footstep coming into his stable. 
 He always turned his head, while an expression, which 
 modern poets would have described as " luminous," 
 came into his eyes. 
 
 Moyrah had never heard of the word " luminous," 
 but she would have been quite ready to admit any 
 word Into her vocabulary which could have added an 
 additional halo of glory to her favourite. 
 
 This morning she was much in need of advice, and 
 she wished with all her heart that her idol could have 
 given it to her. She was sure it would have been more 
 sensible than what human beings usually gave her. As 
 she stood with one arm round his neck, and the other 
 stroking down his silky mane, she felt that bitter regret 
 within her which all lovers of animals have experienced 
 at one time or another — that two-footed animals, as a 
 rule, cannot understand the language which four-footed 
 ones speak. 
 
 " Shure, they're tellin' me 'tis to Punchestown ye 
 ought to be goin', me darlin' ; an' Cormac ses, iv the 
 Prince av Waylls saw ye there, he'd bet a pint av 
 goold upon ye immajitely ! But don't ye be afeered, 
 acushla!— don't ye be afeered!" and she stroked his 
 silky nose, and then kissed it. " I wouldn't see thim 
 timplstuous crathurs av jockeys a kickin' at yer wid
 
 The Silve?' Whistle, 109 
 
 their heels (Moyrah had been to the Mallow races), 
 an' a slashin' an' a batin' av yer sides, as iv ye were a 
 whisp av corn in a granary in autumn. I would not — 
 no-a, not iv they ofFert me all the new bonnets in 
 Limerick, an' I seen a power av 'em there the last time 
 I wint marketin'," she sighed. New bonnets were 
 things which stood much in the same place to her as 
 the crown of Ireland appears to stand to a large number 
 of her countrymen. 
 
 As she was leaving the stables for the little plot of 
 ground in front of the farm-yard, she suddenly heard 
 footsteps on the road. Her cheeks grew pale, and she 
 stood still and held her breath. 
 
 " 'Tis wake in the head I am !" she exclaimed, im- 
 patiently scolding herself. " Shure, 'tis nine o'clock, 
 an' past, an' all the wurruld an' his wife is out walkin' ; 
 an' there am I, ketchin' me breath as iv I'd a stitch in 
 me solde, an' dancin' on me toes iv I hear the most 
 distant reflection av the brogues crushin' the dhry mud 
 in the road." 
 
 But, in spite of her scolding, she shuddered as th^ 
 steps came nearer. She crossed herself. " The Lorrud 
 presarve us !" she muttered. " Shure. these are troubled 
 toimes for poor ould Oirelan'! The horsis are the only 
 crathurs in the counthry that can be thrusted to walk 
 upon the roads." In spite of herself she felt compelled 
 to go up to the little hand-gate which led on to the 
 road. 
 
 Walking cahnly along, looking so cool and easy in 
 his light grey shooting coat, with his gun under his 
 arm, and a matutinal cigar in his mouth, was Edgar 
 Sydney. The moment he caught sight of ^loyrali he 
 came towards her, and, raising his hat, made as cour- 
 teous a bow as if she had been a princess. He had just 
 been thinking of her. This was strange for him, as, 
 usually, he seldom thought of the fair sex. Sport, 
 business and charity divided his solitary meditations. 
 This morning he had begun by thinking of the law by
 
 no The Silver Whistle. 
 
 which suspected poachers may be searched by constables. 
 This law had been brought vividly before his mind by 
 seeing a number of men, in slouching hats, with the 
 collars of their coats turned up, standing on a by-path, 
 with a bag from which protruded the head of a dead 
 hare and two dead rabbits, while nets and stakes lay on 
 the ground before them. He had stopped and looked 
 at the men, and they had returned his gaze without any 
 bashfulness. 
 
 One of them, a young man with a comical twinkle in 
 the corner of his eye, had said : " Wanted a first class 
 roast cook; also two experienced kitchenmaids, accus- 
 tomed to clean game. Apply, by letter only, to Brian 
 Boroihme's ghost, at Number One's house, one Wonner's 
 Kow, Won County." 
 
 The other men had laughed and turned their heads 
 
 away, but Sydney had been too much occupied with his 
 
 speculations about their poaching, and poaching on his 
 
 genial host's property, too, to take any notice of the joke. 
 
 He had walked on in silence, without a smile on his 
 
 face. As he walked, he pondered on the state of the 
 
 country. He thought of last night's entertainment, and 
 
 of the love for the drama most of the peasants had 
 
 shown, and began to wonder if a number of large 
 
 theatres distributed profusely over the different counties 
 
 of Ireland, and with acting companies composed of 
 
 purely Irish peasants, would afford any solution of the 
 
 Irish difficulty. From this, his thoughts had wandered 
 
 to Moyrah, who would become a Celtic Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 Were these poachers he had just seen the sort of men 
 
 she habitually mixed with? Were they, by chance, her 
 
 own brothers or near relations? While thinking this, 
 
 he raised his eyes and saw her. Then he threw away 
 
 his cigar, and placing the butt of his gun on the ground. 
 
 leaned upon the gate. 
 
 " I see. Miss Moyrah, you are one of those who keep 
 their early hours in spite of evening revelries? " 
 Moyrah blushed, and dropped a curtsey.
 
 The Silver Whistle. Ill 
 
 ^ '' 'Tisn't very early then, yer honour, I'm thinkin' • 
 SIX in winthur, an' four in summer, I'm out fadin' the 
 hins mostly." 
 
 "'Fadin' the hins,'" thought Sydney, '' what does 
 that mean, i wonder?" 
 
 u ,m.^^?^' ^^^'^ ^''^ puzzled look, and said quickly ; 
 
 Tis the little skits av burds I mane." 
 
 "Hens! ah! O yes, of course; how stupid of me ! " 
 He paused, as he complacently but respectfully surveyed 
 her beautiful countenance. To his surprise, as he 
 looked more closely, he saw the marks of recent tears 
 upon her cheeks. He was too chivalrous a knight 
 however, to remark upon them. ' 
 
 "AH my companions were still asleep," he said, with 
 a smile ; " so I determined to take my gun and see if I 
 could get an early shot at a rabbit." 
 
 Moyrah looked at the gun, and gave a slight shudder. 
 
 ^ Are you afraid of fire-arms ? " he asked, gently. 
 
 "No-a," she said, in a hesitating way, "not in some 
 hanas. 
 
 There was a mysterious tone in her voice, as if she 
 was speaking with a double meaning, which aroused 
 his curiosity. 
 
 " There are people, then, in whose hands you are afraid 
 to ^see them ? " he said, kindly, but enquiringly. 
 
 ' Indade there are, an' not far from here, naythur." 
 
 Now he began to think he had some clue to the traces 
 of her tears. 
 
 "There has not been anyone shot in the neighbour- 
 hood, I trust?" and his tone was full of interest and 
 anxiety. 
 
 "There has not, yer honour," and she shook her head. 
 
 bydney s eyes were so kind and honest, his whole 
 manner was so sympathetic,yet so respectful, that Moyrah 
 telt, somehow, as if she could, and, indeed, must, tell him 
 everything. ' 
 
 hono^' 7,®^ honour, I'd be glad iv I might spake to yer
 
 112 2 he Htlver Whistle. 
 
 ''• Why, to be sure you may," he exclaimed, with such 
 earnestness, such overflowing kindness, that Moyrah's 
 whole heart opened up towards him. There and then, 
 without any preliminary skirmishing, without any 
 beating about the bush, but with a simple directness 
 which made a most favourable impression upon Sydney, 
 she recounted the whole of the adventures of the past 
 night. Her tones thrilled with earnestness, and her 
 gestures, all made with perfect unconsciousness, added 
 an impressiveness and an extraordinary interest to the 
 story, which chained Sydney's attention. It was truly 
 a romantic experience for him, in his first dealings with 
 the Irish peasantry. 
 
 He grasped the whole lay of the situation, and saw, 
 even more clearly than Moyrah did, the imperative 
 necessity for Cormac's leaving the country at once. 
 
 " I will send him over to England, to my own country 
 place, where my mother is, this very day," he said. " I 
 shall soon be able to find him some useful and lucrative 
 employment there. My cousin Lucas is going to see off 
 a friend of his by the train which catches the North 
 Wall steamer to day, and I will put Cormac under his 
 care. I myself will walk up with him from your house to 
 the Hall, and he shall not be lost sight of for a single 
 instant, until he is safe in a land where they dare not 
 hurt him." Then his pent-up indignation suddenly 
 broke bounds, and he exclamed, " Good gracious ! what 
 demons upon earth." He paused out of deference 
 to her. 
 
 Tears rushed to Moyrah's eyes. For a minute or two 
 there was a silence. Then she humbly endeavoured to 
 impress upon him the necessity for not letting anyone 
 know that she had saved Cormac's life, or that he had 
 been at the Blue House at all. 
 
 Of course, Sydney saw this at once, and he began to 
 devise about the best means of getting Cormac into his 
 possession and out of hers. 
 
 At length they decided that the best way would be
 
 The Sliver Whistle. 113 
 
 for Sydney to walk up and down on the road, while she 
 went in and woke up Cormac, explained matters to him, 
 gave him a sup of breakfast, then brought him out and 
 put him under Sydney's care. He would walk with 
 his gun loaded and cocked by his side all the way 
 up to the Hall, keeping Cormac touching him the 
 whole time. 
 
 Once at the Hall they would be in time to catch 
 Mr. Lucas and his friend before they started for the 
 train. Protected by both of them in a shut carriage, 
 it was probable he would be safe enough ; though it 
 was by no means certain ; but, at any rate, it was the 
 best that could be done. 
 
 Before Moyrah turned to go towards the house, she 
 went down on her knees, and called the blessing of 
 God, of the Holy Virgin and of all the saints upon 
 Sydney's head. 
 
 He raised his hat, and stood uncovered, and with his 
 head bent forwards. Then he stretched out his hand 
 to help her to rise. As she did so, he pressed her hand 
 reverentially to his lips. Her colour deepened as 
 much as it had done when first she appeared on the 
 stage as "Mary, Queen of Scots;" she turned 
 hurriedly away and went into the house. She quickly 
 made up a fire, set the kettle to boil, woke up Cormac, 
 got him some bread and ham and tea, and explained 
 the wholly unexpected course events had taken since 
 he had gone to sleep on the table. 
 
 "But Moyrah, mavourneen," and he leaned forward 
 with an expression of anguish on his honest homely 
 face, " that manes that I'm to lave ye enthirely." 
 
 " No-a, no-a; not enthirely me boy, no-a, no-a;" 
 and Moyrah's tears began to flow. " Shure Misthur 
 Sydney, may the Lorrud reward him ! will git ye on in 
 grand style ; ye'll be afthur making a pile av gold as 
 big as the Galtees ; an' thin, if the ould counthree is'nt 
 in a daysint con-dishin, shure I'll go over to ye, hoppin' 
 an' dancin', I will. But may be by that toime there'll be 
 
 I
 
 114 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 somebody who can kape this counthree fit for respectible 
 pour crathures to live in," and she sighed heavily. 
 
 Poor Cormac, as he thought the matter over, saw it 
 was his only chance. He realised that he must face 
 either death or a separation almost as bitter as death. 
 He buried his face in his folded arms and sobbed. 
 
 Moyrah threw her apron over her head, and cried 
 until she shook all over underneath it She felt that 
 she began to love Cormac then as she had never loved 
 him before. She thought over all the times she fancied 
 she might have caused him unnecessary annoyance, 
 and each one was a stab to her over-sensitive heart. 
 O, misery ! when we are about to lose one we love, and 
 our conscience reproaches us with not having acted 
 always towards them as we could wish. There was no 
 sting in poor Cormac's tears. He knew that he had 
 always acted kindly and fairly to Moyrah ; so, though 
 his tears seemed bitter enough to him, he did not know 
 how much more bitter they might have been. 
 
 In spite of all Moyrah's entreaties he could not eat 
 much breakfast ; it stuck in his throat and choked him. 
 They said their last farewells before he left the kitchen. 
 They swore eternal fidelity to each other 5 and Cormac 
 said that, well or ill, waking or sleeping, dead or alive, 
 Moyrah's image would be ever before his eyes. They 
 ended by kneeling down and saying one short and 
 fevent ^' Memorare " together. That prayer seemed to 
 bring consolation and calmness to them both. 
 
 ^' Jewel o' me heart, will I iver see ye agin'?" 
 His voice was full of anguish. 
 
 " As shure as that flower is blue we'll mate agin." 
 And she stooped and picked a little bit of lupin, which 
 was growing in the garden, and put it in his buttonhole. 
 Sydney, with his usual delicacy, had turned and walked 
 a few steps further away, as he saw them come out to the 
 door with clasped hands, and knew they were taking 
 their last farewells. They stood together for several 
 minutes in silence. There was no sound but the
 
 The Hilver Whistle. 115 
 
 rustling of the leaves of the trees at each side of the 
 road, and the low cooing of the wood pigeons. 
 
 As the lovers stood with beating hearts, hearts too 
 full to speak, the sound of other footsteps besides 
 Sydney's were heard approaching up the road. They 
 quickly took a last, a long, but a really last farewell. 
 Then Sydney strode up with his gun over his shoulder, 
 and a grave calm look of deep compassion in his 
 thoughtful eyes. 
 
 " I think you are safe with me," he said, in a 
 protecting tone. He was rather more than a head 
 above Cormac. 
 
 '• Musha ! och musha ! " sobbed Moyrah, as she threw 
 her arms round Cormac's neck, and hid her weeping 
 face upon his broad shoulder. Cormac's feelings would 
 get the better of his efforts at self command — the 
 expressive Irish nature which shows whatever is passing 
 within burst bounds — and he walked away sobbing, with 
 his face buried in his hands- Poor Sydney had never 
 as yet found himself in so uncomfortable a posftion. 
 He felt something like a jailer conducting a criminal to 
 the gallows. The footsteps turned out to belong to 
 what Sydney felt certain was another poacher, walking 
 along complacently in the cool of the morning, with a 
 brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. Sydney fixed 
 what he considered a most penetrating gaze upon him. 
 But it did not appear to penetrate in the least. He 
 was a lank man, in ragged clothes, with his cheeks 
 covered by hair half an inch long ; his chin, however, 
 was shaved. Cormac seemed to know him, and he 
 evidently was much surprised at recognising Cormac in 
 his present position. They looked at each other for 
 an instant but did not speak. 
 
 When he was out of ear shot, Sydney said, " Who 
 was that?" 
 
 '* Micky O'Shea." 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 "No good at all — no good ! " and Cormac shook his 
 
 i2
 
 116 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 head. " I wish I was a foot taller, an' heM 'a larnt 
 manners off me before this." 
 
 Their way lay over a small hill, or what, perhaps, 
 English people would call a slight elevation of the 
 ground. The Irish considered it a distinct hill. It 
 was bare and bleak. There were no trees on it. It 
 was divided into a few fields of long, rank grass and 
 yellow weeds, on which two or three donkeys were 
 feeding ; quadrupeds whose appearance brought Don 
 Quixote's steed before the mind. The fields were 
 divided by low stone walls, the greater part of the 
 stones of which lay about on the ground. At the 
 highest point on the hill there was a pillar stone, or 
 " dallan," as it is called in the country. Here Cormac 
 stopped and looked round, shading his eyes with his 
 hand. 
 
 The absence of trees made the view a very extensive 
 one. Below were the wooded valleys and rushing 
 streams, like streaks of silver. About a mile and a 
 quarter over to the right lay the little copse close to 
 which the ruins of Cormac's house were still 
 smouldering. As he looked at the coils of pale blue 
 smoke, sleepily circling into the air, his good-humoured 
 face became crimson with fury. He shook his fist 
 wildly in the air while he exclaimed : " Bedad, ye 
 lighted a foire there that won't go out whin thim ashis 
 is dead ! " He paused, then getting redder than ever, 
 added, "ye thought to efface me, did ye, ye devils 
 yer ? Maybe ye'll foinde ye've effaced yerselvis ! May 
 the curse of a man ye have made a beggar rest on 
 ye and yers for ivir ! " 
 
 Arrived at the Hall, Sydney took Cormac up to his 
 own room, and made him sit down there and wait 
 while he explained matters to Lucas and the captain. 
 The latter was dreadfully annoyed at the burning 
 down of the farm, which was the wilful destruction, as 
 he said, of his own property by some party or parties 
 unknown. He wished to set off then and there to
 
 The Silver Whistle, 117 
 
 investigate the whole business. Sydney had the greatest 
 difficulty in persuading him to wait until Cormac was 
 safe out of the way. 
 
 Sydney wrote a letter to his mother, who was at her 
 country place in the Midlands, Hambury Castle, telling 
 her the whole history of Cormac's forced expatriation, 
 and asking her to find him some employment about the 
 place until he went over himself. 
 
 Cormac was given a hot bath, with a sprinkling of 
 eau de Cologne in it. Bridget insisted on this. She 
 was intensely interested and excited about the whole 
 affair. Cormac himself did not see the necessity for 
 this process, and was rather frightened when he found 
 himself alone in a room, in a huge bath, for the first 
 time in his life, surrounded on all sides by steaming hot 
 water, and without a stitch of clothes on. 
 
 " 'Tis dangerous, I'm thinkin' ! " he kept muttering 
 every minute. " Suppose now, I was dhrowned ? " 
 
 However, he scrubbed his face until it shone Jike 
 the sun on the Slaney. 
 
 " 'Tis dangerous !" he kept on muttering all the time. 
 " Shure, I was burned In the night, an' maybe I'll be 
 dhrowned in the mornin'," and he tried to push the 
 steam which enveloped him away with both his hands. 
 ^* May the Lorrud have raursy on me sowl!" and he 
 crossed himself devoutly. The servants had made the 
 water much too hot, out of fun, and the unpleasantly 
 sharp tingling on his unaccustomed skin brought a 
 realistic vision of purgatory before his mind, such as no 
 sermon or meditation had as yet called forth. Most 
 people say their prayers after they get out of their bath, 
 but Cormac said his, with great fervour, all the time he 
 was in It. 
 
 His ablutions over, Sydney himself dressed him up 
 in a but slightly worn suit of Poole's last cut — light 
 trousers, cut-away coat, with bit of pocket handkerchief, 
 scented with Jockey Club, coming out of the breast 
 pocket. Bridget insisted on shaving off his little, fair
 
 118 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 whiskers herself, and gave him one or two cuts during 
 the process. She then proceeded to make a pair of very 
 respectable, though rather too curly, moustaches out of 
 them, by gumming the hair on to a bit of the stamp 
 paper edge, which she first painted Naples yellow. 
 She then cut all his fair curls off close to his head, and 
 tried to make it look as like a wooden block for fixing 
 bonnets in a milliner's shop as the head of the modern 
 fashionable young man usually does. With a jaunty 
 chimney pot hat stuck on the side of his head, and a 
 dainty umbrella of Bridget's swinging from his hand, 
 the disguise was perfect. His most intimate associate 
 would have disowned him. 
 
 Curiously enough, from some time before Cormac's 
 arrival until shortly after his departure from the house, 
 Lenoir was absent. 
 
 ^* 'Pon my word !" exclaimed Bridget, turning him 
 round before the pier glass, " if Moyrah saw you now, 
 she'd worship the ground you walk on !" 
 
 Whether Bridget knew Moyrah's character may be 
 doubted ; but, at least, she had an insight into some of 
 the deeps and shallows of the female heart. 
 
 Cormac and Lucas went to the station in a shut 
 carriage, and no one recognized the former. Indeed, 
 he did not recognize himself, and appeared to be walk- 
 ing and talking in a dream. The only remark he made, 
 for the first few hours of his journey, was a muttered 
 sotto voce^ " Shure, mavourneen will die wantin' av me; 
 faith, she was always the gerril to show the 'grah'" 
 (affection), and then a suppressed sob. After which he 
 would catch sight of himself in one of the looking 
 glasses in the refreshment saloons, where they went for 
 a sandwich and a glass of Guinness's XX, and would 
 stare for a minute or two, then exclaim, " Begorra ! she 
 wouldn't know me at all, at all ! 'Twould fright her to 
 see me !"
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 N the day but one after poor Cormac's expatriation, 
 i^j a letter came for Sydney from his mother. She 
 said the young Irish fugitive had arrived safely; 
 that she was much interested in him; that he was lodging 
 with the head gardener, and was to be employed about 
 the garden for the present. She said he seemed well, 
 although much depressed, and she could not understand 
 all he said, his accent was so peculiar. While he was 
 reading this, Lucas was frowning over a huge foolscap 
 document, which turned out to be an enlarged request 
 for a donation to the Society for Ornamenting Public 
 Thoroughfares of London. 
 
 " I say, what rubbish," he muttered, impatiently. 
 "Captain, would you, or Sydney, would you like to give 
 some money for ornamenting London ? " 
 
 " Phaugh ! " said the captain, crossly, breaking his 
 egg with a blow which sent the bits of shell in all 
 directions. 
 
 " The only ornamentation I will subscribe to, and for 
 that 1 will stand to £10,000, are rows of plumbers 
 hanging from all the cross-roads of the metropolis," said 
 Sydney. 
 
 " I believe everyone in London would subscribe 
 handsomely to that," said the captain. " And from the 
 head of each should go up a long ventilating pipe full 
 of holes, thus alone will London ever be rendered 
 healthy." 
 
 Sydney had recently had the drains of his London 
 house put into " perfect order " four times over, and 
 each time by a more celebrated man than the time before,
 
 120 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 and each time a more frightful illness had broken out 
 in the house than the time before. The last time, when 
 the most celebrated man of all did them, and another 
 man celebrated to a degree that it is impossible to 
 describe, and the head inspector of every sanitary 
 institute in the kingdom examined them, and reported 
 they were in "perfect order," and that the house was 
 in an "eminently sanitary condition," the cook, two 
 days afterwards, discovered a hu2:e piece of mortar 
 and brick stopping up one of the most important 
 pipes in the house. 
 
 It was in consequence of this series of sanitary- 
 adventures that Mrs. Sydney resided almost entirely at 
 Hambury Castle, and was thus conveniently placed for 
 assisting Cormac. So the plumbers had done one good 
 deed, at any rate. " Jt is an ill wind," etc. though it 
 be a sewer gas wind, as most of our winds are now. 
 
 Sydney took his mother's letter, and immediately 
 after breakfast set off with it to the Blue House. 
 As he approached up the garden, he saw Moyrah 
 sitting at the open lattice window, which was pic- 
 turesquely tangled wdth invading roses and Virginia 
 creeper. The sun was shining with that soft, ahuost 
 tender, warmth peculiar to Ireland. It had rained 
 all night, and as the sun lit the lime trees and 
 the laurels outside, it made the fresh, wet, leafy 
 foliage glow like jewels ; it threw long powdery 
 shafts of gold dust over Moyrah's hair, and pene- 
 trated to the shadowy recesses of her dark eyes. 
 The soft music of the waving boughs, the lullaby 
 of the distant streams, and the far-off lowing of the 
 cattle, mingled in a concert of such exquisite sound 
 as seemed to contain all the pleasures of the senses 
 and intellect within itself. 
 
 Sydney's was one of those finely strung natures 
 which respond to outward influences, just as a thorough- 
 bred horse does to the delight of a gallop on soft park 
 turf on a breezy morning. He stood still, and let the
 
 The Silver Whistle. 121 
 
 picture engrave its clear outlines on his heart ; a proof 
 engraving, perhaps, In more ways than one. His step 
 had been noiseless on the soft green turf, so that 
 Moyrah's profile continued towards him, while she 
 worked away unconsciously at a net for ferreting 
 purposes, which she was making for her father, and 
 the diamond panes of the shut part of the window, 
 which were rather dusty, threw queer shaped little 
 shadows on the extreme back of her head and shoulders. 
 A small old stone Irish cross, with some curious carving 
 on It, was let Into the wall of the house, just above the 
 window, a relic of now very quiet centuries, surprised 
 perhaps, at the fierce excitement of the present one. 
 Though there was no sign of the "leprlchaun," still fairy 
 music swelled on the listening air. Higher and higher 
 rose a thrush's voice, till It seemed as If It must be 
 lost in some clear heaven of endless sweetness. There 
 It hovered and stayed, then descended, rising and falling 
 again and again upon the pinions of melody, till at last, 
 as If worn out with rapture at its own beauty, It sank 
 into the harmony made by the other sounds. 
 
 Moyrah took no notice of this, but went on working 
 with a pre-occupled air. The occasional dissonance of 
 a hen cackling or a dog barking did not disturb her 
 either. Suddenly a plum, which had been ripening on 
 the warm, red wall of the old garden, fell to the ground 
 with a flop. 
 
 Sydney thought this would have made her look up, 
 but it did not. As he watched her It seemed to him 
 that all the elements in his soul were entering into new 
 combinations. Hitherto he had not cared more for one 
 woman than another. No woman had ever Impressed 
 him with a desire to see her again, except his mother, 
 whom he idolized. She had often tried to persuade 
 him to marry ; but he was in the habit of shaking his 
 head, with a smile. To encourage him, she told him 
 of a young American who paid a clergyman the usual 
 fee on his wedding day. A. year or two afterwards the
 
 122 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 clergyman was surprised by a visit from the bridegroom, 
 and by his offering him a handsome sum of money. 
 
 " The fact is," he said, in explanation, " she has 
 turned out so much better than I expected." 
 
 But Sydney had not as yet been bewitched out of 
 the charms of bachelorhood by this story. " 8he 
 could not turn out worse than I expected," was his 
 extremely ungallant commentary ; and then he would 
 begin reading about hurdles and steeplechases, two 
 subjects which his mother strenuously endeavoured to 
 keep from his mind 
 
 But since he had seen Moyrah his feelinj2:s towards 
 the daughters of Eve had softened. Her simple, trusting 
 appeal to him for help in her dire necessity had touched 
 all the most chivalrous chords in his nature. Then, he 
 had been much struck by what he considered her won- 
 derful bravery, self-reliance, and quickness of resource 
 in her rescue of Cormac. 
 
 He had never been in love in his life, and, therefore, 
 it did not occur lo him that he was in love now. He 
 merely thought the time passed pleasantly in her 
 society, and that was all — all for the present. 
 
 Suddenly Moyrah turned, quite of her own accord, 
 and without any noise being made, and, looking him 
 full in the face, started with surprise. She rose to her 
 feet quickly, and coming out to the front door, curtsied, 
 and asked him if he would walk in. 
 
 He accepted gladly, and found her alone in the 
 kitchen. Her mother had gone to see a married 
 sister of hers, who was ill in the county town, and 
 would probably be away a day or two. Her father 
 was out about the farm. The boys were out on what 
 was called a fishing, but was in reality a poaching, 
 expedition ; and Eileen was dancing jigs for the edifi- 
 cation of the public on the top of the haystack in the 
 village, an employment for which she had a great 
 attrait. 
 
 Sydney sat down on an old carved boxwood settee
 
 The Silver Whistle. 123 
 
 in the window, and persuaded Moyrah to return to the 
 position from which his entrance had disturbed her. 
 
 " I have come, Miss Moyrah, to read you a letter 
 containing news of someone you are interested in," 
 and he looked up at her with an arch smile. 
 
 The lovely blush, the soft dimpling of her cheek, 
 the gentle, scarcely perceptible, curving of her mouth 
 into lines of great sweetness and tenderness, enhanced 
 her beauty, and were not lost on Sydney. There was 
 something strangely fresh and unconventional about 
 her, even for an Irish country girl, and withal there 
 was a look in her eye and a tone in her voice which 
 told, with no uncertain tongue, that there were depths 
 of passion, for good or for evil, still in embryo, but 
 none the less existing, hidden under her soft voice and 
 sometimes coaxing, sometimes pensive, manner. 
 
 Sydney produced his mother's letter. 
 
 " Can you guess at all who it is I am alluding to?" 
 he asked, as he unfolded the letter in a slow, deliberate, 
 rather tantalising manner. 
 
 " Faith, yer honour, I'm afthur thinkin' 'tis me own 
 poor boy who they've explained away." 
 
 This was the best attempt she could make at present 
 at " expatriation." 
 
 Sydney bit his lip to suppress a smile. 
 
 " You are right. Miss Moyrah. This letter is from 
 my mother, from her place in Benbooshire, Hambury 
 Castle. Cormac has arrived quite safely, and has won 
 golden opinions on all sides — as he was sure to do, he 
 added, with marked emphasis — but you shall hear my 
 mother's words for yourself." 
 
 In his deep, rich voice he proceeded to read out all 
 the part of the letter that referred to Cormac, while 
 Moyrah listened with a blush and downcast eyes, but a 
 look of proud congratulation on her face. 
 
 Moyrah thought herself in love with Cormac : Sydney 
 thought he was only doing the most ordinary act of 
 kindness, a mere bit of common English parish charity,
 
 124 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 like reading " Pickwick " to old Tom Jones, the hunts- 
 man, in his stuffy little cottage in the village of Ham- 
 bury, the time he broke his leg. Yet of all the 
 unhypocritical men who ever walked this earth Sydney 
 was the most so. 
 
 ^' You see. Miss Moyrah, he seems to be well, and as 
 happy as can be expected under his most unhappy 
 circumstances. My mother will show him every kind- 
 ness, and will do her best to make his unfortunate 
 position less intolerable." 
 
 " May the hivins be her bed ! " said Moyrah, fer- 
 vently. 
 
 " I think they will be," he said, his whole face 
 softening, and tears coming into his eyes for a moment. 
 " If ever there was a person who gave you the idea of 
 belonging to heaven, she it is. I should like you to 
 see her." He paused for an instant. 
 
 " Ah ! but I can do the next best thing ; show you a 
 picture of her." He put his hand into his breast, 
 inside all his clothes, and pulled out a small gold 
 locket. He pressed the clasp, and as it flew open, 
 turned towards Moyrah a face of great sweetness, 
 with white hair crowning it and undisguised lines upon 
 it truthfully represented by the unflattering artist. 
 
 Moyrah uttered an exclamation of admiration. She 
 took it carefully in the palm of her hand and looked at 
 it for a moment intently. " Shure, yer honour, 'tis the 
 very moral of yersilf!" 
 
 Had Sydney hated Moyrah before she said this, he 
 would have loved her from that moment. No one had 
 as yet discovered a likeness between him and his mother, 
 and it was the most cherished desire of his heart that 
 someone should spontaneously declare they saw one. 
 He did not know that Moyrah had a reputation in the 
 village for being a " great hand" at discovering a like- 
 ness. But, unknown to herself, Moyrah had an artist's 
 eye; and just as some artists put lights and shadows 
 into their pictures, which no one else sees, but which, it
 
 The Silver Whistle, 125 
 
 is to be presumed, they see, so she really did see resem- 
 blances which other eyes could not discover. The 
 proof that she was not romancing was supplied by the 
 fact that, in a kitchen full of strangers, she would point 
 out the different children of the different parents. 
 
 " Do you really see a likeness ?" Sydney's voice 
 was actually trembling with tense anxiety. 
 
 " I do, yer honour ; as great a likeness as I ivir seen 
 in a picter to anny one." She spoke with a straight- 
 forward simplicity which was more forcible than many 
 adjectives. 
 
 " Thank you, a thousand times, for saying that !" he 
 exclaimed, with an intense fervour which astonished 
 her. " I cannot, of course, lay the flattering unction to 
 my soul that my outward features are like hers, for she 
 was a celebrated beauty ; but if only I could think my 
 expression bore some resemblance — some faint, far off 
 touch — " he paused, then added, very low, " which 
 angels would recognize when I die, and so adm.it me 
 into heaven." 
 
 Tears rushed to Moyrah's eyes. Angels and heaven, 
 in those fresh days of spotless youth, were very real 
 and very near to her unspoilt imagination. 
 
 " Shure, yer honour will have a nate little creek in 
 hivin, yersilf, I'm thinkin', widout likeniss to annyone 
 at all," she exclaimed, fervently, remembering his 
 goodness to Cormac. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 At that moment a terrified neigh, almost like a 
 human shriek, from Emmett, broke through the summer 
 air, and caused Moyrah to start to her feet with an 
 exclamation, and rush out of the door to the stable. 
 
 Sydney followed her. 
 
 Before they rounded the corner of the house, and 
 came in sight of the yard, a crackling noise was heard, 
 and an unwonted heat and smoke filled the air, which 
 reminded ^loyrah, for an instant, of the night when 
 she had rescued her lover from the flames. Moyrah
 
 126 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 tore on ahead like the wind. Rounding the corner a 
 fearful sight met her eyes. 
 
 Someone had thrown a lighted torch on to the straw 
 roof of Emmett's stable. Dried to a cinder by the 
 summer sun, it caught at once, and before they could 
 reach it, half the roof was in a blaze ; burning straw 
 was falling about everywhere ; little wisps of blue and 
 orange flame carried by the wind all over the yard. 
 The ducks cackled and rushed madly from side to side ; 
 the litter of pigs set up a noise, such as Sydney thought 
 he would be glad to hear plumbers make, when they 
 were being hanged, while the turkeys took wing and 
 flew about as if demented, uttering frightful gobbling 
 screams. But Moyrah had neither eyes nor ears for 
 anything but her idol. Rushing forward, with her 
 cotton gown and apron flying in the wind, she plunged 
 boldly into the very thick of the fire, before Sydney 
 could stop her. Scarcely two moments elapsed when 
 her apron caught, and before she could reach the rope 
 by which Emmett was tied it had set alight to her 
 dress, and she was enveloped in flames. 
 
 In an instant Sydney had torn off" his coat, and 
 wrapped it tightly round her, while he dragged her 
 from the blazing shed, now a perfect bonfire. He threw 
 her down upon a rug, which had been taken out to be 
 beaten in the yard, and rolled her in it until the last 
 spark was extinguished. Thanks to his promptitude 
 and courage, her life was saved, but she had several 
 rather severe burns on her arm, otherwise she was 
 unhurt. 
 
 The instant she recovered the full use of her senses 
 she sat up, then struggled from his grasp, intending to 
 rush to the stable again. 
 
 The shrieks and neighs from Emmett were becoming 
 fainter, but more heartrending every instant. 
 
 " If you swear to me to stay pefectly still here, I will 
 save him," said Sydney, looking into Moyrah's eyes, as 
 much as to say, " can 1 trust you ? "
 
 Ihe Silver Whistle. 127 
 
 " I will yer honour, faith, thin I will," she said, as 
 she felt all her limbs tremble and give way under her 
 when she tried to rise. She seemed to forget the 
 danger Sydney was running in rescuing her cruelly 
 wronged horse. 
 
 Sydney was not a minute too soon. The roof of the 
 burning stable had already fallen in, and poor Emmett, 
 stupefied by terror and the fumes of the smoke, had 
 sunk on his side. With a desperate wrench of the true 
 British athlete's power, Sydney tore the halter (by 
 which Dan, out of mischief, had tied him, just before 
 he started on his poaching expedition) in two ; and 
 grasping a wisp of his mane in one hand, and getting 
 his other arm tight round his fore legs, he dragged 
 him along on his side with a marvellous strength, 
 such as he did not know until that moment he 
 possessed, until he got him safely out into the open 
 yard, singed and terrified almost to death, but other- 
 wise unhurt. 
 
 Little did he think, as he saved the good horse's 4ife, 
 that one day he would save his. 
 
 He knelt by his side and rubbed him tenderly, trying 
 by soothing words spoken in his deep voice, and by a 
 touch which long experience with and love for horses 
 had taught him, to calm the poor animal's terror, and 
 restore his shattered nerves. 
 
 Moyrah, after watching this process for a minute or 
 two with tears of gratitude, gradually raised herself on 
 hands and knees, and crept slowly and still trembling 
 towards him. 
 
 ^' Take care. Miss Moyrah ! take care ! " said Sydney, 
 anxiously, " You ought to keep perfectly quiet after 
 the shock you have had." 
 
 But Moyrah was already kneeling by the side of her 
 beloved horse, and soothing him all over with her hands. 
 
 " My word, he has a beautiful coat ! " said Sydney, 
 as he stroked his sides. " He's a grand blood-like racer, 
 for racer I'm convinced he is ; no one could deceive me •
 
 128 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 the one and only talent [Ve got is my eye for a horse. 
 He's a grand topped fellow, and not a bit wanting in 
 bone; I've seen only one other horse like him in my 
 life, and that was 'The Slicer,'" he continued to himself, 
 in an absent, muttering tone ; '^ but, then, he had straight 
 shoulders and stilty pasterns, and was light in the 
 thighs." 
 
 '' More power to yer honour," said Moyrah, gratefully, 
 as she noticed the intense interest and anxiety expressed 
 in Sydney's speaking countenance. " More power to 
 
 ye." 
 
 " Well, I found I had more power to-day than I 
 thought I possessed," he said, with a kind smile ; " so if 
 I am to have a second edition, I shall be a Samson 
 indeed." Then his thoughts became once more con- 
 centrated on Emmett. " He'd win a dozen handicaps 
 under welter weights with such shoulders, back and 
 limbs, by Jove ! he would, and no mistake." And he 
 ran his hand with a skilful anatomist's delicacy of touch 
 over his silky shoulder. 
 
 The stable stood twenty yards from the house, at the 
 far end of the farmyard ; therefore, as it was completely 
 detached, there did not appear much likelihood of its 
 igniting anything else. 
 
 " There's not a bit of good in trying to put it out," 
 said Sydney, turning his head over his shoulder and 
 gazing for a minute, with raised eyebrows and staring- 
 eyes, at the pile of blazing straw, wood, and bricks. 
 The fire threw a warm, ruddy glow over the scene, and 
 outlined against its crimson light the two kneeling 
 figures and the prostrate horse. 
 
 " His hocks are just a trifle small," soliloquised 
 Sydney. " But I am forgetting you. Miss Moyrah ; I 
 hope you feel pretty well? Let me look at those burns 
 on your arm." 
 
 Moyrah obediently tucked up as much of her sleeve 
 as was not burnt away, and exposed her white and 
 smoothly rounded arm to view. There were one or two
 
 The Silver Whistle. 129 
 
 scarlet burns here and there, but they were only skin 
 deep, and Sydney was enough of a doctor to see at a 
 glance that no danger could be apprehended from them. 
 He examined them, then nodded with approval. 
 
 At that moment old Hegarty himself appeared upon 
 the scene. He stood stock still; his worn, haggard 
 face so ghastly pale as to be blue-grey, like the chilling 
 haze of a north-east wind. His eyes opened wider and 
 wider under his rugged brows, and his wrinkled, limned 
 jaw dropped in abject despair. 
 
 " father ! father ! we are all safe ! — all safe ! — 
 glory be to the Lorrud ! And shure, 'tis Misther 
 Sydney did it all — the blessin' av hivin upon him !" 
 
 '' Shure, the horrus is did," said Hegarty, stolidly ; 
 while there was a gleam in his eyes which revealed to 
 Sydney that there was a point beyond which it would 
 be safer not to rouse him, meek and mild as his general 
 disposition might be. 
 
 " 'Tis not did at all !" exclaimed Moyrah, eagerly ; 
 " 'tis only dhrowsy loike he is wid the smoke. Shure, 
 his heart's batin' like dhrums." 
 
 " He is as sound as a bell, Mr. Hegarty," said 
 Sydney, springing to his feet. 
 
 Sydney had taken the precaution to pull on his coat 
 before he had gone in the second time to the burning 
 stable, and there were, consequently, great brown burns, 
 sometimes merging into black, calcined holes, on the 
 sleeves and part of the back of it. 
 
 " Bedad ! ye're burnt yersilf, ye poor divil !" said 
 Hegarty, forgetting for the moment, in the stress of his 
 agony, who he was speaking to. " Shure, ye're burnt ! 
 an' she's burnt ! an' the horrus is burnt ! an' we're all 
 burnt! or else will be before many more moons is 
 risin'." And he gave a low groan of mixed fury and 
 despair. 
 
 In the meantime, Emmett, who had been slowly 
 recovering, gave one or two kicks and shakes, and 
 finally began to struggle all over, as a prostrate horse 
 
 K
 
 130 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 does in his first efforts to rise. Sydney helped him, 
 and in another minute he was standing on his four 
 beautifully shaped legs. 
 
 " A tiny trifle light in the body and dipped in the 
 back," muttered Sydney, smoothing him down and 
 walking all round him, examining him as a china- 
 maniac does a bit of rare pottery. 
 
 " To think they should have tried to burn such an 
 animal ! " Again he stroked him. 
 
 " I wish to goodness you were all safe out of this 
 detestable country !" he added, fervently. 
 
 " Daytastibil counthry ! " said Moyrah, firing up. 
 " Is it Oireland ye're spakin' av, sur ? " 
 
 Sydney appeared much astonished. He stood looking 
 at her for a minute or two in silence. " I meant no 
 oifence, I'm sure," he said, with that polish of manner 
 which soothed all irritation, while he bowed slightly. 
 " But even 'the most devoted patriot must allow that 
 living here at present does not conduce to that calm 
 repose which alone produces health and longevity, 
 either for man or beast." 
 
 " There's not a counthree in the worruld to aquil it ! " 
 said Moyrah, sullenly. 
 
 Poor Sydney perceived that he had put his foot in 
 it. But Hegarty came to the rescue in a most 
 unexpected manner. 
 
 " What his honour says is the truth av God, ivry 
 worrud av it." And he nodded his head emphatically. 
 " The pathriots I obsurve, lives out av it thimsilves 
 mostly. As soon asivir they've bullied as much money 
 as they wants out av the starvin' pisinthry, off they 
 goes wid their pockets full ; the divil take the lot av 
 'em ! Bedad, I wish I cud do the same ! " 
 
 This unprecedented storm of bitter words fairly took 
 Moyrah's breath away. She knelt bolt upright, 
 supporting herself by the handle of a pump, and looked 
 round in a terrified manner from side to side, to see if 
 anyone was listening.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 131 
 
 *' T3Ivil a ha'perth do I care iv all the counthree's 
 listitiin', or not ! " said the injured farmer, with intense 
 bitterness. " Shure, 'tis plain I've not got the blood in 
 me, or I'd have given 'em a taste av the rapin' hook 
 before this. 'Tis there now behind the cuppel, an' they 
 shall have it. I know who done this. I know who." 
 
 And the old man shook from head to foot in a literal 
 frenzy of mad fury ; his hands clenched, his chest 
 heaving up and down, his eyes glaring like a hungry 
 tiger's, and his voice taking a deep, guttural tone, so 
 thick and jerky, that Moyrah even scarcely recognized 
 it as her father's voice. 
 
 " 'Tis into the Tubber Derg (red well) the divil 
 shall go, he shall, ivry inch av him, as shure as me 
 name's Michael Hegarty ; troth, ahagar ! 'twill be a 
 bad day that sees me at a deshort (loss) what to do wid 
 an inimy," and he gave a harsh grating sort of half 
 laugh, half sob. 
 
 " Der charp agus manim (by my soul and body), I'll 
 make him repint in tears av blood for his work this 
 mornin'," and he shook his fist towards the south, " an' 
 he treasurer av the local branch, too ! Throth, I'll make 
 him treasurer to the worrums under the sod." Then he 
 turned to the pump, filled a bucket with water, and 
 flung it on the still burning shed. But it had little or 
 no effect beyond making a frizzle. 
 
 Sydney procured another bucket, and together they 
 worked away for half-an-hour, Moyrah pumping the 
 water with her left arm, as her right was rather hurt. 
 
 However, they did but little good, for the stable burnt 
 away until the last bit was consumed. 
 
 " An' who's goin' to build me up that agin, I 
 wondhur?" Hegarty kept on muttering, occasionally 
 varying it with, " I don't know who did it, don't I ? 
 exkimnicate divil ! throth, I'll bless him for yer ! " 
 
 Meantime, Moyrah watched Sydney working away 
 like a day labourer, and listened to her father cursing 
 with equal amazement. 
 
 k2
 
 132 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Once as Sydney was kneeling on one knee, with the 
 bucket under the pump, he met her eye, and he saw in 
 it a look of such intense gratitude, that it thrilled 
 through every fibre of his being like an electric shock. 
 He knelt on after the bucket was full and overflowing ; 
 he certainly looked pleasant enough to attract any female 
 heart, even the most unsusceptible. His cheeks were 
 glowing, partly with hard work, and partly with the 
 heat of the flames ; his silky hair was blown wildly 
 round his head, as he wore no hat, and his eyes sparkled 
 with that honest enthusiasm which labour in a good 
 cause always excites, though, as he knew from the first, 
 it was labour in vain. 
 
 As the still blazing embers sank they threw a rich, 
 deep, crimson glow over the man kneeling before the 
 pump, and the woman who, with a long, easy swing of 
 her graceful arm, was moving the handle up and down. 
 That lurid light, warm and tender as it was under the 
 soft blaze of the summer sun, seemed to wrap them 
 round in the blood-red folds of a martyr's mantle. 
 What did it prognosticate in that land of strange 
 prognostications ? Prognostications so strange, often, 
 that only one thing stranger exists, and that is, that 
 everybody should beheve in them. 
 
 A swift inrush of delicious feeling swept over Sydney 
 when Moyrah spoke to him. It seemed to him as if 
 some new and hitherto undreamt-of stimulus, containing 
 within itself the very elixir of life, unlocked to him the 
 gate of a yet undiscovered world of emotion at the 
 sound of her low, sweet Irish tones. There is no voice 
 so beautiful as the Irish voice, when not used for curs- 
 ing or shrieking. There is an exquisite, mellow under- 
 note in it which takes captive the most indifferent ear. 
 Moyrah's voice was singularly sweet, even for one of 
 her nation: there was in it, too, a slightly plaintive 
 ring, which was a peculiarity not without its attractions 
 for a joyous, healthy nature like Sydney's. 
 
 " Ye're tired now, yer honour," said Moyrah, softly.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 133 
 
 *' Come In to the kitchen, an' I'll get ye a dhrop av 
 soinethin' that'll refrish ye. Shure, it's like powerin' 
 wathur down the Blackwater, puttin' it on that ould 
 shed : there's not a ha'porth av good in goin' on wid 
 it." 
 
 " Well, it is not much use, certainly," said Sydney, 
 as he looked round and perceived that the green field, 
 with its nodding yellow weeds, which lay below the 
 yard, was plainly visible between the two half-consumed 
 end walls of the stable, the whole of the back and front 
 of that edifice having entirely disappeared. 
 
 Emmett, meantime, had found a little heap of loose 
 hay in one corner of the yard, and was consoling him- 
 self as best he could for all his troubles by munching it ; 
 while his mistress looked round at him every now and 
 then with a nod and a smile. 
 
 " Father, darlln', come into the kitchen and have a 
 dhrop av somethin' to put the life in ye : shure, I see by 
 the look av ye ye're dead bate enthirely," said Moyrah, 
 laying her hand gently on her father's arm, as he put 
 down an empty bucket with a bang and a heart- 
 rending sigh. He wiped his forehead with his hand- 
 kerchief — an old, red torn one which he took out of the 
 front part of the crown of his battered and brown 
 chimney-pot hat. 
 
 " Bate, indeed ! we're all bate ! " he responded, 
 bitterly. As he turned to walk towards the house he 
 muttered, " Bait we are, too, like the worrums they put 
 on their hooks to catch big fish wid. Arn't we trated 
 jist like worrums to catch the big fish av their subscrip- 
 shins from that blastid ould 'Meriky? Wid two big 
 oshins, wan at ache side av it, I don't know what the 
 divil they mane by not washin' it off the face av the 
 globe ! There'll be no peace for ould Oirelan' till wan 
 av 'em rises to its duty," and he growled and fumed 
 and mopped his head again. 
 
 Sydney heard this and was almost sufi'ocated with 
 laughter, which he struggled vigorously and, fortun-
 
 134 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 ately, successfully, to repress, for Hegarty was in 
 terrible earnest, and would not have borne any levity 
 just then. 
 
 As they turned the corner of the house and came in 
 sight of the garden, they espied a ragged man, lank 
 in his figure, and with a half-grown beard, leaning on 
 the gate, gazing inquisitively towards the kitchen. 
 
 "Confound ye, Micky O'Shea!" roared Hegarty, 
 like a lion with a torn paw, " what the divil do ye 
 mane, ye ould hedgehog, loiterm' about a dacint boy's 
 house ? By yer pathron saint, who turned ye out av 
 hivin long ago, and the divil, I suppose, won't have ye 
 in hell, I'll smash ivry jint an' limb in yer contimptible 
 carkas ! " 
 
 Moyrah, who was utterly unaccustomed to hear such 
 language, or anything approaching to it, from her easy 
 going, mild, pious, little old father, stared in blank 
 amazement, crossed herself, and muttered a prayer 'to 
 the Blessed Virgin for him. 
 
 " Maybe he's waitin' till he's got hell a little hotter 
 for ye." 
 
 Sydney recognised in the somewhat severely apos- 
 trophised individual the man whom Cormac had told 
 him was " no good at all." 
 
 " He appears to hold an unfortunate position in the 
 opinions of his fellow villagers," soliloquised Sydney. 
 
 O'Shea, however, did not seem to care. He turned 
 his head towards Hegarty for a minute, then put out 
 the least taste in life of his tongue at him. After that 
 he nodded to Moyrah in what Sydney considered an 
 intolerably insolent manner, and drawled out, " How's 
 the darlin' Emmett?" 
 
 Moyrah's cheeks became flame colour, and, indeed, 
 so did Sydney's. 
 
 " Ye foul spawn av Beelzebub ! " and seizing a huge 
 log which was lying close at hand, Hegarty aimed a 
 terrific blow at 0' Shea's head. But the latter was too 
 quick. He gave a bound like an antelope, and, avoiding
 
 The Silver Whistle. 135 
 
 the blow, flew off do • < the road, carried like a race 
 horse by his long, lank shanks, gave another bound over 
 a low stone wall, and was lost to sight in two seconds ; 
 but so mad with rage was Hegarty that he was actually 
 setting off after him. 
 
 Moyrah laid her hand gently but forcibly on his 
 arm. " Aisy awhile, father ! aisy awhile ! " she whis- 
 pered. " Sure there's more on 'em behint there where 
 he's gone, an' they'd do for ye enthirely iv ye wint 
 among 'em." 
 
 '' Miss Moyrah is right, Mr. Hegarty. That scoun- 
 drel's got confederates, and they appear to be equal to 
 doing anything in this part of the country," said 
 Sydney, putting his hand on the old man's other 
 arm. 
 
 Between them they led him, trembling with passion, 
 his eyes glaring and his fists convulsively twitching, 
 into the house. 
 
 Moyrah hurriedly got out a bottle of the finest old 
 *' potheen " and, with a couple of lemons, some sugar 
 and half the kettle full of boiling water, brewed such 
 a jorum of the immortal national beverage as Sydney 
 had never seen before. 
 
 She served it, toa, in the old family punch bowl, a 
 fine bit of real solid old silver, with a crown embossed 
 on one side, which, had come down to its present owner 
 through many many generations ; for the Hegarty's 
 had once been Kings of Connaught. 
 
 The present Michael (the archangel's name had been 
 in the family from time immemorial) was living on an 
 old farm, which had once formed part of the estates of 
 his family, but which had since been bought by the 
 captain's ancestors. 
 
 One of the very few surviving relics of past grandeur 
 was the old punch bowl, which Moyrah treated Sydney 
 to, and which she produced on the rarest possible 
 occasions ; only when some highly favoured guest was 
 at the social board.
 
 136 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Curiously enough, there was a small fleur-de-Jys 
 engraved upon that punch howl. 
 
 Sydney saw it at once and remarked upon it. 
 
 Hegarty explained that long ago one of his ancestors 
 had married a French lady, of high birth, and she had 
 brought the punch bowl into the family. In fact, 
 Hegarty declared that through this lady he had some of 
 the blood of St. Louis, King of France, in his veins, as 
 she was descended from him. 
 
 " It's not ivry wan can boast of havin' a saint's 
 blood in 'em," he finished up by remarking ; " for most 
 av 'em nivir marrid at all ! ' 
 
 As Sydney watched Moyrah moving about he thought 
 he could well fancy her descended from a saint and a 
 king ; she was like the few but lovely idyllic dreams of 
 his boyhood, merging into early manhood, before he had 
 mixed much in ladies' society. 
 
 Meantime, Hegarty kept muttering language, which 
 it was as well not to try to understand, to himself; 
 language which scarcely proclaimed the grandeur of his 
 ancestry. 
 
 Sydney insisted on binding up the burns on Moyrah's 
 arm. He was a bit of a doctor ; at least, he was a very 
 good horse doctor, and he usually employed himself on 
 his way to his business office, in the City, by studying, 
 as far as the light of the underground railway would 
 permit, books on veterinary surgery. 
 
 After all, as he argued, human beings were only 
 inferior kinds of horses, and what applied to one 
 applied to the other. 
 
 On this occasion, he made a very gentle and tender 
 surgeon, and his light, supple fingers wound the linen 
 round the wounded arm, with a skill which many a 
 young Guy's Hospital probationary nurse might have 
 envied. Then, Moyrah made a very good patient. 
 
 After this was done, Moyrah got out some home-made 
 whole-meal griddle cakes, some fresh home-made butter, 
 and a little keg of oysters, wdiich a cousin of Hegarty's,
 
 The Silver J^ Mstle, 137 
 
 who lived in the west, near the oyster beds, had sent 
 him. 
 
 It is to be observed that most Irish people have 
 cousins who live near some place where some particular 
 kind of jrood food comes from. -. 
 
 Sydney's exertions had whetted his appetite, and he 
 did full justice to the good things put before him so 
 daintily. For Moyrah had laid the table with a snow- 
 white cloth, and put out the best china plates. 
 
 " Cheer up father, cheer up ! " said Moyrah, brightly, 
 and she laid her hand on his shoulder, and looked down 
 into his eyes, as she stood at his side. 
 
 He sat staring gloomily before him, stirring the ladle 
 in his punch, and muttering. 
 
 '' What'll Mrs. Hegarty be afther sayin' to ye, iv she 
 sees ye lookin' like that?" continued Moyrah, playfully, 
 alluding to her mother, whose tongue was not all a 
 husband could desire when irritated. " There's noharrum 
 done, glory be to God, and thanks to his honour here." 
 
 " No harrum done, an' me shed in ashes, the horse 
 liable to fits for the rest av his loife, no doubt ; me 
 daughter's arrum burnt like toastid cheese ; mesilf made 
 the laughin' stock av that blastid weekly newspapur, 
 that turns ivry dacint boy m the counthry into scorrun ! 
 'Tis that papur I'm thinkin' of, laughin' at me ; 'tanny 
 rate I'll be made a fool av which iver way I look," and 
 he groaned, and leaned his head on his hand. 
 
 Sever had Hegarty been so communicative. As a 
 rule, he was a very reserved man ; and when an Irish- 
 man does take it into his head to be reserved, you 
 might as well try to pick a Milner's safe with a quill 
 pen as to get his secrets out of him by any ordinary 
 method of questioning. 
 
 Moyrah was much astonished, and, to tell the truth, 
 rather alarmed at his unwonted outburst of passionate 
 feeling. In the first place, she feared it would not end 
 here, but that he would give vent to it in company less 
 safe than the present. She knew there were spies
 
 138 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 about everywhere, and people ready to draw him on 
 and then turn upon him and betray him. The thought 
 of this filled her with terror. 
 
 " Come, father, ye havint aitin wan oysther yit ; 
 here's a goody boy," and she put a particularly dainty 
 looking oyster on his plate. " Toiraes will get betthur : 
 cheer up, father ! cheer up, me darlin' ! Shure Saint 
 Pathrick will put his best leg forwards and give us a 
 help now whin weVe come to the worst. There's good 
 people in ould Oireland yit, an' they'll come to the fore 
 sooner or later." 
 
 " Ah, sure, women know nothing about it," he said; 
 but his face assumed a pleasanter expression, and he 
 took his oyster complacently, and then eat more. 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Moyrah, if you sang to us it would 
 keep our spirits up," said Sydney. " I feel certain, 
 from the sound of your voice in speaking, that you can 
 sing," he added, gallantly ; " and when I tell you that 
 one of the greatest desires of my heart has always been 
 to hear an Irish melody sung by a genuine Irish voice, 
 in a genuine Irish home, you will, I am sure, spoil me 
 enough to grant my request." 
 
 Moyrah was sufficiently quick to see at a glance that 
 Sydney was playing into her hands at keeping up her 
 father's spirits, and drawing off his mind from his 
 troubles, and the look of gratitude came into her eyes 
 again. 
 
 When a Qeriamn voice sings a love song, it sounds 
 too often like -man and wife quarrelling. When a 
 French voice sings one, it seems to be saying all the 
 time, with a wink, " What a fool you take me for." 
 When an English voice sings one, it seems to be 
 repeating, in an undertone, " This is a very important 
 matter; it almost beats grey shirtings." When an 
 Irish voice sings one, it melts into the tune as Cleopatra's 
 pearl melted in the cup where she threw it. The 
 listener forgets that there is a voice, or that there is a 
 song, and feels only that there is some spirit drawing up
 
 The Silver Whistle, 139 
 
 his purest feelings out of the muddy water of everyday- 
 life, and making them spread into a beautiful blossom ; 
 as the sun draws up a water lily from a slimy pond, and 
 lays its petals open. 
 
 Moyrah took a sip of punch, cleared her throat, and 
 then began. 
 
 " Through grief and through danger 
 Thy smile hath cheered my way, 
 Till hope seemed to blossom 
 
 From each thorn that round us lay." 
 
 Sydney sat leaning back in his chair looking at her, 
 enthralled. If a man is at all inclined to fall in love 
 with a woman, and that she sings to him charmingly, 
 his fate is sealed. 
 
 It is, perhaps, needless to say that there was no 
 ornate ornamentation in Moyrah's vocalization. No; 
 her musical voice was the mirror of her soul. Simple, 
 clear as crystal ; but with a depth of passion flashing 
 out now and then, and, as it were, flushing the song 
 crimson, like the first gleams of a sunrise on the domes 
 of the Alps. 
 
 It was an untaught voice, but by no means an 
 uncultivated one. She had sung from her childhood ; 
 it came as naturally to her as to the birds. 
 
 When she finished, Sydney found himself trembling, 
 his throat choked with tears, and his eyes blinded. 
 For full five minutes he could not speak a word. 
 
 Moyrah did not look at him, she was busy taking 
 away the empty oyster shells off her father's plate, and 
 replacing them with full ones, and carefully wiping up 
 some whiskey punch which her father's hand, still 
 trembling with indignation, had spilt on the table cloth. 
 Then she raked up the fire, threw on some fresh peat 
 and logs, and swept and tidied the hearth. She moved 
 very quickly, but so quietly, that a mouse could have 
 slept undisturbed. 
 
 Accustomed to singing to her father constantly, she
 
 140 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 herself thought no more of the song than if the family 
 kettle had sung it. She merely supposed Sydney was 
 too deep in his oysters to speak much, hence his 
 prolonged silence. 
 
 She went to the " corrag " and stood it straight up, 
 for it had begun to lean of its own accord, without 
 rhyme or reason. It is the custom in some parts of 
 Ireland to collect branches when they are green, and 
 tie them together in a bundle about a yard round, and 
 six feet high, and keep it at the windy side of the door, 
 so that when the door is opened, the gale of wind which 
 usually accompanies such a performance is mitigated. 
 This bundle is termed the " corrag," or " old man of 
 branches." 
 
 After some difficulty, Moyrah induced this old 
 gentleman to stand firm : whatever way she put him, 
 he showed a strong inclination to fall at her feet, and 
 in this it must be owned, he was imitated by a young 
 man also in the room, only, he did not show his 
 inclination, but kept it discreetly to himself. 
 
 When Moyrah, at length, had fixed the unsteady 
 patriarch satisfactorily on his beam ends, she turned to 
 the lattice window, and standing on one toe, leaned out 
 of it, and gazed anxiously up and down the road. But 
 she saw nothing, and soon came in and turned to the 
 table again. 
 
 " I'm afeered yer honour don't like the oysthers," 
 she said, in a really grieved tone, as she saw how few 
 Sydney had consumed. 
 
 '' Indeed I do; I do indeed," he stammered, looking 
 down with as much surprise at his half empty plate as 
 she had done. 
 
 " They are excellent, the best I ever tasted ; but," — 
 and his voice trembled " I was thinking of the song." 
 
 " Oh, shure, that's poor stuff for food," she said, with 
 much concern, while she rapidly opened some more 
 oysters and laid them on his plate. " Iv yer honour 
 had bin thinkin' av songs all your loife instid av atin'
 
 The Silver Whistle, 141 
 
 yer dinner, yer wouldn't have had the strength to 
 save me an' Emmett to day, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 He could not help smiling. 
 
 " But, then, I never heard such a song as that before, 
 or else I might have been thinking of it all my life and 
 not eating my dinners." 
 
 A slight blush rose to her cheeks, but the corners of 
 her mouth dimpled with a smile. 
 
 " It's in luck yer honour is, then, that you didn't," 
 she said, as she stirred up the punch, and ladled some 
 hot into his glass out of the old silver bowl, which was 
 steaming in the centre of the table. 
 
 " But in the meantime you are not taking anything 
 yourself," he said 
 
 " Moyrah, ate yer dinner," said Hegarty, shortly and 
 decidely. 
 
 '' I don't feel jist aquil to it now," she answered, "by- 
 and-bye, when Eileen comes in, I'll tackle to, maybe." 
 
 Somehow or other, slang did not shock out of Moyrah's 
 mouth : it was spoken so perfectly innocently, and with 
 such transparent ignorance of its being slang, that it 
 rather fascinated than otherwise. 
 
 Sydney himself hated to be pressed to eat when he 
 did not want to, so he said, " Well, if you really had 
 rather not eat, perhaps you would do us the great 
 kindness to sing another song." 
 
 " Afthur yer honour tellin' me it privintid ye from 
 atin', a nice spaysimin av Oirish hospitality that 'ud be." 
 
 Sydney could not help laughing outright at the quaint 
 roguish way this was said. 
 
 Moyrah smiled more broadly than she had hitherto 
 done. 
 
 He looked at her with his soul beaming out through 
 his eyes, as he said, " I'll do anything in the world for 
 you. Miss Moyrah, if you will only sing for me once 
 again." 
 
 " Well, yer honour, if ye'll jist thin take aff yer 
 coat, and give it to me here, 'till I mind them burnt
 
 142 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 holes in it ; 'twill nivir do for ye to be walkin' up 
 through the village wid yer coat like that, an' they 
 gessin' where ye've been, an' we in the black books 
 now." 
 
 Deeply touched at her thoughtful ness, Sydney again 
 was conscious of the choking feeling in his throat. 
 " But — but — " he again began to stutter, an unprece- 
 dented event with him, " I cannot bear you to have the 
 trouble " 
 
 " It is no throuble, yer honour, but a pleasure to do 
 anny thing for ye," and she leaned forward, stretching 
 out her hand for it. 
 
 Most reluctantly, Sydney slowly pulled off his grey 
 shooting coat, and surveyed the burnt holes in it. But 
 Moyrah, who had her needle and thread ready, quickly 
 took it from him, and, feeling with instinctive delicacy 
 that it might annoy him to see her working at it, sat 
 rather behind him, where he could not see her without 
 screwing his head round. After she had put the first 
 three stitches in, she began, not without a touch of sly 
 humour : 
 
 " No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 
 Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 
 When half awakening from fearful slumbers 
 He deems the full choir of heaven is near." 
 
 But again Sydney became enthralled. Nursed in the 
 houses of the rich; luxuriously reared and bred; trained 
 in pleasure; his ear and all his senses habituated to 
 music and soft sounds ; his brain developed by intel- 
 lectual effort and rendered sensitive to the slightest 
 touch ; yet it seemed to him he had never known the 
 meaning of the word enjoyment until now. 
 
 Moyrah finished the song before she finished the 
 coat. Just as the last notes were dying away, Eileen 
 walked in. 
 
 " The Lorrud be praised, ye 're safe back ! " exclaimed 
 Moyrah, fervently, betraying, unintentionally, the keen
 
 The Silver Whistle. 143 
 
 anxiety she had been suiFerIng on her sister's account 
 for the last hour. 
 
 ''Troth, an' why not?" said Eileen. Then she 
 advanced and dropped a curtsey to Sydney, who stood 
 up at once and made a polished bow, which sat none 
 the less well on his graceful figure without his coat. 
 
 Eileen was followed by a party of boys and girls 
 from the village, who had been dancing with her on 
 the haystack. They all seated themselves, uninvited, on 
 the various chairs, stools, and old wooden settees in the 
 room, and asked, in a variety of different voices, for 
 whisky punch, with as much assurance as if it had been 
 their own house and their own punch. 
 
 " We smelt it comin' up the road," said a very 
 ragged tatterdemalion, slapping his knee, while he 
 grinned from ear to ear. 
 
 " We did so-a !" echoed a chorus of delighted voices. 
 
 Moyrah laid down the coat on the back of the chair 
 for a minute, while she signed to Eileen to come and 
 help her to get out various basins, jugs, mugs, and 
 glasses from the cupboard. This done, she proceeded 
 to help the whole assembled company in the most 
 liberal style, giving them each a hot griddle cake with 
 the " crathur." 
 
 " Bedad ! that's the liquor for me !" said one promis- 
 ing urchin of seven, smacking his lips. 
 
 " That's thrue for ye," said a boy of nine, with no 
 cap, hair like an enraged door mat, and pointed, almost 
 bare, bones coming through the knees of his trousers. 
 
 " None av yer Guinness for me, ses I," continued the 
 first connoisseur, who smacked his lips louder than any 
 of the rest of the party, and the others did it loud 
 enough. " None av yer Guinness for me ! thick muck, 
 like ditch wathur — Eoe's the man for me, ses I, that I 
 do !" and he took another good pull at the small, brown 
 smoking jug he held in his little fat hand. He was a 
 fat boy and tolerably well dressed, and evidently very 
 highly educated.
 
 144 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Shure, what a bauHore je are !" (bauliore is laugh- 
 ing stock) exclaimed the eldest boy of the party, a 
 fair-haired lad of fifteen. Then he continued, " Let's 
 dhrink to the health av the farithee " (man of the 
 house). 
 
 " Here's to yer health, Misthur Hegarty ; an' a long 
 loife to ye an' to all belongin' to ye." 
 
 The boys all stood up and waved their glasses, mugs, 
 or jugs, as the case might be, high over their heads ; 
 the girls kicked their heels and cheered, their shrill 
 trebles piercing poor Sydney's unaccustomed ears. Yet 
 he was delighted with the scene. He had particularly 
 desired to study the customs and habits of the Irish 
 peasant on the spot, as a help to overcoming the 
 apparently insurmountable Irish difficulty, and his 
 desire was certainly obtaining its partial fulfilment. 
 
 Hegarty just looked up and nodded at them by way 
 of acknowledgment, and that was all the encouragement 
 he gave them. He appeared to take their conduct as a 
 matter of course, and Sydney concluded that their 
 appearance, under what seemed to him such peculiar 
 circamstances, was an event of ordinary occurrence. 
 
 They did not take much notice of Sydney. Stared 
 at him a little ; but with that well-bred manner which 
 is such a charming characteristic of their nation, did 
 not obtrude their personality upon him. 
 
 " I seen Dan awhile ago," said the youthful Guinness 
 despiser, addressing Moyrah, " wid a big bramble on to 
 the tail av his coat, an' his coat mostly tore away, an* 
 the laste taste in life av the snout av a salmon stickin' 
 out avhis pocket." 
 
 " An where was he goin', now, wid that, I'm 
 wonderin', the young corbogue? " said Hegarty. ^' What 
 does he mane by not bringing it home wid him ?" 
 
 " Goin' to blow out wid his friends in the village, I'm 
 thinkin' ; he thought he wouldn't get much av it if he 
 brought it up here." 
 
 " By the hoky ; that's good," said the boy of nine
 
 The Silver Whistle. 145 
 
 who, unperceived, had helped himself to three oysters 
 and taken a draught of punch after each. 
 
 All the little feet were moving backwards and 
 forwards, as if their young owners were still dreaming 
 they were dancing, even while they were reposing in 
 various attitudes of ease and indolence. 
 
 This put it into Sydney's head that he would very 
 much like to see a genuine Irish jig danced on a genuine 
 Irish floor by genuine Irish children. 
 
 There could be no doubt that all the conditions were 
 present at that moment. 
 
 " Miss Eileen," he said, with that suave, gracious 
 manner which wins Irish hearts directly, and which, if 
 more Englishmen possessed, the difficulty of governing 
 Ireland would not have become so insurmountable as 
 it now has. " I wonder if you would have the great 
 kindness to lead a real Irish jig for my edification. 
 
 Eileen blushed and smiled. Moyrah went to a 
 cupboard full of jam pots and cold baked potatoes, and 
 from its depths produced a violin. After tuning it for 
 a minute, while Eileen and the eldest boy pushed the 
 chairs and tables into a corner, she struck up, with a 
 rare '^ go " and " dash," a rattling mixture of ^' Rory 
 O'More" and the "Rakes of Mallow," which she 
 herself had arranged as a jig. 
 
 In an instant the whole room was alive. The floor 
 bounding up and down, little legs going in every 
 direction, and little arms flying about like spirit arms 
 at a seance. Most of the children were barefoot, and 
 therefore there was not much clatter, but occasionally, 
 there was a sharp rat-tat of a heel on the boards. 
 
 Some of the children sang as they danced, apparently 
 to ease the overflowing joy of their hearts at being in 
 a state of perpetual motion. 
 
 When a boy accidently knocked against a girl, 
 or a girl against a boy, they got a good push, or a 
 smart smack in return. That calm repose which 
 marks the caste of Vere de Vere was not here. Every 
 
 L
 
 146 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 emotion as it bubbled up in the heart found instant 
 expression. 
 
 Some called '^ quicker," others " louder," as the 
 music pleased or displeased them. 
 
 One little boy of five took the opportunity of the 
 general commotion to creep unseen on his hands and 
 knees round by the wall of the room, until he came to 
 the cupboard, where he had momentarily spied the jam 
 pots, as it was opened to let out the fiddle. Crumpled 
 up in a ball he sat on the floor, his back studiously 
 turned out to the assembled company, his curly, almost 
 white haired head bent down, and one little hand going 
 up and down with great rapidity, between his mouth 
 and a large white jam pot, which he managed completely 
 to cover from general observation by the adroit disposal 
 in a highly artistic fashion of his portentous person. 
 
 Every now and then a wave or lull in the dancing 
 made him turn his head quickly, with an anxious 
 expression. 
 
 " Ah ! ye pup, ye, what divilment are ye up to ?" 
 said sweet seven, whose frantic gyrations had gradually 
 brought him round until he was close to the thief. 
 
 " Bee dhu husth " (hold your tongue), said the other, 
 peremptorily, his mouth tight full of jam at the moment, 
 and he did not lift up his head. " I'll larrun ye man- 
 ners, ye weasel !" and the bigger boy dealt him such a 
 blow on the side of his head as almost to knock that 
 head oif its very thin little throat. 
 
 The little boy did not even then look up. He 
 waited a minute to recover from the shock, and at once 
 continued his occupation. 
 
 Meantime, Hegarty sat dreamily sipping his punch, 
 apparently perfectly indifl'erent to an uproar that would 
 have driven most elderly gentlemen mad. Sydney 
 sometimes looked at him and sometimes at the dancers, 
 and could not help being filled with wonder at the 
 whole panorama, or pandemonium, according as it was 
 viewed, delighted as he was to witness at length a
 
 The Silver Whistle. 147 
 
 thoroughly national performance. Hegarty's face wore 
 no semblance of a smile, although it seemed to Sydney 
 as if there was a chemistry in the present scene sufficient 
 to dissolve the hardest gravity. 
 
 Moyrah made a first-rate orchestra. She had the 
 soul of music in her, and it came out in her finger 
 tips as much as in her voice. 
 
 " Handle yer feet, Terence !" she called to the boy 
 of fifteen, who was rather fat, and was the laziest of the 
 party. " Shure, look at Phil, now ! " and she nodded 
 towards sweet seven ; " he could dance the ' Dusty 
 Miller ' on a floor paved wid carvin' knives, he's so 
 soople." 
 
 Sweet seven heard it, flung back his head, put his 
 arms akimbo, and dashed out his wiry little legs with a 
 rapidity which positively took Sydney's breath away. 
 
 " Eileen, ye're forgettin' yer steps ; heel an' toe, 
 right an' left. Bravo, Phil ? ye'll win the day." 
 
 " Whish, clur-r, whirroo-o ! " called the galvanised 
 Phil, who was beginning at last to splutter and pufF. 
 
 " Hold an,' now Phil, the breath's lavin' yer," said 
 Moyrah, kindly ; " Sit down awhile. De ye hear 
 what I'm sayin' to ye, Phil ? Aisy now, or I'll give 
 ye a rap wid the fiddle on yer head." But, puffed up 
 and supported by the puff" ball of vanity, Phil would 
 not stop, and at last fell down with a flop on the floor, 
 dead beat. 
 
 The dance ended ; loud calls for more punch came ; 
 and Moyrah and Eileen between them soon brewed a 
 second bowl, fuller than the first. 
 
 " But, really," muttered Sydney, " they will all be 
 perfectly tipsy." 
 
 However, they did not seem at all more tipsy when 
 they left off" than when they began. Kather less : so 
 far, they were exhausted by the dancing, and a little 
 quieter than on their first entry. 
 
 On looking at his watch, Sydney was horrified to see 
 how the time had flown. He rose to say good-bye at 
 
 l2
 
 148 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 once. Just then Moyrah finished his coat, and stood 
 at his side to help him on with it. He turned and 
 thanked her in a low tone, full of feeling, which he 
 tried to repress, or, at least, not to express, but could 
 not. 
 
 " I do not know when I have enjoyed myself so much 
 as seeing all this fun, but, above all, in hearing you 
 sing." 
 
 Moyrah blushed, such a pretty blush, not very pink, 
 but just enough to double her beauty for the moment. 
 
 " Three cheers for his honour ! " called sweet seven, 
 who could not, try as he might, keep his mouth shut 
 for many seconds. 
 
 The boys stood up, waved their glasses, jugs and 
 mugs, and gave Sydney a ringing cheer as he walked 
 out, bowing with amused pleased smiles, first to one 
 side and then the other. The girls shrieked, but kept 
 their seats, which appeared to be the etiquette. 
 
 Sweet seven flung the door open, and pulled the 
 front lock of his hair as the guest of the day walked 
 out, with that grand prince-like air, which came 
 naturally to him. " That's the style av gintleman for 
 me ! " said seven. 
 
 When Sydney returned to the Hall, and related what 
 had occurred at the Blue House, Bridget's indignation 
 passed all bounds. She insisted on ordering the car 
 and setting off there at once, and Captain Shell, who 
 was scarcely less furious, accompanied her. Sydney 
 and Lucas occupied the opposite side of the car. Lucas 
 was much taken with Bridget, and liked to follow her 
 wherever she went, and Sydney wished to come to 
 some arrangement with the captain about putting an 
 effective guard over the persecuted farmer. 
 
 When they reached the Blue House the young guests 
 had all departed, and with the shades of evening settling 
 down on it, the old farm looked lonely enough. But 
 they found that Hegarty had relapsed into his usual 
 silentness and reserve, which now was mixed with a
 
 Ihe Silver Whistle. 149 
 
 sort of dogged sullenness which was new to him. He 
 was grateful to the captain for his kindness, but was 
 hopeless with regard to the possibility of anything being 
 done to help him. He was a marked man now. 
 
 Michael, the son, was home when the captain arrived 
 and he seemed much depressed, and inclined to take 
 quite as gloomy a view of the situation as his father. 
 Moyrah was the only one who tried to keep their spirits 
 up. 
 
 The captain declared he would send his butler down 
 to sleep at the Hegarty's, and make him take his 
 breech-loader with him ; and Sydney said he would 
 send Lenoir with his gun. 
 
 Moyrah thanked him earnestly ; for, hide it as she 
 might, she could not help feeling nervous. 
 
 That night, before she went to bed, she spent a long 
 time before the little white plaster statue of the Mater 
 Purissima^ which stood on a low bracket in her room. 
 She knelt, with her head bowed down. The rays %i 
 the harvest moon streamed through the tiny panes of 
 the lattice window, and made a white mist round her 
 head, something like the veil of a Dominican novice. 
 
 Moyrah's was not only a white soul, but it was a 
 rich one, a well of high thoughts and deep feelings, 
 which she herself scarcely recognised. The very 
 shadows in her soul were like the shadows of a few 
 great painters, almost as full of tender colour as the 
 lights. 
 
 A deep shadow now had fallen over her life. Her 
 lover exiled, her father broken-hearted, her favourite 
 horse all but burnt to death, herself uncertain whether 
 the very house she slept in might not be in flames 
 before the morning. But under every shady avenue of 
 troubles in this world, if we could only see them, angels 
 walk. Moyrah saw them, and was comforted. 
 
 Her prayers to-night were all for her father, and she 
 poured out her heart in strong entreaty that he might 
 be comforted and consoled.
 
 150 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 *'0h, Vabr Dheelish " (Sweet Mother), "take the 
 throuble out av his heart," she huplored passionately. 
 " Give me anny store av throuble there's goin', only 
 kape it locked up in me, an' don't let it get out at him. 
 Shure, he's gettin' ould now, an' wan throuble is two 
 throuble's to him, but I'd take it aisy like iv I'd twinty, 
 so lang as I knew he'd got none at all." 
 
 A week passed away. A peaceful week as far as the 
 Blue House was concerned. No attempts were made 
 further to molest Hegarty or anyone belonging to him, 
 
 Sydney went down every day to see if they were safe, 
 and to find out how they were going on. Sometimes 
 the captain, Bridget and Lucas accompanied him, but 
 several other guests had arrived to stay at the Hall, and 
 few and far between were the moments Bridget could 
 devote to her favorite visitor. She generally managed to 
 get him to take her into dinner, but that was the utmost 
 she could accomplish.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IpTwjiHE sun rose one morning in, for the weeping 
 Jj[ skies of Ireland, unwonted splendour. There 
 
 was to be a great Harvest Bug meeting in a 
 
 large field not very far from the Bkie House that day. 
 
 Sydney was determined to go ; it was just such an 
 opportunity for studying the habits and ways of the 
 aborigines as he particularly desired. Besides, 
 Moyrah, whose acquaintance he had been cultivating, 
 under the, to him, perfectly genuine pretext of study- 
 ing the puzzling Irish character, would be sure to be 
 there. 
 
 Bridget declared she must go, too, just for the fun of 
 it. But Captain Shell declared, with equal determin- 
 ation, that she must not. He said her face was known 
 all over the county; she would be recognised by every- 
 one ; it would be given out that she had joined the 
 League, and the most invidious remarks would be 
 made ; besides, there was a house full of guests for 
 her to entertain ; and Mr. Lucas, who did not show 
 any sign of a desire to go the meeting, was never 
 happy if she was out of his sight for ten minutes. 
 
 Sydney was sorry for her, and told her he would 
 give her as glowing a description as a cold-blooded 
 and unobservant Englishman could produce of what 
 took place. 
 
 But this did not suit Miss Bridget. It was not 
 according to Bridgettine etiquette to submit with un- 
 questioning obedience to those who were in authority. 
 She said nothing, however, but kept her own counsel.
 
 152 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Her father did not like being contradicted any more 
 than she did. 
 
 About half-an-hour before the time appointed for the 
 meeting she walked off to the Blue House, without 
 saying anything to anyone. Arrived there, she was 
 warmly welcomed by Moyrah and Eileen. She then 
 made Moyrah dress her in an old lilac calico skirt, 
 very skimpy, and a long dark blue cloth cloak of the 
 country reaching almost to her heels, and completely 
 disguising her figure. The blue hood was drawn tightly 
 over her head, with a clean, fluted, white cotton cap 
 under it. She put on a pair of old spectacles of 
 Hegarty's, which, in consequence of the retrousse 
 turn of her nose, she had some difficulty in keeping in 
 their proper position. As she adjusted and re-adjusted 
 them, she remarked, dryly : '' there is something pecu- 
 liar in the Irish air which prevents anything in the 
 country from remaining in its proper position." 
 
 How she did roar with laughing as Moyrah and 
 Eileen, having put a few finishing touches to her, she 
 stood in front of the cracked bit of looking-glass in 
 Moyrah 's room surveying herself. 
 
 '^ I'm iligint now entirely, Moyrah," she said, turning 
 towards her. '' Your grandmother, my dear," and she 
 made her a profound Court curtsey. 
 
 Moyrah laughed until she had to bend forward 
 double, holding both her sides. That is the Irish nature. 
 She had lain awake crying nearly all night, thinking 
 of Cormac, of Emmett ; one houseless, homeless, an 
 exile, the other stableless, and exposed to the vindic- 
 tive fury of a section of her fellow countrymen, who 
 found their money and their joy in tormenting dumb 
 animals. 
 
 But now she laughed, with a clear, ringing joyous- 
 ness, as if she had never shed a tear in her life ; and 
 yet she laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 Bridget tried her best not to laugh, for laughing 
 made her nose crinkle up, and then her specs, fell off.
 
 The Siloer Whistle. 153 
 
 " Mind now, Moyrah, you introduce me to all your 
 friends as Mrs. Mulhashgary, a distant cousin of your 
 mother's, who has come over to keep your father com- 
 pany while your mother's away. I'm going on for 
 eighty." Bridget gave a series of long, low coughs, 
 after which came great gurgles in the throat, then 
 sighs, gradually merging into groans. " i have suf- 
 fered martyrdom for many years from the rheumatics, 
 and walk with much difficult v. Here, where's the 
 stick?" 
 
 Moyrah quickly handed her an old stick of her 
 father's, full of knobs and joints. 
 
 " If 1 could only make my wrists and fingers like 
 that!" she said, looking at the knobs, "I should be 
 safe, but my skin looks horridly smooth and young. I 
 fear — I fear — unless I can paint it with a few wrinkles 
 it will betray me ! " She looked about. " Ahi ! une 
 id^e ! " She was fond of speaking French when 
 excited. She dipped the feather of a quill pen in the 
 ashes in the grate, and made a series of little lines all 
 over her forehead, round her mouth, and down each 
 side of her nostrils. Then she tied a huge red cotton 
 handkerchief over her head, underneath her cap, and 
 brought it down until it concealed her forehead and her 
 cheeks, leaving only her eyes, nose and mouth exposed. 
 This completed the transformation and made her 
 resemble, to a very close degree, the popular conception 
 of the grandmother in " Little Red Ridinghood." She 
 hunched up her shoulders, rounded ner back, narrowed 
 her chest and wheezed like a broken bellows. 
 
 Then Moyrah and Eileen had to dress. They tied a 
 piece of bright green ribbon round their long plait of 
 hair, another bit round their throats, and pinned a 
 rosette of shamrocks and green ribbon on their right 
 shoulders. Attired in their vSunday best, and with clean 
 faces and hands, they really looked a charming couple, 
 as even Bridget could not help thinking, occupied as 
 she was with her own appearance.
 
 154 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 Michael, Moyrali's eldest brother, had gone on an 
 Lour before to drive a car, which was to bring up some 
 of the contingents from the railway. As to Jim and 
 Dan, they had been at the scene of the meeting since 
 daybreak. Hegarty himself was not going ; he said he 
 was busy on the farm. By the time Bridget, Moyrah 
 and Eileen arrived at the scene of action many of the 
 processions had already filed up ; and a huge, hot, 
 jostling crowd was pushing and elbowing round the 
 different tables and barrels, and various attempts at 
 platforms, which were erected here and there. At the 
 moment of their entering the field a procession with 
 horns, like very cracked fog horns, was entering at the 
 other end. The noise these horns made could scarcely 
 be believed by those who had not heard them. Bridget 
 was fairly taken ofi* her guard, and said quite loud in 
 her natural voice, " What an atrocious row ! " then 
 correcting herself quickly, she gave a long, low cough, 
 and ended by groaning, which made her position safe 
 at once. 
 
 The arrival of these horns was the signal for a 
 demonstration, it appeared they accompanied a popular 
 speaker, who got great cheering as he was helped on to 
 the small improvised platform. Waving round this 
 platform were thin, long, green banners, with such 
 mottoes as "God save Ireland!" "Down with alien 
 rule." " Ireland for the Irish !" etc. 
 
 Whole strings of jaunting cars kept arriving every 
 moment, crammed to overflowing, people sitting all 
 along the wells, holding on by each other tight, so that . 
 if one fell off all should fall together. ' \J 
 
 Large barrels of porter (the despised Guinness' XX.) j^ 
 were being rolled up the hill by hundreds of willing, if 
 dirty, hands. 
 
 Suddenly a brass band of the most prononce description, 
 consisting of ten harsh trombones, marched up at the 
 head of a procession of men with green scarves. These 
 men carried the effigies of a land-grabber, and a bailiff.
 
 The 8ilver Whistle, 155 
 
 They were headed by a man driving what the people 
 called " a tandem of three," He was dressed in 
 brilliant green, his clothes being a cross between 
 Garibaldi's uniform and that of a British admiral of 
 Nelson's time. Moyrah and Eileen appeared to 
 admire him exceedingly. 
 
 As the effigy of the land-grabber was passed round 
 amongst the crowd and came near to Bridget, she, to 
 her amazement, saw that it was meant to represent her 
 father, a landlord who was known to be deservedly 
 popular and beloved by all his tenantry. Too popular 
 by far for the Harvest Bugs, who had dressed up this 
 Q^gy and sent it down on purpose to try and injure 
 him in the eyes of his own people. How could they 
 hope to get the money out of the tenants" pockets and 
 put it into their own while there was a popular 
 landlord in the neighbourhood? So they had devised 
 this piece of wit. But the wheel of wit, even if left 
 to itself, can seldom be long in motion without getting 
 into a glow, and there was no want of hostile sentiments 
 here to quicken the friction. 
 
 " Mornin' to ye, Moyrah Hegarty ! " said an 
 extremely smart woman, dressed in a lilac merino, 
 which she held high to show a worked petticoat, and 
 with a mixture of colours in her ribbon that fairly took 
 away Bridget's breath. 
 
 " Who's yer friend ? " she whispered to Moyrah, 
 while she acknowledged Eileen's presence by a little 
 bit of a nod. 
 
 " 'Tis a cousin av me muther's, from the North. 
 She's vurry ould, and deaf too, so there's no good in 
 hoUerin' to her." 
 
 Bridget quailed under this woman's scrutinising eye, 
 but she resorted to her infallible refuge of a low, heavy 
 cough, ending with much groaning, and moaning, and 
 spitting, which served her well throughout the day. 
 
 At that moment the tandem driver of three was 
 hoisted on to the platform, amidst much cheering, while
 
 156 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 a lady who was with him was also successfully hauled 
 up. When he had recovered his* breath, and taken a 
 draught of porter from a small blue earthenware jug, 
 he stood forward to make his speech — the speech of 
 the day. He was not tall enough to look very im- 
 pressive ; a spry little Ananias was he. 
 
 " Jintilmin ; and I think I may add ladies, as I see 
 a great many av the daughters av Eve — av Erin I 
 mean — present, this is a proud occashin in me loife ! " 
 
 Great cheering, and waving of jugs and mugs of 
 porter. Miss 8apphira, on the platform, waved hers 
 so vigorously that some of the porter fell over the 
 side, and, alas ! was lost. 
 
 " This is thruly an imposin' organizashin av a 
 demonstrashin which I see before me. We are met 
 together to protest that Oireland has a right to the 
 favourable geographical position which providence has 
 assigned to her in this wurruld av woe." 
 
 Great cheering. 
 
 " We wish all the ships which sails the Atlantic 
 to touch here, before takin' their wealth to England, 
 an' whin we've a parliraint in CoUige Green, we'll 
 oblige 'em to do it." 
 
 Tremendous cheering. 
 
 '' The thing, then, is to get a parHmint in Collige 
 Green. The way to get that is to exterminate all the 
 landlords, an' every wan belongin' to 'em! ' 
 
 Great cheering. 
 
 " Pleasant for me ! " muttered Bridget. 
 
 " The way to exterminate 'em is to prevint the 
 tinints payin' 'em their rim." 
 
 Great cheers. 
 
 " The way to prevint the tinints payin' them their 
 rint " (It's rather like ' The House that Jack Built,' " 
 muttered Bridget, raising her eyebrows) " is to make 
 an exanjple av anny lily livered pessimist who goes 
 sneakin' up to the agent with his rint." 
 
 Very faint, uncertain cheers, during which a dark
 
 The Silver WMstle. 157 
 
 look came over Moyrah's beautiful features, and she 
 bent her eyes thoughtfully on the ground. 
 
 " Jintilmen ; I niver goes to England, but I goes to 
 Dawblin ; and I'll tell ye that sometimes ye'U find 
 the land agent like the castle flunkey, as sleek and 
 slippery as though he had been takin' a hip-bath in 
 a tub av soap-grease." 
 
 Much laughter. 
 
 " That's how some av the farmers gets taken in ; and 
 then they ses Ireland is going on beautifully — plenty 
 av money, lots av food ; that's what they say in 
 England." 
 
 A voice in the crowd : " How the divil do ye know 
 if ye niver was in England? " 
 
 At that instant Mickey O'Shea bounced on to the 
 platform, uninvited, and shouted out : " I see a black 
 hearted villain in our midst " — he pointed at young 
 Michael Hegarty — " but I'll put a thorn in his carcass 
 which will rot there till the day of judgment ! " and 
 he shook his fist fiercely. 
 
 " Get down wid ye ; don't be interruptin' the 
 speakers," shouted several voices. 
 
 " I've as good a right here as anny man." 
 
 " Yp have not ; nobody asked for ye." 
 
 *' I". good an Irishman as anny of ye." 
 
 " Ye are not ; toime was whin ye were bullyin' a 
 nint av yer own for his rint." 
 
 " Didn't ye go split on Larry O'Clery to the agint? 
 Informer that ye are," and O'Shea's yellow face 
 became ghastly with rage, while he pointed at a man 
 in the crowd. 
 
 "Ye dar to call me informer ! " and the man in the 
 crowd swung himself on to the platform to avenge the 
 insult. He was a cousin of the Hegarty's. 
 
 " We'll tache ye to use yer feet ! we'll tache ye 
 to use yer feet ! shouted Michael Hegarty. 
 
 " Informer ! Lorrud's man." 
 
 But he was seized before he could say any more, and
 
 158 TJie Silver Whistle. 
 
 pulled down, being pacified, however, by a promise to 
 speak later on. 
 
 The green man, who had stood in open-mouthed 
 silence during this episode, now proceeded. 
 
 " If I might be allowed to paraphrase the verse in 
 scripture, and say, ' Seek ye first liberty, and all these 
 things shall be added unto you.' " 
 
 At this stage a violent fight broke out between the 
 skilled artisans and the day labourers. The two factions 
 were rather near where Bridget and her two aides de 
 camp were standing. Sticks and clubs were flourished 
 in the air, and, amidst boos and hissing, a good many 
 severe blow^s were given, and many sadly violent 
 expressions used 
 
 Bridget took it all as a matter of com'se ; and only 
 hoped that her cloak would not be knocked off her 
 head, and her youthful, ruddy locks displayed to view 
 in the general melee. 
 
 Whack, crack, went the sticks and heads. " Whir-oo-o," 
 went the voices. 
 
 The green man kept on with his speech all the time, 
 not noticing the little irruption. Our trio gradually 
 sidled round the combatants, and got nearer to the 
 platform. 
 
 " If anny man is found payin' his rint, or desertin' 
 the Harvest Bugs, as I said before, let that man be 
 made an example av. It does'int mattur a pin who he 
 is, if he's yer own father or brother, ye must go agin 
 him." 
 
 Moyrah shuddered, and again the dark look came 
 over her face. She muttered something very low as 
 she crossed herself. She held on to one side of Bridget's 
 cloak, and Eileen to the other, and thus they propelled 
 their young mistress through the crowd. 
 
 Many curious eyes were fixed on Bridget. It was a 
 perfectly strange face in a neighbourhood where most 
 of the inhabitants were known to each other, and, as 
 such, it excited a rather disagreeable amount of interest.
 
 [The Silver Whistle. 159 
 
 But the cough, and the groaning and spitting, carried 
 the day. 
 
 Meantime, in another part of the field, young Michael 
 Hegarty was calmly inspecting a pile of sticks and clubs, 
 which one contingent had laid down close to the door of 
 a tent, before entering into it to consume porter. At 
 length, after trying many, he found one which appeared 
 to suit him, very long and thick, and tremendously heavy; 
 it was rather like a miniature battering ram than a stick. 
 He swung it several times round his head, to try what 
 sort of " go " it had in it, and was apparently well 
 satisfied, for he walked off with it over his shoulder, 
 composedly, to the other side of the field. 
 
 Micky O'Shea was sitting astride a small empty 
 barrel of porter. His hat was in his hand, and he was 
 mopping his forehead with a red handkerchief, for he 
 was rather warm after his exertions on the platform, 
 and the struggle which preceded his descent from it. 
 
 Suddenly, the peculiar whirring noise which a stick 
 makes passing rapidly through the air was audible just 
 behind him, and before he had time to look round, a 
 terrific blow descended on the top of his head. 
 
 For just one instant he sat half stunned; then, with a 
 yell of pain and fury, started to his feet, and turned to 
 meet his foe. His head was not seriously affected in 
 any way by the blow ; it was not the first he had 
 received on exactly the same spot. In fact, he had 
 never been a favourite in the neighbourhood, being 
 drunken, cruel, cowardly and dissipated. No one, 
 except a few wretched subordinates who had trembled 
 beneath him had cared two straws about him until 
 lately. Having got the Central Committee of the 
 Dublin Harvest Bugs to make him chairman and 
 manager of the local village committee, he now 
 contrived to keep the whole community in awe of his 
 frown. Now was his grand opportunity to vent petty 
 personal spites on victims made helpless by the reign 
 of terror.
 
 IfiO The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Seeing who his assailant was as he turned, he became 
 purple with righteous wrath, and suddenly dragging 
 out a huge knife, something between an overgrown 
 razor and an Italian stiletto, he made a desperate lunge 
 at young Hegarty's unprotected left side. So rapid 
 were his movements, and so unexpected was the 
 appearance of the knife on the scene, that his blow 
 would have probably gone home, and Moyrah would 
 have been " keening " for her eldest brother before the 
 sun set, had not his arm been dashed upwards with 
 such strength and energy that the knife was flung out 
 of his hand. 
 
 " What are you two up to, eh ? " said a calm voice, 
 speaking in a tone of quiet command, which made 
 even O'Shea's blustering spirit quail. " What a 
 contemptible coward you are, to use a knife on an 
 unarmed man. You have a stick lying by you ; why 
 could you not use that and fight like a man, instead of 
 going to knives like a midnight assassin ? " 
 
 Sydney — for he it was — looked at O'Shea with 
 withering scorn for a moment ; then running his arm 
 through young Hegarty's, he led him forcibly from the 
 spot. 
 
 " Michael Hegarty," he said, gravely, " take my 
 advice, and keep as quiet as you can just now. It is 
 true you have fearful provocations, and I sympathise 
 with you with my whole heart,'' and his tone was full 
 of that earnest sympathy which was the chief 
 characteristic of his nature, "but you have terrible 
 odds against you, and the law of the land does not 
 appear to protect you, or any other respectable citizen. 
 If you provoke these cowardly scoundrels, your life, 
 and that of your parents and both your sisters, may be 
 the forfeit. Wait patiently for a very little while, and 
 if it is finally decreed by the British Government that 
 lawlessness is to reign supreme in this unfortunate 
 country, I will get you all over to one of my farms in 
 England."
 
 The Silver Whistle, 161 
 
 " The Lorrud save yer honour," said Michael, grate- 
 fully touching his hat. He was keenly alive to the 
 horrors of the sudden death from whicli Sydney had 
 just rescued him. 
 
 Strangely enough, the green man, who was still 
 holding forth, at that moment called out, " There's 
 too much 'yer honourin,' and touchin' yer hats amongst 
 ye southerin' boys. Shure ye're as good as anny man, 
 and why should ye touch yer hat to another man ? Ye're 
 as good, anny wan man is as good as another man." 
 
 "An' Im as good as ye," shouted a voice in the 
 crowd. 
 
 " It's the landlords should be not only touchin' their 
 hats, but touchin' their noses in the mud to ye." 
 
 At this instant the circulation of the crowd brought 
 our trio face to face with a cousin of Micky O'Shea's. 
 He recognised Moyrah and Eileen at once, and began 
 to abuse the whole Hegarty family in the most violent 
 and uncalled for manner. 
 
 " Suillish machree, come on," said Eileen, who was 
 somewhat frightened, pulling Bridget by the cloak. 
 But the dark look came over Moyrah 's face, darker 
 and stronger than ever before. There was a strange 
 flash in the liquid depths of her violet eyes. 
 
 " That old sneak-rint, your father," said Edmund 
 O'Shea, that was his name. " I'll black-sole his eye 
 for him. Didn't we know well the white hen was in 
 him?" 
 
 Bridget's face became crimson with fury, she bit her 
 lip until little wandering tracks of blood trickled down 
 from it. A few more insults to her friend's father, and 
 she felt she must betray herself, even at the risk of her 
 life. And at the risk of her life it very probably might 
 be under the circumstances. 
 
 " An' ye, slime of a viper, come creepin' and crawlin' 
 to a meetin' av honest men to hear what ye can catch 
 up, an' go an' report against 'em." And he shook his 
 fist at Moyrah. 
 
 M
 
 162 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 ^' If it wouldn't sully me hands to knuckle down to a 
 woman, I've a mind to thrash ye as ye stand there." 
 
 '• O you have, have you? " said a quiet voice at his 
 elbow, while a fist, very different to any other he had 
 as yet felt on his skin, came flying through the air, hit 
 him square, just between the eyes, such a blow as he had 
 never tasted in his life, and laid him flat on his back, 
 stunned, severely hurt, and for some time senseless. 
 
 This was the " editor's note " to Sydney's sermon 
 on patience, submission, and peaceableness to Michael 
 Hegarty, delivered about three minutes previously. 
 
 Bridget started violently and uttered a short, sharp, 
 exclamation, then put her hand over her mouth in horror, 
 for fear she had betrayed herself. 
 
 Eileen called out, " Begor, you've done for him 
 enthirely." 
 
 " Praise the Lorrud for that," said Michael. " Shure, 
 an' it was the finest blow I ivir seen 5 'twould have 
 knocked the head clean ofl" the biggest bull that ever 
 come into Corruk markit." 
 
 When Moyrah realised who had been her defender, 
 there came over her face a deep blush, the colour of the 
 rose in Sydney's buttonhole, which Bridget had given 
 him just before breakfast. Then she turned, and 
 kneeling down by her fallen foe, raised his head 
 gently on her arm, wiped his forehead, and loosened the 
 tie round his throat. 
 
 " There's not a bit av good in all that ; he's done for 
 enthirely," said Michael, in a tone of intense excitement. 
 " An' not a pastiah (child) in the counthry will send up 
 a screech for him " (meaning that he was so unpopular, 
 that there would be no one to wake him). 
 
 " Eileen, fetch a dhrop of porther out of that 
 shebeen," said Moyrah, in a low voice, indicating with 
 her thumb a little tent close by. 
 
 Eileen let go of Bridget's cloak, and ran off" nimble 
 as a rabbit. 
 
 " Stop, Miss Eileen, I will go," said Sydney, catching
 
 The Silver Whistle. 163 
 
 her arm. " Don't you get separated from your sister 
 and your aged cousin in a crowd like this, or you may 
 never be able to fight your way back to them again." 
 
 Eileen, seeing Bridget winking violently at her to 
 come back, returned, and again took hold of the end of 
 her cloak. 
 
 Sydney got so many bangs coming back with his 
 brown jug that half the porter was spilt. However, 
 what little was left had a magical effect on the hapless 
 scion of O'Shea. Moyrah bent his senseless head 
 forward, and poured it carefully down his throat without 
 spilling a drop, to Sydney's great admiration. 
 
 As the senses of Ned O'Shea (for that was his name) 
 began to return, he looked slowly, in a dazed way, at 
 Moyrah. What could he see so odious, so detestable, 
 in those deep violet eyes, that he was obliged to turn 
 away with a shudder ? Hatred is like a bailiff who 
 puts in a " bill of sale " on everything beautiful m 
 our souls. Moyrah appeared actually loathsome to 
 Ned O'Shea. 
 
 At that moment, the day labourers, who out-numbered 
 their opponents by three to one, came tearing along, 
 chasing the skilled artizans before them like chaff before 
 the wind. 
 
 Sydney coolly placed himself at the weather side of 
 Moyrah, so as to receive the brunt of the storm on his 
 broad shoulders. 
 
 " Look out for the old lady," he said, indicating 
 Bridget by a slight nod, ^' she is shaking all over, and 
 looks as if a breath would upset her." 
 
 Bridget was shaking with suppressed laughter. The 
 idea of meeting Sydney in her present disguise, and of 
 being totally unrecognized by him, was the most 
 delicious part of the whole day's play. 
 
 " When you come to be seventy," said Sydney, in a 
 sotto voce^ which, however, to Bridget's keen hearing, 
 was perfectly audible, " you had much better keep at 
 home by the fireside, and not come out to noisy 
 
 m2
 
 164 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 meetings like this. Really, old ladies are getting so 
 frisky, now-a-days, that it will give a good spin to the 
 young ones to keep up with them." 
 
 Never in her lite before had the centre of gravity in 
 Bridget's mind received such a strain. ^«ot being 
 English, she had no great powers of self-command, and 
 nothing could have saved her but a violent fit of 
 coughing, which ended in her stuffing the greater part 
 of her large red cotton handkerchief down her throat. 
 
 The air around them was reverberating with '^boos" 
 and '^ whirroos," and the ground trembling from the 
 rush of some twenty feet Hying, and some sixty feet 
 advancing. The autumn sun flashed on clubs and 
 neatly polished sticks waved high in the air, while 
 every now and then a stone, a rotten Qgg^ a raw potatoe, 
 or a bit of broken crockery flew whistling along close to 
 Moyrah's and Eileen's unprotected heads. Bridget's 
 heavy folded cloak, hood and cap, made her tolerably 
 indifferent to what she called, in a whisper to Eileen, 
 these " areonautic dangers." 
 
 Bang came the shock of the day labourers against 
 Sydney ; but his back met them without a quiver, as 
 the white cliffs of old Albion have met the little 
 socialistic waves which have come dancing across from 
 Calais these many centuries. 
 
 They were mostly slight, thin, agile little men, more 
 like antelopes than the heavy, ponderous, plodding, 
 bullock-like English day labourer. They had lithe 
 springy limbs, active enough when a row was in 
 question, though with a distinct tendency to the dolce 
 far niente when no fighting was to be had. 
 
 Whack ! whack ! crack ! crack ! went the heads of 
 the flying artizans, under the shower of blows from 
 their merciless attackers. 
 
 There were a good many fair Amazons amongst the 
 day labourers. Each one had taken off whichever 
 of her stockings had the most foot to it, and had put 
 as large and heavy a stone in it as would go ; with this
 
 The Silvf-r Whistle. 165 
 
 she laid about her in rattling style, and dealt snch 
 blows as no miserable son of Adam could defend 
 himself from. 
 
 Eileen got a whack just between her shoulders, which 
 made her stagger forward on her toes for a minute. 
 
 " Bad cess to ye ! " shouted Michael, who got a good 
 blow himself from a lovely heroine, as she swept 
 triumphantly onwards. 
 
 The moment Ned O'Shea recovered his senses 
 entirely, he scrambled up on to his hands and knees, 
 and crawled away, without a word of either blame or 
 thanks to any of the party. 
 
 " Yer sowl to pardition ! " shouted Michael after 
 him. 
 
 "Whist! whist! Michael!'' said Moyrah, crossing 
 herself, while tears rushed up into her eyes, " The 
 Lorrud have mercy on us all ! " she added in a low 
 voice, while she bent her head. 
 
 Sydney, who, by means of muscular determination 
 and dexterous movement, had contrived to shield 
 Moyrah from a single blow, or even rough push, now 
 became enthralled in watching the " Retreat of Co- 
 run-ners," as he called the stampede of the artisans. 
 
 They had reached the low stone wall, which divided 
 the field of meeting from a boggy morass. Over this 
 they scrambled pell-mell, some falling backwards, 
 others, in their terror and excitement, banging so 
 violently against their fellow fugitives as to roll them 
 over down the hill into the morass. 
 
 With the most magnificent bounds, clearing the wall 
 with a foot to spare, the day labourers came after them. 
 
 '' By Jove ! those day labourers would make the finest 
 steeplechasers the world has ever seen ! " exclaimed 
 Sydney, in enthusiastic admiration. " Such wind over 
 a stiff country, and nailing fencers, every man of 
 them ! " and he watched, as one after the other, 
 gathering up their legs, flew through the air over the 
 wall, his features glowing with the rapturous delight
 
 166 The ISilver Whistle. 
 
 of" a keen sportsman. " Compact, springy blood horses, 
 like balls of india-rubber every one of them ! " 
 
 Begor, the bog '11 play the divil wid 'em ! " said 
 Michael, holding his sides and roaring with laughter, 
 as the combatants fell about in the morass. 
 
 The green man was still holding forth on the 
 platform. Men might come, and men might go — into 
 bogs or otherwise — but he went on for ever. 
 
 '' Shure, ye've a landlord in this neighbourhood, a 
 brutal, bloodthirsty tyrant. Captain Sheil ; a vampire 
 suckin' the blood av all ye tinints." 
 
 " Your old cousin is going to get a fit ! " whispered 
 Sydney to Moyrah, " her face is purple ; the heat and 
 excitement have been too much for one of her advanced 
 years. Really, old people like her have no business 
 coming to places of this sort ; it lays such a responsibility 
 on the young ones having to look after them." 
 
 Moyrah slipped her arm softly through Bridget's, and 
 pressed it tight, to show her sympathy, and to help her 
 to keep down her feelings. From her childhood, 
 upwards, there had always been a magic in Moyrah's 
 touch which strengthened every sufferer, animal or 
 human, to bear his pain better. It was a rare gift, 
 and came from the extraordinary power of quick 
 responsive sympathy in her heart. 
 
 " An' what are ye to do wid a landlord like that ? 
 Put him in Dawblin Cawstle says the British Govern- 
 ment — put a potater in the pig's snout ses I" (this being 
 literally translated meant, put a bullet in the man's 
 head). 
 
 Had it not been for the strong, warm pressure of 
 Moyrah's arm on hers, Bridget must have shouted out 
 a torrent of fury and retort. As it was, her eyes flamed 
 fire, and she shook all over like a ship at sea in an 
 earthquake. 
 
 " I'll get her a little porter ; the poor old lady's done 
 for, I fear,'' whispered Sydney to Moyrah, while he ran 
 off to the tent, feeling convinced that Bridget was on
 
 The Silver Whistle, 167 
 
 the verge of a fatal apoplectic fit ; he knew porter was 
 not the best thing for her, but water was not to be had 
 for love or money. Who would insult a Hibernian 
 gathering by bringing that mean and despicable fluid 
 on to the ground? 
 
 " He's wan of thim blusterin' hypercrits that thries 
 to throw dust in yer inercint eyes, by posin' on his 
 hind toe before ye as a gineris landlord, offerin' ye 
 tin per cint. reduction, first of all, and then, whin ye 
 stood out like min, twinty per cint. ; fal-lal ! Begor, 
 what he ought to offer ye is all the money he and his 
 villinis ansisturs have robbed ye of undher the name 
 of rints for hundrids av years. Ye tache him his duty 
 the next time he comes palaverin' down to ye ; or if, 
 as is most likely, afthur hearin' av the success of this 
 magnificent meeting he's afraid, like the sneakin' 
 coward he and all his kind are, to come, and sends that 
 little spit-fire av a daughter of his." « 
 
 Moyrah felt the arm and hand which hers was resting 
 on become as hot as a poker just ta^en out of a roaring 
 fire, but she pressed her own cool, soft, gentle one tightly 
 over it. 
 
 ^' Why, tell either one or the other of thim that 
 landlords will soon be heard of in the Zoological 
 Gardens, an' only there where they'll have stronge' 
 cages than has ever been made for any other wild 
 bastes before ; and where studints of natural, or 
 unnatural, history can go an' stare at 'em, along wid 
 all the other extinct brutes of the field, to their hearts^ 
 COD tint." 
 
 At that moment Sydney returned with the porter, 
 forcing his way, by sheer strength and size, through the 
 cheering, shouting, talking crowd. 
 
 " Drink this up, my good mam," said he, courteously 
 holding the porter to Bridget's lips. " It will do you a 
 world of good," he added, encouragingly. 
 
 Fortunate, indeed, was this diversion, for in another 
 second the pent up volcanic forces, which had continued
 
 168 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 to shake Bridget like successive vibrations of earthquake, 
 would have found vent in the Mount Vesuvius of her 
 mouth ; and the stream of burning lava which would 
 have poured out, would not only have betrayed her, and 
 astonished the green man, but would have taxed the 
 capabilities of the compiler of the most comprehensive 
 dictionary in Europe. That porter saved her life, though 
 not in the way Sydney thought it did. 
 
 She took a good drink, and nodded her thanks. She 
 dared not speak, for she knew her voice was rather a 
 peculiar one, and would probably betray her, however 
 successfully she might adopt the accent of the peasants. 
 
 ^' She's rather hard of hearin', and her voice is wake 
 from her great age," explained Moyrah, graciously. 
 
 '' She's a very shaky old party. I should think she's 
 getting creeping paralysis," muttered Sydney. Bridget 
 heard him. 
 
 Sydney was wondering what he should do with the 
 brown jug he had brought the porter in, for he did not 
 want the trouble of taking it all the way back to the 
 tent again. Suddenly his anxieties on this score were 
 unexpectedly relieved by Michael's snatching it from 
 him, and flinging it with full force at the head of Micky 
 O'Shea, which could, at that moment, be discerned 
 protrufling cautiously round the end of the tent. It 
 turned out a rattling good shot, and the earthenware 
 shattered into a hundred bits on the ill-used pate of that 
 unpopular member of society. 
 
 " Let's get home," whispered Bridget to Moyrah. 
 She was conscious of the weak points in her harness of 
 self command, and dreaded hearing another word from 
 the green man. 
 
 ct We're goin' to take my cousin home, yer honour," 
 said Moyrah, respectfully, to Sydney. 
 
 '^Let me give the old lady my arm," he exclaimed at 
 once. '' She's not the least bit fit to walk by herself." 
 
 *' Well, she's got my arrum, thank yer honour kindly, 
 an' she's used to the stick in her other hand."
 
 The Silver Whistle. 169 
 
 Bridget felt intensely relieved. She certainly was 
 not going to run the risk of exposing to view her round, 
 young arm. 
 
 As they turned away, Sydney said, " I must be 
 allowed to see you safe home." 
 
 " Well, I'll stay here with Michael, said Eileen," who 
 was in no hurry to put an end to her fun. So Sydney 
 walked at one side of Moyrah, and Bridget came 
 hobbling along at the other. 
 
 '• Ah ! Miss Moyrah," said Sydney, who, like all good 
 men, had a strong touch of sentiment about him. 
 " How sad it is to think we must all come to this, sooner 
 or later ; tottering, with one foot in the grave, nearly 
 stone deaf" (from her never having spoken, and from 
 her general stolid behaviour, he considered Bridget 
 must be this), " having lost all interest or care for the 
 subjects which once so keenly excited us ; a burden to 
 ourselves, and an infliction to our friends." 
 
 Moyrah had a momentary struggle for gravity, but 
 unselfishness had taught her self control. She felt 
 Bridget's arm shaking, but she spoke calmly. " I was 
 readin' in a pothry book, Miss Bridgit lent me, a 
 while ago, that ' grey hairs is the dawn of another 
 life.' " 
 
 Bridget could scarcely contain herself on finding the 
 gravity with which Moyrah treated the situation, and at 
 hearing what good use she had evidently made of an old 
 copy of Longfellow she had given her some time ago. 
 Sydney was struck with the reverence and beauty of 
 tone with which she repeated the quotation. 
 
 " That is one of the most beautiful ideas that a poet 
 has enriched the world with," he said, looking down for 
 a minute; but when he raised his eyes again they retained 
 their expression of keen pleasure. There was something 
 so exquisite in Moyrah's voice, when she said anything 
 pathetic, or anything which touched on chords not often 
 struck in every day life, that it arrested even rough 
 natures little used to care a button about spiritual
 
 170 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 influences. To an artistic temperament like Sydney's, 
 it was a treat which marked distinct spots in life. 
 
 " Shall you be afraid of getting old, Miss Moyrah ? 
 he asked respectfully, hoping to draw her on to speak 
 again, with that melody of tone which so fascinated 
 him. 
 
 She raised her violet eyes, and looked at the fleecy 
 clouds on the horizon for a minute. " I don't know till 
 I thry, yer honour," she said, simply, in her ordinary 
 every day voice. " But I think 'twon't be very 
 convanyent." 
 
 Bridget now began to be rather jealous, as she 
 remarked with amazement the extremely easy and 
 pleasant terms which seemed to exist between Sydney 
 and Moyrah. Indeed, quick reader of character as she 
 was, and connoisseur in outward signs of human faces, 
 she saw a look on Sydney's which she knew no man's 
 countenance ever wore, except when he was moved in a 
 very unordinary manner. She read the heart of the 
 man she loved better than he read it himself. He had 
 never been in love in his life ; therefore it was natural 
 he should not recognize a feeling to which he was a 
 stranger. 
 
 The fact is, he was not in the habit of probing into 
 his own feelings. He was an alien in the united 
 kingdom of his own heart. Too free, manly, breezy 
 and open air by nature to care for introspection and 
 self conscious hair splitting, as long as nothing 
 startlingly wrong turned up, he allowed things inside 
 of him very much to take their own course. He had 
 never done a deed or thought a thought which, had his 
 mother known it, could have brought the faintest olush 
 upon her cheek. The worst he ever had to accuse 
 himself of, when preparing for going to his Christmas 
 Communion at her side, in the little old-fashioned 
 Anglican Church of Hambury, was having betted 
 rather too high upon the Paris races. 
 
 " Do you know," said Sydney, " I've got a horse
 
 The Silver Whistle. Ill 
 
 called Longfellow, but I doubt if he would recognize 
 that quotation for all that, though it is his own ; and 
 some of his own hairs are beginning to turn grey," and 
 he laughed. " Even if there should be a heaven for 
 horses, which 1 am very much inclined to hope, 1 am 
 afraid it is not the dawn of another life for him, for a 
 more villainous temper I never saw on any animal. 
 My stud groom had to exercise him every day in 
 blinkers and a hood, and with a rearing bit. He's 
 a raking goer when extended, and I had hoped he 
 would do great things upon the turf; but his temper 
 made a fool of him at Doncaster, and I have never tried 
 him again. Your Emmett is cut a little like him, only 
 better on every point." 
 
 Moyrah's cheek flushed with pleasure. Praise of 
 Emmett came next to praise of her father. 
 
 " If ever you should, at any future time, want to get 
 rid of Emmett," Moyrah winced visibly, "and will 
 only let me know, I'll give you a longer price for him 
 than I believe you'll get from any one else in the 
 United Kingdom." 
 
 On looking round, he saw that she was rather upset, 
 and hastened to change the subject. 
 
 " What an atrocious scandal it is that such speeches 
 should be allowed as that green man's," and his eyes 
 flashed with indignation. " Upon my word I don't 
 wonder the people doubt whether there is a government 
 at all or not." 
 
 A look of increasing pain came over Moyrah's 
 speaking face. 
 
 Again Sydney changed the subject, and tried quickly 
 to find a more cheerful one. 
 
 " He was not so far wrong about Miss Sheil's being 
 a spit-fire," he said, with a pleasant laugh. 
 
 Moyrah again felt that burning sensation, as of a red 
 hot poker, come over the arm resting on hers. 
 
 " Of course I don't mean anything discourteous to 
 my fair hostess, but I pity her husband," he added, with
 
 172 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 a hearty laugh. " She will have home rule, and no 
 mistake." 
 
 A cold shudder succeeded to the hot-pokery sensation. 
 
 " What order she does keep her old father in, and all 
 the house, too, for the matter of that," and again he 
 laughed, as if keenly amused. 
 
 Moyrah struggled valiantly for self command. 
 
 " She's wan av the most charitable, kind-hearted 
 ladies in the whole av Oireland," she exclaimed, in a 
 tone which astonished Sydney. " Iv it was'int for her 
 goodness there'd be manny an' manny a brokin harrut 
 an' starvin' family in this village." 
 
 " O I'm sure she's good — excellent — excellent," he 
 said, apologetically, " most charitable I'm sure ; I only 
 spoke of her in domestic life." 
 
 The arm now burnt again, this time like a living coal 
 just plucked by the tongs from a furnace. 
 
 Bridget might truly have said with Voila, "Disguise, 
 I see thou art a wickedness." 
 
 At that moment, fortunately, they came out of the 
 field on to the road, and their attention was attracted 
 in a practical manner to a cart which almost ran over 
 them. It was a long cart on two wheels, with two 
 poles sticking out at its back. It was open, and without 
 sides to it, and was covered with peasants, sitting and 
 lying all over it. A fine jolting they were getting, too, 
 as it had not the vestige of a spring, and the road was 
 like the sides of Vesuvius after an eruption. 
 
 Moyrah could tell at a glance the occupants were all 
 strangers to the neighbourhood, evidently come a long 
 way on purpose for the meeting. 
 
 ''The top av the evenin' to yer," said the driver, a 
 handsome young man, to Moyrah. " Would ye kindly 
 tell us is this the road to Wexford? " 
 
 " 'Tis not," said Moyrah, with a sly twinkle in the 
 corner of her eye. " 'Tis the road to Kerry 5 but shure 
 that'll do ye just as well ; faith, Killarney's a lovely spot 
 for pleasurin' in."
 
 The Silver Whistle, 173 
 
 There was something so irresistibly comical in 
 Moyrah's tone, that Sydney had to turn away and 
 smother his laughter in the hedge as well as he could. 
 
 The good looking young Jehu slewed his horse right 
 round, and dashed off in the opposite direction. 
 
 The shadows were lengthening, and the bees, satiated 
 with sweetness, were lazily going home, while the 
 butterflies were folding up their wings, when our trio 
 reached the Bkie House. 
 
 " My cousin is tired, and will go to bed at once," said 
 Moyrali, as they entered the kitchen. 
 
 ''She ought never to have left it," said Sydney, 
 heartily. " I will just have a look at Emmett, to 
 see how he is after his troubles, and then I must set off 
 home as fast as a shot, or I shall be late for dinner," 
 and he glanced at his watch ; " and my fair hostess is 
 not a pleasant person to encounter if you put out her 
 household arrangements, I can tell you." 
 
 When Sydney had inspected Emmett, and found him 
 wonderfully well, all things considered, he came round 
 to say good-bye to Moyrah, but she was upstairs with 
 her aged cousin. 
 
 " How wonderfully kind and self devoted she is to be 
 sure," he exclaimed, as he turned to walk, with hurried 
 strides, to the Hall. 
 
 Bridget waited until the coast was well clear of him, 
 and then, in her ordinary dress, stole quietly home by a 
 short cut she knew of.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IJCAS was surprised that evening, and truly 
 enraptured to find Bridget at his side, asking 
 him if he would take her in to dinner. He 
 looked towards Sydney, but saw that he had been pro- 
 vided by his hostess with the ugliest, heaviest, and most 
 intolerably pedantic bore of the whole female party ; a 
 woman who wore heavy gold specs., and talked of a 
 summer picnic as if she was delivering explanatory 
 notes on the Greek classics. Sydney was looking 
 rather astonished and a little put out himself, but of 
 course, he made no remark. The captain never started 
 a subject of conversation until he had finished his soup 
 and a glass of sherry. Having disposed of this, he said 
 genially : " Well, Mr. Sydney, what did you think of 
 the national character, as seen at the Harvest Bug 
 meeting ? " 
 
 " Why, I thought the speeches were the most 
 scandalous things I ever heard. So far from wondering 
 the country is disturbed, while such speakers are 
 allowed to go about unpunished, what I wonder, is — " 
 
 " That there is any country left to disturb," finished 
 Captain Sheil, good humouredly. 
 
 " Yes, precisely." 
 
 " Did they say anything about me ? " 
 
 " O yes ; a great deal." 
 
 " Mon p^re, les domestiques ! " exclaimed Bridget, in 
 a stage whisper, looking round the epergne of flowers 
 at her father. 
 
 " True, true ! " he said, looking down and pushing
 
 The Silver Whistle, 175 
 
 his bread crumbs into a little heap with the back of his 
 knife. 
 
 They waited until they were alone at dessert, and 
 then Sydney gave a glowing account of the meeting ; 
 adding, however, that he had not been able to catch 
 everything that was said, as he was obliged to take care 
 of an " old cousin of Miss Hegarty's." 
 
 "An old cousin of Moyrah's?" said the captain, 
 looking puzzled, " who can she be, now? And what a 
 bad time for them to be getting people to stay with 
 them, when the house may be burnt over their heads 
 any minute ! " 
 
 " The most tiresome old woman you ever saw in 
 your life ! " said Sydney, vigorously ; " such a bore ! 
 She would insist on going everywhere we went, and 
 kept us in a state of terror, for fear she should be 
 knocked over in the crowd." 
 
 No one noticed that Bridget's face was most unlad}^* 
 likely red. 
 
 " Ha ! I must find out who she is," said the captain. 
 " I flattered myself I knew nearly all their relations." 
 
 Bridget's heart bounded into her mouth. 
 
 Of course, in his narration, Sydney suppressed the 
 greater part of what had been said against Captain 
 Sheil, and all that had been said against Bridget. A 
 general outburst of indignation was expressed by all 
 the guests. Many of them, however, were well accus- 
 tomed to such meetings being held in their own 
 immediate neighbourhood ; and some actually had the 
 audacity to say that the only thing that was wanting 
 was for some celebrated English statesman himself to 
 come over and take the chair on the platform. 
 
 It was a lovely, calm evening, and, after dinner, the 
 ladies strolled out of the drawing-room window on to 
 the terrace. Soon the gentlemen began to drop out of 
 the dining-room window, one by one, with their cigars, 
 and went sauntering along towards the ladies. 
 
 Sydney had an uncomfortable sensation that Bridget
 
 176 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 was annoyed with him, and began racking his brains in 
 vain to try if he could recall any speech or action by 
 which he might have given unintentional offence. He 
 did not care about her ; but it is never pleasant to feel 
 you are in your hostess's black books. So he ap- 
 proached her and asked, courteously, if she objected to 
 smoking. 
 
 " I like it," she answered, shortly. 
 
 " You will not allow me to offer you a cigar?" he 
 said, with the most charming gallantry, as he took out 
 his dark red leather case, with his silver monogram on 
 it, and held it towards her. 
 
 " Thanks," she said, coolly, taking one and lighting 
 it from his. " Are there many men like you in Eng- 
 land, Mr. Sydney?" 
 
 Well — aw — really, I don't know," said Sydney, 
 looking rather taken aback : " I hope, for the sake of 
 my country, there's not," he added, humbly. 
 
 ^' Why ? Are you a bad fellow, then ?" 
 
 The hot blood rushed up under his bronzed skin. 
 That depends on your definition of a bad fellow. Miss 
 Shell." 
 
 " Perhaps you would not like to hear it," she said, 
 with a deep meaning in her tone. 
 
 " On the contrary," he answered, in a tone of forced 
 flippancy, which only partially concealed genuine eager- 
 ness, " 1 shall never rest again until you tell it to me." 
 
 " Remember what you have said." 
 
 ^' Of course I will ; I am not in the habit of going 
 back on my words," he answered, with that touch of 
 English haughtiness which so fascinated Bridget's Irish 
 nature, struggle against it as she might. 
 
 " Suppose I said I don't believe you, what would 
 you do?" 
 
 " I have yet to learn how to act under such circum- 
 stances, I confess," he answered, bowing. 
 
 " My definition of a bad fellow, then, is a man who 
 seeks to win the fresh affections of a girl whom the
 
 The Silver Whistle. 177 
 
 world would think beneath him in position, though in 
 reality she is above him, and which he knows he does 
 not intend to return ; who, in order to amuse himself 
 more easily, sends her affianced lover in her own station 
 of life safely out of the country, under the pretence of 
 being his true friend, and acting with the greatest 
 possible kindness towards him, and who goes regularly 
 to church and allows the world to consider him a 
 model man while he is doing it." 
 
 The whole of Sydney's sunburnt face and neck and 
 even hands got rosy red like a russet brown apple. For 
 two or three minutes he did not speak. He was moi»e 
 moved than he cared Bridget should discover from his 
 voice, which he felt he could not at once control. At 
 length, after some time, he spoke in a low tone : " I 
 believe I understand you, Miss Shell; but I conclude 
 that, in order to deserve the appellation, the ^ bad 
 fellow' must do all this with malice prepense; that is, 
 with full knowledge and conscious intention of the evil* 
 he is working while he works it." 
 
 " He would be a strange man who did it otherwise," 
 she replied, in the bitterest tone he had ever heard from 
 any lips. 
 
 At that moment Lucas joined them ; then several 
 other members of the party came up, and soon after- 
 wards they all adjourned to the drawing room for music 
 and whist. 
 
 That night Sydney sat for a long time at the open 
 window of his bed room, smoking and looking at the 
 stars. A rich man's heart is often unsearchable, 
 because, being at the top of human desires, there is no 
 end which he aspires after with sufficient vehemence to 
 make it remarkable as a poorer man does ; and by the 
 end which a man pursues, and the method in which he 
 pursues it, alone can we discover those hidden depths 
 which are the man, rather than his outward face and 
 form, or superficial actions. How often it comes over 
 us in moments of profound stillness, silence, and solitude 
 
 N
 
 178 The Stiver Whistle, 
 
 that the subtilty of our own nature Is beyond the power 
 of our own understanding to decipher ! And we think 
 that all the sermons we have evei* heard, and all the 
 books of good advice we have ever read, are like 
 insanity, because they are the arrows of a marksman 
 who fires at a target behind him ; so wide of the mark 
 have they flown in piercing the mysteries of our hearts 
 that we might look in upon them. 
 
 Sydney felt rather as if he had been starting for a 
 glorious day's hunting, when, suddenly, as he rode along, 
 it began to rain heavily, and the rain froze as it fell. 
 He could swear, and not be foresworn, by his honour 
 and his hopes of heaven, that no unworthy thought in 
 connection with Moyrah had ever come within a 
 thousand miles of him. Had he known that he loved 
 her, and had she been free, and not pledged to Cormac, 
 he would have come forward, without one instant's 
 hesitation, and asked her to be his wife with as much 
 courtesy and deference as if she had been, in outward 
 position, the highest lady in the land. But he had not 
 known that he had loved her until the scalpel of 
 Bridget's satire had laid bare his heart to him. 
 
 Now he saAV : now he knew. His was not a nature 
 when it did love to love lightly, and the thought that 
 he must immediately say good bye to Moyrah for ever 
 gave him a pang so severe that it astounded him. As 
 he felt it, he knew better the truth of Bridget's words. 
 
 The first step towards safety is a knowledge of the 
 real source of our strength, confidence in it, and a 
 resolution to exert it. 
 
 Sydney laid his cigar on the window sill, and knelt 
 down, still looking up on those stars which he remembered 
 were looking down on his mother, who at that hour, on 
 a summer's night, constantly walked in her garden. 
 
 When he rose he was calm, though rather pale. 
 
 If, after a sharp battle, we have come to a noble resolve, 
 it sometimes seems to us as if we were put into immediate 
 and intimate communion with those high spirits who
 
 The Silver Whistle. 179 
 
 have gone before us across the battle field of life. Their 
 songs of triumph echo in the stillness round us. Sydney 
 had taken his resolve, and he would stick to it. Like a 
 brave rear-admiral, he had hoisted the white ensign of 
 St. George, with its blood-red cross of self-sacrifice at 
 his mizzen, where only a rear-admiral can carry it, and 
 under the colours of England's patron saint, he would 
 trample beneath his feet that dragon which is in every 
 man's heart. 
 
 w2
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IpTpjiHE next morning, when the servant brought in 
 Jil[ his hot water for his bath, Sydney desired him 
 
 to ask Monsieur Lenoir to come to him at once. 
 
 When he appeared, he told him to pack up his things 
 for him as soon as possible, for he was going to Dublin 
 by the twelve o'clock express, on his way to England. 
 
 Lenoir looked very much astonished and considerably 
 annoyed ; in fact, at first he showed signs of absolute 
 mutiny. But Sydney was not a man to be disobeyed. 
 He never repeated an order. If it was not attended to 
 instantly, he merely said: "Did you hear what I said 
 to you ? " This usually had the desired effect. Lenoir, 
 too, was no mean artist at concealing his own feelings, 
 few couriers are. 
 
 " Lucas, I am going to-day," said Sydney, who met 
 Lucas in the corridor, on his way down to breakfast. 
 
 ^' By Jove ! No ! Never ! What for ? " exclaimed 
 Lucas, looking startled. 
 
 " I have my own reasons," said Sydney, who never 
 would give an equivocal excuse. " Well, I shan't go," 
 said Lucas, crossly. 
 
 " Stay by all means, if you think you are wanted." 
 
 " Do you think you are not ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly I do," said Sydney, with great 
 vigour. 
 
 " You've had some tiff with Miss Sheil, I suppose. 
 I thought you looked rather like the Kilkenny cats 
 when I joined you on the terrace last night. But, bah ! 
 my dear fellow, it will have blown over in half-an-hour !
 
 The Silver Whistle, 181 
 
 She will have forgotton all about it by this morning. 
 For heaven's sake, don't cut off your nose to spite your 
 face." 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Sydney, shortly, as he began to 
 descend the stairs. 
 
 When Sydney announced his intention to Captain 
 Sheil, he was very much annoyed. He had taken a 
 great fancy to his young English guest, and had hoped 
 to have him with him for some weeks, and to show him 
 all the beauties and interesting sights in the surround- 
 ing counties. 
 
 Sydney much appreciated his kindness, and thanked 
 him with real gratitude for it. In return, he invited 
 him and his daughter to Hambury Castle, when next 
 they should visit England. 
 
 ^' You must ask my daughter about that ; I don't 
 think she will let you off so easily for this extraordinary 
 freak — there, go and explain your conduct to her, if 
 you can." 
 
 " I think my conduct requires no explanation in tha-t 
 quarter," he said, in a low voice, and with a slight bow 
 towards Bridget, who, attired in a pretty light summer 
 muslin, was pouring out tea at the head of the table. 
 Her colour deepened, but she did not raise her head. 
 Captain Sheil looked astonished, and it instantly occurred 
 to him that perhaps Sydney had proposed for Bridget, 
 and been refused by her. This was a most fortunate 
 delusion for he used no more arguments to endeavour 
 to persuade Sydney to stay, but at once led the 
 conversation as far from the subject as he possibly could, 
 and kept it there throughout breakfast. The same 
 delusion took possession of an elderly lady who was 
 there, and she at once spread all over the country the 
 authentic report that Mr. Sydney had proposed for 
 Miss Sheil shortly after his arrival at the Hall; that she 
 had refused him, and he had, in consequence, left at 
 once. 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Lucas, you are not going to desert us,"
 
 182 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 said the captain, hospitably, as the party were leaving 
 the dining room. 
 
 " Well, thanks very much ; if you will allow me, I 
 should certainly immensely enjoy staying a few days 
 longer. Most delightful neighbourhood I was evah in 
 in my life." 
 
 " That's right ! " said the captain, heartily. 
 
 There had been a heavy dew in the night, and the 
 grass Was saturated. Sydney therefore did not as usual 
 walk up and down at the bottom of the lawn, to smoke 
 his matutinal cigar. He strolled away along a broad, 
 winding gravel walk, which led through a wood of firs 
 and chestnuts. The brilliant leaves of the wood sorrel, 
 changing from soft deep green to scarlet, as if in protest 
 at its approaching death, carpeted the ground. Autumn 
 roses were clustering round the stems of trees. The air 
 was very still, no sound but the splashing of a waterfall 
 in the grounds, and crows cawing. Suddenly he heard 
 soft but hurried footsteps coming round a hydrangea 
 bush close to him, and before he had time to escape, he 
 found himself face to face with Moyrah. He got 
 crimson. She smiled, and dropped a respectful curtsey ; 
 while she showed, with the most perfect ingenuousness, 
 that she was pleased to see him. 
 
 " Good morning. Miss Moyrah," he said a little 
 stiffly, as he took off his hat and made her a courteous 
 bow. " I hope nothing has happened at the Blue 
 House to bring you out so early in the morning ? " 
 
 All was well at the Blue House, but Moyrah could 
 not easily explain her errand to him. The fact Was, 
 Bridget, in her hurry changing her dress, had forgotten 
 a valuable gold and diamond locket, which she wore 
 round her neck, containing her mother's portrait, also 
 a real gold bracelet, which her father had given her. 
 Fearing she might be distressed at their loss, Moyrah 
 had set off with them to the Hall, as soon as she 
 thought she would be likely to find Bridget up and 
 about. So the only excuse she could make was, that
 
 The Silver Whistle. 183 
 
 she wanted to see Miss Bridget about a little bit of 
 business. 
 
 " I am g'oing away, Miss Moyrah," he said, turning 
 to walk up with her, " in two hours time, so I had better 
 say good bye now, as we may not meet again." 
 
 The melancholy in his voice seemed to touch her. 
 " I'm very sorry inthirely yer honour's goin' away ; 
 but may be ye'll come back agin to ould Oireland." 
 
 He shook his head sadly. 
 
 '' Of course, one can never tell. But I wanted to say 
 something to you before I went, so I am glad to have 
 this opportunity. I wanted to ask you if you would 
 promise me faithfully, if ever you are in difficulty or 
 trouble, or in any perplexity or want, to come to me, 
 or to my mother." 
 
 He paused for a minute. Then he continued. '' I 
 cannot tell you how I have felt for you in this infamous 
 persecution you have had to bear, but we will hope 
 brighter times may come. I have an uncle who is one 
 of the leading ministers of the day, and I mean to lay 
 my personal experiences of Ireland before him, the 
 moment I arrive in town, which will be the day after 
 to-morrow. Things cannot be allowed to remain as 
 they are in this distracted country. In the meantime I 
 must tell you I got a letter from my mother this morn- 
 ing. She says Cormac is doing well, and seems to give 
 general satisfaction to all with whom he works: the 
 head gardener hopes he may turn into a first rate 
 horticulturalist. What do you say to that, eh?" he 
 asked, with a good humoured smile. 
 
 " It's all thanks to yer honour ! I'm shure ! " she said, 
 while tears of gratitude glistened in her eyes. " May 
 the prayers of the Blessed Virgin and all the saints go 
 up for ye, mornin' and night ! " Again came that 
 beautiful tone which thrilled through him. 
 
 " What message shall I give to Cormac from you ? " 
 
 " Give him my love yer honour, plase, an' thank ye 
 kindly for doin' it. Tell him not to tret about us ; shure.
 
 184 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 the Lorrud cares more for us than for sparrers, an' it's the 
 sparrers he's good to, too ! livin' up there in the air, 
 widout anny houis to burn over their heads ! " And a 
 dreamy look came into her eyes, as she raised them to 
 the patches of sky visible towards the horizon, between 
 the stems of the trees, and watched the sparrows flying 
 backwards and forwards across them. 
 
 ^^ I wondher what could I send him?" she said, 
 meditatively. 
 
 " How would it be if you were to send him a lock of 
 your hair? " he suggested, in a low voice. 
 
 Putting her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a 
 pair of scissors, and cut a glossy curl off the end of her 
 plait. 
 
 ^' I hav'int anny papur ! " she said, in an embarrassed 
 way, looking about on the ground for a bit. 
 
 Sydney took out his Russia leather purse, and from 
 its depths produced a soft piece of silver paper. He 
 took the curl from Moyrah, wrapped it up carefully, 
 and put it in the purse, which he then replaced in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Little did they dream that Bridget was watching the 
 whole scene from behind a hydrangea bush, out of 
 hearing, but well — too well — within sight. 
 
 " But you have not given me your promise yet, 
 Miss Moyrah." 
 
 " I give it to yer honour wid all my heart ! An' may 
 the blessin' av hivin folly yer honour, where ivir ye 
 go, for 'tis ye that desarve it, ershi misha" (say I). 
 
 " I shall trust to you to keep your promise, and I'm 
 sure I shall not trust in vain," he said, regarding her 
 with eyes full of earnest feeling. 
 
 At that moment a light springy step was heard on 
 the gravel, and immediately the captain joined them. 
 
 ^' The masthur himsilf ! said Moyrah, dropping a low 
 curtsey. 
 
 " How do ye do, Moyrah?" said the captain genially, 
 vially, it might be said. " So I hear you've got an
 
 The Silver Whistle. 185' 
 
 old cousin staying with you! Bad times these for 
 visiting; I must come down and be introduced to her 
 this afternoon." 
 
 Sydney was surprised to see the warm colour fly 
 over the girl's face, and her eyes fall, while she appeared 
 embarrassed. 
 
 " Come, now, Moyrah, Mr. Sydney is going away 
 from us to-day, I am sorry to say, and I think it would 
 be a nice way of repaying him some of the kindness he 
 has shown to your family if you were to sing '' Come 
 back to Erin." 
 
 '' What ivir yer honour wishes," said Moyrah, as 
 accustomed to obey '' the masthur," as a highlander is 
 the chief of his clan. 
 
 She did not put on any fashionable airs of mock 
 modesty, but standing just where she was, and just as 
 she was, only that she put her hands under the corners 
 of her apron, which was her habit when she sung, she 
 began that song which has melted many valiant hearts, 
 since first it was sung to those who were leaving 
 Ireland's shores. 
 
 Sydney stood with his arms folded, and his eyes look- 
 ing away into the shadows thrown by the tangled 
 foliage of the wood. 
 
 Just as the last note was dying away, Bridget came 
 forward. She had, unnoticed, been creeping gradually 
 nearer, for some time, concealed by hydrangea bushes. 
 She had seen the tears stealing slowly down Sydney's 
 bronzed cheeks, and had heard the peculiar, and 
 exquisitely pathetic, tone in Moyrah's voice. There was 
 anything but pleasure written on her brow as she 
 advanced. Moyrah dropped her a low curtsey, and 
 gave her a meaning look, as much as to say she had 
 something private to say to her. 
 
 ^' I'm sorry to interrupt this rural concert," she said, 
 with a satirical, almost mocking, tone which astonished 
 her father and Moyrah, '•'' but O'Hagan " (the land 
 steward,) " is waiting to see you, papa, in the library."
 
 186 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Why, dear me, of course, I told him to come ! How 
 stupid of me to forget!" exclaimed the captain, 
 starting up, and walking rapidly towards the house. 
 
 " Thank you very much for your kindness in singing ; 
 I hope the wish expressed in your song may some day 
 be fulfilled ; good-bye, Miss Moyrah !" 
 
 Sydney was too visibly agitated to attempt conceal- 
 ment, as raising his hat he turned sharply away, and 
 strode over the crunching underwood, and finally the 
 wet grass towards the house. Little did they think 
 under what circumstances they would meet next. 
 
 I 
 
 i
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HIGH gig, with large attenuated looking 
 wheels, and an immense horse, met Sydney 
 at the station at Hambury. Conversation 
 with the groom about the horse, which had been put 
 to the gig for the first time that day, occupied the 
 whole of the way home. 
 
 Mrs. Sydney was standing on the old grey stone 
 steps of the hall door to receive her son, and soon was 
 clasped in his arms. 
 
 " My darling mother ! " he murmured, feeling some- 
 how quite a new delight just now in the support to the 
 noblest part of his inner nature which her presence^ 
 had always afforded him. 
 
 My darling boy ! welcome home." Then as they 
 turned to walk arm-in-arm towards the cosy morning 
 room, where Mrs. Sydney usually sat when there were 
 no visitors in the house, she said : " You have come 
 back sooner than you intended." 
 
 " I know I have," he said, with a little awkwardness 
 in his manner. " The fact is, for one thing, I wanted 
 to see Uncle Charles at once about the state of Ireland. 
 It is beyond anything you can imagine. Unless 1 had 
 seen it, I could not possibly have believed it ! But I can 
 speak now with the assurance of an eye witness. I 
 expect I shall tell Uncle Charles a few things that will 
 open his eyes ! " 
 
 His Uncle Charles was Lord Gargoyle, a brother of 
 his mother's, a conscientious, but somewhat stick-in-the- 
 mud, old English Baron. 
 
 ^^ I intend to go up to town by the eleven o'clock
 
 188 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 train to-morrow morning. Bj-the-bye, mother dear, do 
 tell me about Cormac ; could I see him now, I wonder ? 
 How is he ? I have a message for him, of importance — 
 at least, which he himself will think important." 
 
 " He is doing very well ; a nice pleasant face — only 
 I find it rather difficult to understand him. Shall we 
 stroll out and look for him in the garden ? It is a lovely 
 evening." He gave his arm to his mother: her head 
 reached just to his shoulder, and they went out together, 
 he giving a thrilling description of Ireland's wrongs as 
 they walked. 
 
 Cormac, without hat or coat, and with waistcoat 
 unbuttoned, shirt sleeves and trousers tucked up high, 
 was digging in the garden. As Sydney and his mother 
 had walked past the English gardeners, they had 
 touched their hats with a distant, formal manner, and 
 had looked stolidly at their spades, or else into space 
 before them. 
 
 The moment Cormac saw Sydney, he flung his spade 
 flat down on the earth and stepped eagerly forward, 
 his head raised and his little round eyes glowing with 
 delight. 
 
 "TheLorrud save yer honour! "he exclaimed, enthusi- 
 astically, taking ofl" his hat entirely, giving it a little 
 wave in the air, and then holding it by his side. 
 
 " Such very odd manners for a gardener ! " 
 Mrs. Sydney mentally soliloquised. To her astonish- 
 ment, her son seized the young man's begrimed hand 
 and shook it heartily. 
 
 " Welcome to England, my poor fellow ! We'll see if 
 we can't do something for you here, better than they 
 managed in your own country ! " and he smiled. " They 
 are all well at home, and I have messages for you, and 
 something more than messages ! " he added, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Then turning to his mother, he whispered, " I have 
 some messages to give to the poor fellow, which I think 
 he had rather hear alone." 
 
 v_
 
 The Silver Whistle, 189 
 
 She withdrew her arm, and walked on with a smile 
 and a nod. 
 
 " Cormac ! " he exclaimed, the moment they were 
 alone, " she sent you her love — and this," and Sydney 
 slowly produced the precious lock, and laid it glistening 
 in the evening sunshine on the palm of Cormac's hand. 
 The young Irish man pressed it passionately to his lips. 
 
 " May the Lorrud save yer honour ! An' did she 
 think av sindin' me this ? Shure, I'll kape it like me 
 scapular, to the ind av me loife, an' die wid it round me 
 thro-at ! " and he kissed it again and again. 
 
 Sydney himself was more agitated than he cared to 
 show. He would rather have parted with a thousand 
 pounds than with that one little lock of hair. Yet he 
 had not kept it an instant after it was in his power to 
 give it up. 
 
 '' She says you are not to fret about her ; the Lord 
 takes great care of the sparrows, and — " he stopped, 
 emotion choked his voice. 
 
 Cormac, too, was overcome, and wiped his eyes with 
 his huge, red, earthy, bare fist. 
 
 " I went to the Harvest Bug meeting with them," 
 said Sydney, quickly recovering himself. '' They had an 
 old cousin staying there, and she would come too ; and 
 was such an awful bore ! and finally Miss Moyrah had 
 to go away early, on purpose to drag her home ! " 
 
 " Bless me soul ! Who the divil can she be ? A 
 cousin av Moyrah's as ould as that !" and he scratched 
 his head and ruminated. 
 
 " She'd a fearful cough ; I don't think she'll live very 
 long. Miss Moyrah seemed to think of no one else." 
 
 " 'Tis a quare thing, now, I nivir heerd tell on her," 
 exclaimed Cormac, looking more and more surprised. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Sydney approached, and the tdte-£L- 
 tete broke up. 
 
 The next morning Sydney found a letter from the 
 captain in the pile of business letters by his breakfast 
 plate. Mrs. Sydney was pouring out tea, and suddenly
 
 190 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 she was startled by a sharp exclamation, and by 
 Sydney's bringing down his first on the breakfast table 
 with a violence which made the knives and forks jump. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, mother! " he said, apologetically, 
 " but really, when you hear what this letter contains, you 
 will not be surprised at anything I do." 
 
 " My dear boy, since you have been to Ireland I have 
 ceased to be surprised at much that you do ! " 
 
 He smiled, and proceeded quickly to explain. It 
 seemed that on the very evening of the day Sydney 
 left the neighbourhood, as Eileen was coming home from 
 her usual diversion of dancing on a hay rick, she had 
 been set upon by a contingent of the Harvest Bug 
 League, acting under the direction of the O' Sheas, 
 They had tarred her all over, even her lovely fair hair, 
 and soft white face, had stuck crows feathers behind her 
 ears and in her hair, and had sent her home like a 
 Fiji islander. She had been very ill ever since, and 
 the dispensary doctor had been threatened he would be 
 shot if he attended her, so he would not go near her. 
 
 Mrs. Sydney had never seen him in anything 
 approaching to the state this letter produced. His face 
 grew crimson, the veins stood out on his forehead, and 
 on his clenched fists. Horrified as she was at the 
 account of the barbarities in the letter, she was far too 
 anxious about him for anything else to occupy much 
 of her attention. Not so Sydney, who seemed almost 
 beside himself with indignation. The dispensary doctor 
 came in for the largest portion of his ire, and under his 
 breath he used some language, with regard to that 
 cautious saw-bones, better suited to a race course than 
 the dining room of a lady. 
 
 The moment breakfast was finished, and he bolted 
 his in a dangerous hurry, he ordered a young 
 thorough-bred he was training to be saddled, and tore 
 off at full speed to the nearest telegraph station. 
 
 First of all he sent a long and most expensive 
 telegram to the leading doctor in Dublin, begging him 
 
 I
 
 The Silver Whistle. 191 
 
 to go down at once to Mr. Hegarty's farm, and at 
 whatever expense, and see what he could do for Miss 
 Hegarty. The name of Edgar Sydney was too well 
 known, too widely respected wherever England's 
 commerce had penetrated, to require him to give any 
 references, but he informed the doctor that he had 
 telegraphed to a banker in Dublin, who transacted much 
 business for his firm, and had a good deal of his money 
 in his hands at present, to send him whatever fee he 
 might demand. Then he telegraphed to Mr. Hegarty, 
 to tell him what he had done, and to express his deep 
 sympathy ; and then to the captain, to ask him if he 
 would give the doctor a bed, and beg him not to return 
 until Eileen was out of danger. Then he rode home, 
 said good bye to his mother, and set off for London for 
 a couple of nights.
 
 CHAPTER XVITI. 
 
 ORD GARGOYLE was sitting quietly in his 
 ground floor library in Mayfair when his excited 
 nephew burst in upon him. The old gentleman 
 had just finished a long political conversation with a 
 veteran statesman, aged ninety-five, a humanitarian, a 
 vegetarian, a teetotaller, a philanthropist, and an anti- 
 disciplinarian, who had left about five minutes before 
 Sydney arrived. Both the old gentlemen had urgently 
 impressed on each other the desirability of excessive 
 caution and moderation in dealing with the Irish question. 
 Stringent measures were at all times to be avoided. 
 The agitators were to be consulted as much as possible 
 upon how they would like to be kept in order. It is 
 not the milk of human kindness which we want in our 
 statesmen of the present day, it is a trustworthy lacto- 
 meter for discovering the quality of that milk. Anyone 
 who discovers this lactometer should make a fortune 
 — that is, if he takes out a patent at once — larger than 
 undertakers do by getting agitators to worry respectable 
 statesmen. After putting the lactometer into the 
 cushion on which any given statesman sits, it should be 
 constructed to register infallibly whether the milk of 
 human kindness in his heart is of the quality which 
 would throw open all the jails, and allow the criminals 
 to sport themselves to their hearts' content amongst 
 the respectable portion of the community ; or whether 
 it is of the quality that makes good whipped cream 
 for garotters, incendiaries, burglars, in all ranks of 
 life ; traitors, sedition mongers, cut throats, dyna- 
 miters, assassins, sociaHsts, communists, and other wheel
 
 The Silver Whistle. 193 
 
 barrows for conveying new forms of selfishness into 
 the light of modern society. 
 
 Lord Gargoyle received his nephew most cordially. 
 He was proud of his undeniable talents, of his high 
 character, and of the universal affection which he 
 inspired. Little, indeed, was the mild and placid old 
 nobleman prepared for the outburst that followed. He 
 was treated to tlie whole history of the Hegarty family; 
 of the Harvest Bug meeting; of all that was said at it; 
 of the direct instigations to murder and maim which 
 the principal speaker from Dubhn, unchecked, had used. 
 Nothing could be more graphic than Sydney's language, 
 and his manner was absolutely enthralling. He wound 
 up by reading the letter he had received that morning. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of that, I wonder?" he 
 exclaimed, as he threw the letter on the table, and 
 looked up into his uncle's eyes. 
 
 " Most serious ! Very serious ! Hem ! Shocking ! 
 Eeally, quite shocking ! " 
 
 A long and earnest conversation followed. Sydney 
 found, as he had often done before, that his uncle's 
 heart was ever active to exert itself for the benefit of 
 his fellow men. It is true, his mind was somewhat 
 inclined to deal in the abstract, but a few syllogistic 
 exhibitions soon brought him down to the concrete. 
 He was not quick to follow a logical formula, and this 
 was probably the reason he had never been placed in a 
 prominent position by his party. Once, however, that 
 you brought before him the real intrinsic connection 
 of part with part in an argument, he showed that 
 spontaneous power of the reception of truth which is 
 probably only granted to a man who has honestly 
 followed the guiding of his conscience from early 
 years. True, he had not individual genius; neither 
 had he talent enough to substitute scientific methods 
 for it, as so many of our modern statesmen have. He 
 did not possess the smartness of some of our political 
 zoologists, who can build up an intricate body of 
 

 
 194 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 statesmanship from the sight of the smallest bone of 
 popular clamour. 
 
 His English common sense was opposed to remedying 
 the ills of society by emptying the jails and the public 
 houses into the drawing rooms. But, though the 
 reverse of an extremist, he did more than refuse his 
 consent to such a process. He was not content, like 
 some of his compeers, to " sit tight and laugh " while it 
 went on. He spoke out, like a man, when he thought 
 that by so doing he could benefit the England of the 
 future. Sometimes he got a good snubbing for his 
 pains. 
 
 There was a necessary incompatibility between him 
 and the tribunes who make politics an arithmetic book 
 for paying their weekly bills ; a handle for getting 
 invited to showy parties ; a draught to gratify a thirst 
 for notoriety. All his mental associations, indeed, all 
 his idiosyncracies, took the form of an honest desire to 
 serve his country, apart from any personal advantage. 
 Of the delirium of the born orator, or the zephyr breath 
 of the genuine diplomatist, he knew nothing. But or" 
 the tangible gifts of an upright conscience, a straight- 
 forward tongue, and a polished and gentle manner, he 
 knew and exhibited much. 
 
 It was late when Sydney parted with him, but he 
 left him in a consoled and calmed state of mind. As 
 he walked away down Park Lane, he wondered why 
 his uncle did not marry again. " Lords ought to marry, 
 and present the world with numerous editions of them- 
 selves," he soliloquised. " The peerage destroys the 
 infection of unworthy ambitions in modern society," his 
 lip curled slightly, which made him look unlike himself, 
 for satire with him was not usual. " Therefore, it is 
 the duty of every true patriot to multiply those lumps 
 of aristocratic camphor, which alone clear and purify 
 the social atmosphere in the present day." Little did 
 he guess the surprise in the matrimonial line his 
 excellent uncle would, one day, make him shudder with.
 
 The Sliver Whistle, 195 
 
 Sydney did not see his uncle again. He was obliged 
 to leave town hurriedly, as he received a telegram 
 informing him that there was to be an important 
 meeting of a committee of which he was a member. 
 
 When Sydney sat on a committee a new element 
 was introduced. 
 
 Most men who sit on committees regard the matter 
 in this light. First, what a great man I am to be asked 
 to sit on this committee, what a greater one to sit, what 
 a greatest of all to sit as I do. Or else, what a 
 confounded bore to be asked to sit on this committee ; 
 shall get out of it if I can ; if I cannot, shall take care 
 to do it so as never to be asked again. 
 
 But when Sydney sat, he remembered, even then, in 
 the black depth of his unromantic position. Nelson's 
 romantic words — becoming every day, more and more 
 romantic — signalled at Trafalgar. 
 
 When Sydney reached Hambury it was sunset time, 
 and he found Mrs. Sydney walking on the terrace of 
 the garden with the rector of the parish, talking 
 over the wants, wishes and tastes of the villagers. 
 Framed in the gold of the setting sun, they made a 
 beautiful pair ; though the hair of both was snow-white, 
 and many wrinkles were on their skin. In that some- 
 what stiff, quaint garden they looked like an old-world 
 picture, come to life out of the old picture gallery. 
 She, with her well drawn-up, dignified figure, dressed 
 in soft silks, her stately bearing, and her soft, grey eyes 
 full of interest, now, and, indeed, usually, about the 
 wants of others. He, with his long, wavy, silver locks ; 
 his well-worn umbrella, which he used as a stick, his 
 legs not being what they had been when he was the 
 first cricketer in the parish ; his rugged brow and clear 
 cut features with their sweet benign expression — that 
 expression of gentle toleration and heavenly good 
 temper which the faces of the old people — the faces 
 which are leaving us, do wear, now-a-days-^that expres- 
 sion which the much tried nerves, and literally tattered 
 
 o2
 
 196 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 tempers of the modern young will never allow their 
 faces to be beautified by. He had been in the parish^ 
 first as curate, and afterwards as rector, for fifty years^ 
 and was beloved by everyone. He had been as a 
 father to Sydney, advising him on many points on 
 which his mother did not like to interfere. 
 
 Sydney got a cordial greeting, indeed, from them, 
 and then, with his mother leaning on him, joined them 
 in their walk, giving, in his eager, eloquent way, a full 
 account of the result of his visit to his uncle. 
 
 ( 
 
 i
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 f^|EVERAL months have elapsed since the events 
 ^ narrated in the last chapter. None of the per- 
 -^ petrators of the outrages on the Hegartys had 
 been found, but, with the tarring of Eileen, those out- 
 rages had ceased for some mysterious reason. 
 
 Hegarty was getting on pretty well. He had, in 
 common with all the tenants, received an absurdly 
 large reduction of rent ; but his pocket had been none 
 the better for it, as it had all been drained off him by 
 an enforced subscription to the Harvest Bugs. 
 
 Cormac either had taken a dislike to garden wofk, 
 or, what Sydney more than half suspected, was afraid 
 he might be followed, and vengeance taken on him even 
 in England. At any rate, he had begged Sydney to 
 obtain for him a post as warder in an English gaol. 
 Sydney was very much amazed ; but he found the 
 young exile was quite determined about the matter; 
 therefore, yielding to his wishes, he procured him a 
 place in the county gaol of a Devonshire sea-side town, 
 as under warder. This appeared a secure haven from 
 molestation — perhaps the only absolutely secure one he 
 could have found. He had refused a farm Sydney 
 had offered him at low rent. He wrote at intervals 
 to Moyrah, but he sent his letters through a third 
 person, as he did not wish it to be known where he 
 was. 
 
 Mrs. Sydney had given up the idea of going abroad. 
 And, almost immediately after Sydney's return to Ham- 
 bury Castle from Ireland, he had dismissed Lenoir.
 
 198 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Truth to say, he was glad to get rid of him. There 
 was something about him inexplicable and intangible, 
 but which made Sydney look after his diamond studs 
 and his despatch box as he had never done before. 
 
 After leaving him, Lenoir w^ent to Paris ; from there 
 to Chicago ; then on to San Francisco, and home to 
 Paris again by New York. Those nine months had 
 been a brilliant epoch in his career. He had accom- 
 plished, with astonishing success, a difficult mission 
 which had been trusted to his care, and had risen 
 considerably in the estimation of the heads of the 
 foreign secret society of which he was rapidly becoming 
 a distinguished member. 
 
 It was the time of the Dublin Cattle Show. Hegarty 
 had brought up a good deal of butter to the show, and 
 some fine, fat beasts. He had a cousin who kept a 
 grocer's shop in Leeson Street. This cousin had 
 mvited him to stay at his house during the time he 
 remained in Dublin. Strange enough, for an Irish- 
 man, this grocer was an old bachelor. There was, 
 in consequence, plenty of room in the house , and 
 Mr. Mahony — for that was his name — had invited 
 Hegarty to bring all his family if he wished. But 
 Mrs. Hegarty was laid up with rheumatic gout in her 
 knee, and Eileen stayed to nurse her. Michael could 
 not leave the farm while his father was away, and as 
 for the two youngsters, Dublin was certainly not the 
 place for them. Therefore, Moyrah was selected to 
 accompany her father, for his sight was getting rather 
 bad now, and it was not safe for him to walk about the 
 crowded streets of a large city alone. 
 
 This was Moyrah's debut into the heau monde^ as she 
 had never been more than four or five miles from her 
 own hall door before. Everything was delightfully 
 new and charming to her. As they drove along the 
 quays she was impressed with the grandeur of the dome 
 of the Four Courts. 
 
 Hegarty only intended to remain two days, so
 
 The Silver Whistle, 199 
 
 Moyrah had to make the most of her chances of sight- 
 seeing. The morning after her arrival she accom- 
 panied her father and cousin to the show. They were 
 leaning over the side of a pen : Hegarty was remarking 
 that the bulls were well fleshed, well brought out, 
 broad backed, ''Iligant" cattle, when, suddenly, Moyrah 
 felt someone leaning over at her side, a hand clasped 
 hers, and a voice of the most unctuous politeness said — 
 
 '''So delirfhtedio meet you again, Ma'm'selle Hegarty!'^ 
 
 She looked up, and recognised Lenoir 
 
 A thrill passed over her. For an instant she was 
 thrown off her guard by surprise, and gave a low 
 exclamation, which caused her father to turn round. 
 
 When he saw Lenoir, he too, expressed astonishment, 
 even while he greeted him. 
 
 Lenoir explained matters by saying that he had 
 been touring for his amusement m the States, and had 
 decided to see the Dublin show on his way home from 
 New York, so had landed at Queenstown, instead^ of 
 going on to Liverpool. 
 
 Hegarty introduced him to his cousin, Mr. Maliony, 
 and they all talked over the cattle, and sauntered slowly 
 round the show. 
 
 Lenoir knew a good deal about the best foods for 
 fattening cattle on, and could discourse .very learnedly 
 about the reason of the present fall in prices besides 
 affording valuable information about the prices, at 
 present being given in New York, Philadelphia, 
 Chicago, and San Francisco. He discussed the 
 political, financial and commercial horizon with all 
 the acumen of a finished agriculturalist, and pleased 
 Hegarty and Mahony. He made himself all things, 
 to all men. 
 
 Moyrah could not tell why, but the most strange 
 sensations came over her while she listened to him 
 speaking. Not such calm, happy, ennobling feelings, as 
 when she listened to Sydney, and felt drawn up by the 
 influence of his brave, ingenuous heart, sparkling
 
 200 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 intellect, and pure manly soul, to a higher and larger 
 world. No ; tempestuous emotions, which she could not 
 comprehend, and which brought no peace along with 
 them, swept over her. It had always been so when 
 Lenoir spoke. And yet, the fascination of his conver- 
 sation was such that she hung on every word of his 
 with the most unaccountable, ahnost breathless, interest. 
 
 He did not address himself directly to her until later 
 on in the day, when the two elderly men had met some 
 common friends, and were engaged talking to them. 
 Then, indeed, he addressed himself solely to her, and, 
 for almost an hour held her spellbound. She did not 
 see her danger ; some powerful opiate seemed to lull 
 every whisper of suspicion which could rise in her 
 mind. There was no one near to warn her, no hand 
 stretched out to save her. 
 
 Lenoir remained with the Hegartys the whole of that 
 day, and came early again the next morning to Mr. 
 Mahony's, to escort them out, for they were going to 
 the Four Courts to hear a case tried which interested 
 Hegarty. It was that of a farmer from his own neigh- 
 bourhood who had brought an action against his landlord 
 for " trespass:" the landlord having followed the hounds 
 after a fox across the corner of one of his most boggy 
 fields. Wlien he tried to seize the reins of the landlord's 
 horse, the landlord had raised his hunting whip in a 
 menacing attitude, which was an attempt at " battery," 
 and, therefore, constituted an assault. Trespass and 
 assault, therefore, were the crimes of which the landlord 
 stood accused. Lenoir, by some means, best known to 
 himself, managed to secure admirable places both for 
 seeing and hearing in the court house. The landlord 
 was a friend of the Shells, and a near neighbour, and 
 was a fine, good tempered looking man, who seemed more 
 amused than annoyed at the whole proceeding. The 
 farmer himself did not seem to like it at all. The 
 leading Harvest Bugs of Dublin had got up the trial, 
 paid for it, and were virtually conducting it. The
 
 The Silver Whistle. 201 
 
 farmer was acting: under strong compulsion from them» 
 They all appeared to know Lenoir, and many were the 
 nods, winks and friendly greetings exchanged between 
 them. 
 
 The trial lasted nearly all day ; and when the jury 
 came back into court, they unhesitatingly returned a 
 verdict against the landlord. It was received with 
 rounds of stunning cheers, and the triumphant farmer 
 was carried out of court on the shoulders of two tall 
 men, and chaired up and down the quays, while the 
 heavy, smoky air was rent by the vociferations of a 
 madly excited crowd. The unfortunate landlord had to 
 escape by a side door, enveloped in mufflers to avoid 
 recognition, or he would have been torn to pieces. 
 
 After the trial, as soon as they could cleave a way 
 through the crowd, the Hegartys and Lenoir, for 
 Mahony, having been gadding all yesterday, was 
 obliged to remain in his shop and attend to business 
 to-day, went off for a last view of the cattle show. 
 Hegarty soon met friends amongst the crowd of farmers, 
 and became absorbed, talking to them, and Moyrah was 
 left once more to her fate. She was like a child playing 
 upon the sea sands, with his back towards the ocean, 
 while a tidal wave is sweeping towards him. But he 
 does not see it until its shadow falls over the little sand 
 castle he has built. Then he looks, to see it — too late. 
 
 The next morning, by an early train, the Hegartys 
 returned home. Lenoir accompanied them to the station, 
 saw them safely into their modest third class carriage, 
 and, as he raised his hat and made a bow, with his feet 
 together, and his toes turned out, he muttered, " au 
 Tevoir."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 fT was a sultry clay in the beginning of June at the 
 Blue House. Heavy clouds hung about in the 
 — distance, and there was that oppression in the air 
 which usually precedes a thunderstorm. 
 
 It was just a fortnight since the Dublin cattle show. 
 
 Hegarty was out looking at his ripening crops witli 
 some satisfaction. There was every prospect of a good 
 harvest, if only the weather should prove propitious. 
 In consequence of the heavy rains, which had come 
 late, last autumn's fodder had been inferior through all 
 the winter, and had not even borne up well as litter. 
 The beasts had gone through rather a bad time, but 
 were beginning to fatten up well now. At the last 
 fair Hegarty had disposed of some prime milch cows 
 at a price which had fully satisfied him. Pigs, however, 
 had been two-pence per 81b. lower than usual. There- 
 fore, he did not feel in a very good temper with the old 
 sow and her litter. 
 
 He was leaning on the low half door of the pig stye 
 now, surveying her ladyship with a critical eye, when, 
 suddenly, a voice at his side said: "She is safe to bring 
 you in a nice little sum next market day." 
 
 Hegarty started, turned round, and saw Lenoir 
 touching him. He greeted him cordially. They had 
 always got on very well together. 
 
 ''I did'nt know ye were in these parts, misthur," 
 he said, in some surprise. 
 
 " I only arrived yesterday evening," said Lenoir 
 graciously adding, " and I made it my first business, as 
 I may add, it is my first pleasure, to come down and
 
 The Silver Whistle. 203^ 
 
 pay my compliments to my old friends, le Hegarty 
 -iamily." 
 
 Hegarty was pleased with compliments. He had not 
 received many in his life, and he considered them the 
 sign of very good manners. 
 
 He now took Lenoir all over the farm, showed him. 
 everything, and became more and more impressed with 
 his amiability. He, however, did not talk much him- 
 self, for he was a shy, reserved man, but he listened 
 with great interest to Lenoir, who descanted learnedly 
 upon the relative values of different sorts of French oil- 
 cakes for cattle. 
 
 After a time, low rumbles of distant thunder broke 
 the stillness of the air. Gradually these came nearer.. 
 The storm stole up dead against the wind. The old 
 Blue House, with its thick clusters of honeysuckle, 
 jessamine and myrtle, climbing up its sides, and 
 surrounding its windows, loomed out quite light- 
 coloured, from the inky background of approaching 
 clouds. Heaped upon heap, they came rolling up. 
 Slowly, huge drops of rain began to splash down, and 
 then came the lightning. 
 
 Hegarty, who — like all L-ishmen — had a strong 
 dislike to anything phenomenal in the elements,, 
 suggested they should go into the house. In the 
 kitchen they found Mrs. Hegarty washing the dresser. 
 
 She received Lenoir most cordially. His manners,, 
 more than satisfied the highest requirements of her 
 taste. He asked for Moyrah. She had gone down 
 into the village with Eileen, but would, probably, soon 
 be home, on account of the storm. 
 
 The long, rolling, booming peals grew louder every 
 moment, and the flashes more startllngly brilliant. Alt 
 conversation was at a standstill, because Mrs. Hegarty 
 interrupted every sentence with invocations to the 
 saints and the blessed Virgin Mary ; and Hegarty 
 became gloomy and silent, and crossed himself 
 frequently, while he muttered murmurs about the
 
 204 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 harvest. Suddenly, there came a flash which was so 
 dazzling that it seemed as if a ball of fire had burst in 
 the kitchen of the Blue House. The crash which 
 followed, or rather accompanied it, was so appalling 
 that Mrs. Hegarty screamed and almost fainted, and a 
 number of the plates were dashed off the dresser on to 
 the floor, and broken to atoms. At that instant the 
 •door opened and Moyrah walked in alone. 
 
 "An' wher's Eileen?" shrieked Mrs. Hegarty, starting 
 up. 
 
 " Wid the widder Flanagan," said Moyrah, shaking 
 the rain out of her masses of hair. 
 
 It seemed Eileen had grown frightened and would 
 not face the storm, but Moyrah had dreaded that her 
 father and mother might be anxious about their safety, 
 and so had determined, at all risks, to come home. She 
 now picked up the '' coorag " which had fallen as she 
 entered, and then, for the first time, noticed Lenoir. 
 She started with surprise. Then a deep blush and a 
 slightly amused look came over her face at his foreign, 
 and almost fulsomely polite, greeting. Yet she did not 
 seem displeased. Notwithstanding the discoveries which 
 have enriched science during the last twenty years, no 
 genius has, as yet, found the key to the bi-literal alphabet 
 of the female heart. Woman has ever at hand some 
 new and useful invention to elude the examination of 
 the cypher. She can transform the two letters, which 
 serve simple man so well, A and B — I love ; I do not 
 love — into a thousand significations, which baflle the 
 most erudite male reader of hieroglyphics. 
 
 Moyrah could not imagine why it was that, ever 
 since she had come under Lenoir's influence, he had 
 exerted such a strange power over her. She did not 
 know it, but he was an accomplished mesmerist, and 
 she was, in fact, an admirable subject for mesmeric 
 experiments: the subjectiveness and receptiveness of 
 her mind exposed her to this danger. 
 
 Lenoir could, and often did, mesmerise simply by his
 
 The Silver Whistle. 205^ 
 
 eye, without using any passes of the hand whatever.. 
 But when once he did use hand passes, and, by that 
 means, sent a subject off into a mesmeric coma, that 
 person was his slave for ever. It need scarcely be said: 
 this power had proved of marketable value to him at 
 many epochs in his life. 
 
 As for Moyrah, she had never heard the word mes- 
 merism, and was, of course, absolutely ignorant of its 
 meaning and of everything connected with it. But 
 there certainly is in us all a secret electricity which 
 attracts us towards some people and repels us from 
 others ; hence the satisfactory feeling of being in sym- 
 pathy with a pretty woman, and the misery experienced 
 by non-conductors. 
 
 There was something, too, in the extremely smart 
 style of Lenoir's attire which, being unlike anything 
 she had ever seen before, attracted Moyrah much. He 
 told her himself that it was "ultra-chic;" but she did 
 not altogether understand the meaning of that word. 
 He also remarked that she ought to see him dressed for 
 a masked ball, the Bois, or the races, or even for the 
 Casino Vivienne, BuUiers, or the Elysee Montmartre. 
 In fact, he liked arraying himself in fantastic habili- 
 ments, almost as much as he liked sipping vermouth 
 and reading the Intransigeant in the boulevards. He 
 hated being, even for one moment, an ordinary man_ 
 of no importance — an inconspicuous figure in life — 
 almost as he hated Ireland and the greater part of its 
 inhabitants. 
 
 He was staying at a small inn on the outskirts of the 
 neighbouring town, and he came over every day to the 
 Blue House. He said he liked the walk: he had no 
 objection to the open air in summer. In fact, he told 
 Moyrah he was a regular "boulevardier" during the 
 warm months in Paris. She thought it sounded some- 
 thing like " tombardment," and possibly had reference 
 to warlike feats he had performed in his native city, in 
 which he had probably distinguished himself.
 
 206 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 One morning Lenoir found Moyrah hemming a 
 kitchen apron, as she sat on a log of wood in the 
 garden under a lime tree. After his usual absurdly 
 elaborate bow, he coolly sat down at her side. When 
 he had been talking fluently, and she listening atten- 
 tively, for some time, he told her she was looking pale. 
 She confessed to having a headache. He told her to 
 •shut her eyes and lean back against the stem of the 
 tree, and that, without touching her, or giving her any 
 medicine, he would cure her completely. In perfect 
 isimplicity and innocence of heart she obeyed. There 
 and then he made the mesmeric passes in the air, and 
 :SOon had mesmerised her completely. 
 
 Just as she had become insensible her father's foot- 
 steps were heard approaching, and Lenoir quickly 
 brought her back to Hfe again. But Hegarty did not 
 ■see the couple, and passed on up the garden path into 
 the house. 
 
 When Moyrah had recovered she sat up, looking 
 dazed and bewildered, but confessed, when she was 
 questioned, that her headache was cured. She seemed 
 much astonished, and asked Lenoir what he had done. 
 He laughed, and said he had prayed to his French 
 patron saint, whose peculiar metier it was to cure head- 
 aches — St. Bon Marche. 
 
 Moyrah was very much touched, though she had 
 never heard of this saint before. 
 
 Lenoir turned away to conceal a smile, while he bit 
 liis under lip. Then he began to converse on general 
 subjects in a pleasant, off-hand, agreeable, if distinctly 
 bumptious, manner. More than ever now did Moyrah 
 become enthralled — literally magnetized by the charm 
 of his society. 
 
 Presently, as he was talking, he asked her if she often 
 heard from Cormac ? 
 
 She confessed she had not heard for a long time 
 now. 
 
 Lenoir, who, by some unknown means, appeared to
 
 The Silver Whistle, .207 
 
 liave discovered where Cormac was, told Moyrah that 
 lie had seen him when he was in England, during the 
 fortnight which had elapsed since the cattle show, and 
 that he was quite well, but had ceased to care for her. 
 He assured her, on his sacred word of honour as a 
 French gentleman and a good Christian, that Cormac 
 had declared to him that he would give anything to be 
 able to break off his engagement with her, as he was 
 deeply in love with a charming English girl, the accom- 
 plished daughter of a harness maker, who lived near 
 the gaol. 
 
 At first Moyrah was thunderstruck, and absolutely 
 incredulous. 
 
 But Lenoir produced a letter written unmistakeably 
 in Cormac's own hand and addressed to Lenoir. In 
 this he declared how he had grown tired of the chains 
 of his engagement to Moyrah, and how anxious he 
 was to break them. He ser forth the charms of the 
 harness maker's daughter, and implored Lenoir toilet 
 him know, when he returned to L-eland, whether there 
 was any chance of Moyrah's releasing him. 
 
 Lenoir handed the letter to Moyrah to read for her- 
 self. There it was, in black and white, as plain as a 
 pike-staff. 
 
 Moyrah had read but few letters in her life, and was 
 no adept at detecting differences in handwriting. She 
 coukl have sworn in a court of justice that the hand was 
 Cormac's. Cut to the heart, wounded in all the ten- 
 derest fibres of her woman's nature, she leaned her 
 burning head upon her trembling hand, while large 
 tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She muttered low 
 to herself, and, for a short time, passionate sobs, kept 
 down by a violent effort, seemed to choke her. At 
 length, she buried her face in her hands and cried out- 
 right. All dignity of self-control, for a moment, seemed 
 lost in the agony of her shame. Well would it have 
 been for her had that been the deepest measure of her 
 humiliation in this world.
 
 208 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction, very revolting in its lurid 
 light, shot over Lenoir's features, as he listened to her 
 sobs. 
 
 " Des larmes d'orgueil ! " he muttered, satirically, 
 to himself. Then he added, still lower: "Nous avons 
 une belle dpousde ; nous voulons un epoux aussi 
 beau." 
 
 Presently, as Moyrah's sobs subsided, Lenoir began 
 to speak in a gentle, insidious tone. 
 
 " I feel for your sad position. Mademoiselle Hegarty, 
 with my whole heart. The conduct of Monsieur 
 Cormac is indeed cruel and indelicate, and shows 
 that he can never have really cared for you, but only 
 deceived you for his own amusement. Such, alas ! is 
 too often the conduct of men ! Of some men, I should 
 say — not of all ! " and he came closer to her. 
 
 Moyrah listened to this, and to a great deal more,, 
 in the same Parisian high falutin' style. High, indeed. 
 High as the Eiffel tower. She listened intently, that 
 day and many succeeding days. Listened while he 
 told her wonderful stories of his travels, and the brave 
 deeds he had done, and felt stirred within her that wild 
 Irish love of adventure and admiration of the 
 adventurous which makes the Irish character so kin to- 
 the American. She listened, and did not know that a 
 prairie fire was being lighted, which no resources at her 
 command would be able to extinguish, until it had 
 swept over her whole future life and calcined every 
 flower. For a fortnight Lenoir came daily, and always 
 managed to see Moyrah alone, during part, generally 
 a great part, of his visit. 
 
 One day, as they were sitting out in the garden, on^ 
 the stem of a felled tree, talking over Cormac's conduct, 
 Lenoir suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " While I cannot help execrating the baseness of 
 one who could so behave to the loveliest and most 
 amiable of her sex, I cannot but feel that his betrayal 
 has been my opportunity." Rising suddenly, he dashed
 
 The Silver Whistle. 209 
 
 his hat at his side, and flung himself on his knees 
 before her. 
 
 " My own beloved, adored and idolized one ! I love 
 you with the true and fervent love and worship of my 
 whole heart, such as I never felt for anyone before, and 
 such as absence for years, or death itself, could not 
 efface or change ! I feel that every moment I exist 
 separated from you is misery, and should you now 
 refuse me, I declare before Heaven I will take my life 
 with my own hand before an hour has passed ! ''' 
 
 His voice trembled, his eyes flashed, his whole face 
 and form, seemed to Moyrah's enthralled vision to be 
 transformed into that of an angel of light. 
 
 '' You may wander from pole to pole, but you will 
 find none ever again to love you as I do now ! If you 
 but trust to me, and become truly my own for ever, the 
 whole of my future life will be devoted to making you 
 as happy as it is given to man to be on this side the 
 grave. O, my darhng ! my idol ! say but the one little 
 word which will make known that I am the proudest 
 and happiest man the world contains to-day!" 
 
 As Moyrah listened, a strange rapture, almost a 
 delirium of joy, unlike anything she had ever conceived 
 before to be possible, came over her at the thought that 
 he loved her. She said the one little word which can 
 never be unsaid ; and the next hour passed in that 
 dream which is more dreamt of than any reality. 
 Dreamt forward to up to nineteen ; dreamt back upon 
 up to ninety. 
 
 Even to a fastidious person Lenoir made a not un- 
 romantic lover. His height, his personal appearance, 
 and his savoir faire^ to a certain extent, brocaded over 
 his innate vulgarity. To Moyrah's unsophisticated 
 view he appeared the most perfect specimen of 
 humanity which had ever existed. 
 
 As they sat there, side by side, they looked, to a 
 certain extent, not unlike two orchids. Of all flowers, 
 and almost of all animals, orchids most impress upon us 
 
 P
 
 210 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 the idea that they have spirits in them. Those hideous, 
 bright yellow ones, with great splotches of angry 
 looking, odious, muddy brown, sometimes seem to live 
 and move as if a demon incarnate of cruelty and 
 treachery was inside. Then the beautiful snow-white 
 ones, just tipped here and there with the softest, most 
 exquisite shades of mauve and violet, make us feel as 
 though they must be the tabernacle of a spirit from a 
 better world.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ^TWjiHREE weeks after the events narrated in the 
 JJI last chapter, the little Catholic church of the 
 
 parish in which the Blue House stood was 
 
 decorated for a wedding. Eileen's deft fingers had 
 stuck white hedge roses everywhere ; in some places 
 she had mixed them with lime blossoms, and there was 
 a good deal of jessamine, which she had pulled off the 
 house, wound round the alter rails. 
 
 After Moyrah had consented to marry Lenoir she 
 had to meet the bitter reproaches of her father aiad 
 mother for having so basely deserted Cormac. But 
 Lenoir quickly showed them Cormac's letter, and told 
 them just what he had told Moyrah. Then all their 
 indignation was turned against Cormac, and they were 
 ready to further Lenoir's suit in every way. 
 
 Lenoir declared he was very well off, and would settle 
 five hundred pounds on his fiancee the day they were 
 married. As a sort of guarantee of his solvency, he 
 presented Hegarty with a cheque for twenty pounds, and 
 assured him that whenever he wanted money he would 
 only have to apply to him, as he had many wealthy 
 relations, and was doing a good business in the wine 
 trade with them in Paris. He showed him numerous 
 orders for more wine from people with titles. 
 
 When he saw how terribly Moyrah felt leaving her 
 father, he vowed to her on his solemn word of honour 
 that, after a few weeks' honeymoon in Paris, they should 
 return to the neighbourhood of the Blue House and 
 take a farm, which happened to be unlet, called Kintore. 
 
 He explained his having come to Ireland as valet, by 
 
 p2
 
 212 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 saying that he wished to see some friends in Dublin, and 
 that, being anxious to settle down in life, and on the 
 look out for a wife, he wanted to save money, and 
 preferred coming at some one else's expense. Such 
 economy promised a frugal husband, and greatly 
 gratified his future father and mother-in-law. He 
 acknowledged that he had been to Ireland several 
 times before, in his business capacity, as travelling 
 agent for the wine firm to which he belonged. He 
 said his health being occasionally rather precarious, 
 he had long thought of retiring, at any rate, for a 
 time, and trying how farming would agree with him. 
 He had realised sufficient capital to stock a farm, and 
 give him a good start. 
 
 Lenoir declared to Hegarty that he felt convinced 
 farming in Ireland could be made a most profitable 
 business, if the butter and q^^ department was properly 
 worked. At any rate, he asserted that he intended to 
 try. 
 
 Moyrah was delighted at this prospect ; and the 
 terrible nightmare of separation from her darling father 
 was robbed of many of its horrors. 
 
 The Sheils were away in London, and knew nothing 
 of what was going on at the Blue House. Bridget was 
 playing a game of her own which occupied her whole 
 attention. At the same time, had the faintest shadow 
 of a conception of what was occurring to her favourite 
 become known to her, she would, at all expense and 
 trouble, have gone home, even had she to return in a 
 week, and though it was the height of one of the most 
 delightful London seasons on record. But Moyrah 
 found great difficulty in writing letters ; and, moreover,, 
 she was of a shy, modest disposition, like her father, 
 and could not bear to obtrude her private affairs at such 
 a time as the London season, when she knew, from 
 Bridget's own lips, how every moment was taken up 
 with such important business during that whirligig of 
 pleasure. Besides, Lenoir had particularly begged her
 
 The Silver Whistle. 213 
 
 not to write to Bridget, suggesting that it would be 
 tantamount to asking Bridget for a handsome wedding 
 present, and from this, he said, his pride revolted. 
 Moyrah's pride revolted from it also, once the idea was 
 put into her head. It would not have come there of 
 itself. 
 
 Moyrah had made a little retreat for a day or two 
 before her marriage, to prepare herself for her new life, 
 as is the habit with devout Catholics. Lenoir excused 
 himself from doing the same, by saying he had made 
 one only a short time ago, in Paris. He, however, 
 readily consented to accompany her, when she went up 
 to chapel to make her general confession, on her 
 wedding eve. He said he also would make his. He 
 was so very short a time in the confessional, that 
 Moyrah rejoiced to think what a spotless career his had 
 been, and thanked God for giving her so devout and 
 holy a husband. 
 
 The morning of Moyrah's wedding day dawned^dark 
 and cloudy. Rain fell in torrents, and the wind moaned 
 drearily round the house. The old furniture creaked 
 and sighed, and made strange noises, as if something 
 was weighing on its mind. The clouds swept low down, 
 and seemed to be passing close to the house in weird, 
 fantastic shapes, the w^ay they do on a thoroughly wet 
 day in Ireland. The rain beat in sheets and sluices 
 against the lattice windows till it seemed as if the 
 house would be washed into every moment. When the 
 bridal party assembled in chapel, it seemed as if the 
 roof of the little white-washed edifice would be blown 
 away, so violently did it sway with the gale, which had 
 increased to a hurricane. 
 
 ^loyrah looked entranced with happiness, but as 
 innocent and sweet as one of the white jessamine flowers 
 Lenoir's scented hand crushed, as he leaned on the altar 
 rails. He was covered with scent. Rimmel's shop, 
 with the stoppers out of all the bottles, was nothing to 
 him. His hair was brushed in every sort of extra-
 
 214 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 ordinary and fantastic shape ; he had studied the 
 fundamental laws of capillary attraction. He wore a 
 white waistcoat, a scarlet geranium in his buttonhole, 
 and a brilliant scarlet tie. He carried a pair of white 
 kid gloves in his left hand. Moyrah thought he looked 
 something too beautiful for words. He always smiled 
 most benignly, when he looked at her, and showed his 
 long rows of snow-white teeth to perfection. As he 
 took his vows, there was a lambent flame in his eyes for 
 an instant, a strange movement in those heavy lips, 
 shaded, but not hidden by his black moustache. 
 
 When the feasting was over, and the jaunting car 
 at the door, waiting to take them to the station, and 
 Moyrah turned to say good-bye to her father, she broke 
 down entirely. He pressed her to his heart, and 
 showered fervent Irish blessings upon her. His poor^ 
 old, wrinkled face was covered with tears, and his now 
 bent and rapidly aging form trembled. Moyrah flung 
 her arms round his neck, and seemed as if she could not 
 tear herself away, while her sobs unmanned all who 
 heard them, except her husband. He helped her 
 gracefully on to the car, and went off bowing and 
 smiling, and making pretty speeches all round, especially 
 to Mrs. Hegarty, who thought him perfectly charming, 
 and her fortunate daughter greatly to be congratulated. 
 
 Through a mist of driving rain and blinding tears^ 
 Moyrah gazed at the old red walls of the house she 
 so long had called her home, as they gradually 
 disappeared in the distance. 
 
 Ah ! Moyrah, gaze long ! gaze well ! Who knows 
 when you may see that sight again, and when you do, 
 with what feelings V 
 
 When they reached the station, there were more 
 sobs, more tears, as farewell was said to Emmett. But 
 it was only, as she told him when she gave him her 
 parting kiss, for a very, very short time; soon she 
 would see him again, and he would come to be hers, at 
 Kintore farm.
 
 CHAPTEH XXTI. 
 
 MEANTIME, Bridget, in London, had been 
 making hay while the sun shone. Through 
 the instrumentality of Lucas, she had con- 
 trived to get introduced to Lord Gargoyle. Lucas 
 was acquainted, more or less intimately, with most of 
 Sydney's relations. 
 
 From the moment he first took her down to dinner, 
 she set her cap at him in a manner which, to those 
 acquainted with women, caps and widowers, could leave 
 but one view of the issue. 
 
 The old peer was a childless widower, and had been 
 so for many years. He had quite made up his mind 
 not to marry again. But alas ! for the mind of man 
 when made up contrary to the mind of woman ! 
 
 Bridget used every art known to her designing and 
 unholy sex, since long before the days of the Irish lady 
 who went out on the lake in a row boat after the saint 
 on his island. The poor amateur defendant was no 
 match for the professional besieger. Bridget used her 
 stiletto of attack like an accomplished duellist, while 
 Lord Gargoyle was as awkward with his sword of 
 defence as a Leicestershire deputy lieutenant at his first 
 levee. 
 
 The end of it all was that either he proposed for her, 
 or she proposed for him, it was never quite known 
 which ; society said the latter, and Bridget attained her 
 object, and had the supreme satisfaction, the unspeak- 
 able triumph of writing herself to claim Sydney's 
 congratulations on the announcement that in a short 
 time she would be his aunt.
 
 216 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Certainly, she had succeeded ; there were few thhigs 
 that could have caused him greater annoyance. But 
 soon it seemed as if judgment overtook her. The very 
 day after her engagement to Lord Gargoyle was 
 publicly announced came the news, through one of the 
 servants in Ireland, that Moyrah was married and 
 gone. 
 
 Bridget was literally thunderstruck. She could not 
 believe her ears. That Moyrah had been engaged, had 
 married, and had gone away without telling her a word 
 about it, seemed like a fairy tale. It could not be true. 
 For the time being, herself and her own engagement, 
 and all her prospective splendours, were completely 
 forgotten. She sat down at once to write to Mrs. 
 Hegarty, to beg to be informed of the whole matter ; 
 quite forgetting that Mrs. Hegarty, who had been 
 educated in an earlier generation, could not read 
 writing, though she could read print. 
 
 In Bridget's Indignation and misery about the one 
 friend she had, whom she really loved better than herself, 
 she was ready to accuse Sydney of having connived at 
 the whole plan, out of spite to her. Spite was a 
 disposition she knew the alphabet of well. She 
 attributed more actions in life to spite than to any 
 other cause. A man who could call her a spitfire was 
 capable of any crime. Spite must with him be the 
 ruling motive of life. 
 
 Meantime, Sydney was fishing in Devonshire, totally 
 unconscious alike of Moyrah's fate or of the infamies 
 that were being laid to his charge by his fair aunt-elect. 
 
 He had not in the least forgotten Moyrah. His was 
 not a nature which lightly forgot any deep feeling, 
 much less the deepest It had ever experienced. He 
 loved Moyrah with a noble and lasting love, such as 
 is felt once only in a lifetime. But she had been 
 -engaged to Cormac, who was his proteg^, and who 
 had in his defenceless misery thrown himself on his 
 mercy.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 217 
 
 The path of duty had lain straight before him, and 
 he had followed it without a swerve. But that had 
 not altered the fact of his feeling for Moyrah as he had 
 never felt for anyone before. He could only say with 
 Angels, 
 
 "Ever till now, 
 
 When men were fond, 
 1 smiled, and wondered how." 
 
 But not now. He had placed her where a man only 
 places one woman once in his life. Yet he had decided 
 that if Cormac steadily continued to refuse to take a 
 farm, or to live anywhere out of jail, that he would 
 use all his influence in the county, and with the 
 governor of the jail, to get him raised to such a 
 portion as might enable him to offer a wife a com- 
 fortable home. 
 
 Imagine, then, his feelings when, one morning, as he 
 was overhauling his tackle, assisted by a tankard of 
 cider and a short briarwood pipe, in the bay wjndow 
 of a little primitive inn near the Exe, he was handed 
 a newspaper, which had been forwarded on from 
 Hambury Castle, and which had originally been 
 sent there by Cormac, with a red cross marking 
 a short account of Moyrah's marriage with Lenoir. 
 It was a local paper, published at irregular intervals 
 in the small town near which the Blue House was 
 situated. 
 
 Sydney sat as if stunned for full ten minutes, deadly 
 pale, and trembling all over. Then he rose, packed up 
 his things, started for Bristol ; there took a packet which 
 was just starting for Ireland, and in twenty-nine hours 
 was walking into the Bkie House. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hegarty were very much pleased to see 
 him, but were surprised and somewhat awed at the 
 sternness of his countenance. 
 
 He said he knew his position did not entitle him to 
 make any sucli request, but yet he begged they would 
 afford him some explanation of Moyrah's conduct in
 
 218 The Sliver Whistle. 
 
 jilting Cormac, for whom be had done so much, and in 
 marrying a man with whom she was so very slightly 
 acquainted as Lenoir. 
 
 They at once told him of Cormac's letter, which they 
 had seen with their own eyes, and of what he had said 
 about Moyrah to Lenoir. 
 
 Sydney became crimson with fury. The whole 
 scheme of trickeiy flashed before him ; he saw it all in 
 a glance. To the amazement of the old Hagartys, he 
 let his head drop on his folded arms with a groan of 
 despair. Too late, too late ! 
 
 When he could steady his voice sufficiently to speak, 
 he told them there was not a word of truth in what 
 Lenoir had said. Cormac had been ill with the small- 
 pox, and had not written for fear of conveying the 
 infection. Sydney had been to see him several times, 
 as he was not a bit afraid of infection, and had taken 
 down with him one of the leading physicians in London ; 
 he had also procured for him two first-rate nurses from 
 a celebrated nursing institute. He had sent him the 
 most expensive fruits, jellies and wines. All that 
 money could obtain had been lavished upon him, and he 
 was making a very good recovery. The one thing, 
 however, which he had looked forward to as the reward 
 for his steady good conduct, and the compensation for 
 all his troubles, was the prospect of being able to make 
 Moyrah his wife as soon as he was completely 
 convalescent. The cheerfulness and hope inspired by 
 this consideration had aided his recovery more than 
 any medicine, good nursing, or luxurious feeding. 
 
 When Mrs. Hegarty heard this, she burst into a wild 
 storm of sobs and groans, threw her apron over her 
 head, and rocked herself backwards and forwards on her 
 wooden arm chair. 
 
 Hegarty's thin, lined face became ashen. He said 
 nothing, but looked as he had done the day Emmett's 
 stable was burnt. 
 
 Eileen shrieked, flung her arms over her head, theU:
 
 The Silver Whistle. 219' 
 
 threw the top half of her body across the kitchen table 
 and sobbed. 
 
 " How you could believe him I can't conceive f 
 Why you did not question him further ; especially when 
 vou saw how much his own self-interest was involved 
 in the whole story," exclaimed Sydney, in a voice of 
 terrible anguish. 
 
 " Shure, we all thought him an iligint man, an'" 
 trustid hini^intirely," sobbed Mrs. Hegarty. " I'd have 
 sworn to him from wan blue moon to another." 
 
 Sydney was now experiencing, for the first time,, 
 that strange and almost boundless credulity which, 
 while it is one of the most beautiful characteristics,, 
 has also been one of the greatest curses, of the Irish 
 race. 
 
 Soon, with tbat love of talking which distinguishes 
 their sex and nation, Mrs. Hegarty and Eileen began to 
 give some account of Lenoir's courtship, and let out 
 plainly how much attached Moyrah was to him. 
 Eileen incidentally described how one day, the da}fc she 
 had seen Moyrah lean back against the lime tree in the 
 garden — she had been watching from the corner of the 
 haystack in the yard, on which she had a habit of 
 sitting — and how he had moved his hands up and down 
 in the air in a strange and extraordinary manner in 
 front of Moy rail's face. 
 
 "How? how?" exclaimed Sydney, eagerly, leaning 
 forward. 
 
 Eileen imitated the mesmeric passes exactly. 
 
 " The devil ! " muttered Sydney, under his breath ; 
 while the blue veins stood out on his forehead as if he 
 was undergoing some sharp pain. 
 
 Eileen then continued to explain that Moyrah had a 
 headache, and she said Lenoir had cured it. 
 
 " It would have been better if it had ached till it 
 burst ! " exclaimed Sydney, passionately. 
 
 The longer Sydney pondered over things the more 
 plainly he saw that there was now nothing to be done,,
 
 ■220 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 and the more utterly depressed and despairing did he 
 become. 
 
 As he looked round at tliat house, and saw little 
 things every instant which reminded him of Moyrah, 
 he felt he could not bear it, so he rose and said he 
 would go out and look at Emmett. Hegarty accom- 
 panied him. 
 
 Emmett turned his head as they entered his new stall, 
 and Sydney noticed at once that his soft, expressive eyes 
 were full of a wistful enquiring look, as if he was in 
 momentary expectation of hearing a voice and feeling 
 a hand he had been accustomed to, and which now, to 
 his surprise, came no more. 
 
 From the very first moment Sydney had heard the 
 story he felt certain Moyrah would never return. 
 
 " They tried to fire this stable agin last night," said 
 Hegarty, with a strange flash from under his shaggy 
 brows ; " an' I've had a letter tellin' me they'll hamstring 
 him the firrest toime he goes out in the field." 
 
 There and then Sydney ofi'ered three hundred pounds 
 down for him. 
 
 After a very little consideration, and a short con- 
 sultation with his better half, Hegarty accepted it ; 
 though he protested that it was infinitely too much, 
 and seemed perfectly overcome at the munificence of 
 the offer. Mrs. Hegarty, however, though overcome to 
 a certain extent, was quite sufficiently master of herself 
 to strongly recommend her spouse to close with the offer 
 as quickly as possible. 
 
 Under the new threats of persecution, Emmett's life 
 was not worth a week's purchase. Had Hegarty tried 
 to sell him anywhere in the neighbourhood, he would 
 not have got twenty-five pounds for him. 
 
 Now he decided to bank the three hundred pounds 
 for Moyrah, in case the time should come when she had 
 need of it ; for Emmett was hers. Mrs. Hegarty said 
 she would see about doing that. 
 
 So, when Sydney returned to Hambury Castle, which
 
 The Silver Whistle. 221. 
 
 he did in the course of a day or two, he took Emmett 
 with him, and introduced him to his mother. 
 
 She could not see any such very great beauty in the 
 horse. All her son's horses were handsome; and to her 
 there appeared to be nothing extraordinary about this 
 one to account for the feelings with which Sydney 
 regarded it. 
 
 As to the grooms, they all declared their master had 
 " gone perfectly daft about the new 'oss. E's a hin and 
 hout of the stables a 'undred times a day, a looking at 
 'im, and a strokin' of 'im down." 
 
 It was an odd thing, but everyone who knew Sydney 
 thought they understood him. " A very transparent 
 character," they said. 
 
 How blinded acute observers sometimes are about 
 character. There are times when we all exhibit 
 a muddled vision on the subject. We set ourselves 
 to argue and prove by certain flagrant outward 
 appearances ; and as a result, we fail to reason 
 correctly, because we have built our argument upon 
 a bundle of straw floating on the top of the water. 
 As well might we deduce that the cooking in a 
 certain house was good, because the outside of the 
 house pleased our architectural taste. If our reasoning 
 powers are weak, using argumentative forms will not 
 make them stronger. And in judging of other people's 
 characters, it sometimes seems as if everyone's reasoning 
 powers were weak. 
 
 There is a certain superficial sparkle, it might almost 
 be called effervescence, in some men's manner which 
 leads the observer to conclude that the man is easily 
 understood. ''He is transparent;" they really mean, 
 in other words, that he is all on the surface. You can 
 see him as you sit on the bank, without taking the 
 trouble to dive for his peculiar and cultured virtues. 
 Now, this process of diving for peculiar and cultured 
 virtues is what your modern observer of character 
 expects and enjoys.
 
 •222 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Men who draw you on, by dark hints and ambiguous 
 iinuendoes, to think that there are some marvellous 
 pearls of sentiments down, down — far down — in the 
 mud, which is all you see of their characters ; some 
 wondrous wounds which have caused these pearls to 
 exist, and even write poetry on those pearls and those 
 wounds. These are pets whose characters are worth 
 modern psychological investigation ; though one would 
 imagine a wound must be well skinned over before we 
 begin to beat a rhythm on it. 
 
 Well, this was not Sydney's sort of character. He 
 had wounds, but no living being knew of them. He 
 had a depth of feeling and a power of affection such as 
 poets have written about, but not always experienced. 
 Pearls there were, and abundance ; but he did not go 
 about like an auctioneer calling out their value. No 
 human instruction, no school board, no competitive 
 examination, could have organized the hearing ear of 
 Mozart ; and no psychological investigator could have 
 pulled it to pieces so as to be able to tell other people 
 how to get one like it. 
 
 Thus with Sydney's character, all the most minute 
 probing into that feeling, and pulling out this, hanging 
 up such a sentiment on the clothes line in the 
 psychological investigator's darkened study, and putting 
 such another under his microscope, would not have 
 shown his real character, or even conveyed a glimmer 
 of hght with regard to it to an interested observer. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, on rare occasions, when touched 
 "by another character, which had some answering strain 
 in it to his own, the deeps were broken up. It is 
 permitted to men's hand to strike the rock; but the 
 fountain which sparkles out comes from waters which 
 are above the heavens of even the greatest man's genius. 
 
 A few simple words from Moyrah had done more to 
 bring to light the hidden depths within him than 
 whole years of systematic investigation could have 
 accomplished.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 l^^PjiHE first week or two that Moyrah was in Paris 
 jJl she was too much bewildered by the novelty of 
 
 everything round her to form any just idea of 
 
 the city. She had never been in a large town of any 
 sort before. Now, to find herself in one where she could 
 not speak the language, or understand it ; one wdiere all 
 the modes of life seemed different from anything she had 
 ever heard or dreamt of, coupled with her thoughts of 
 home, and of what her father and Eileen were suff'ering 
 from her absence, sometimes almost upset her ^elf- 
 command. Alphonse was kindness and politeness itself, 
 and every evening took her to a grand restaurant, where 
 he gave her a first-rate dinner. But she had lost her 
 appetite, and did so little justice to the food that he was 
 sometimes quite irritated. After dinner they sat out on 
 the pavement, under a red striped awning, at a little 
 round table, while he smoked and sipped, sometimes 
 absinthe, and sometimes vermouth, and amused himself 
 by ridiculing and making comments on the passing 
 crowd. 
 
 They generally went somewhere between the Place 
 de rOpera, and the Rue Montmatre; usually to the 
 Boulevard Poissonnibre. He bought a little newspaper, 
 cocked his hat very much on one side of his head, stuck 
 the polished toes of his boots straight out before him, 
 and translated scraps of news or witty — he considered 
 them witty — remarks for her edification. 
 
 One thing struck Moyrah very much, and that was 
 the large proportion of women of the lower middle class
 
 224 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 in white caps, with, what she considered, rather bold; 
 faces ; who hurried and bustled along, looking as if the 
 whole government of the nation rested on their shoulders ;. 
 while, for the most part, the men sauntered lazily about,, 
 with hands in pockets, cigar in mouth, and hat much on 
 one side, as if indifferent, for the time being, to politics,, 
 business, or anything but the enjoyment of the present 
 moment. 
 
 The way the foot passengers walked out in the middle 
 of the street also surprised her ; and at first she expected,, 
 every moment, to see them run over. 
 
 Anyone who has been much in France must have 
 come to the conclusion that the deity that most of the 
 men worship is god scrubbing brush, and the only place 
 they worship him is on the outside of their heads. 
 Their mode of worship consists merely in the most 
 servile imitation, not in his application to their skins. 
 
 Now, IrishiDen generally grow their hair rather long,, 
 so the change in the style of coiffure struck Moyrah 
 forcibly. 
 
 For the first week or two, Alphonse stayed with her 
 nearly all day, and took her out sight-seeing, and tried 
 to amuse her in every possible way. But it was being- 
 with him that she really enjoyed, and not the sights 
 they saw. 
 
 Still, the fish market at the Halles Centrales did 
 interest her greatly ; and though she could not 
 understand what they said, she stood listening, with 
 keen attention, to the sharp passages of arms between 
 the peiites bourgeoises^ and their invariable bonnes^ and 
 the dames de la Halle. The frogs and the snails which 
 were sold in large quantities also caused her consider- 
 able amazement. She soon yielded to Alphonse's 
 desire that she should taste some. She was ill afterwards^ 
 and did not repeat the experiment. 
 
 Alphonse appeared to have an unlimited supply of 
 money, and they took a drive in the Bois de Boulogne 
 every afternoon, he smoking all the time; and when he
 
 The Silver Whistle, 225 
 
 could summon up self-sacrifice enough to take his cigar 
 out of his mouth, making pretty speeches to her, or 
 telling her the names and private histories of the 
 occupants of the different little open Victorias they 
 passed. 
 
 The fresh, balmy air, the rustle of the trees, the 
 fashionable carriages, and the smart dresses — smart 
 beyond anything she had ever dreamt of — pleased her 
 greatly. But all was as nothing to the fact that she 
 was in the society of the person whom she loved with an 
 idolatrous worship, such as only a nature like hers was 
 capable of feeling. 
 
 8he had that unfortunate construction of mind, for a 
 woman, which obliges its possessor to be always looking 
 up to something. Such people, too often, end like the 
 philosopher who, in staring at the stars, fell into the 
 water. But this passion for looking up was the 
 predominant passion of Moyrah's nature, and twined 
 itself like ivy round every action and resolution of 4ier 
 mind. It was the dark line in the solar spectrum of an 
 otherwise warm and sun-like heart. A heart so warm 
 and tender to every phase of suffering in another, that 
 like the sun, it shed warmth w^herever its influence was 
 felt. 
 
 But still, there was In it this stupid love for looking 
 up. Like a raphide or crystalline substance In the cell 
 of a leaf, this accumulated to such an extent, as she 
 gave free vent to it, that it blocked up and impeded the 
 healthy action of her nature. Like the granules. It 
 became the ashes which the fire of life deposited as It 
 burnt, and which, at last, turned traitor and extinguished 
 the life it once had fed. To Moyrah it was actually 
 rapture to sit at Lenoir's feet and worship him, as a 
 Chinese might worship one of his hideous little brass 
 images. Every word he uttered was as the laws of the 
 Medes and Persians to her ; everything he did, even to 
 the swagger with which he walked Into a cafe and 
 ordered dejeuner^ was perfect In her eyes. 
 
 Q
 
 226 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 But, insane as she was about Lenoir, and bewildered 
 and dazzled by the complete and extraordinary change 
 of her present life, she had not forgotten her father 
 and Eileen, or her beloved home. She wrote straggling 
 letters, wandering all over the paper, the words some- 
 times immense and sometimes tiny, to her father, with 
 long postscripts to Eileen. She sent messages, with 
 blots for kisses, to her mother and brothers. She 
 bought bright silk ties for the boys, and brilliant 
 neckerchiefs for Eileen, and greatly enjoyed making 
 them up into parcels and sending them off, while she 
 pictured the faces of those who would unpack them. 
 
 Her father's image was never absent from her heart. 
 It always seemed to double her delight in sightseeing 
 to realise how she would tell him of it when she went 
 home. That she should go home again, and at no 
 distant date, she never doubted for a moment. Alphonse 
 had promised she should. They were both to go back 
 after a month or two, taking with them stores of won- 
 derful things from the Paris shops as presents to those 
 loved ones at home. Yes, Moyrah's heart was one 
 which could never forget, or ever cease to love, or 
 diminish in love where once it had loved. Her appar- 
 ently all-absorbing affection for Lenoir seemed only to 
 have increased her love for those at home. " O how 
 darlin' father would like to see this ! How Eileen 
 would enjoy this ! " was constantly on her lips when 
 sightseeing. There is an idea in L'eland that whenever 
 you enter a church for the first time whatever you 
 pray for is granted. Moyrah took full advantage of 
 this idea to pray for her father at every altar in each 
 church the first time she entered it. As she went 
 into a new church almost every day, this occupied a 
 considerable portion of her time. Alphonse always 
 behaved with great devotion in the churches, which 
 much pleased Moyrah. She rather wondered why one 
 or two cures, who appeared to know him, stared so 
 hard at him when they saw him kneeling, hat in hand.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 227 
 
 before some saint's shrine, with an air of cherub-like 
 simplicity on his perfumed countenance. Certainly, 
 they did stare ; and once two cures stopped and whis- 
 pered together, and looked so very hard at him that 
 Moyrah thought they must be going to speak to him ; 
 but after a few minutes they passed on. 
 
 Moyrah got a good deal stared at during their drives 
 in the Bois : indeed, wherever she went people looked 
 at and looked after her. Paris, jaded and painted, was 
 not accustomed to beauty such as hers. Lenoir gave 
 her most ravishing bonnets, mantles and dresses, and 
 in these, arranged by herself with considerable taste, 
 her loveliness shone like a jewel in a fair setting. No 
 wonder that gentlemen stood up in their carriages and 
 looked back as she drove past. This pleased Lenoir, 
 and he puffed away at his inevitable cigar with much 
 complacency. 
 
 It did not please Moyrah, however, at all. She 
 hated it, and always looked down, or looked quickly 
 away, with a blush on her cheeks. Such unusual con- 
 duct in a Paris belle caused more surprise than her 
 beauty. 
 
 The first evening that Lenoir took her to a theatre 
 of his own selecting she was not altogether pleased. 
 The heroine of the play exhibited her graceful form 
 under the undulating lines of a gauzy costume, con- 
 sisting of a rohe decolletee de gros de Naples^ with lace 
 trimming, a la Maradan. Her external form, like 
 that of Sappho, appeared to conceal a volcano ; some- 
 times pouring forth from the crater of her lips the 
 lava of hatred, envy, jealousy and murderous malice, 
 and sometimes of affection, or, at least, what she was 
 pleased emphatically to term affection. That affection . 
 which follows love in this world, as shadows pursue 
 substance. 
 
 Lenoir translated for Moyrah as the play proceeded; 
 and many brilliant blushes he brought to her fair Irish 
 cheeks as he did so. The heroine appeared to think 
 
 Q2
 
 228 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 that " light are the bonds of Cupid," the only chains 
 which the captive rejoices to rivet for himself. 
 
 True, she had as difficult a part to play as a pilot in 
 a South Sea hurricane. She had to steer through 
 breakers of black eyes, which we all know even the 
 craft of woman seldom weathers successfully. 
 
 Lenoir assured Moyrah that she was at that moment 
 the great theatrical star of Paris. Be that as it might, 
 her extraneous effect upon male meteorology appeared 
 to be deplorable. She met adversity — for there was 
 plenty of adversity in the play — in such a strange 
 spirit that Moyrah was puzzled and fairly astounded. 
 She did not give a hint that there could be anything 
 elevating in sorrow. On the contrary ; she appeared 
 to carry in herself an antidote to whatever could 
 ennoble human nature in external circumstances. In 
 her mental construction she was like an armadillo, an 
 animal peculiar to America, but which, no doubt, might 
 be acclimatized in France, mostly covered with a scaly 
 and hard shell formed of compartments resembling 
 little paving stones. 
 
 At those sharp corners in the weary road of life, 
 when the softness of a woman's nature should have 
 come out, these paving stones were waved in the face 
 of the audience. The whole play, in fact, appeared to 
 be modelled on the pattern of a revolutionary admin- 
 istration, that is to say : Satan, a tyrant, who can bear 
 no freedom, had united to form a constitution, or a plot, 
 with passions which can bear no government. The 
 magistrate of conscience was badly wanted to read the 
 riot act ; but he was far from the scene, and as yet, 
 science has not discovered a telephone which can be 
 securely run to him. 
 
 They had been lucky enough to get the two front 
 places in a box, and Alphonse, who could be most 
 charmingly polite, had got her a petite banc. He was 
 veiy much interested in watching a fine straightforward- 
 looking fair-haired young Englishman, who was sitting,
 
 The Silver Whistle, 229 
 
 with a somewhat severe and proud expression on his 
 face, in the front of the theatre. At length, after 
 repeatedly directing Moyrah's attention to him, in order 
 that she might laugh at him, he exclaimed, " I declare, 
 every Englishman in France looks as if he was always 
 thinking of his grandfather, and saying, ' Je dois 
 quelque chose a la lierte du sang qu' il m'a transmis.' " 
 But his wife's thoughts were on the play and she 
 only looked at the Englishman to admire him for 
 a moment, and then her attention returned to the 
 stage. 
 
 Moyrah had never argued the question out, either 
 internally or externally, but she had a sort of floating 
 feeling in her mind that womanhood was like a 
 diamond. That when cut by aftliction, it exhibited a 
 play of transparent colours in the sunbeam of a holy 
 love ; and all true love, she thought, must be holy. 
 Now she saw that diamond torn from its golden setting 
 of family and faith, flung upon a muddy road and 
 crushed to useless bits. Finally, its light was extm- 
 guished, and it became all of that soot which, at the 
 outset, had only been one of its ingredients. At first, 
 it seemed as if the darkest blot upon the picture was 
 that the diamond threw itself there. But as the play 
 went on, a darker one showed out ; the diamond rejoiced 
 in its own obliteration ; and so the girl from the wild 
 west of Ireland sat and Avatched womanhood in the 
 hands of Communism, and required no physiological 
 investigator to amplify upon the subject before she 
 could draw her own conclusions. 
 
 Moyrah leaned back in her seat, and stared at the 
 heroine with an amazement which every moment 
 merged into deeper and deeper repulsion. 
 
 Lenoir had told her that her ideas on many subjects 
 were fossils, which the hammer of modern advancement 
 would soon break. There are hammers, and hammers. 
 This heroine was a very tolerable sort of a hammer. 
 She appeared to consider the commandments as useless
 
 230 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 for a guide in ordinary life, as a general map of the 
 world to show the bridle-path from Cork to Kinsale. 
 
 Lenoir leaned his chin on his fist, and watched the 
 surprised and parted lips, the large wide open dark blue 
 eyes at his side, with a smile of great amusement. 
 
 " Sacre bleu ! " he muttered, " un de ces enthousiastes 
 sublimes qu'il faut enfermer comme des fous, ou adorer 
 comme des dieux." 
 
 Moyrah was so absorbed in following the play that 
 she did not see he was looking at her ; or, indeed, that 
 other people were looking at her. She was unconscious 
 of the opera glassses which were focussing her from 
 many parts of the house, unconscious of the bold 
 insolent stares of two prominent members of the 
 government, who were sitting near them. 
 
 But Lenoir saw them, and was pleased ; it gratified 
 him that he should possess what others admired. 
 Moyrah's charming impulsive spontaneity, and beautiful 
 ingenuousness he did not consider of any value ; but 
 that she should attract the marked attention of two 
 prominent members of the government made her worth 
 being civil to. As he watched her face, he said, with 
 a slightly satirical accent : " Je sais que tu as vecu 
 jusqu' ici comme la fille enchantee dans son globe de 
 cristal," and then he laughed, while she continued to 
 remain absorbed in the stage. And yet, hardened as 
 he was, there were moments when unexpected aspects 
 of her character affected him to a slight degree ; but 
 only moments. This was one, and as he continued to 
 look at her, he muttered : ^' Fratche comme les fleurs, 
 belle comme les anges, vive comme un oiseau, gaie, 
 vermeille, Elegante ! " then he smiled as he thought o( 
 her future, and added cynically, as if speaking to her : 
 "Vous avez fait la folic, il faut la boire ! " and he 
 smiled again, and twirled up the end of his black 
 moustache, and pictured, in his fancy, what her face 
 would be when she learned the truth. 
 
 One of Lenoir's accomplishments was that of
 
 The Silver Whistle. 281 
 
 designing ladies' dresses, and he turned most of his few 
 honest pennies by providing costumes for some of the 
 leading milliners. 
 
 Moyrah dressed in clothes he brought her, and it 
 amused him to watch her face of delight as he laid a new 
 pretty dress on the chair before her. 
 
 To-night she wore a dress of rich green silk, with 
 the bodice of silk and velvet to match, exquisitely 
 fitting ; on her left breast a bunch of lilies of the valley, 
 with the smaller leaves of that flower ; a green bonnet, 
 to match, with lilies of the valley in it. Set in such a 
 framework, and her cheeks glowing with health and 
 happiness, her beauty looked dazzling; her colouring 
 was so brilliant and still so soft, that it puzzled many of 
 the connoisseurs of beauty, whose opera glasses were 
 fixed on her. In its richness, yet delicacy, it was 
 scarcely that of the western countries, but more like a 
 Circassian girl's. 
 
 The ladies who looked at her declared it could not^be 
 natural, but must be obtained by consummate art, though 
 what art they would much have liked to know ; for they 
 had, most of them, tried all known arts without 
 arriving at the same results. 
 
 The gentlemen, however, saw the colour come and 
 go as Lenoir spoke to her every now and then, and 
 directed her attention first to one thing and then to 
 another ; and the most ingenious prejudice could not 
 produce an array of evidences sufficient to convince an 
 independent male intellect that this was art. 
 
 "You do not, apparently, like the star? " he said. 
 
 " But does anybody ? " she asked. 
 
 " Does anybody ! " he echoed, in almost a mocking 
 tone. '' Why everyone who is a judge of acting says 
 she is the most rising young actress of the day. Paris 
 is not peculiar on that point, I can assure you," and he 
 put up his opera glasses and inspected the object of their 
 discussion minutely. 
 
 Moyrah said no more ; but when next he looked at
 
 232 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 ner he saw her long dark eyelashes sparkling in the 
 glare of the gas lights, as if they had been fringed with 
 diamonds. 
 
 When she saw him look at her, she returned his gaze 
 with a gentle, confiding expression that would have 
 touched most men. She shrank up closer to him, as if 
 for protection from some external, invisible, evil principle 
 in the air. 
 
 Had she but known, she might have said with Isabella, 
 
 " You bid me seek redemption of the devil." 
 
 But she did not know. He had been really kind to 
 her ; though she was the first person he ever had been 
 kind to. 
 
 Why is there nothing to prevent the grafting together 
 of two such dissimilar natures ? Trees are endowed with 
 many degrees of difficulty in being grafted together in 
 order to prevent their becoming inarched in our forests. 
 But two characters, without the slightest capacity for 
 understanding each the depths of the other, without 
 any systematic infinity in their modes of thought, 
 suddenly, by some despotic authority, become engrafted 
 together. We must all have seen it.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 j^\NE evening they went to the Buttes Montmartre, 
 '*■' and he showed her St. Cloud, and Meudon. 
 " That," he said, with a sarcastic smile, pointing 
 to Meudon, " was Eabelais' cure of souls." 
 
 " Rabelais ; was he a praste? " she asked. 
 
 '^ He ^was a genius, which is, perhaps, more to the 
 point ; however, he loas a Benedict monk originally." 
 
 " Holy man ! " she ejaculated, devoutly. Lenoir all 
 but burst into a shout of laughter, but just checked 
 himself in time. 
 
 " I will lend you a translation of his books, some day, 
 when you are less occupied with sightseeing, and have 
 more time for reading. Come, let us get up to the 
 north end, and see the Carrefour des Cascades; we 
 shall get a capital view of the lower lake from there." 
 
 They left the carriage and its impatient stamping 
 horse to wait for them ; and entering the ferry boat, 
 were conveyed to the long islands. Hearing them 
 talking English, the man demanded three francs. For 
 the first time, Moyrah saw a flash in Alphonse's eye, 
 which startled her. He burst into some very rapidly 
 spoken French, which the boatman apparently perfectly 
 understood, and ended by flinging him, contemptuously, 
 ten centimes, his legitimate fare. He took it, sullenly, 
 and looked up out of the corners of his eyes with an 
 unpleasant expression at the honeymooners as they 
 walked off". 
 
 " Tell me your idea of a holy man, Moyrah." 
 
 She paused in thoughtful silence.
 
 234 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 He waited several minutes. Then, as she did not 
 reply, said : " Do I fulfil jour idea of a holy man? " 
 
 '' Indade, and indade ye do ! " she said, fervently ; 
 while she slipped her arm into his with a shy tenderness 
 which was very touching. 
 
 He looked away, and knocked the ashes off his cigar. 
 '' That is right, my beauty ; wives ought always to think 
 their husbands holy ; the church teaches that." 
 
 " Shure enough, an' it does," she said, earnestly. 
 
 " Most men are holy, 1 have observed, especially 
 Frenchmen," and he raised his eyebrows, and puffed 
 clouds of blue smoke round his mouth. 
 
 " Faith, I think they are," said Moyrah, thoughtfully. 
 
 " You have had a large experience, so you are a good 
 judge," he said, with a patronizing smile. " Bien, ma 
 belle ; tell me now what you would do if the church was 
 suddenly to teach wives to disobey their husbands ? " 
 
 She looked puzzled. '' But it couldn't do that same." 
 
 " Oh, hey ! I'm not so sure of that. Suppose, for a 
 minute, that a husband wanted his wife to disobey some 
 command of the church, what then?" 
 
 She paused. Then said, low, " Shure, the church is 
 the voice o' God." Her words took an awe-struck tone 
 and trembled slightly ; while her eyes were down, and 
 she looked almost as if she was saying her prayers. 
 
 " Mais, mon Dieu ! " and he kicked his foot 
 impatiently. " But if you loved your husband, 
 would it not be more natural to obey him, rather 
 than an invisible power which is altogether removed 
 from you ? ' ' 
 
 M oyrah did not speak. There was a very pained look 
 on her face. 
 
 " Amour tu perdis Troie ! " muttered Alphonse. 
 " More natural I say. Would it not be more 
 natural, Moyrah ? " 
 
 " God is our masthur," said that sweet low voice, 
 every tone of which was like the dreamy organ music 
 at St. Koch.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 235 
 
 ^* Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop ! " muttered 
 Alphonse, sarcastically. " I thought your husband was 
 your master." 
 
 Tears were in Moyrah's eyes now ; her lip trembled, 
 and a blush was on her cheeks. 
 
 " Come, come, ma petite, this will never do. 
 Beautiful and charming as your tears are, I cannot 
 allow them to be shed during the honeymoon." 
 
 Moyrah brushed her tears hastily away. 
 
 " Come," he said, good humouredly, " we will follow 
 the route de Longchamps, and go to the lake of the 
 skating club and see if I can have a shot or two at 
 a pigeon." 
 
 " O me darlin' boy, ye wont be afthur doin' that, 
 will ye? 
 
 " Doing what, shooting the pigeons ? What is there 
 to object to in that, eh ? Fine sport, quite a I'Anglais." 
 
 " Ah ! the power little crathures," she said, tenderly. 
 " Shure, it 'ud kill me enthirely to see thim 
 slaughthered." 
 
 " Well, I dont want to get rid of you just yet, ma 
 jolie, so I'll give it up for to-day. Well, then, we'll go 
 to Pre Catalan and drink ' Viva il Papa ' instead." 
 
 On their way home, westward of the large lake, they 
 went therefore to the restaurant. Pre Catalan, for some 
 refreshment. Alphonse declared that, in order to 
 counteract the pernicious effects of the Paris drinking 
 water, it was necessary to have constant recourse to 
 absinthe or vermouth. Moyrah having once tasted 
 these liquids could not be induced to repeat the 
 experiment. She now had a ' petit noir,' only that she 
 did not touch the brandy which was supplied with it ; 
 but passed it over to Alphonse, who soon disposed of it. 
 Her 'carafe frapp^e ' she greatly enjoyed; indeed, the 
 unlimited supply of iced water she was able to obtain, 
 was the only gastronomic indulgence she appreciated in 
 Paris. 
 
 Alphonse took a sup of coffee out of her cup, to see
 
 236 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 what it was like he said. In returning the cup to its 
 saucer he spilt some on his knee ; he took out his 
 handkerchief to wipe it off, and in doing so he pulled 
 out two cards, apparently from a pack of playing cards. 
 He glanced sharply up at ^loyrali to see if she had 
 noticed them, while he returned them hastily to his 
 pocket. She had noticed them, but their appearance 
 made no impression on her, because it conveyed nothing 
 to her mind. 
 
 For a minute or two afterwards he seemed extremely 
 nervous, and looked round over his shoulder once or 
 twice, apparently to see if anyone had observed him 
 from the other little round tables. But no one had 
 been taking the slightest notice of him. 
 
 Just at that moment, however, a blase, rakish-looking, 
 man stepped forward, and slapping his hand on Lenoir's 
 shoulder, said, in a strong American accent : " Why 
 you look in a state of collapsity. Flat broke, me 
 boy, eh ? " 
 
 Lenoir started to his feet, stared at him for an instant, 
 and then wrung his hand. 
 
 " So you have arrived ; heard you were coming next 
 week. News, eh ? " The stranger winked one eye 
 towards Moyrah, as much as to say he could not speak 
 in her presence. 
 
 Lenoir nodded his head. Approaching ^loyrah he 
 said : " My dear, I want to speak to this gentleman ; I 
 shall not be away more than two or three minutes. 
 Will you wait here for me? " 
 
 She looked not altogether satisfied at being left alone, 
 surrounded by strange people who stared at her. Her 
 face was charged with a meaning and a pathos greater 
 than the occasion seemed to require. She had not liked 
 the look of the man who had come up to speak to 
 Alphonse at all. Though simple and innocent, in 
 consequence of her bringing up, she had, where not 
 blinded by love, a sharpness of intuition which compen- 
 sated for the want of more elaborate intellectual training.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 237 
 
 Besides, the moment Alpiionse was gone, the gentlemen 
 who were sittmg at the tables near her began to stare 
 more disagreeably than before. In the village at home 
 no one had stared at her; everyone knew who she was, 
 and beyond a friendly nod and a pious wish or blessing, 
 no one took any notice of her. 
 
 In the meantime, Lenoir linked his arm in that of his 
 new found friend, and was soon deep in confabulation. 
 He called him Bitty Tit. 
 
 " You see," said Lenoir, " I'm on the look out for 
 that fire-Zouave ; he's at the bottom of all the mischief; 
 you know who I mean ? The other day I could have 
 sworn I saw him just as I was going into the Morgue,, 
 but when I came up close, I saw it was his double." 
 
 " His tail must be put out of curl," said Bitty Tit. 
 " You see, I'm on the fence just now." 
 
 " I see you are, I saw it at once. What the 
 deuce is the meaning of that ? " 
 
 " WuU, ye see — wull — I'll explain presently, I've got 
 other fish to fry just now." 
 
 " Sacre bleu ! you and your fish," said Lenoir^ 
 contemptuously. " What's the London press saying ? " 
 
 " Howling and squeaking, as usual, because of 
 something Jackety said in his election speech." 
 
 " Hem ! " said Lenoir, biting his under lip. 
 
 " Hormy's come the gum game over me, but I guess 
 I'll be quits with him yet." 
 
 "How? where?" 
 
 " Why, last few days I was in Dublin he worrited 
 like blazes. Wull, ses I, I hav'n't bin here such a 
 despud while without having larnt my bisnis; and 
 farzino (a contraction of far as I know), I'll do it." 
 
 He twirled his short pointed beard. " I calculate he 
 was always too full of notions to be any good to us." 
 
 " Bien, oui," said Alphonse, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Wull, I told him we must have another go at 
 funky fying the Saxon ; dollars beginning to run short. 
 On that, he shied off like a skittish mare ; not set eyes
 
 238 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 on him since. 'J^'otty swears he's suttin he'll run 
 athwart our hawse yet." 
 
 " He'd better. You've no tin, then ? " 
 
 " Devil a rap." 
 
 " Hum ! " Lenoir fumbled in the inside pocket of his 
 coat, took out a pocket-book, opened it, and after 
 turning over a few papers, selected a note, which he 
 handed to Bitty Tit. He examined it ; nodded, and put 
 it into his pocket. His eyes glistened. '^ Hum, I can 
 cut didoes with that." 
 
 Bitty Tit lived in suspense. He was not sure from 
 day to day whether he would have money enough to cut 
 a dash upon — which was what he really enjoyed — or 
 whether he would have to crawl about in some 
 miserable back purlieus of whatever large town he was 
 temporarily honouring by his presence. He was like 
 the sloth, which moves suspended, sleeps, eats 
 suspended, underneath the branches of trees, in fact, 
 passes his life in suspense, like a young attache distantly 
 related to an ambassador. At this moment Bitty Tit 
 was gratified and satisfied. " I'm regular out of whack 
 now," he said, looking down at his travel-soiled clothes. 
 " I'll go and get a fixin' up, I guess." He paused. 
 " What are you going to do this evening? I saw the 
 cards. Been making a good thing lately ? " 
 
 Lenoir shook his head. "I want to 'have at' the 
 Prefecture ; plenty of capitalists on the hooks, if I can 
 get the authorisation of a new club," he said. 
 
 " Old ones played out? " 
 
 " Just about." 
 
 " Pidoux is the new croupier," continued Alphonse, 
 twirling his moustache, " la gloire n'est jamais oii la 
 vertu n'est pas," he added, with keen enjoyment in his 
 tone. " In half an hour we shall have a hundred louis 
 in the cagnotte." 
 
 Bitty Tit rubbed his hand gleefully. 
 
 This drew Lenoir's notice to fingers not as much at 
 home with soap as with other people's money.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 239 
 
 " When other trades fail, I advise you to qualify as 
 an agent for Pears' soap," he exclaimed, contemptuously, 
 while he eyed his own white and rather effeminate 
 hands. 
 
 An angry look came into Bitty Tit's eyes. 
 
 Just then Lenoir heard a rustling, and looking 
 round, saw Moyrah approaching. He hastily made an 
 appointment with Bitty Tit, whom he peremptorily 
 dismissed, and then turned to receive his wife with a 
 patronising smile. 
 
 " Who was that boy?" she asked, with an anxious 
 look in her face, as she watched Bitty Tit slouching 
 off in the distance. 
 
 " No one in particular," replied Alphonse, raising his 
 eyebrows in a nonchalant manner ; " a dilettante 
 enquirer after religious truth," he added. 
 
 " Do ye know, I think I've sane him before," she 
 said, with a puzzled expression, as if trying to recall 
 something to her memory. " Yes, faith ; I remimbur 
 now, enthirely ! " she exclaimed. " He was spakin' — as 
 loud as a thrumpet — at that big matin' av Harvest 
 Bugs at Clonagarry, an' I axed Cormac who was he, 
 an' he tould me, ses he, he's an ' American boss ' ses 
 he, for thim's the very wurruds he used." 
 
 " O, you must be mistaken, mon enfant, he's never 
 been in Ireland in his life. Bien ! have you finished 
 your coffee? We must be getting home." He assumed 
 a very ofF-hand manner, and talked incessantly on 
 other subjects all the way back to the flat in the noisy, 
 dusty street for which Moyrah had exchanged the Blue 
 House. Whenever she showed the slightest sign of 
 recurring to the subject, he turned the conversation 
 with a determination of manner which at last made her 
 see that it was hopeless to try to get anything out of 
 him about it. 
 
 That evening, for the first time since they had been 
 married, Alphonse told her he must go out and leave 
 her alone, as he had a business appointment of
 
 240 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 importance. Her face fell very much, and for a 
 moment she was inclined to cry. 
 
 " Come ! come ! " he said, pleasantly, " I'll make up 
 to you for it by taking you to the theatre to-morrow- 
 evening. There, there now, I promise you." 
 
 But tears seemed determined to come into her eyes, 
 and her forehead to pucker up, preparatory, apparently, 
 to a good cry. 
 
 " Ah ! bah," he muttered, impatiently. " Regardez ! I 
 bought you a nice little ring in the Palais Royal a while 
 ago. 1 meant to give it to you to-morrow, but I think 
 it will console you to have it now, maybe. Here is the 
 key of my dressing-table drawer ; you will find it in the 
 left-hand corner, lying right on the top. Don't disturb 
 any of the papers." 
 
 He unbuttoned a thin, light grey overcoat he wore, 
 when Moyrah saw, to her astonishment, that he was in 
 full evening dress, with white waistcoat, and a white 
 gardenia in his buttonhole, a shirt front covered with 
 highly starched frills and diamond studs. He saw her 
 look of surprise, as he took a small key out of his waist- 
 coat pocket and handed it to her. Hastily buttoning 
 up his grey coat, he said : " I'm to meet an old married 
 lady of some importance in the political world, and she 
 is very particular about one's get up." 
 
 Moyrah said nothing ; and in another minute he was 
 gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 heroine went to mass every morning, 
 sometimes very early, and heard two or three 
 massses. Alphonse did not accompany her. 
 He said he had had an illness about six months ago, 
 and that the doctor had forbidden him, at the risk of his 
 life, to go out before breakfast, while the air was raw 
 and cold. 
 
 The churches were, indeed, a source of unfailing 
 delight and amazement to Moyrah. Accustomed to the 
 little simple erection, with yellow-washed walls and slate 
 floor, of her own village, she had no idea what the 
 functions of her religion could be, when performed in 
 such a building as the Madeleine. The pomp and 
 splendour impressed her so much, that her whole face 
 would change, and Alphonse would watch her with 
 amused interest. One evening he took her to a grand 
 benediction at Notre Dame. The rare organ music 
 reached the furthest corner of the immense church. 
 Wreaths of incense, coloured by the mosaic lights from 
 the windows, curled round the pillars, as high aspirations 
 cling round those noble natures which are the true 
 pillars of the Christian church. High over the altar, 
 brilliant with a hundred lights, rang the voices of the 
 choristers, and penetrated by their distinct articulation 
 the remotest corners of the church. 
 
 Moyrah knew so little of architecture that she did not 
 even know there was such a thing ; but yet, for all that, 
 the delicacy of the stone tracery, the symmetry of 
 proportion, and the exquisite designs of the rose
 
 242 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 windows, and the lights thrown by the splendid old 
 glass in them, all acted upon her inborn sense of art. 
 She liked trying to count the small pillars in the 
 triforium, but she always grew puzzled and bewildered 
 before she had reached seventy- three. Art is the 
 witness of what really exists behind the theatre of this 
 world, and as such, it speaks most strongly to those 
 natures which are the least tied in to the scene-shifting 
 of this life ; and Irish natures, as a rule, though much 
 influenced by what they see, are not enslaved to it, but 
 live a good bit in the invisible world. So it was with 
 Moyrah. As she knelt there, in the moment of her 
 highest earthly happiness, a feeling came over her 
 which told her that for her, too, an hour would come 
 when this life, which was coursing so freshly and 
 strongly through her, which seemed so to surround and 
 envelope her now, would be but a speck on the ocean of 
 another. This life, which held her in so vigorous a 
 grasp now, would be weakly, letting her fall from it into 
 the great "for ever." The shadow of eternity came 
 over her, like the shadow of a gigantic mountain 
 towering over a tunnel which a train is entering. All 
 the little sanctities of her past life stood out as 
 distinctly as each little one of the wild flowers in Dore's 
 picture of the prairie ; and she let this feeling have its 
 sway. 
 
 With Moyrah, when she went into a church, her first 
 idea was not to criticise, or even admire, but to pray in 
 it. La Chapelle Expiatoire interested her greatly. 
 Alphonse told her the history of Marie Antoinette. 
 At the conclusion of it she said, meditatively: '* Faith, 
 it seems to me all the best wimin perishid on the 
 scaffold." 
 
 " Not such a bad place, after all," said Lenoir ; adding 
 low, " for one's enemies." 
 
 She was much interested by the portrait of Madame 
 Elizabeth as religion ; and in the group by Bosio, where 
 the angel is saying to Louis XVI, " Fils de St. Louis
 
 The Silver Whistle 243 
 
 montez au ciel," Alphonse translated for her. She 
 was a long time looking at this. " Blessed wurruds," 
 she muttered to herself. " Rise to hivin. The Lorrud 
 grant it ! " and she crossed herself devoutly. 
 
 " But if you have found one heaven, which you say 
 you have since you loved me, what should you wish to 
 rise to another heaven for ? Surely, one heaven is enough 
 for one person at a time," said Lenoir, looking at her 
 enquiringly. It was a sort of half patronizing, half 
 good humoured, slightly contemptuous, and slightly 
 cynical look he turned upon her on these occasions. 
 She thought it all kindness, for her eyes were blinded, 
 and she saw nothing of the other ingredients. 
 
 Like some few of his countrymen, Alphonse was vain. 
 He could never stir hand or foot without making it 'clear 
 he was thinking of himself, and laying little traps for 
 approbation. In his conversation there was always a 
 reference to himself, as in the above remark. 
 
 Moyrah looked perplexed and pained. The old 
 guardian who was showing them over the ' chapelle,' 
 had, from the first, seemed greatly pleased with 
 Moyrah's devotion, and at the way she crossed herself, 
 and knelt at all the most sacred spots. He saw, though 
 he did not understand the words, that Lenoir had said 
 something which pained her. He looked at Lenoir. 
 As he looked more and more intently, his face changed, 
 a look of strong suspicion and of recognition came over 
 him. Lenoir did not see it; he was admiring the 
 reflection of his own head and face in a piece of highly 
 polished, very dark marble. But Moyrah saw it, and 
 it puzzled and rather alarmed her. Did the guardian 
 know Alphonse? If so, why did he not speak to him. 
 If he did not know him, why did he look at him like 
 that?" 
 
 " Bien, mon enfant, you have not answered my 
 question," said Lenoir, arranging his neck-tie, and 
 running his finger through his hair as he continued 
 to admire himself in the marble. 
 
 e2
 
 244 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 Moyrah saw the guardian looking more and more 
 suspiciously at him. " Come on, Alphonse," she said in 
 a whisper, giving a little pull to his coat. 
 
 He looked round quickly, and caught the guardian's 
 eye. He had not noticed him at all before. " Come, 
 we've had enough of this gloomy place," he said, 
 hurriedly. He fumbled in his trouser pocket for a 
 minute, drew out a franc and handed it to the guardian. 
 
 He pulled himself up to his full height, made a short 
 bow, and declined it. 
 
 Lenoir's face got crimson. He left the church as fast 
 as possible. Once safe out in the open his usual non- 
 chalant manner returned to him. 
 
 " Well, how did you like that, ma petite? " 
 
 " Faith, thin, 1 liked it greatly," she answered, with 
 fervour. " Power crathure 5 to think av thim cuttin' aff 
 her head, an' she a quane." 
 
 '' But why is it worse for a queen to have her head 
 cut off than for anyone else?" 
 
 " ' Feare God, honour the king.' Sure, I read that out 
 av the Douay manny a time." 
 
 " Yes, I should think it's very probable the two go 
 together," he said. For the hundredth time Moyrah 
 failed to detect the satire in his tone. " But that's no 
 answer to my objection. Why is all this fuss to be made 
 when a queen loses her head ? A chapel built, and every- 
 one pitying her. Phaugh ! the sooner it's pulled down 
 the better. Allons, let us go to the Porte St. Martin." 
 
 They took an omnibus to the Place de la Republique. 
 After they got out he lighted his cigar, and they walked 
 along in the sunshine. 
 
 " 1 have an ambition to show you the place where the 
 Communists defended the barricade against the govern- 
 ment in 1871. Some of the grandest deeds of the 
 Commune were done just about here. 
 
 Moyrah shuddered. She had heard her father talking 
 about the French Communists. 
 
 He looked at her with his patronising smile. ^' I
 
 TJie Silver Whistle. 245 
 
 suppose you think I ought to have but one ambition, 
 ' un soupir, un regard, un mot de votre bouche, voila 
 Fambition d'un coeur comme le mien, eh ? 
 
 Poor Moyrah looked puzzled. 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot. You must really try to pick up a 
 little French." He marched up to a particular point on 
 the road and put the polished toe of his boot on it. 
 
 " Here, observe. This is where the principal 
 barricade was. Here they loaded and re-loaded 
 their guns, and mowed the people down like rats." 
 
 Again Moyrah shuddered visibly. She had a horror 
 of bloodshed ; even legitimate war she looked upon as 
 something too terrible to think about. She turned away 
 and began to look at the buildings. 
 
 Lenoir, holding his cigar in his fingers, said, not loud 
 enough for her to hear: '-'- Vive les Communes de France, 
 f^der^es avec celles de Paris. They have blotted out 
 God." A most extraordinary expression came over his 
 face, as proudly folding his arms he walked up and down 
 on the spot where the greatest excesses of the Commune 
 were committed. As he looked towards Moyrah, he 
 could see only a part of her side face, just the oval of 
 her cheek, which was flushed and had a tear on it. 
 
 " Aye, " he muttered, while there came into his eyes 
 a gleam almost diabolical in its sneering scorn, a gleam 
 which Moyrah had never seen. ^' Aye, my fine Irish- 
 woman; and we will teach your bigoted sots of 
 countrymen to do the same." He looked after her with 
 a leer, which is was indeed well she did not see. 
 " Indeed ! " and he took another turn. " Did I not 
 walk on the spot where Irish tyrants were executed, as 
 I am doing on this? Both spots consecrated to the 
 sacred cause of liberty. Vive la R^publique Uni- 
 verselle ! " He took another turn. " Have 1 not got 
 a bit of earth from it in my pocket?" He put his first 
 finger into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a bit of 
 silver paper, unwrapped it, and looked with hungry eyes 
 at a few grains of earth in it. After he put them back
 
 246 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 into bis pocket, he passed his hand round his waist until 
 it touched the hilt of a dagger which he wore concealed 
 there. As it did so a new expression came into his face. 
 He muttered between his teeth: " With that we will cut 
 down the three heads of the serpent, the crown, the 
 altar, and the family." 
 
 That strange frenzy of cruelty which comes over 
 some natures at certain undefined times, without rhyme 
 or reason, and carries them forward like a flood, was 
 strong upon him. Adept at deception, master of the 
 art of looking the opposite of what he felt as he was, 
 he could not wholly change his face when he saw 
 Moyrah walking towards him. 
 
 She gave a slight start as she looked at him. " Ah, 
 shure, me darlin' boy, ye're ailin'" she said, anxiously, 
 as she observed his whitened cheeks, and the almost 
 livid look which passion had left round his mouth. 
 
 Fearing he had betrayed himself he put on a forced 
 smile. As she slipped her arm tenderly into his, he 
 patted her hand and said, kindly : " On est aisement 
 dupe par ce qu' on aime," and he looked at her and 
 laughed. 
 
 '^ Shure Tm muddled about it," she said, looking 
 puzzled at the French. 
 
 " One is easily humbugged by those one loves," he 
 translated, softly. He looked down into her face with 
 one of those would-be arch smiles which to her were 
 so bewitching. 
 
 " A lions ! We will go to the Buttes Chaumont." 
 
 He called a fiacre and off they set. Arrived at the 
 park, he threw away the strong black cigar which had 
 consoled him on his way there, and grew rather excited 
 as he began to act as showman to her. 
 
 " This was once a chalk pit," he said. " It was used 
 as the spot where the classes revenged themselves on 
 the masses, and called it ' The Place of Execution.' " 
 
 She shuddered. 
 
 "•' The gibbet was made of stone pillars joined by
 
 The Silver Whistle. 247 
 
 beams, from which hung chains, and these hanged those 
 who would now be at the head of the government." 
 A gleam came into his eyes. 
 
 A look of horror came over Mojrah's face. She 
 crossed herself. He saw her out of the sides of his 
 eyes, and made a movement with his lips as if he was 
 spitting on the cross she had made in the air. She 
 did not see this. He was in a dangerously aggressive 
 mood that day ; but, fortunately, she was in an equally 
 trusting and unsuspicious one. 
 
 " Here were spoken those memorable words, ' the 
 body of a dead enemy always smells sweet.'" 
 
 He ran his finger up and down over the bit of silver 
 paper with the earth in it in his waistcoat pocket, as 
 he muttered, " Parbleu! but it does! " 
 
 Horrified out of the power of speech, Moyrah turned 
 and walked away towards where the stone quarries 
 have been turned into rock-work, with a little lake in 
 their middle. For the first time since she had seen 
 Alphonse she was anxious to get away from him, to 
 hear no more words just at present from his lips. But 
 he followed her, and made her go across the suspension 
 bridge to the island in the middle of the lake and up 
 to the Belvedere. 
 
 She was fairly enchanted w^ith the view, and forgot 
 the disagreeable impression of the last few minutes, 
 as her e^es roamed over the countless spires of Paris, 
 the heights of Montmartre, and the cemetery of P^re 
 La Chaise. It was an exceptionally clear day, and he 
 pointed out the large flat plain and straggling town 
 of St. Denis, and afterwards St. Cloud and St. 
 Germain. 
 
 " Shure, thim's three av the blessid I nivir heered 
 tell on before," she said, looking devout and interested. 
 *' Saint Denis ; 'tis afthur him, no doubt, Denis 
 O'Flagharty's called. The poor bhoy ! I wondhur how 
 is he now," and her thoughts wandered back to an old 
 admirer, a young farmer, who, on finding his suit
 
 248 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 unfavourably received, had offered his services to Her 
 Majesty in a cavalry regiment. 
 
 *' And who was Denis Flagharty, I'd like to know ? " 
 he said, in a bantering tone, " some deadly rival of 
 mine, like the saintly Cormac ? " 
 
 The hot blood flew into Moyrah's face. For the first 
 time, he saw the flash of the Celtic fire in her eye ; this 
 amused and pleased him. He liked " getting a rise " 
 out of people immensely; it was one way of making 
 others suffer, an amusement which aff'orded him keener 
 gratification than a cigar and absinthe ; in fact, he 
 never obtained solid satisfaction out of any enjoyment, 
 unless it was purchased at the expense of pain to some- 
 one else. 
 
 " What's the matter, Moyrah ? Look up at me," he 
 said, putting his hand on her arm. 
 
 She turned away her head. 
 
 "Can't you look round?" he said, with the first 
 touch of roughness she had ever heard from him, " I am 
 afraid you've got a crick in your neck from thinking 
 so much about the people who were hung, eh ? " 
 
 Moyrah did look round, and he was satisfied that he 
 had inflicted sharp pain upon her. Relieved by this 
 certainty, he became more good humoured. 
 
 " Why should you grieve over so many people 
 having died in an exalted position?" he said, satirically. 
 " A drop too much is not so very uncommon amongst 
 your countrymen, I should have thought." He gave a 
 little whistle. 
 
 Moyrah said nothing; her feelings were deep and 
 keen, and a wound with her did not heal rapidly. 
 
 Finding that, apparently, Moyrah took no more 
 interest in the view or in the park, he suggested a 
 pilgrimage to the grave of Th^ophile Gauthier, who, 
 he announced, had been a friend of his, and whose 
 poems he said he would lend her when they went 
 home. 
 
 Moyrah had never heard of him. As they drove
 
 The Silver Whistle. 249 
 
 alon^ towards the cemetery of Montmartre, Moyrah 
 gradually softened, and recovered her usual bright 
 temper, under the influence of Lenoir's smiles : for such 
 was his curious disposition that, strange as it may 
 appear, he liked to make up by being extra agreeable, 
 after any time when he had been extra unkind to any- 
 one. Not that his agreeability usually lasted long, or 
 was more than palpably skin deep. 
 
 " When I introduce you to my friends, you must try 
 and talk more, ma belle; it is not 'pschutt' to be 
 glumpy." 
 
 "Shut? What's that, now?" and she looked 
 puzzled. 
 
 " It's the new word for ' chic' " 
 
 She evidently was still unenlightened. He looked 
 at her, and then burst into a loud laugh. She coloured 
 and turned her head away ; she appeared the reverse of 
 amused. 
 
 " Well, you English call it ' good form,' " he said, 
 more pleasantly, ^' I should like you to be a pschutteui?ie, 
 that is a young woman 'tres a la mode,'" and he looked 
 into her face with a smile, " plenty of spirit and ' go ' 
 about you. You must not be a veritable fille de 
 marbre," and a curious gleam came into the corner of 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Feel day marbur?" and she looked pleased at her 
 skill in repeating the French, " what's that now, 
 Alphonse?" 
 
 He laughed again in a tone which jarred on her like 
 the old-fashioned drag at home, under the wheel going 
 over stones. " It means a girl so cold and stiff and 
 sulky that people say she is made of marble." He 
 watched her closely to see how she would take it. 
 
 She returned his gaze with one of those peculiar 
 bright beamy looks which were especially characteristic 
 of her. " It's a very quare sort av marble I'm made 
 av." 
 
 He laughed heartily, and seemed much pleased her
 
 250 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 good humour had returned. " Belleek pottery, more 
 likely," he added, '^ eh?" 
 
 He took her home by the Jockey Club, and they 
 feasted their eyes for some time on the diamonds at 
 Otterbourg's. He guessed their different prices, and 
 wished aloud several times that they were his. He 
 parted his moustache down the middle with his finger 
 and thumb, and licked his lips as he looked at 
 them. 
 
 " I ought to have those," he muttered, so low, she 
 only caught a word here and there, " who has them ? 
 Who, but those cursed rastagoeres, who have no right 
 here at all." 
 
 When they reached their rooms, he threw oif his 
 coat, kicked off his boots, put his feet on the table, 
 lounged in an easy chair, smoked and began to read a 
 newspaper which had arrived for him by post during his 
 absence. 
 
 Moyrah laughingly leaned over the back of his chair, 
 and tried to decipher the heading of the paper. 
 
 " La ree — re — volte, la re volte ! " she exclaimed, 
 " there, I'm gettin' an wid me French." 
 
 " More than you are with your English," he muttered, 
 puffing away, without looking round. 
 
 Proud of her progress, she proceeded to attack the 
 paragraph on which his eyes were fixed. 
 
 " Anar — chiste, a — morphiste. What along name! 
 What is it, Alphonse?" 
 
 " It's a new religious order, which is just being 
 established," he said, gravely. 
 
 8he crossed herself devoutly. 
 
 " Praise the Lorrud for that," she exclaimed, with 
 touching fervour. 
 
 "It's just the order for doing that," he replied, 
 complacently sucking his cigar. '' I do not see my way 
 to joining the order as yet ; I am a rational anarchist, 
 that answers to the third order of St. Francis." 
 
 " Ah ! that's the order I love," she exclaimed,
 
 The Silver Whistle. 251 
 
 eagerly. " Will there be a scapular wid this new 
 order? " 
 
 " Why, of course ! Cieux et terre ! an order without 
 a scapular! It will be made of white satin, embroidered 
 with tiny little gold bombshells. Whenever you put it 
 on, it will transport you suddenly wherever you want 
 to go. 'I should think when females put it on it will 
 always be to a heavenly ball. La danse est un remade 
 pour la spleen, and I'm sure they want a remedy for it 
 
 " O, Alphonse ! ye are takin' yer fun aiF me." 
 
 " No, my darling; I never would do that," he.said, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 She smiled a laughing, joyous smile, while she 
 twisted her finger round one after the other of his 
 black curls, drew them out to full length, and then 
 let them fall back on his head again, while she con- 
 tinued to lean over the back of his chair. 
 
 " Mon mari," she said. She had mastered that 
 word, and also " oui," which she thought a most 
 sensible, English-sounding word — a word particularly 
 captivating to bridal ears. 
 
 " Votre mari ! Bien, oui ! " responded Lenoir, with 
 a peculiar intonation. 
 
 " I like ' oui,' " she said. " There's no wurrud 
 which sounds so nice to me now as '' we.' I do like the 
 French people for sayin' it so aften." 
 
 " Ah, yes. You see, we are such a thoroughly 
 domestic nation that we cannot help repeating we, we, 
 we incessantly." 
 
 She smiled pleasantly, and tickled the top of his 
 forehead with one of his curls. 
 
 " Now, in England you use the word ' we ' to define 
 any number of persons, but in French we employ it 
 only for young married couples ; comprenez bien cette 
 distinction?" 
 
 '' But it means ' yes,' and not ' we,' " she answered, 
 laughing, and she pulled down one of his curls until
 
 252 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 it tickled the corner of his eye. " Only I like the 
 sound, Alphonse ; don't ye see, 'tis the sound I like, 
 because it makes me be thinkin' av ye an' me." 
 
 " A charming subject for contemplation. You'll 
 have to brush my hair, my young lady, if you pull 
 it about in that fashion." 
 
 " Bien, oui," she said, imitating Alphonse's tone 
 exactly. 
 
 She was busy tying two locks of his hair. " I'm 
 makin' a thrue lover's knot," she announced. 
 
 " And in the meantime 1 am supposed not to turn 
 a hair, but to read my paper in perfect contentment."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 t^l OME weeks have passed since the last chapter. 
 ^ Lenoir continued kind, in a certain sort of 
 ^ way, to Moyrah, when he was with her, but he 
 was now out a great deal. He said he was tremen- 
 dously busy just now, but would soon be able to devote 
 more time to her. So she was very much alone in the 
 gaudy, but somewhat tawdry, little apartment which he 
 had taken for her. 
 
 It had, indeed, become to her like Monsieur Gustave 
 Guillaumet's famous picture, ''A Habitation Saha- 
 rienne." Sometimes she ventured out alone for a little 
 stroll on the boulevards, and brushed shoulders with 
 the bourgeoisie^ hated by Lenoir ; but she was always 
 veiled, so that but little fresh air could get down her 
 mouth. The Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and the 
 All^e des Acacias were the ones she liked the best. 
 Sometimes she got as far as the Champs Elys^es, but 
 not often. When strolling in the All^e des Acacias, 
 one sunny day, she met Lenoir, very much muffled up, 
 and walking with two strange looking men, also muffled 
 so as to be absolutely disguised. 
 
 Lenoir stopped, took off his hat, made a circle with 
 it in the air, then brought its top into contact with the 
 pavement, while he bent double before her. Then he 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 " You should wrap yourself up more, ma belle," he 
 said ; " you will get fluxions de poitrine. Kemember, 
 you are not a brasserie nymph !" and again he laughed 
 as, with a nod, he looked at his two companions. He
 
 254 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 was always greatly amused at anything satirical he said 
 of other people. Then, seeing the hot blood fly to her 
 cheek, and the flash in her eye, he said, in his most 
 engaging manner, while he took her hand and spoke 
 low, " I am very busy just now, but I will come home 
 soon," and, with as kind a smile on his handsome face 
 as he was capable of assuming, he turned away. 
 
 Moyrah had, by dint of constantly poring over dic- 
 tionaries and grammars, in union with a quick ear, 
 sufliciently mastered French to understand much of 
 what was said in ordinary conversation ; and she caught 
 the remarks his companions made, and comprehended 
 them too well for her peace of mind. 
 
 Soon after she parted from Lenoir this day she came 
 across a man speaking to a small crowd in one of the 
 bye streets. He was apparently delivering a lecture on 
 politics. Moyrah recognized him at once as an intimate 
 acquaintance of Lenoir's. She, therefore, stopped a 
 moment to hear what he was saying, though she did 
 not much like the look of the men who were standing 
 round. Their faces were inflamed with alcohol; and 
 so, indeed, was that of the speaker. Truly, it is the 
 only element in which the principles he was uttering 
 freely dissolve. His words poured out like polygalic 
 acid — an acid constituting the peculiar principle of the 
 rattlesnake root; it dissolves abundantly in boiling 
 alcohol, but is insoluble in pure ether and the fixed oils. 
 So it was with the principles Moyrah heard then for the 
 first time in her life. They could not dissolve in her 
 heart, so full of the oil of human kindness and of the 
 pure ether of Irish innocence. As she listened, her face 
 became inflamed too, but with a shame and horror 
 which seemed to make her blood run like fire in her 
 veins. Blasphemy was heaped upon blasphemy, ribald 
 jest on ribald jest. Fierce defiance was hurled at all 
 that is above the lowest depths in the lowest human 
 heart. Socialism, plain, naked, and unclothed with the 
 sophisms invented to mystify refined minds — minds en
 
 The Silver Whistle. 255 
 
 grande toilette — was held up before her eyes. Socialism 
 as it really is, not as it appears coloured to the taste of 
 the cultivated dabblers in intellectual licence of the 
 nineteenth century. 
 
 Socialism, which she was too horrified to have the 
 coolness to see, was merely an abnormally great inflation 
 of the always inflated puff-ball of human vanity, nowhere 
 so inflated, at all times, as in France. French Socialism, 
 which may be called physalia, which is an animal 
 swimming on the sea in calm weather, resembling an 
 extremely large oblong bladder, and stinging and 
 burning all it touches. This sort of orators usually 
 prefer calm weather ; in a time of war, they disappear 
 in a mysterious manner. " Just behind the battle 
 mother," that sort of thing. 
 
 And so he squalled on and on, in a voice like the 
 hippopotamus, at the Zoo., when his keeper pokes him, 
 while he balanced himself on tip-toe on half an empty 
 barrel, so as to get a bird's-eye view of his audience. 
 
 And the crowd listened with that peculiar mixture *of 
 sudden, impetuous attention, followed instantly by a 
 self-conscious inattention, which marks a French street 
 mob, they stare round as much as to say, " what did I 
 look like when I was attending ; and now, what do I 
 look like when Fm not attending." The men in their 
 greasy, blue, cotton blouses, with their short, cropped 
 hair, and hats on the sides of their heads, pouted their 
 moustached lips, and puffed out their bronzed cheeks, 
 and looked as if they, sometimes, a great deal more 
 than agreed with him, and at others, thought him a 
 confounded fool. They shrugged shoulders already 
 high enough, said " Ciel ! " and puffed clouds of smoke 
 from their old brtile-gueules. The soubrettes, with 
 their white, frilly caps, and baskets on their arms, 
 looked about to see if there was any chance of getting 
 a chat with their male friends in the crowd, and, if 
 there was not, passed on, humming a selection of 
 operatic airs.
 
 256 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 The way in which he spoke of the religious aspects 
 of modern social life puzzled and dazed her. She 
 simply could not understand him. How could she, 
 reared in the heart of a small and unconventional Irish 
 community, under the care of pious Irish parents, and 
 the guidance of a pious Irish priest, and surrounded on 
 all sides by the unquestioning devotion of Irish peasants, 
 understand a man who used his temptations as stirrups 
 for blasphemy, rather than spurs to faith, who made 
 himself the "generalissimo" of this world and the 
 world to come ; and, having proceeded to " reckon up " 
 his Creator, declared the results of the sum to be 
 eminently unsatisfactory ? 
 
 Some of the listeners near Moyrah said, " He is a 
 great man ; a great man ! " 
 
 " A great man ! " she repeated to herself, in puzzled 
 amazement. 
 
 Poor Moyrah ! She had yet to learn that some men, 
 and out of France, too, who persistently stand with their 
 backs to the sun, think themselves great men because 
 they cast great shadows across life. Moyrah was not 
 well read enough in history to see that he was only an 
 avant courier ; a sort of first gust of one of those little 
 temporary hurricanes of insubordination which, from 
 time to time, sweep over different parts of the globe. 
 
 If we could only find it out, surely there must be 
 some law which governs these little " we won't have 
 anything over us " whirlwinds, which make such a 
 commotion every now and then in the moral atmosphere. 
 This law once discovered, quiet folks' facilities of pro- 
 tection would be pleasantly increased. 
 
 The law which governs storms in the physical world 
 is beginning to be clearly understood. For instance, 
 it was stated in the London Globe newspaper, of June 
 16, 1881, by Mr. Jinnan, that the Tay Bridge storm 
 was again due on December 20, 1886, (five and a half 
 years in advance) and it came true to its date. Where 
 a law exists, time is no hindrance to forecasting. May
 
 The Silver Whistle. 257 
 
 it not be possible some such law governs the social 
 atmosphere ? What a consolation to statesmen the 
 discovery and the accurate explanation of such a law- 
 would be. 
 
 Once, when this little French advance gust was 
 going to utter an atrocious sentiment, so vile that it 
 seemed extraordinary it did not paralyse the lips which 
 framed it, the orator did pause for an instant, and asked, 
 " Est-ce disable ? " then shouted, " Ici tout se dit ! " and 
 went on, with the usual modern medley of the arrogance 
 of the persecutor, and the despair of the sceptic, served 
 up in the strongest acids of Parisian scum slang, to say 
 things which made Moyrah's heart stand still with 
 horror. The grisettes in the crowd nodded at him, 
 laughed and applauded. 
 
 Moyrah looked at them, and wondered if they were 
 really women, or if in foreign countries there was 
 another sex. She had seen so many strange things 
 since she came abroad that it would scarcely have 
 surprised her to find there was. • 
 
 By this time, the orator had worked himself up to 
 boiling point. He threw his arms about like flails in a 
 granary, over his head, behind him, in front of him, 
 shrieked, foamed at the mouth, and flung denunciations 
 in such a manner, that some came dangerously near to 
 fitting themselves into comfortable caps on to the 
 listeners' heads. 
 
 One sensible looking, middle-aged woman, with a 
 basket on her arm, did turn away with what appeared 
 to be disgust, but might not have been, for the French 
 have so many outside signs for what is going on in their 
 insldes that a stranger gets puzzled. However, as she 
 passed her, Moyrah heard her mutter, "II est dans un 
 etat horrible, have, livide et presque fou ! " It was, 
 then, his appearance, and not his politics, which turned 
 the balance against the speaker in this Gallic mind. 
 
 Suddenly, Moyrah started at hearing English spoken 
 close to her.
 
 258 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " He's made a fizzle, and almost a flunk, of it," said 
 Bitty Tit, in a loose shovel hat, turning, with a 
 laugh, and sauntering away with his hands in his 
 pockets. 
 
 Just as the little gust was making his coui^ d^^tat — 
 giving a final rattle to the windows in the house of the 
 state — a gendarme was seen round the corner. 
 
 " Je m'en vais d'ici," concluded the valiant Cicero, 
 and immediately disappeared amidst the laughter and 
 jeers and cheers of the crowd. 
 
 As Moyrah reflected on his speech, she muttered, 
 "And this from a friend of Alphonse's!" Her lips 
 trembled, and she seemed dazed for an instant. " He 
 cannot know what he is like !" she thought. " He has 
 been deceived in him ! Alphonse is truly rehgious ; he 
 would be horrified! But I will tell him," and she 
 turned and hurried away. 
 
 She felt humiliated at the reflection that a man who 
 could utter such sentiments had ever been, for a short 
 time even, a friend of her husband's. Sentiments 
 which made her tremble when she compared them with 
 all that lay near her own deepest and most sacred feel- 
 ings. She, fortunately, did not even guess at the 
 meaning of much which had passed his lips. 
 
 When Alphonse came home to supper, she told him 
 what she had heard— at least some of what she had 
 heard, for not for hundreds of pounds would she have 
 polluted her lips with a great part of it. She told him 
 also who the speaker was, and expected him to look 
 amazed. 
 
 He did, indeed, raise his eyebrows as if surprised, 
 gave a little whistle, said, " Mon Dieu !" looked puzzled 
 for an instant ; then, as if a happy idea had struck him, 
 said that his friend had a twin brother who was the 
 image of him, and who, he knew, was a great socialist, 
 and no doubt it was he whom Moyrah had heard. .He 
 declared the twins were constantly being mistaken for 
 each other.
 
 The Silver Whistle, 259 
 
 This satisfied her to a certain extent ; but the horror 
 that such principles at all existed in any human mind did 
 not wear oiF for many a long day. There was in her 
 character an innate tendency towards respect for the 
 authority of religion, which seemed bound up with her 
 passionate love for, and continual thought of, her home 
 and family. Her heart was like a forget-me-not, in 
 which flower the cyme is rolled round in the form of a 
 crozier. Before she came to Paris she had never 
 imagined it possible to attack either home or faith — to 
 crush the flower, or break the crozier.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 IpTWj HAT evening, after Lenoir had, as usual, gone 
 JJH out, Moyrak went where she spent a great part 
 
 of her time now, to St. Roch. To her it 
 
 seemed the most devotional of all the churches she had 
 been in. She would spend hours before the beautiful 
 statue of the Blessed Virgin there. In the perplexities 
 and heartachings which were gathering round her, the 
 thought of that mother was like the shadow of a rock in 
 a weary land. She liked the feeling that she had been 
 a mortal as she was, a creature as she was, and that 
 her ear was ever open to the sufferings of her children, 
 which she understood by intuition and experience. She 
 could tell her of more beautiful things than poets who 
 have not known her have ever dreamt of; and she 
 could bring those beautiful things out of the very 
 deformities of life which depressed Moyrah. 
 
 As she knelt there she used to dream that she was 
 far away from the noisy, dusty city, with so much in it 
 that perplexed and pained her ; and that she was stand- 
 ing at the door of a lowly cottage in a hill country. 
 Here were no advanced thinkers, advancing thinkers, or 
 thinkers of advanced thinkers' thoughts — people whom 
 Alphonse was constantly alluding to, and who worried 
 her. Here was a little room, simply furnished. It was 
 morning, and the early sun shone into the open win- 
 dow ; and the song of the birds came borne on the 
 wings of a fresh breeze from the hills. The hills were 
 bathed in a soft, pink glow, like the glow she had so 
 often seen from her lattice window at the Blue House,
 
 The Silver Whistle. 261 
 
 making the valley, with its river, look warm and love- 
 able. Inside the room there was a character and tone 
 of repose so great that even her most troubled moods 
 were calmed by it. A mother sat there, and in her 
 arms a little child, -while the morning sunshine came in 
 through the half open window and twined itself into a 
 soft wave of light round their heads. The beauty of 
 that mother, exceeding what was ever known in a 
 human face or form before, the softness of her manner, 
 and tenderness of her voice when she addressed her 
 child, the dignity and gentleness of her smallest move-, 
 ment, came before Moyrah, not as if seen in a picture, 
 not even as if a mirror had leaned against the wall and 
 been told miraculously to keep for ever the reflection 
 flashed upon it, but with a reality so intense, that it 
 seemed as if she was actually living and moving in the 
 scene herself. 
 
 Round that mother clustered all the highest visions 
 of a perfect womanhood which had passed over her 
 passionate, but innocent, Irish nature. A secret holTness 
 in the air here seemed to stamp the dross out of those 
 wanderings of her fancy which of late often pained her. 
 
 And, as she pondered, she saw, in direct contradiction 
 to what the Socialist had said, that there was no second 
 place for woman in dignity and self-control ; when she 
 ceased to be first she was nothing. And as again she 
 looked up into that mother's face, she saw she was the 
 crown of that true womanhood which is the one un- 
 swerving foe that bars the progress of those principles the 
 street orator had crowed forth in their rush to subjugate 
 mankind. And then, it seemed, she knelt down on the 
 threshold, and bent her head in adoration ; and the mist 
 of her frailties cleared away in the sunshine of the love 
 which seemed to be in the very air, and she felt able to 
 raise her head, and dare to look into that mother's face. 
 As she did so, she saw those pensive eyes, full of that 
 mother's yearning, which is the most perfect expression 
 of a higher love, bringing close to us the highest love
 
 262 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 of all to be found on earth, fixed on her ; while a voice, 
 which thrilled through her, said : " Come in my child. 
 All who are in sorrow or perplexity are welcome here. 
 The least little trouble of your heart is known to us, and 
 we sympathise with it with such a sympathy as will rob 
 it of all its sting." And then Moyrah poured out her 
 whole heart. She told, in simple and touching language, 
 each inmost feeling, every one of those wild fancies and 
 difficult windings, which, if left unchecked, too often, 
 like autumn reapers, put the sickle to the loveliest 
 flowers in the garden of our soul. She laid down at 
 that mother's feet every trouble about the present, 
 every misgiving about the future. There is an old 
 Chaldean proverb which says : '' God could not be 
 everywhere, so he made mothers." In spite of its 
 theological unsoundness, it has an undertone which 
 appeals to our deepest feelings. What heart is like a 
 mother's ? And just then Moyrah stood in great need 
 of a mother to guide and help her. So she told all to that 
 Holy Mother on the model of whose heart all the holiest 
 earthly mother's hearts are made^ Troubles grew light, 
 and peace came. In that scene of calm loveliness she 
 learned the language spoken by those who have passed 
 into eternal peace.
 
 CHAPTi^R XXVIII. 
 
 WHEN she returned to her apartment, to her 
 surprise, she found Lenoir. For the last 
 two weeks he had been out every evening, 
 until quite late into the night. He was gathering 
 together his papers, and his open portmanteau lay on 
 the floor. 
 
 In answer to Moyrah's gesture of surprise, he told 
 her that he had been summoned to the death bed of an 
 uncle. He gave her his address : it was a street in 
 Bayonne, and told her he should be away about a week. 
 He said he was very sorry he could not take her with 
 him, but it would be a doleful mission, and there *was 
 nowhere she could be put up in the house he was going 
 to. 
 
 Struggle as she might, Moyrah could not repress her 
 tears. The sense of misery and desolation which came 
 over her, at the prospect of being left all alone in Paris 
 for a whole long week, overpowered her self control, 
 and she sobbed aloud. Oh, Alphonse ! " she cried, " a 
 week ! a whole week ! " 
 
 He smiled. To witness suffering had always afforded 
 him pleasure. 
 
 " Bah ! " he said, at length, with a slight intonation 
 of contempt. " Eve charmante ! " And he went on 
 packing his portmanteau. Then, he added, to himself, 
 in rapidly spoken French, with a leer, '' The time will 
 come when you won't cry at my departure ! " 
 
 " Oh, Alphonse! " she exclaimed, between her sobs. 
 " How long will this dreadful ' business,' which is 
 always takin' ye away, last? "
 
 264 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 " Parbleu ! " and he gave a little whistle. " Only 
 till it's finished!" 
 
 He was standing by an escritoire which was pushed 
 into a niche in the wall. This escritoire was an object 
 of great curiosity to Moyrah. She had never seen its 
 inside. It was always locked, and she had noticed that 
 Lenior carried the key on a small gold chain, round his 
 neck, inside all his clothes. She had also noticed that 
 he never opened the escritoire when she was in the 
 room. Once or twice she had come in and found him 
 with it open, but he had shut it instantly. Now he 
 looked at her furtively, to see where her eyes were 
 turned. They were buried in her hands, while tears 
 trickled between her fingers. He seemed satisfied. 
 Going hurriedly to the escritoire he unlocked it, took 
 out a paper and slipped another in, then glanced over 
 his shoulder to see where her eyes were again. Still 
 buried in her hands, while her slight figure heaved 
 slowly with half suppressed sobs. He opened the lid 
 again, and bending his head down, ran his hands quickly 
 over some papers, put two into the breast pocket of his 
 coat, then, with a click, closed the lid, locked it, and 
 turned to Moyrah. 
 
 " I leave you in charge of everything in this apart- 
 ment," he Faid. " See that no none comes in here but 
 yourself." He paused, then added, as if much depended 
 on it ; " You will see to this, will you, please ? " 
 
 " I will, indade ! Shure, I don't want anny wan in 
 here when ye're wantin'." 
 
 '' Bien ! " he exclaimed, as if satisfied. Suddenly he 
 approached her, and clasped a strong leather belt round 
 her waist. From it hung an American bowie clasp 
 knife. 
 
 " I wish you to wear this while I am away, in case, 
 which is not the least likely, but just in case anyone 
 should come in and try to get at that escritoire, which 
 contains many valuable things." 
 She turned deadly pale.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 265 
 
 " There, don't look as if you were going to faint. 
 Nobody will come, I'd bet a thousand francs ; but it is 
 better to be prepared for every contingency," and he 
 laughed to re-assure her. Then he put his hat on on?, 
 side of his head, ran his fingers through his silky locks, 
 looked at himself in the glass, and whistled. " Bien ! 
 au revoir, ma belle," he kissed his hand to her, and, in 
 another minute was at the door, which he held open. 
 " Yon dont seem a bit sorry for me having to leave 
 joy and go off into gloom and stupidity," he said, in a 
 bantering tone. " It's only yourself you arc thinking 
 of," and he nodded his black curls impudently at her, as 
 he added, satirically, "Of poor me it may be truly said, 
 ' Mais aussi quelle chute, quel cataclysme epouvantable 
 dans tout son etre, quand, a I'acc^s de joie et de tendresse, 
 succedait I'acces de douleur, de soupcjon et de depit ! ' " 
 he laughed. " It's only yourself you are thinking of, 
 like all women, they never think of anyone else." 
 
 " 0, but I do think of ye, Alphonse, indade an' indade 
 I do, an' I'm greatly sorry for ye, goin' off alone. But 
 thin ye need not go, an' 1 can't help mesilf bein' left 
 behind." 
 
 " Need I not go, indeed ! There's a devote's sense of 
 duty for you. You would have me neglect a solemn 
 religious duty, going to the bedside of the dying," and 
 he pulled that long face, and put on that sanctimonious 
 manner which always hoodwinked her entirely. 
 
 "Adieu, grosse dormeuse ! " and he went out in roars 
 of laughing at her puzzled face, for she did not even 
 understand the literal meaning of his words, much less 
 any other. 
 
 When he reached the street he was joined by a short, 
 powerful-looking man, much muffled up about the throat 
 and mouth, and with his hat slouched over his eyes, and 
 a loose cloak flung over his shoulders. He had evidently 
 beei;Lwaiting for him, and spoke hurriedly : " You are 
 late, damn you, we shall miss the appointment." 
 
 " Damn you ! " was the concise reply, and on they
 
 266 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 strode, side by side, for some reason best known to 
 themselves not choosing to call a fly. 
 
 At last they arrived at one of the most luxurious and 
 expensive cafds in the town. As they entered, three 
 men rose to meet them. They were dressed in those 
 loud, slangy garments which make one instinctively 
 think their tailor must have been coached by the 
 upholsterer of an American liner. Nevertheless, their 
 wearers looked as if they had not studied the advertise- 
 ments of Pear's soap upon the sides of the cabin. They 
 all had flowers in their buttonholes. One of them had 
 a rose bud and a bit of thyme in the top buttonhole of 
 his waistcoat. 
 
 " We're regular dragged out, waiting for you. What 
 the deuce has kept you? " said one of them, nicknamed 
 " Bangs." 
 
 An angry flash darted from Lenoir's yellowy black 
 eyes. It was extraordinary the terror his anger inspired 
 in his associates. 
 
 One of the other men, nicknamed " Crispy," saw the 
 look, and gave Bangs a nudge. " Draw a straight furrow, 
 and don't poke yer nose into another chap's tater patch," 
 he said. 
 
 Bangs gave a short whistle. 
 
 Then the third man spoke, nicknamed, and with 
 judicious discrimination, the " Blusterer." He was as 
 stout as the Claimant. '' We've ordered dinner this ever 
 so long, it'll be spoilt, damn it ; come on, let's pitch in.'^ 
 
 Thev ranged themselves round the table. As the 
 good dishes were handed to them, good humour began 
 to return. 
 
 Lenoir was a greedy man. Indeed, they were all 
 greedy men. The dinner was such as to put the 
 greediest men into the sublimest temper. Every 
 luxury that the most refined Parisian gourmet could 
 desire, or genius of a chef devise, was there. A 
 Lyons duck being the most appreciated by Crispy, 
 Bangs and the Blusterer. They did make a fool
 
 The Silver Whistle. 267 
 
 of the poor bird, but it must have been a bit of a 
 fool, to begin with, to have got itself into such a 
 position. 
 
 The menu was as follows : clear gravy soup, salmon 
 cutlets, and fillets of sole ^ la reine, duck and lamb's 
 fry, saddle of mutton, asparagus, eggs, and potatoes a 
 I'ltalienne, stewed pigeon, French beans sautes, roulade 
 of veal, and spinach a la reine, almond cream, and 
 cheese fondu, followed up by ices, cura^oa, coffee, etc. 
 
 " Well, how's ' the Plan ' been doing these last few 
 weeks, eh?" asked Lenoir, who, by this distance in the 
 dinner, had reached a state of mind which might almost 
 be described as cordial 
 
 Bangs, Crispy and the Blusterer were three American- 
 Irish agitators, who had only arrived from Ireland the 
 night before, where they had been stumping the country^ 
 and collecting the sinews of war for dinners such as 
 the present one. Now Bangs and Crispy were still 
 filling their mouths, and munching with a rapidity 
 which rendered prolonged conversation inconvenient. 
 It was only during the last year or two they were 
 accustomed to meals with such menus as the one I have 
 copied. The Blusterer, on the contrary, was the son 
 of a pawnbroker, money lender and dealer — successful 
 dealer — in left off clothes. Therefore his youth had 
 been passed in affluence, and he was so far accustomed 
 to disposing of enormous quantities of food in a limited 
 time that the process required no^ exceptional effort on 
 his part. His gastronomic genius had burst forth full 
 fledged, hke Athene from the head of Zeus. From the 
 age of two upwards it had been in complete working 
 order. Though he had already put into him as much 
 food as would have made a dinner for two or three 
 starving Irish tenants, and meant to put into him as 
 much more again, he was capable of conversing agree- 
 ably upon any subject. He laid down his knife and 
 fork, with the points resting on the edge of his plate, 
 and the handles spread out latitudinally. He took a
 
 268 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 good pull at his champagne, wiped his mouth with the 
 back of his hand, then wiped the back of his hand on 
 the side of his trouser ; then hic-coughed, and then said, 
 ^' Tol-lol well, latterly. At first I thought we'd get 
 nary red," (no money), "and I was peskily narvous, I 
 can tell yer, but the Kildrowninaholey election settled 
 it all. We'd some fine pipe-laying there, I can tell yer ! 
 Blow me tight, but we had ! and he dashed his fist on 
 the table and laughed. (Pipe-laying is bringing up 
 electors not legally qualified). 
 
 Crispy and Bangs laughed, too, but did not stop 
 eating for an instant. 
 
 " Now ' the Plan ' is in full swing, there's a lot of 
 spry chaps down there, and they put the screw on recal- 
 citrant farmers pretty tight, 1 can tell yer ! We had 
 the little devils undher our thumbs from the first ; a few 
 of the big chaps cut up rusty at starting, but we got 
 some spunky boys down from Daublin, to head the 
 League, and the bumptious rapscalions soon caved in. 
 Divil a landlord's got a haperth in that whole country 
 side this year, nor nivir will agin ! If we cud only kape 
 the shopkeepers up to the level we'd do well enough. 
 But they're like staky horsis, they gibbs the minit you 
 put 'em into harniss." 
 
 " You're right, begor ! " exclaimed Crispy, though 
 his mind was evidently more with his food than with 
 his country's wrongs. 
 
 " And the tenants have funded the money ? " asked 
 Lenoir, raising his eye-brows in a nonchalant way, as 
 he helped himself to a fresh dainty, carefully scooping 
 up the gravy and pouring it in a stream over his 
 meat. 
 
 " Yas ! " and the Blusterer w^inked the corner of his 
 somewhat bloodshot eye knowingly at Lenoir. " Yas ! 
 they've funded the money ! " And he looked at Crispy 
 and Bangs, who nodded, and suppressed a smile. 
 " Yas ! they've funded it, and a smart sprinkle of tin 
 they've funded ! " And he took another drink of
 
 The Silver Whistle. 269 
 
 champagne, and complacently flopped the glass down 
 on the table, with a sort of satisfied bang. 
 
 " Banks full I suppose ? " asked Lenoir, with an air 
 of child-like innocence. 
 
 " Just about ! " said Bangs, who was beginning to 
 feel slightly uncomfortably stuffed, though he would 
 not have owned it for many dollars. 
 
 '' Which bank is most favoured?" asked Lenoir, who 
 liked to gain all the useful local information he could. 
 
 The Blusterer gave a knowing look out of the corner 
 of his eyes. Then he slapped his portly person just 
 below where his rosebud and thyme were stuck in his 
 waistcoat buttonhole. 
 
 " ' I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows ! ' " 
 
 '' We are not a bad bank," said Crispy, complacently. 
 " Eh monsieur ? Look at us and say what you think." 
 
 Lenoir ran his dark eyes over the trio. Then he 
 twirled the corner of his moustache and said: "•Un 
 charmant panorama." 
 
 The tone in which he uttered this flattering reflection 
 made the Blusterer frown. Lenoir saw that ruby brow 
 contracting, and at once became polite to punctilious- 
 ness, positively velvety. If the Blusterer's humility 
 left a margin to be desired ; if his sentiments were 
 " louches," and his manners not, as yet, Parisian, still, 
 his firm adherence to his party was of incalculable 
 importance. He was a burning speaker who could 
 make a whole hall full of dull people bristle with atten- 
 tion. He was an esprit fort^ and he had the knack of 
 collecting round him, and imbuing with his own spirit, 
 everyone in the phantasmagoria of peasant life, whose 
 glimmer of a conscience was on the point of expiring, 
 and who, therefore, could be easily turned into espints 
 forts. 
 
 The Blusterer knew his own social worth, and saw 
 through Lenoir's assumed civility with a keenness of 
 spiritual vision peculiar to the man who lives by his
 
 270 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 wits. " You're plaguy apt to talk, Turkey, when you 
 wants to get sociable a bit, eh?" and he laughed, with 
 a slight jeer in his manner. He was a different char- 
 acter from Lenoir. There was nothing silky about him. 
 He spoke out just what suited him in a rough, loud, 
 auctioneering tone, and meant only the words he used. 
 But Tjcnoir's vocabulary was charged with subtle 
 allusions ; almost every syllable had a double meaning. 
 He was more than a match in speech, thought, and 
 action for the boasting, bragging, though distinctly 
 eloquent, swaggerer. " Well, talk as you may, I 
 reckon I'm a whole team and a horse to spare!" and 
 he drew himself up and stuck his thumbs in his waist- 
 coat arm-holes. 
 
 Eloquent he was He had the true orator's fluency 
 and fire. He could rouse the fiercest passions of an 
 innocent and unsuspecting peasantry until they were 
 maddened like herds of cattle in a prairie fire. With 
 the ease and rapidity of a conjurer he could plunge 
 guiltless souls from the secret sins of hatred, malice, and 
 envenomed spite, to the overt and less safe ones of 
 murdering, maiming, assassinating, robbing, and tor- 
 turing. In one week he could turn the quietest village 
 in a county into a pandemonium that the shapes on the 
 Brocken would have been ashamed to be found in. 
 Lies flowed to his lips in as continuous a stream as the 
 poison of a wasp's sting to its tail. A reputation which 
 had stood unblemished in a neighbourhood for twenty 
 years he could grasp in his octopus-like fangs and 
 crush to death in ten minutes. He was not a man to 
 quarrel with. 
 
 At that moment a hungry-looking woman was peer- 
 ing nervously round the open door. As she stood in 
 the street she leaned her head against the door-post, and 
 just her eyes and her forehead could be seen coming 
 round in front of it. She could not see the Blusterer 
 plainly, for his quarter side face was towards her, and 
 he kept his head continually turned away, looking at
 
 The Silver Whistle. 271 
 
 Lenoir, whom he was addressing. The five diners had 
 broken up the rolls by their plates ; most of them had 
 pulled the crumb out and pushed the crust away. On 
 these crusts her eyes were fixed with an intensity which 
 seemed to strain them as though they would start from 
 her head and burn through the air. 
 
 O fearful eyes ! the eyes of a starving woman looking 
 at food she cannot get. Eyes once seen never to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Lenoir could see the eyes from where he was sitting, 
 but, being himself rather too full of food for comfort, it 
 never occurred to him she was starving. We are slow 
 to realise a state of mind or body opposed to our own. 
 He wondered what on earth she was staring at. After 
 a moment's consideration it struck him it must be at 
 the extraordinary figures of his foreign friends. " They 
 certainly are like very odd shaped houses," he solilo- 
 quised, as he looked at them. " Public men built like 
 public houses. It might be said of this cafe, elle r6n- 
 ferme un certain nombre d' edifices publics qui sans 
 etre remarquables par leur architecture, attirent cepen- 
 dant les regards des etrangers." He smiled to himself 
 at his wit, and called for a fresh bottle of champagne. 
 The uneven shoulders and ungainly arms and legs of 
 his associates flattered his pride in his own well- 
 proportioned limbs. He could see those limbs in a 
 mirror nearly opposite to him, and, when repletion 
 forced him to pause for a moment, he ran his fingers 
 through his silky locks and surveyed himself with pro- 
 found satisfaction. 
 
 In the meantime, the woman continued to stare, and 
 alwavs at the crusts. 
 
 Presently a French waiter, with his napkin under his 
 arm, lounged close to the door. 
 
 She spoke hurriedly, in an eager, trembling whisper, 
 and in tolerably good, though by no means perfect, 
 French, " O ! for the love of God, could you manage to 
 slip me over a few of those crusts '? Nothing has passed
 
 272 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 my lips for two days. If you could slip them into your 
 napkin, and give them to me as you pass, no one would 
 notice it." 
 
 He turned. " Fah ! " he said, impatiently, tapping 
 down his toe as if he was crushing a black beetle, " be 
 off with you ! We allow no beggars here." 
 
 She was a peculiarly shy, proud woman, but still, she 
 did not go, she could not go; there were so many crusts, 
 and they were so near the door. She clung on to the 
 door posts with her white, wasted, trembling hands. 
 Her eyes, though now dimmed with tears, were still 
 glued to those crusts. 
 
 " We had some of the finest meetings you ever saw 
 down at Bullybluhash, a fortnight ago. Two bloated 
 English M.P.'s came over to help us ; we must have had 
 twenty thousand at the last meeting," said the Blusterer, 
 who, occasionally, like all orators and poets, drew the 
 long bow. 
 
 " Come, that bangs Bannagher," exclaimed Crispy, 
 who had been at the meeting, and knew that the 
 attendance numbered a little under five hundred. " Cut 
 off nineteen thou " 
 
 " Hold your jaw ! " said the Blusterer, peremptorily. 
 
 " These mistakes frequently occur at overgrown 
 meetings," said Lenoir, with gracious suavity. 
 
 "Speshully in Oireland," said Bangs, laughing, and 
 winking at Lenoir. 
 
 '' I stood on a gate to make my speech," continued 
 the Blusterer. 
 
 "Are ye shure ye did not fall undher it? "asked 
 Crispy. The champagne bad made him, what he him- 
 self would have called, " coxy." 
 
 " No, nor ovur it, aithur," replied the Blusterer, 
 shortly. " There was an emergency blaigard down from 
 Daublin, who tried to cross my track ; but I soon got 
 some chaps to settle his hash, and then I had a full 
 swing." He smacked his lips as he recalled his orator- 
 ical triumph. " The peelers came at the end, having
 
 The Silver Whistle. 273 
 
 cut up rough with the jar vies in the town because they 
 wouldn't bring 'em. But I soon bluffed 'em off. After 
 I'm havin' a series of them meetin's in a neighbourhood, 
 I reckon that for fifty mile round there ain't a landlord's 
 house which isn't like a barracoon " (slave house). He 
 laughed. " They're obliged to keep 'emselves shut up 
 there like niggers, or else only poke their noses out 
 undher protection, as if they war afraid of 'emselves 
 runnin' away across the swamps." 
 
 The others roared laughing at this. 
 
 Just then a young, fair-haired English waiter, who 
 had come over to learn French in Paris, passed close 
 to the door. 
 
 The starving woman stretched out one lean hand 
 towards him, and whispered in so piteous a tone, and 
 with such despair on her face — a face which, had it not 
 been so haggard, would have been handsome — that it 
 seemed as if it must have touched a heart of even 
 Parisian asphalte. " Will you have pity on me ?^ I am 
 fainting with hunger ; could you manage to slip one or 
 two of those crusts into your pocket, and pass them on 
 to me as you go by — no one would see you." 
 
 He stopped. After a moment he advanced a step 
 closer to her, and peered into her ghastly face. Then 
 he drew back, and said in the Queen's English, " You 
 are not French ? You are English, are you not ? " 
 
 "Irish." 
 
 Her name was Peggy Donovan. She was from 
 Bridget's and Moyrah's village, and had received a 
 good education at a local convent, for she had thought 
 of being a governess. Her parents were bettermost 
 sort of people, but she had married a small shopkeeper, 
 in a village in another county, the year she came home 
 from the convent. Donovan, her husband, had died of 
 consumption, after some years of married life, leaving 
 her with six children, but, as he thought, well provided 
 for. He owned a good many cottages in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and the rents they brought in made a fair 
 
 T
 
 274 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 competency. For the last two years not one farthing 
 of rent had been paid her. She had struggled for some 
 time to support her six children and her aged mother 
 of eighty, who lived with them, by her needlework, but 
 she could not do it, and latterly she had lain awake for 
 nights trying to decide whether she should send her 
 children or her mother to the workhouse. While still 
 working out this problem, she had seen an advertisement 
 in a paper, an Irish paper, taken very largely by the 
 peasants, from a lady in Paris, with children, who 
 wanted, apparently, a sort of a mixture of a nurse and 
 a governess, a good English scholar. After a short 
 correspondence with the advertiser, she decided to take 
 the situation, on promise of her passage and journey 
 being paid there, and, if she returned, back again. 
 Tlie advertiser promised everything, and a salary of a 
 hundred a year besides. She did not, however, send 
 her the money, as she explained there was so much 
 difficulty with foreign post office orders, and letters 
 containing orders so often miscarried ; but she said, if 
 she could manage to borrow enough to come out, she 
 would refund it to her on her arrival. This she 
 contrived to do. Arrived in Paris, she found the 
 advertiser was not a lady, but a firm of low class 
 auctioneers, in a disreputable part of the town. They 
 had a good deal of business to transact with foreign 
 money lenders, and were in want of a good linguist, 
 who, apparently, was to work for nothing. For she 
 was to provide her own lodging and board, work eight 
 hours a day, and get a hundred francs four times a year. 
 The hundred pounds a year turned out altogether a 
 myth. Bad as the terms were, she would have accepted 
 them, at any rate, temporarily, as she had come so far. 
 But she, unfortunately, knew no language but her own 
 and a little French. As she would not engage with 
 them, the firm refused to pay her journey ; and she 
 found herself alone in Paris, with no friends there, no 
 means of returning home, and five francs in her pocket.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 275 
 
 She had not the heart to write the terrible tidings 
 back to her loved ones, and beg for what she knew they 
 had not got — money to return. She determined to try 
 if she could find any other employment. Day after day 
 she roamed the streets in search of work of any sort. 
 But there were many thousands bent on the same 
 errand, and nearly all with superior qualifications to 
 what she possessed, for they all had some knowledge 
 of a trade or a profession, or of domestic service. 
 
 Her five francs were soon exhausted, scrape and 
 screw as she might. For some days she lived on 
 begging. She applied to several well known and 
 wealthy leaders of the Communistic movement. But, 
 though possessing, besides many thousands of francs, a 
 knowledge of the laws which govern the operations of 
 digestion and nutrition in their own persons, they did 
 not apply that knowledge to the persons of their 
 neighbours. Like mongrels, they could wag the stumpy 
 tails of their eloquent universal brotherhood at pilbhc 
 dinners, and bite bare feet in private. 
 
 For the last three days she had wandered from pillar 
 to post — that is, from one human pillar to another flesh 
 and blood post — without getting a sou or a crust of 
 bread from any of them. Yet they were pillars and 
 posts who could so touchingly speak at public meetings 
 on the enthusiasm of humanity, that they filled some 
 Christians with strange apprehensions lest the new 
 creed should beat the old one. The new pillars support 
 the church best. 
 
 '^ O, for the love of God, don't keep me waiting any 
 longer, or I shall faint. Look ! look ! he is giving 
 them fresh bread; he is going to sweep those crusts 
 away into the basket. Quick ! quick ! get them for 
 me — quick!" 
 
 The young man turned, snapped up a brush off a 
 side table, took a plate in his left hand, swept the 
 crusts into it, then slipped them into his napkin, and, 
 unobserved by the other waiters, brought them to her 
 
 t2
 
 276 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 and slid them into the front of her dress, which she 
 held up. She turned away, walked a few steps from 
 the door, and then began a scene absolutely tragic in its 
 horror. With her wasted, trembling hands, with the 
 blue veins standing out on them, and the joints looking 
 as if they were swelled from the flesh having fallen oiF 
 between, she seized the gnawed and broken crusts and 
 devoured them like a savage wild beast. 
 
 The waiter watched her for an instant in amazement ; 
 he thought she would certainly choke, so frightful was 
 her hurry. Before one lump of crust had been a 
 moment in her mouth, another was stuffed in. He 
 followed her, first looking round over his shoulder to 
 see that he was not observed from within. 
 
 " Tell me your address, and I'll come to you as soon 
 as ever we clone to-night, and bring you some proper 
 food. It's awful to see you like this ! It's awful m'am, 
 I say ! Perfectly awful ! " 
 
 "I have no address," she stuttered, between her 
 mouthfuls. " Go ! They're calling for you ; may God 
 reward you, and may you never know what it is to be 
 starving. I'll come here again, I will, if I may. There 
 must always be crusts here." 
 
 At that moment she looked up, and through the open 
 window saw the Blusterer's full face. She at once 
 recognised an agitator who had been sent down from 
 Dublin to hold a number of meetings in her village. 
 He had established a Harvest Bug depot, and had made 
 himself temporarily the head of it. From that moment 
 disturbance and distress began. Hitherto the village 
 had been a singularly peaceful and happy one. There 
 was not a poor person who did not feel they had in their 
 old parish priest a true friend. In every sickness he 
 visited, in every sorrow consoled them. Morning after 
 morning he was to be seen walking along the narrow 
 roads, from cottage to cottage, carrying food to his sick 
 parishioners. Everyone who fell into misfortune at once 
 went to him, and poured out their troubles, certain of
 
 The Silver Whistle, 277 
 
 sympathy and assistance. He had taught them lace 
 making, and many of the girls were earning a good bit 
 by it. All was quiet and comfortable ; no fussing, no 
 rowing, no political bullying, storming, and bear 
 fighting. He had been educated in France, and declined 
 to cut off the bough he was sitting on. 
 
 Suddenly, with his fret-work apparatus for carving 
 into domestic peace, appeared the Blusterer, to the 
 horror, and disgust, and infinite annoyance of the good 
 priest, who had hitherto managed to keep even the saw 
 well out of sight. Soon the most quiet, easy going, 
 pious peasants were transformed. Gentle, brave Irish 
 boys, who had been full of high dreams of self-sacrifice, 
 of the priesthood, even of monastic life, suddenly veered 
 right round, and turned into disorderly sort of kangaroos, 
 ready to tear down their nearest and dearest, unless they 
 would go along with them in their dance after the devil's 
 tail. That little blazing bit, which, having lighted in 
 Paris, he has cocked so high in Ireland. Money Which 
 had been saved against sickness or old age was drawn 
 out of the bank and given to agitators. The harvest 
 was neglected, the lace work was given up. No one 
 would do anything but curse and damn his neighbour. 
 
 With that delight in a new toy which marks all 
 susceptible, witty people, the peasants seized on the 
 principles of Communism to give them " a try." 
 Revolution was a matter of experiment. You could 
 take it up or lay it down for a frolic. That repacious 
 Gulliver, holding high in his hand the dagger barbed to 
 stab the altar, the throne, and the home, was a coquette to 
 flirt an idle half hour away with. They took him so, and 
 drew him so close that he changed their nature into his. 
 
 Soon no rents were paid at all, except to the agitators, 
 in whose houses the peasants were not living ; the fact 
 being that the agitators were living in the peasants' 
 houses. But they took good care not to pay them any 
 rent. And so the poor peasants sank from one degree 
 of poverty to another.
 
 278 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 Peggy staggered away round a corner, out of sight, 
 and the head waiter called the English one peremptorily 
 back. As he re-entered the cafe, the Blusterer was 
 alluding to future history. 
 
 " Dash my buttons ! If before manny months we're 
 not in the seats of them damn landlords. Then if we 
 don't make a clean sweep of them as opposed us — begor, 
 new brooms sweep clean ! " 
 
 '' They do so ! " assented Crispy, scratching the top 
 of his head. " An' bedad, 'tis mighty comfortable to be 
 on the side of the handle." 
 
 Lenoir laughed at this, as he sipped his champagne. 
 
 " Handles have been known to break off before now, 
 and run into the hands which held 'em," remarked 
 Bangs, dryly. 
 
 " Shut up, you half-baked idiot ! " said the Blusterer. 
 
 Bangs went into roars of laughing at this. 
 
 " What a clatternhocking ! " exclaimed the Blusterer. 
 '' Faix, it is hot ! " and he unfastened his waistcoat and 
 flung it wide open, while he fanned himself with his 
 napkin. 
 
 Just at that instant a waiter handed round strawberry 
 cream, ices, and glasses of curacjoa. 
 
 " We have had a square meal, and no mistake ! " 
 ejaculated Bangs, complacently. 
 
 Lenoir looked at his watch. '' Remember, gentlemen, 
 we have not much time to lose, we are going to a 
 
 reception at Monsieur " (naming one of the 
 
 leading politicians of the day). "And I have to catch 
 the night train for the South." 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur , I don't know that I quite 
 
 swear by him," said the Blusterer, tossing off his 
 curaQoa. " He's one of those slicked-up, squirtish kind 
 of fellars, as ain't partiklar hard baked, and always goes 
 in for aristocracy noshins ; talk as they may of the 
 people." 
 
 Lenoir's lip curled, but he said nothing. 
 
 Peggy had tottered on, devouring her crusts, tearing
 
 The Silver Whistle. 279 
 
 at them, scarcely chewing them, ahnost swallowing 
 them whole. Once, in her violent hurry, she dropped 
 one on a tin can which was floating in the running, 
 oozing mud of the gutter, snapping it up out of this 
 curious hatterie de cuisine^ without stopping to wipe it, 
 she forced it into her mouth, though already there was 
 a large bit there. Soon she dropped another piece, 
 which she knelt down to hunt for, as she did not find it 
 directly. Some of the more advanced thinking dare- 
 devils of the Sorbonne and the Maison Dieu, were 
 swaggering along, arm in arm. They kicked her out 
 of their way, while one of them turned his head over 
 his shoulder, and shouted, jeeringly, '^ Church is the 
 place for prayers, ma belle ; we don't worship gutters 
 here," blind to the fact that the reverse was the case. 
 She took no notice ; too intent on finding her lost bit of 
 crust, which she did, presently. When she got up, she 
 crept nervously along, sometimes taking two or three 
 hurried steps, to get out of sight of passing strairgers, 
 then stopping altogether, the more readily to devour 
 her crusts. 
 
 The day was frightfully hot, and the stones burnt 
 into her feet as if the streets were the bars of a furnace. 
 Presently she came to an archway, leading to some 
 narrow alleys in a low part of the town. Faint and 
 exhausted, she sank down in a sort of crushed bundle 
 in the shadow of the arch. Her head fell sideways, 
 pressed against the wall. Her eyes shut, and her mouth 
 slightly opened. Many people passed by, but no one 
 took the slightest notice of her. Such a sight was too 
 common in the great city of pleasure.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 /f^^UK friends at the caf(^, at last, reallj could eat no 
 ItjytJi more, so they lighted their cigars, and started 
 ^!^ out on to the boulevards. Though it was getting 
 late in the afternoon the sun was still unpleasantly hot, 
 and they sat down for a few moments to rest under the 
 shelter of a tree. They took off their hats, and let the 
 delicious, cooling breeze which was springing up blow 
 through their hair. 
 
 Another half hour found them entermg the hotel of 
 Monsieur Savon, one of the leading politicians and fore- 
 most libres penseurs of the day. Here were all the diplo- 
 matic pluralists, themselves In comfortable possession of 
 five different offices, who in public, vehemently denounced 
 the enormity of one man holding two offices, and drawing 
 two salaries, while doing an Infinitesimal amount of 
 renumerative hard work. Here were denouncers of 
 royalist parsimony, who would not themselves spend 
 sixpence on a new piece of soap. Here was all that 
 dignity of manner which might be expected from men 
 who had risen to power by robbery, and kept themselves 
 in it by sacrilege. Here every one was welcome who 
 could make a mock of his God and a deity of his 
 stomach. 
 
 The room was large, and picked out in white and 
 gold. There were Sevres cups and saucers standing 
 about on little rickety looking, gilded tables, a few 
 bibelots, bonbon boxes, and perfume caskets. There 
 was distinctly no cachet of good style about the company, 
 though the hotel had once been a royalist abode where 
 the bluest blood had congregated. There was much
 
 The Silver Whistle. 281 
 
 floral ornamentation about the plaster cornices and 
 doorheads. In one of the small inner salons was a 
 showy grand piano, on which a crazy looking man, with 
 mud coloured hair, which reached to his shoulders, 
 was pounding the Marsellaise. 
 
 No one was in evening dress, and the costumes were 
 as diversified as the characters they shrouded. There 
 was a good deal of loud laughter and joking ; for the 
 black cloak of the assassin sits easily on the round 
 shoulders of the satyr. Lenoir knew everyone, and, 
 from the first moment, was quite at home. Everyone 
 knew him, but, strange to say, everyone gave a slight 
 start when they saw him, as if they did not exactly 
 expect to see him there then. He introduced his friends 
 to anyone they did not know, but they already knew a 
 good many of the distinguished guests. 
 
 There was one very short, fat man, with eyes too 
 large for their sockets, and a tongue too big for his 
 mouth, and his black hair cut close to his head^.who 
 would talk away at the top of his voice so as to drown 
 everyone who was near him. He incessantly touched 
 the tops of his fingers, spread out with a space between 
 each finger, to his arm sockets, then flung out his whole 
 arms full length, straight in front of him. He was 
 declaring that the present governors of his nation were 
 assertors of prerogative independent of law, and an- 
 nounced that the present Chamber of Deputies was a 
 pretty kettle of fish, or rather kennel of dogs. Con- 
 sidering that he was one of the deputies in the chamber 
 this was distinctly impartial. Indeed, it might be 
 called humility carried to its finest point. Some 
 civility shewn to Germany had irritated his patriotic 
 sensibilities beyond endurance. As the Blusterer 
 lounged gracefully, with his hands under his coat- 
 tails, listening to him, he shouted out in burning 
 accents : " The treachery of a friend may become a 
 virtue compared to the loathsome, fawning baseness 
 which grovels before a declared enemy." He went on
 
 282 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 to enquire, in fiercely impassioned tones, where "la 
 gloire" had gone to if such conduct as this was to be 
 the order for the day? One minister seemed peculiarly 
 obnoxious to him : he declared that, while the other 
 deputies were going on in their usual dull round of 
 senseless stupidity, this one appeared to have marked 
 out, by a deliberate choice, " the means to precipitate 
 our destruction." Finally, he declared the unfortunate 
 deputy in question was possessed with the devil. Most 
 Frenchmen believe in possession by the devil of their 
 enemies. No doubt internal evidence on the point is 
 too strong to be resisted. " He has risen," he said, 
 " like his arch-type, on the steam of his own self-praise ; 
 and, like him, the vapour will desert him, and he will fall 
 plump to the lowest abyss, dragging a great part of the 
 glory of France after him." He ended up with — " We 
 are betrayed ! We are betrayed ! We are betrayed ! " 
 
 " Who is the little chap ?" enquired the Blusterer of 
 Lenoir, for the speaker's face was strange to him. 
 
 " He was originally a trolleur — a fellow who does his 
 own work and sells it to the dealers. But he seems to 
 have got a pot of money lately, how, no one can tell." 
 
 " He's in a jolly wax with the members of his own 
 parlimint, anny way. He's bully-ragged 'em all round 
 me hat," and he laughed. " Not one, except himself, 
 got off." 
 
 Lenoir's brow clouded. " You will find that to be 
 the case with most of the members of the Chamber of 
 Deputies," he said, quietly. 
 
 The little deputy went on in tones which impelled 
 attention. " Whatever the Chamber desires the Senate 
 denies. The Chamber wants progress ; the Senate has 
 no more idea of it than one of the oaks at Fontainbleau 
 of getting up by its roots and dancing the can-can. 
 We all v/ant progress. We want the army and navy 
 strengthened. We want to teach our foes that France 
 is mistress and will be mistress. We wish to put a few 
 of our enemies ho7's de combat^ These last sentiments
 
 The Silver Whistle. 283 
 
 met with excited approval from his audience. " A few 
 of the bullies shall be made to siiig small — England 
 first." A burst of applause greeted these words from 
 the group immediately round him. "She can easily be 
 managed. Her army are boys of the lyc^e : her navy is 
 beneath contempt ; to every three of our working iron- 
 clads she has one and a half." 
 
 The Blusterer understood French well enough to 
 follow accurately what he was saying. 
 
 There was a laugh at this, and much complacent 
 shrugging of the shoulders and rubbing of the hands. 
 " That nation of shopkeepers will not pay to put up 
 iron shutters to the shop." 
 
 " That's good, begor ! " exclaimed the Blusterer, 
 laughing. 
 
 " We can get at her through Ireland. She will join 
 us to a man, and rise en nias.^e the moment we land." 
 This met with hearty assent. " With Ireland under 
 our thumb we can soon bring England on her knees 
 before us. Once down, we have a good bit to revenge." 
 
 Here, however, he paused. He did not see fit to 
 enter into particulars with regard to Waterloo, or any 
 other combats of a similar character, such references not 
 being congenial to the Gallic mind, however useful to 
 point a moral. 
 
 After a minute, he continued, in eloquent periods — 
 '' Ireland is the flag-staif to which we shall nail our 
 tricolour. She will carry it to victory, while we tear 
 the union jack to her recruiting ribbons and trample the 
 British lion in the dust." 
 
 " Hear, hear," called the Blusterer. 
 
 '' There are plenty of Irishmen here to corroborate 
 what I say," and he looked round, with a consequential 
 air, on the fair sprinkling of Irish- American agitators 
 which adorned the apartment. 
 
 '' Bien, oui," assented a Philistine, an epicier^ who 
 was standing near. 
 
 " Yes," he exclaimed, flinging out his arms again,
 
 284 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 and letting the tip of his large tongue appear beyond 
 his lips, while his eyes almost started from his head 
 with excitement. 
 
 " We will plant the shamrock in the top of the 
 bonnet rouge " 
 
 " Que diable," muttered a grey-haired Parisian. 
 
 " Bedad," muttered Crispy, " 'twon't know itself 
 along wid such gorgeous millenery." 
 
 " And may it live to take root there until it becomes 
 indigenous in the soil," added the French orator. 
 
 " The trifoil ahove the tricolour, me boy," muttered 
 Crispy, with a sly chuckle ; " but ye're right for all 
 that ; 'tis through yer nashin that we'll be revenged 
 on the Saxon." 
 
 Soon after this refreshments were brought in and 
 carried round on trays, and Bangs, Crispy and the 
 Blusterer, who had had time to digest, went at it again. 
 But the little man with the big tongue would not stop 
 to eat. 
 
 " Listen, gentlemen," he exclaimed, trying to wean 
 the attention of his audience from gastronomic attrac- 
 tions. '' Listen. Russia will attack Lidia all along 
 her northern frontier ; England will concentrate her 
 resources there ; then will be our moment. We land 
 in the south and the west of Ireland. The population 
 rise en masse to meet us. By means of our navy we 
 intercept their merchant ships bringing them food. 
 They have just enough provisions in their own country 
 to last one week. See, messieurs ? Attend ! We 
 starve them out ! The channel will be ours. What 
 few ironclads they have will be in the Baltic and the 
 Black Sea, or defending Malta, Gibraltar, and their 
 other possessions. We shall make an easy business 
 of it. Mark my word, the tricolour will wave from 
 Windsor Castle, and the bonnet rouge crown the 
 Albert Memorial before another year is out." 
 
 The audience forgot their food for a moment to 
 applaud these sentiments. Indeed, for a short time
 
 The Silver Whistle. 285 
 
 everyone round the speaker was carried away by that 
 sort of self-congratulating, self-conscious pleasure which 
 is the utmost tribute of approbation which can be won 
 from a French audience. 
 
 Lenoir looked ill at ease. He kept moving about 
 from one spot to another. He looked as fidgety as a 
 greffier who has lost his register, and is hunting for 
 it, first in one corner, and then in another. He kept 
 glancing behind him constantly, and turned his head 
 first over one shoulder, and then over the other. He 
 seemed as if he was walking over prickly pears with 
 bare feet. A fidgety man of any sort is a wonderful 
 medicine to an impatient character, but a fidgety 
 Frenchman is like certain well known pills worth a 
 guinea a box. He moves about with the short, sharp 
 snappish pertness of a very impudent cur puppy ex- 
 pressing his displeasure at a cat on a wall. Lenoir 
 was not always in this state. He was often quiet and 
 silky enough. But, like one of the most irregular 
 verbs of his own language, he had many moods. The 
 mood he was in now betokened physical fear to any- 
 one acquainted with the workings of his character. 
 
 That hurried look over his shoulder, that quick 
 change of position, that discomfort in each new posture 
 he assumed, was an evidence — though one not dis- 
 cerned by most of his acquaintance — that his nerves 
 were in a state of tension which made him almost 
 insensible of his own movements. Everyone else in 
 the room was enjoying himself to a greater or less 
 extent. He alone could fix his attention to nothing. 
 
 He started at every little noise, and in a room filled 
 for the greater part with excited Frenchmen, the noises 
 were neither fevv nor small. If anyone addressed him 
 suddenly, he turned round with a wild, astonished look, 
 as if a bamboo had struck him across the face. He 
 recovered himself, however, immediately, and assumed 
 an exaggerated imitation of his ordinary cynical 
 swagger. He evidently did not attempt to follow
 
 286 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 any of the speakers into their ramifications of politics. 
 He only listened to a word here and there, then turned 
 away, frowned, listened to outside sounds, started when 
 the clock struck, and constantly fixed his eyes on the 
 door, scanning everyone who entered it. 
 
 It seemed odd that no one noticed a way of goJng 
 on that was unlike his ordinary manner. It is not 
 lack of innate power of observation in Frenchmen 
 that prevents them from discerning sudden changes in 
 each other's deportment ; it is because there is a prior 
 object of attention in each P'renchman's heart which 
 occupies even his large powers of observation — and 
 a I renchman's powers of observation are very large — 
 and that is himself. No. 1 stops the way. In those 
 rare instances where No. 1 can be induced to take a 
 back seat, then the national quickness of sight and 
 keenness of suspicion shine forth in all their unap- 
 proachable radiance, and we have the finest detectives 
 in the world. 
 
 But though his singular conduct escaped observation, 
 it could not have been exactly a pleasant party to 
 Lenoir. When the hour came for him to go, the first 
 look of relief which had visited his handsome face that 
 evening passed over it. He said good-bye to one or 
 two of his intimates, and slipped away unobserved. 
 
 Meantime Peggy was still crouched in a bundle 
 under the archway. Towards sundown a gendarme 
 passed. He stopped, and leaning forward, examined 
 her carefully. Then he caught her shoulder and shook 
 it, saying : " Gret up ! get up ! We can't have tramps 
 stopping up the public way." 
 
 Now, the archway was very private, for only a few 
 rag pickers stole under it now and then. 
 
 But she did not move. Again he shook her, more 
 violently than before, and bawled into her ear with 
 that peculiar grating bawl of the French lower orders : 
 '•'' Wake up, I say ! Get up, will you !" 
 
 But still she did not move.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 287 
 
 She never got up again. The food had come too 
 late. She had made her last move on. Her difficulty 
 about whether she should send her mother or her 
 children to the workhouse was solved by their being 
 both sent. 
 
 Her soul went before the Judge Who gave the 
 commandment : " Thou shalt not steal ;" and her body, 
 which she had tended all her life with such modest 
 care and reverence, was — with the delicacy unique 
 to the nation where she died — stripped naked and laid 
 in the public morgue to await identification, but it 
 never was identified; so, when it was beginning to 
 decay, it was carelessly thrown into a nameless pauper's 
 grave. There, without any mark over it, it waited the 
 resurrection to judgment, face to face, of those who 
 have stolen and of those who have been stolen from.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MOYRAH sat sobbing for a long time ; desolation 
 seemed to sink into her heart. Everything 
 — — was so ditFerent from what she had expected. 
 She thought of her old, free, happy life at the Blue 
 House, of the kindly faces and cheery voices all round 
 her, of her idolized father, who somehow was so totally 
 different a kind of being from Lenoir, that she could 
 scarcely believe they were both men, and actually 
 belonged to the same race. Yet she loved Lenoir with 
 a love very different to what she felt for her father, or 
 for anyone else on earth. 
 
 The next day she spent almost entirely in St. Roch. 
 She got her luncheon, which consisted of some coffee, 
 an egg and roll, at a little cafe close by, then went back 
 again to its peaceful shades, and the comfort and 
 companionship of the holy presences of angels, saints, 
 martyrs and virgins, who seemed to people its dim 
 aisles to her as if they were really walking about 
 them. 
 
 She was beginning to understand French comfort- 
 ably; and the Suisse kindly explained the different 
 objects of interest to her. But she did not go to stare 
 about and sight-see, rather to worship and to hold 
 friendly intercourse with those who had trodden the 
 thorny path which was now bruising her feet; but 
 who, having exchanged the cross for the crown, looked 
 back on the troubles of time as a dust mote in the 
 sunshine of the long day they had begun. 
 
 The statues and the pictures whispered their own 
 tale in a language which many failures of Babel cannot
 
 The Silver Whistle, 289 
 
 defeat. Each saint had his own story to tell, and his 
 own distinctive kind of sympathy to f^ive, different from 
 any other saint. And yet there was a unity of design 
 through their lives and underlying the sympathy of 
 each, which imparted to Moyrah a comforting sense of 
 companionship, a sort of esprit de corps. She had a 
 feeling of being in one large family where all were 
 working together for the good of each other ; which in 
 her present isolation consoled her, as the poor wanderer 
 is consoled when all the family come out to meet him at 
 the cottage door, and pull him in between them until he 
 stands surrounded by them close to the kitchen fire: 
 each one expressing their joy at having him back, in 
 different tones, with a different manner ; and yet united 
 in the one overpowering feeling of pleasure at his being 
 amongst them again. 
 
 Moyrah was experiencing sharply just now the 
 vicissitudes of life's weather. So sharply that she 
 could fully appreciate the comfort of a shelter 'like 
 this. She felt that sense of full consolation, combined 
 with elevation, which comes over us when we are 
 listening to Mozart's Twelfth Mass. It is as if the 
 greatest musical genius who ever lived had seen the 
 human heart as much before his mind when he com- 
 posed his great work as that divine vision which is the 
 crown of all supreme musical imagination. At any 
 rate, he has united that vision and the human heart 
 as they have never been united before or since. He 
 has not tried to refute false musical ideas by wearisome 
 arguments, as some more recent classical composers 
 have ; but he has expelled them by substituting the 
 true ones. This was how Moyrah acted with the false 
 teachings which had lately fallen on her ears. 
 
 Some one had put a bunch of white water lilies at 
 the foot of the statue of the Blessed Virgin. Moyrah 
 smiled with pleasure as she saw it. While she was 
 looking at it, she saw a boy of four years old going 
 round the church putting a single water lily at the 
 
 u
 
 290 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 foot of each statue, and then looking up into the face 
 with confiding recognition, and giving a little smile and 
 nod as much as to say " are not you pleased at that, 
 now?" 
 
 It is improbable the flaxen curls shrouded any know- 
 ledge of botany, but perhaps some day their owner 
 would find out the significance of his act. Though in 
 the water lily the whorls are made up of a great number 
 of parts with complicated relations to each other, still 
 in no flower is the unity of design more conspicuous. 
 The final result being here, as in the lives of the 
 saints, the white blossom of innocence floating on 
 and beautifying the muddy water of the passions 
 and ambitions of ordinary lite. 
 
 When he had bestowed the last water lily, he hunted 
 on the floor for his cap, which had rolled away, and 
 which Moyrah eventually found for him ; then he 
 marched out of church, stump, stump, stump, with 
 his head erect, and somewhat the air Napoleon I. 
 must have assumed immediately after he had been 
 crowned emperor. 
 
 Moyrah thought of Tim, and with the vision of home 
 and all its sweet sanctities, the value of which she had 
 not realised when she lived amongst them, tears came 
 into her eyes. To day, she could not tell why, she felt 
 a strange presentiment of coming evil. As the shadows 
 deepened in the church this feeling gathered round her 
 heart with a darker and darker foreboding. When 
 something dreadful is going to happen to us, it seems 
 often as if the castastrophe was drawing its shadowy 
 outline in the air for hours beforehand. We do not 
 think of this at the time, but remember it afterwards. 
 
 When she came out of St. Koch, she found the air 
 in the street extraordinarily oppressive and sultry. 
 Paris, after a long, broiling, hot, dusty day, can be about 
 the most stufly and stifling place in Europe. Talk of 
 the breathed-out atmosphere of London in midsummer, 
 it is like the breezes of Exmoor compared to the air of
 
 The Silver Whistle. 291 
 
 Paris after one of those roasting days when the 
 asphalte is melting ; when everyone is pushing and 
 jostling on the shady side of the street, while only one 
 British tourist is to be seen striding along on the sunny 
 side, with his " Hare's Walks " under one arm, and his 
 field glasses slung at his back, filled with confidence in 
 his national integrity and indifierence to the violent 
 attentions of a sun distinctly not his national one. 
 
 The heaviness told upon Moyrah, and she walked 
 slowly with her head bent down, and a sense of strange 
 depression pulling her feet after her ; she did not know 
 why, but she felt more exhausted than after she had 
 been working hard, and walking for miles and miles 
 over the hills, or even over the bogs at home, in Ireland. 
 She felt lonely, too, dreadfully lonely. The bustle and 
 gaiety of the streets jarred on her. Had she been 
 walking over the graves of some dry-as-dust old 
 politicians, her nerves could not have been more oift ot 
 touch with her surroundings. It is this which forms the 
 kernel of all painful loneliness, for there is a loneliness 
 which is not painful. As she passed down one thronged 
 and fashionable boulevard, the crowd of gaily dressed 
 pleasure seekers increased her isolation. The jiggy 
 look of the women, the bold stare of the men, who 
 have but one recipe for manners in Paris, produced in 
 her a sensation of aloofness which, to a nature with keen 
 sympathies, was full of pain. 
 
 Every now and then she turned away from the people 
 towards the shops ; but some print met her eye with the 
 outline of the cloven hoof done in better drawing than 
 its artistic outline, or little red stucco statuette, heaping 
 ribald mockery on that religion which was the life of 
 her life. Then she crossed herself, looked down, and 
 walked on with a heart heavier than before, and a 
 yearning for the village at home. She felt, somehow or 
 other, as if the substance of things was leaving her, 
 and only shadows remained. Everything was getting 
 so unreal that she was obliged to be making perpetual 
 
 u2
 
 292 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 concessions to her reason, to make sure she was really 
 herself, really the old Moyrah she had known all her 
 life at all. 
 
 When she reached her apartment, she went very 
 slowly and quietly upstairs. She let herself in with a 
 key, lazily and so gently as not to make a sound, while 
 she raised her thick veil. To her amazement, as she 
 walked in she saw a man, not Lenoir, leaning over the 
 mysterious escritoire. The lid was thrown back and 
 the papers were disordered. The man had, apparently, 
 gone to sleep, for his arms were folded across the front 
 of the desk, his head, a very unkempt, untidy one, lay 
 on them, and he was snoring loudly. 
 
 Moyrah advanced on tip-toe and leaned over him ; as 
 she did so, the smell of brandy nearly poisoned her. 
 She persevered, however, and read the heading of a 
 paper which lay open before him. " Scheme of 
 Retribution," it was called ; as she proceeded, she grew 
 white with a death-like pallor. It was written in plain, 
 straightforward English, and she could understand 
 every word of it. It was neither more nor less than a 
 dynamite plot to blow up a meeting of royalists which 
 
 was to take place that very evening in the Rue 
 
 The names and addresses of the intended victims were 
 given in full. Moyrah read the names of two or three 
 French noblemen, who were unknown to her, when 
 suddenly she gave a slight exclamation and staggered 
 back a step, as if struck by a dagger. 
 
 In her quick movement, she unintentionally brushed 
 against the man ; and awakened, either by her cry or 
 her touch, he started to his feet. 
 
 But she was too quick for him, and had snatched the 
 paper up and retreated with it several steps towards the 
 window, before, in his half maudlin, half awake state, 
 he could get on to his, so to speak, " working feet." 
 As he stood up she saw, to her amazement, that it was 
 Bitty Tii. 
 
 With a howl of fury, like a maddened wild beast, he
 
 The Silver Whistle. 293 
 
 rushed towards her, his hand outstretched to catch the 
 paper. Like lightning Moyrah wheeled a table round 
 between her and him. In his hurry, he fell with his 
 body right across it, then rolled off on to the floor. 
 Moyrah stuffed the paper into her breast, and was 
 turning to leave the room, when he shouted out : ^' If 
 you peach, your husband will be guillotined ; he's at the 
 bottom of it all ! " 
 
 For an instant these words seemed to overcome her ; 
 she staggered as she tried to reach the door. Bitty Tit 
 saw his opportunity, bounded to his feet, and flew at 
 her, seizing her wrist with the fierceness of a tiger. 
 
 " This is the best way to close your cursed lips ! " and 
 he dragged a pistol out of his breast, and aimed it full 
 at her face. 
 
 But he had forgotten that his foe was a sturdy country 
 girl, with hands and arms strengthened by good, hard, 
 honest work, sometimes in the fields, sometimes at the 
 mangle, sometimes scrubbing the floor, sometimes 
 digging potatoes. In Africa the bold secretary bird 
 is complete master of the dreaded poisonous Snakes. 
 The buzzard makes short work of the common viper. 
 There are other things in Europe like Africa besides 
 the slave trade. 
 
 She seized his wrist in her other hand, wrenched the 
 deadly weapon from him, and put it into her own breast, 
 while she gave him a tremendous swing backwards. 
 
 He fell, his brain still half stupefied by the fumes of 
 brandy, and lay speechless and dizzy on the floor; having 
 knocked over and broken a table covered with little 
 ornaments in his descent. 
 
 In another moment she was in the open street, had 
 taken a fiacre, and was driving to the Gare St. Lazare. 
 She was just in the nick of time to catch a train going 
 to St. Cloud.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 I HE Vicomte de Laboulaye had a pleasantly 
 situated, but somewhat out of repair chateau, 
 built in a sheltered nook in the wooded range 
 of hills which inclose the valley of the Seine. The 
 chateau was situated more than two miles from the 
 station of St. Cloud. 
 
 The last rays of the setting sun were shining on the 
 bright clean outsides of the spick and span new houses, 
 raised since the conclusion of the late war, which left 
 the town a mere heap of ruins. The rays lit up the 
 now tottering but picturesque remains of the once 
 famous and magnificent palace of St. Cloud. 
 
 There it lay bathed in the rich crimson glow, which 
 wrapped it round in a blood red mantle as if it were the 
 corpse of an emperor on a battle field. 
 
 The bell of the modern romanesque church was 
 ringing for vespers. The Vicomte and his two guests 
 had been dining, and were now, in full evening dress, 
 walking up and down the terrace in front of his 
 chateau. There was a blrdseye view of Paris from the 
 terrace ; all the chief buildings could be distinguished, 
 crowned now with floods of sunset glory, until a. 
 romantic gazer might imagine the distant city was 
 about to ascend bodily into heaven ; though frank 
 criticism would oblige one of the initiated to confess it 
 was more likely to pursue the reverse course. 
 
 Presently the sun set a crimson ball in a sea of 
 fire; there seemed no limit to the tones of colour 
 represented in that evening sky 5 then a cold, grey mist
 
 The Silver Whistle, 295 
 
 came on for a few minutes ; and then, in her calm 
 beauty, the moon rose, and shed her beams over the 
 spires and domes of Paris, over the snake-like windings 
 of the Seine, over the rippling leaves of the old trees 
 round the chateau. 
 
 The Vicomte had, by this time, mastered the English 
 language thoroughly, and spoke it with remarkable 
 fluency. Nevertheless, the conversation was being 
 carried on in French. One of his guests was a 
 Frenchman, the other, an Englishman. 
 
 " Yes," he said 5 " it is one large society." He held his 
 cigarette between the extreme tops of his first and 
 second finger ; " it has its roots in Italy, but its 
 branches in every country." 
 
 " Yes," responded one of the other guests, " it is the 
 laboratory of the revolution." He sighed. 
 
 " France is certainly in the van ; yet how calm, how 
 peaceful it is out here," said one of the men. 
 
 " Because," said Laboulaye, " no socialistic scorpions 
 are allowed to wander out here and cock their tails 
 against their Creator, their family, and their kin^." 
 
 At that moment, they strolled off the terrace on to 
 the grass. After walking a short distance, they came 
 to an ant hill, the top of which Laboulaye kicked off 
 with his foot. They stood and watched the commotion 
 for some moments ; they saw the queen mother going 
 off into as speedy seclusion as under the circumstances 
 she could obtain, surrounded by her faithful body 
 guard. 
 
 '' Behold ! " said the Vicomte, " a monarchical coi;- 
 stitution, which has never changed since the Pleistocene, 
 and which is the best governed kingdom in the visible 
 universe." 
 
 His two guests, two men almost as young as himself, 
 laughed. After they had watched the ants for some 
 time, and seen one obstreperous one, Laboulaye said: 
 " An individual who supports Communism and 
 revolution in the state will be certain, sooner or later,
 
 296 The ISilver Whistle. 
 
 to have, perhaps, without his support, and against his 
 will, Communism and revolution in his own soul." 
 
 " True," said one of the guests, with a deep earnest- 
 ness, which encouraged Laboulaye to proceed. 
 
 " And a nation which encourages Communism is 
 certain to fall under the sword of the dictator, or the 
 dagger of the anarchist." He took his cigar out again, 
 and puffed a cloud of scented smoke away. 
 
 The Vicomte had deeper feelings than his manner or 
 the ordinary tone of his voice would have led an 
 acquaintance to suspect. Presently he spoke with 
 admiration of an old royalist friend of his, who had 
 attended the hospitals with great self-devotion when 
 they were filled with wounded rioters, at the time of the 
 insurrection of the " iVteliers Nationaux;" when, by 
 republicans, Paris was made to swim with the blood of 
 her republican sons, in the gentle month of June. He 
 spoke, with a shudder, of the typical republican 
 manners of the wounded insurgents. How they sprang 
 from their beds to bite their suffering fellow citizens, 
 and when reproved for this strange disregard of the 
 rules of propriety, flew at their nurses. He declared 
 that, had Cavaignac not promptly crushed the rebellion, 
 it would have ended in the destruction of the few 
 monuments of past greatness her children have left to 
 France. 
 
 " Les architectes mettront leur gloire a atteindre la 
 plus grande Elevation possibles, pyramides, filches des 
 cathedrales, tour de Washington, tour Eiffel; les 
 explorateurs a poser le pied sur les plus hauts sommets 
 des montagnes ; les aeronautes a monter au plus haut de 
 I'atmosphere." He paused, evidently somewhat moved. 
 
 " But the modern Parisian chooses for his object of 
 ambition, what?" exclaimed the Englishman, so carried 
 away by excitement as to burst out suddenly into his 
 own language. 
 
 " La chute au plus profond des abimes ! " exclaimed 
 Laboulaye, with deep emotion.
 
 The Silver Whistle 297 
 
 They were all impressed, and remained silent for 
 several minutes. Presently Laboulaye continued : 
 
 " The pivot on which republicanism turns is 
 destruction ; never creation." 
 
 " True," assented one of his friends. 
 
 " It seems strange," he added, meditatively, " that 
 Englishmen, who are so distinctly creative, should be 
 found at any time to admire it ; but I am bound to say 
 that when they come nearer, their admiration evaporates. 
 When Dr. Priestly sent his son, William, here, he said 
 in what, you will excuse my remarking, is the some- 
 what grandiose style common to the more learned 
 members of the English nation : '• Go, my son, to 
 that land of hospitality, and learn to detest tyranny." 
 The Vicomte paused, while his guests smiled. " When 
 the massacres of September took place, however, he 
 changed his tune, got into a fine fuss, and said if such 
 goings on were not stopped, there would be no hope 
 for liberty." 
 
 " While there is a single country left which upholds 
 monarchy, there will be hope for liberty," broke in 
 one of the other gentlemen, emphatically. 
 
 '' True, true, mon ami," assented Laboulaye, heartily. 
 
 After a moment's pause, during which all the three 
 young politicians seemed deep in thought, the Vicomte 
 continued : 
 
 '' Wordsworth came in 1791, brimful of enthusiasm, 
 like all poets " (the Vicomte was a bit of a poet him- 
 self). " The massacres turned his admiration into 
 loathing. For years he dreamt he was pleading for 
 his life before that pocket edition of the devil and the 
 demagogue — synonymous terms — Maillard." 
 
 The two gentlemen smiled, looked at each other and 
 smiled again. 
 
 The Vicomte w^as just a little bit fond of airing his 
 learning. 
 
 '' Sir John Stanley, of Alderley, bitten like so many 
 Englishmen of 1790 with the hydrophobia of repub-
 
 298 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 licanism, was quickly cured when he came to Paris, 
 and the Pasteur of that day inoculated him with the 
 genuine disease in its full malignancy. This opened 
 the eyes of all Englishmen and of some Irishmen. 
 Even le Monsieur Daniel O'Connell was so ' boulverse' 
 at what he saw at St. Omer and Douai that he became 
 for the time a strong Tory." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " exclaimed one of the gentlemen. 
 *' I never knew that before ! " 
 
 '' I have read it," affirmed the Vicomte, nodding. 
 He was a great reader, and if missing, was usually to 
 be found concealed in the boughs of a tree with a book. 
 
 '' Well," exclaimed his friend, " he went afterwards 
 and straightway forgot what manner of man he was." 
 
 Again there were several moments of silent thought 
 while the three young men puffed at their cigars and, 
 with knitted brows, stared absently at the plants in the 
 garden. 
 
 Presently Laboulaye spoke again. " After all," he 
 said, " the revolutionists, at their best, are like Mofind 
 Mendes, the mad-cap shepherdess, in Gil Vicente's 
 Christmas auto. They say the revolution is their 
 god, and they are its mother." 
 
 The other two young men smiled. 
 
 The Vicomte, without being in any degree a genius, 
 had a quaint, it might be said, almost grotesque, way 
 of putting things which made him an entertaining 
 companion. 
 
 So they strolled on, talking with that strange mixtui'e 
 of depth and flippancy which distinguishes almost all 
 interesting French conversationalists ; men, perhaps, 
 more than women, for the latter have the flippancy 
 without the depth.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 'iTOYRAH hired a fiacre when she reached St. 
 Cloud, and implored the coclier to drive very 
 quick. He said he would^ but he did not ;. 
 and she was almost beside herself with impatience as 
 they crawled along like an undecided elector tardily 
 creeping to the poll. When, at length, they reached 
 the gilt, child's toy looking lodge gate, she jumped out 
 and asked the cocher to wait for her ; but he refused 
 point blank. He said his horse was dead tired, and he 
 was going home as fast as he could. 
 
 Remonstrance was useless, so Moyrah resigned her- 
 self to her fate ; she must only walk back she supposerl. 
 
 With trembling hands she opened the smart gate, 
 let herself in, and walked rapidly up the short, thickly 
 gravelled avenue. 
 
 By this time, on the terrace in front of the chateau 
 (the lodge gate and hall door were at the back) the 
 young royalists' conversation had become intensely 
 earnest. The Vicomte was giving an account of a 
 terrible death bed scene which had once taken place 
 in the very chateau under whose walls they were then 
 walking. How the members of a secret society col- 
 lected round the bed, and prevented the invalid from 
 seeing a priest. The young Vicomte, a devout Catholic, 
 grew pale as he described it. The dead man's ghost 
 haunted the chateau, and, it seemed, preferred prome- 
 nading on summer to winter nights. In that he showed 
 the taste for which his nation is famous. 
 
 "It is just such a night as this he walks," he said,
 
 300 The Silver WJdstle. 
 
 scarcely above a whisper, looking round from side to 
 side. The night wind rustled through the leaves which 
 were hanging close to them. Then came a ghostly- 
 stillness. 
 
 At that moment a tall footman in livery, brilliant with 
 gold lace, bowed before his master. 
 
 " A lady wishes to speak to monsieur in the portico." 
 
 He started. 
 
 " Pray ask her to walk in," he exclaimed. " Take her 
 into the salon ; I'll come at once." 
 
 Apologising to his guests for leaving them, he hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Let us hope it is not a ghost," they said. 
 
 He was absent about five minutes. 
 
 During that time the Vicomte's carriage drove up to 
 the door. It was to convey them to an express train to 
 Paris, which was to take them in time for an important 
 meeting in the Rue 
 
 The footman hurried round from the front door to the 
 terrace at the back of the house to inform them that 
 the coachman said there was not an instant to lose, as 
 they had barely time to catch the train as it was. 
 
 At that moment the Vicomte returned accompanied 
 by a lady. 
 
 In an instant she was standing face to face with the 
 two guests. One of them gave a loud exclamation and 
 turned deadly pale, while he started back a step. 
 
 ^' Moyrah ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " The Lorrud save ye, Mr. Sydney." 
 
 " Moyrah ! " he repeated. 
 
 " 'Tis me, indade, yer honour," she said, with the 
 pretty little curtsey which was so linked in his mind 
 with the Blue House. 
 
 From being deadly pale, Sydney's face got crimson, 
 then paler than ever again. 
 
 The Vicomte looked from one to the other. 
 
 Moyrah's fashionable attire was somewhat dis- 
 arranged, her lovely face was full of the most
 
 The Silver Whistle. 301 
 
 earnest purpose, her deep, dark, violet eyes were 
 fixed on Sydney with a look of intense interest. 
 
 Sydney was trembling like a girl, and apparently 
 unable to speak. What did it all mean ? 
 
 But she did not leave them long in doubt. Speaking 
 with a calmness and self control which, considering her 
 Celtic blood, and wild bringing up, did her credit, she 
 said : '' Ye are goin' to a meetin' to-night, yer honour, 
 in the Rue Numero ? 
 
 " Yes, we are," said the Vicomte, starting forward 
 quickly. '' What of that?" 
 
 "Ye must not go," she exclaimed with tlie most 
 strange and passionate eagerness. 
 
 " Not go ! " echoed all the three gentlemen. 
 
 " No ! " and there was something in her tone which 
 startled them. 
 
 '' But why ? " exclaimed Laboulaye, looking amazed 
 and puzzled, his fair eyebrows almost dissappearing 
 under his opera hat. 
 
 " I cannot tell ye why," she said, getting crimson, 
 ^' but ye must not." 
 
 " Impossible, madame," said Laboulaye, who had seen 
 the wedding ring on her gloveless and trembling hand. 
 " We are absolutely bound to go ; our presence is of the 
 utmost importance, especially that of Monsieur Sydney j 
 the whole meeting is expecting him." 
 
 At that moment the footman re-appeared with a 
 pressing request from the coachman that they would 
 come at once. 
 
 " O, Mr. Sydney, for the love o' God," and she 
 clasped her hands and advanced towards him, " don't 
 go." 
 
 Once more those soft eyes, as they seemed to pierce 
 him, struck the key note which made the deepest 
 passions of his soul reverberate. 
 
 " But," he said in a tone of terrible agitation. 
 " Moyrah, tell us why. What is your reason'? " 
 
 "O, God help us all, but I can't, I can't!" she
 
 302 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 answered, in a tone of fearful agony, while she pressed 
 lier hand across her brow as if distracted. 
 
 For an instant the thought flashed through Sydney's 
 mind that trouble had temporarily upset her reason. 
 From that moment his determination to go was taken. 
 
 " Moyrah," he said, gently, and with great tenderness 
 and reverence, taking her hands in both of his. " The 
 lieat of the weather has been too much for you, you will 
 get better presently. You must give me your address, 
 and I will come and see you early to-morrow morning. 
 Now you must try to be calm ; there is a place in the 
 carriage, we will take you with us to the station and 
 see you safe into Paris. 
 
 All this time they had been walking slowly across the 
 hall lobby and vestibule towards the hall door. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the footman, meeting them, "the 
 coachman says it will be as much as ever he can do to 
 catch the train now." 
 
 " And if we miss this, there is not another for two 
 hours," said Laboulaye ; "the meeting will be over." 
 
 They had reached the hall door and stepped out on to 
 the gravelly front into the moonlight, under the waving 
 trees. The carriage was a one-horse brougham, with 
 an apology for four places inside. 
 
 "I am not ill, yer honour. But ye must not go; 
 ye shall not go ! " and she drew her hands from out of 
 Sydney's and clasped both his wrists tightly. 
 
 Suddenly, as the horse heard the sound of her voice, 
 he turned his head and gave a wild neigh of delight. 
 
 " Emmett ! " shrieked Moyrah, startling the whole 
 party as she rushed forward to greet her lost idol. 
 
 It was, indeed, Emmett. The fact was, there was to 
 be a horse show in Paris, and so proud was Sydney of 
 his purchase that he had determined to bring him over 
 and exhibit him. 
 
 Now, the Vicomte, at that moment, had only one 
 horse. He had been taken ill this morning, therefore 
 Sydney's permission had been asked to allow Emmett
 
 The Silver Whistle. 303 
 
 to be harnessed to the brougham to take them to the 
 station that evening. 
 
 Sydney had, however, intended to drive himself, for 
 he had no notion of trusting Emmett's mouth to the 
 pulling and dragging of a Parisian Jehu. 
 
 " It is Emmett, Moyrah," said Sydney, with the 
 deepest tenderness. " They had fired the stable and 
 threatened his life again, and 1 bought him from your 
 father there and then. He was harnessed to the carriage 
 to-night because the only other horse in the place is too 
 ill to go." 
 
 Moyrah kissed the horse's face again and again, and 
 stroked it with passionate affection ; while the coachman 
 stared until his eyes seemed starting out of his head. 
 
 ^ Come, AUons. Will you step in madame ? We 
 really cannot wait another moment, ' and Laboulaye 
 held the door open, and put out his hand to assist 
 Moyrah, amazement giving place to extreme impatience 
 in his voice and manner. 
 
 " No, No ! " she answered, the look of wild agony 
 coming over her face again as she recollected tlfe 
 position they were in. " You must not, shall not go." 
 She left Emmett quickly, and came close to Sydney. 
 
 "Impossible, madame; we must go, and go this very 
 moment, too." Laboulaye held out his hand. " Pray 
 allow me to hand you in, otherwise we must go without 
 jou." 
 
 With an exclamation of heartrending anguish, she 
 flung herself on her knees before Sydney, and clasped 
 his ankles with her arms until they were held so tightly 
 that he could not move. 
 
 " 0, Misthur Sydney, for the love o' God don't go. 
 See ; I'll hold ye an' ye can't." 
 
 " Quick, send for the housekeeper," said Laboulaye 
 to the footman. We must put her under her care until 
 we return. Quick, quick ! " and he waved his hand 
 impatiently. 
 
 Sydney bent down, and with the superior strength of
 
 304 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 his masculine muscles, by sheer force, unwound her 
 arms and raised her up. 
 
 " Moyrah," he said, with a veneration such as he 
 might have used to his mother, united to a tenderness 
 which made her tremble, while he looked intently into 
 her deep dark eyes, " you know what," he paused, 
 emotion choked his voice for a moment, '' what duty 
 means, for you have done yours nobly all your life; 
 why, then, try to prevent us from doing ours? We 
 have promised to be at this meeting ; we are bound by 
 every rule of honour and duty to go. Under such 
 circumstances, you would be the first to go yourself, 
 would you not ? Tell me, Moyrah ; would you not? " 
 and he looked intently into her eyes. 
 
 At that moment, the housekeeper, a tall stout person, 
 evidently of great bodily strength, appeared, and seemed 
 inclined to advance towards Moyrah and take her away 
 by sheer force. 
 
 With the extraordinarily quick intuition of her race, 
 Moyrah felt they looked on her as mad. She saw 
 that in another moment she would have her arms 
 pinioned and be held down by the might of the 
 strongest. 
 
 There was one awful moment of dead stilhiess, as 
 there so often is before something terrible happens; 
 then a low, soft whistle was heard, the sound of the 
 silver whistle. 
 
 Emmett turned his kingly head and fixed his loving 
 eyes full upon his mistress, as much as so say, " I know 
 it well. Blessed am I to hear it again ! " 
 
 Sydney started, as he saw the moonshine flash upon 
 some bright instrument Moyrah had dragged from her 
 bosom ; but in an instant, a more brilliant flash, and 
 this time from no celestial orb, dazzled him. A sharp, 
 cracking report whizzed through the evening air ; 
 followed, or it seemed accompanied by a terrific piercing 
 neigh, or rather shriek from Emmett. He reared bolt 
 upright for an instant, pawed the air wildly with his
 
 The Silver Whistle, 305 
 
 tront legs, as if he did not know what he was doing ; 
 then, with an appalling crash fell over on his side, 
 smashing the shafts to atoms, overturning the carriage, 
 and entirely shattering the glass windows. 
 
 When first Emmett reared, the valiant Jehu had 
 incontinently flung the reins to the wind, sprung off the 
 box, giving the whole concern a wide berth, and so 
 saved himself from a scratch 
 
 Emmett gave a few gasping, sob-like snorts, a few 
 feeble struggles with his poor fore legs, and then all was 
 still.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ffOYRAH fell back senseless into the arms of 
 |^|J[ the old housekeeper, who was advancing to 
 take her bj force alive. 
 
 As soon as Sydney could collect himself after the 
 fearful shock, he went towards the housekeeper, and 
 taking her burden from her, carried the lithe, graceful 
 figure, now apparently dead, into the library of the 
 chMeau, which stood immediately on the left of the 
 hall door. He chose a soft-looking blue velvet sofa 
 for its resting place. As he laid her down, he leaned 
 his head over her heart and heard that it was beating. 
 
 The Vicomte, looking terrified out of his senses, 
 went in and stared at her, and so did the other gentle- 
 man. Monsieur Lupin. 
 
 Sydney called for sal volatile, eau de Cologne, and 
 cold water, and the housekeeper fetched them as fast 
 as she could ; but nothing seemed to have the slightest 
 effect on her, though Sydney could tell she was still 
 alive, because her heart was beating, and there was a 
 vapour on the pocket mirror he held before her mouth. 
 As he knelt by the sofa chafing her cold hands and 
 bathing her forehead with eau de Cologne, he kept 
 muttering : " What villainy has that fiend been up to 
 by which he has unhinged her reason ? Demon ! 
 Scoundrel ! Would the shot had gone through his 
 head ! " 
 
 An hour passed away and Moyrah had not recovered. 
 In the meantime the Vicomte had sent for a celebrated 
 doctor, who kept a small private maison de sante about
 
 The Silver Whistle, 307 
 
 a mile and a half from the chateau. He arrived ; 
 said Moyrah was well and healthy, and would soon 
 recover her senses. He took out some strong medicine 
 he had with him and poured It down her mouth. Almost 
 directly afterwards she regained consciousness, sat up 
 and looked about in a bewildered manner. 
 
 " Where am T?" she asked, looking round in a dazed 
 way, as she laid the palm of her hand across her 
 forehead. 
 
 " You are amongst friends, Moyrah, avourneen," said 
 Sydney, using the Irish word to try and give her a 
 home-like feeling. The sound of it stirred some strange, 
 or, rather, some familiar chord in her heart, and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Don't fret, Moyrah ; you are amongst friends, and 
 the truest, though the most unworthy you have, is 
 kneeling at your side." 
 
 " You must take her home to your house, doctor, 
 as soon as ever you think she can walk. I fear it is 
 a hopeless case," said the Vicomte, in a confidenfial 
 whisper. He was dying to get her out of the house, 
 not knowing who or what she might shoot next. 
 
 " My good madame, pray be composed," said the 
 doctor, who was a polished blade ; '' there is nothing 
 which so impairs the beauty of youth as immoderate 
 weeping," he added, with true French instinct as to 
 the logic best calculated to affect the female brain. It 
 had not, however, the slightest influence on Moyrah ; 
 in fact, she neither heard nor heeded it. 
 
 " I fear it is a hopeless case," repeated the nervous 
 young Vicomte. '' I implore of you to get her away, 
 my good sir, as quickly as ever you can," he added, in 
 a whisper so loud as to be very " stage " indeed. 
 
 " Bien, monsieur, bien," said the doctor, a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 *' Madame," said the doctor, gracefully bowing to his 
 fair patient, " those charms which must fascinate all 
 hearts will be completely effaced if you continue to 
 
 x2
 
 308 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 weep thus." He approached and took her hand. 
 " Compose yourself, my dear madame, and all will be 
 well. You are about to accompany me to my house." 
 
 " Sir! " she said, looking hard at him, and then at 
 Sydney. 
 
 Sydney trembled as her eyes rested on him. There 
 was something so perfectly sane in the quiet dignity of 
 her manner, that he felt a reasonable excuse must be 
 given to her. 
 
 She drew her hand away from the doctor, and came 
 close to Sydney, as if for protection. 
 
 " Moyrah," he said, with a deep, extraordinary 
 tenderness in his voice, which contrasted strangely with 
 the flippant tones of the doctor, " I will go with you 
 and see that you are made comfortable." 
 • ' " Consider, madame," said the doctor, " there are no 
 ladies in this house ; only three young bachelors." 
 
 " Mais oui ! " exclaimed the Vicomte, in enchantment^ 
 catching quickly at the idea. " It is true, madame, you 
 are as safe here as in the palace of a king ; but you 
 must consider what the Parisian world would say. We 
 have our reputations to maintain, madame; mine ha& 
 ever stood high amongst the party to which I have the 
 honour to belong ; the drapeau blanc has more than one 
 meaning for its followers," and he bowed towards 
 Moyrah, while he rubbed his hands, too exuberantly 
 pleased for any disguise of politeness to conceal his 
 
 A painfully brilliant blush came over Moyrah's face 
 and neck. She looked down and stood quite still and 
 silent ; but Sydney could hear the beating of her 
 heart. She clasped her hands tightly together in front 
 of her ; so tightly, that Sydney felt certain she must be 
 causing herself great pain ; but then, mercifully, mad 
 people did not suffer physically to the same extent as 
 sane ones, he recollected. 
 
 He laid his hand on her arm, and with his head 
 slightly thrown back, glanced indignantly from the
 
 The Silver Whistle, 309 
 
 doctor to Laboulaye. There was something in his eyes 
 they did not care to meet, and gladly turned their own 
 in another direction. 
 
 At that moment, there was a sharp ring at the hall 
 door. They all started ; started almost like guilty- 
 people disturbed in some crime. 
 
 Immediately afterwards a footman appeared with a 
 telegram, which he handed to Laboulaye. He tore it 
 open with a trembling hand, and flung the envelope on 
 the floor. It was of an oflicial nature, and of that 
 charmingly useful character which usually distinguishes 
 official communications. 
 
 ^' Do not go to meeting ; there has been a dynamite 
 explosion ; all present wounded." 
 
 Laboulaye let the paper drop from his hand, and sank 
 on to a blue velvet chair, while his knees knocked 
 together, his teeth chattered, and a cold perspiration 
 stood out on his forehead. 
 
 The doctor picked it up and read it out in a loud 
 voice. 
 
 Had the explosion occurred in that room it ceuld 
 scarcely have produced a greater eflect. Monsieur 
 Lupin fell back against a table with a terrible 
 exclamation. The doctor's eyes grew rounder and more 
 like doll's saucers every moment. 
 
 The housekeeper shrieked four or five times, and fell 
 back on to the sofa, with her arms flung wide, like the 
 sails of a windmill, at each side. 
 
 Moyrah's and Sydney's eyes met in one long, silent 
 look 
 
 To Sydney, the recollection of that look made the 
 darkness of his future life more beautiful than the 
 brightest light of his past. It was like the ancyle, or 
 shield, which fell from heaven in the reign of Numa 
 Pompilius. It shielded him from those foes within the 
 fortress which we all have to fight. The voice that 
 spoke in it did not, indeed, say: " Rome shall be mistress 
 of the world ; " but it gave him strength to become for
 
 310 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 ever master of that, to him, far greater world, his own 
 heart. 
 
 The first person to speak was Laboulaye. He rose, 
 and advancing towards Moyrah, said, with the utmost 
 courtesy : " Madame, I fear 1 must have seemed impolite 
 to you ; pardon me. We owe to you, madame, our 
 lives," he paused in visible agitation. '' It is impossible 
 for us ever to repay you, madame ; quite impossible ; 
 perfectly impossible ! But if there is anything in the 
 world I can do for you, or give to you, you have but to 
 command me." He stopped again for a moment, over- 
 come. " Always, at all times, madame, I shall be 
 entirely bound to you." He bowed very low. 
 
 He ordered the grandest room in the house to be 
 prepared for her, one which had not been used since 
 the uncrowned King of France had slept there. All 
 his prejudices in favour of his own reputation vanished 
 like the evening mist. 
 
 The idea of her, to whom they all owed their lives, 
 going off with a " mad " doctor to a lunatic asylum was 
 not to be thought of for a moment. Every Frenchman 
 has a perfect horror of even the mention of a maison 
 de sante. 
 
 The doctor was very much thanked, and dismissed 
 with a magnificent fee from Sydney. 
 
 The transformed host ordered up supper in the salle 
 h manger^ and sent for the best wines his cellars 
 contained, to do honour to Moyrah. But she would 
 not touch them ; indeed, no one seemed inclined to eat 
 much. 
 
 Moyrah sat silent, deadly pale, with a tremble on her 
 lip, and a soft dew welling up into her eyes, the sight 
 of which cut into Sydney's heart like the stab of a 
 dagger. He was also silent, and sipped his wine as if 
 in a dream. 
 
 Soon, the Vicomte. perceiving that Moyrah was eating 
 nothing, and was silent from the force of a strong will 
 keeping down her emotion, asked her, with great
 
 The Silver Whistle, 311 
 
 courtesy, if she would like to retire ; and upon her 
 giving a pleased assent, ordered the housekeeper to 
 come at once and accompany her to her room. Rising 
 himself, he, with the greatest deference, conducted her 
 to the door, and again thanked her with the most 
 profuse and sincere gratitude. 
 
 Once alone in the magnificent apartment devoted to 
 her, Moyrah threw herself on her knees and sobbed in 
 the most terrible manner, as if all the foundations of 
 her nature were giving way. 
 
 For a whole hour she sobbed on, until at last, worn 
 out with the fearful excitement, the awful scenes, the 
 terrible disclosures she had gone through, she actually 
 fell asleep, still sobbing. Gradually she sank on to the 
 floor, and there she lay all night.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 fT was a strange scene the early morning sun broke 
 in upon through the slits in the jalousies. The 
 — walls of the room were padded with blue satin on 
 which was embossed elaborate Jleurs-de-lys ; the chairs 
 of the same ; the curtains of the bed of the same ; the 
 material being so thick that it stood out almost like a 
 metal, gathered up finally into a gold crown at the top, 
 representing the crown of France. Girandoles and 
 mirrors were arranged about everywhere, and reflected 
 couches, easy chairs, and little velvet tables innumerable. 
 There were two small pictures let into the wall ; one 
 was of Saint Louis, King of France; the other, of 
 Marie Antoinette. The housekeeper had filled a vase 
 full of white lilies, and put it on the dressing table, and 
 another on a little bracket under the picture of the 
 queen. 
 
 In the midst of this gorgeous setting lay Moyrah, 
 full length on the rich carpet of blue pile, her arm under 
 her head, her brown hair tossed off her forehead, her 
 long, dark, silky lashes resting on a cheek whiter than 
 the whitest of the lily flowers. 
 
 The calm face of the martyred queen smiled down 
 upon her; one of the first victims to that storm of 
 revolution, the waves of which were now buffeting 
 her. 
 
 In consequence of the great heat of the day, the 
 housekeeper, when prepainng the room the night before, 
 had left a bit of the window, which opened down the 
 middle, open. The songs of the birds, and the gentle
 
 The Silver Whistle, 313 
 
 waving of the boughs in the fresh morning breeze, came 
 in, making a music which appealed to all the most 
 secret and loveliest faculties of our nature. The 
 air seemed full of pensive, pathetic stories, mingling 
 weeping and smiles in some of the sweetest melodies of 
 thought imagination can suggest. The thrush's song 
 united with the deep coos of the wood pigeon and the 
 distant humming of the bees. There was the smell of 
 countless flowers from the garden. All external nature 
 under its present aspect in and around that royalist 
 home seemed to trace that golden path of life which lies 
 before all who will tread it, and leads to a crown no 
 revolution can shatter. Yes ; the air was rich with the 
 scent of the \Wu\g fleurs-de-lys adorning the beds in the 
 old-fashioned garden of the chateau under the window ; 
 and so the spiritual air was rich with the living — living 
 with a higher life — fleurs-de-lys of innocence and 
 holiness, kept through all trials, which adorned the 
 beautiful, but, in these days, distinctly old-fashioned 
 garden of Moyrah's soul. 
 
 The sun was rising in such splendours of gold jind 
 crimson that the dyes upon the sky could scarcely be 
 called colours, but were like a sheet of flame. Each 
 leaf upon the grand old trees was like an Irish diamond 
 cut with many facings, flashing its crowd of colours 
 towards the room v/here Moyrah was sleeping. 
 
 On the long beams of the morning sun, down the 
 pathway of ages, there seemed to come in triumphant 
 procession all the noble spirits who made France so 
 beautiful and glorious in the days gone by ; made her 
 the chosen home of chivalry, the garden of romance, 
 when she had a few other beliefs besides the one that 
 everybody is betraying her. St. TiOuis, Bernard of 
 Clairvaux, Charlemagne, Joan of Arc, Godfrev de 
 Bouillon, St. Regimus of Rheims, Clodowald, son of 
 Chlodomir, the goldsmith, St. Eloi, minister to Dagobert, 
 Louis VII. and his wife Eleanor, who both took the 
 cross for the crusades, Anne of France, married to
 
 314 The Silver- Whistle, 
 
 Pierre de Beauju, of whom Louis said : '' She is the 
 least silly woman I know, for of wise women there are 
 none," St. Denis, St. Roch, St. Hubert, St. Cloud him- 
 self, and many thousands more. 
 
 On they came in unswerving ranks, just as they 
 marched on earth. Here was no malicious hatred of all 
 that was above them, no ghoulish delight in exhuming 
 the crimes of heathendom, and forcing them down the 
 throats of Christians, no envenomed trampling on the 
 rights of others. Here there was no imitation of 
 Limulus, the Molucca crab, which progesses back- 
 wards at such a rate as to astonish all beholders. 
 Here were no fierce unbridled hatreds, no vindictive 
 jealousy of all that is better than self, no deification of 
 all that destroys the deepest sanctities of life. There 
 were countless great men in this glorious throng taken 
 from all ranks of life, many from the official classes, but 
 there was no juge cf instruction to teach the young idea 
 that virtue is an emigre^ who has been banished because 
 she carried a slip knot in her hand with which she 
 throttled progress. Nothing to bring before the mind 
 an image of the modern condition of the town in whose 
 suburbs Moyrah was lying, and which had once been 
 the glorious capital of their glorious country. 
 
 Here all was calm, peaceful, just, and yet brilliantly 
 pure and beautiful, like the exquisite crystallized 
 octaedrite found so richly in veins in Dauphiny, and 
 which formed the vase holding the lilies under the 
 picture of Marie Antoinette. 
 
 They held swords in their hands which were twined 
 with laurels. On they came, many of them in royal robes 
 and with kingly crowns upon their heads, representing 
 that true principle of monarchy on whose pattern the 
 church in heaven and the church on earth is founded. 
 
 As each majestic form passed Moyrah's girlish figure 
 in that haunted room they bent their heads, recognising 
 in her a friend and ally, one who was fighting on the 
 same side of the battle field of life as that on which
 
 The Silver Whistle. 315 
 
 their swords had waved when here below. A descendant 
 worthy of the name. 
 
 And so they left her and passed on and away to that 
 unfading palace of the king, the road to which she was 
 so bravely treading. They left her still sleeping, but 
 with a flush of returning happiness and peace on that 
 soft cheek, which had been all night as white as a lily, 
 and the lines of sorrow round her mouth smoothed 
 away. 
 
 At six o'clock she awoke ; she had been used to get 
 up at four at the Blue House. She awoke from the 
 repose, not of recruited, but of exhausted nature. At 
 first, she stared round her in a dazed, bewildered way ; 
 then she made her habitual sign of the cross, which she 
 always made on waking, and even while her eyes 
 became dazzled by the regal splendours round her, 
 remembered, as she always did the first thing in the 
 morning, that she was in the presence of the King of 
 Kings. She used visible things, not to hide, but 
 to remind her of things invisible. She laid quite still 
 for some time, staring at the marvels of sumptuousness 
 which surrounded her on every side ; she had never been 
 in a room the least like this before and felt awed. 
 
 But soon terrible thoughts and recollections came 
 back to her mind, and tears rushed up to her eyes. 
 V\ aking to sorrow on a bright summer morning is like 
 a skeleton sitting at a wedding breakfast. As she lay 
 there, she formed her resolution ; she sat up, took a 
 pencil and a bit of paper out of her pocket, and wrote a 
 few lines to Sydney. 
 
 She begged him to thank the Vicomte for his great 
 kindness to her, and she said she had gone away so 
 early, and without saying good bye, because she had 
 been obliged to for reasons which she could not at that 
 moment explain. She begged Sydney and the Vicomte 
 to forgive her. 
 
 She folded up this little note, and having arranged 
 her dress to a certain extent, she stole softly on her tip-
 
 316 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 toes down stairs, laid the note on the table in the centre 
 vestibule, then tried the hall door. It had been opened, 
 some of the under servants were up and about ; but she 
 did not meet any. 
 
 Once out in the open air she walked quickly. She 
 let herself out at the gilded gates as she had let herself 
 in the night before. She had an admirable memory for 
 locality, fortunately, and, with the assistance of a few 
 questions, easily found her way to the gave. 
 
 But she was tired with the long walk, fasting, and her 
 head ached badly by the time she reached her apartment 
 in Paris. There she washed and dressed herself, took 
 a cup of coffee and a roll, replenished her coffers, and 
 started for the gare. Once in the train, obliged to 
 sit still, and unable to stifle reflection by exertion, her 
 mind wandered to the pedestrian journey she had taken 
 to save Cormac from his burning house ; and then came 
 a vision of her girlhood. Old thoughts, old feelings 
 came over her. Those characters w^hich are woven of 
 the finest web are the most natural, that is, the most 
 like nature. Season after season nature ushers the 
 same daisies and roses on the scene. She says the same 
 thing in the note of the wood pigeon ; the rustling of 
 the breeze in the young mountain ash leaves ; and so 
 the noblest natures are most fond of passing and 
 re-passing through the best feelings of their youth. 
 
 Packed into that stifling railway carriage, filled as 
 full as it would hold, and with both the windows tight 
 shut, after the fashion of French carriages going south, 
 Moyrah stared absently at the flat level of country and 
 the tall poplar trees which shot in the window and out 
 again. The other passengers were occupied fighting 
 about politics, or eating and drinking. Almost unknown 
 to herself she sank into a reverie. She saw again the 
 Blue House, her father and mother, Eileen and the 
 boys. She recalled their pranks and jokes, and merry 
 laughter; then she compared her life there with her 
 present existence. Though to a certain extent un-
 
 The Silver Whistle. 317 
 
 cultured, her mind was reflective and capable of 
 indefinite expansion under proper training. It was 
 a plant which would well have repaid care and 
 attention ; now, though terribly restless and feverish, 
 some of the loveliest flowers blossomed in it, in the 
 shape of ideas of patience and self-devotion towards 
 the husband whose real character was beginning to 
 dawn upon her. 
 
 It is thought an odd thing (though why it should be 
 thought so is the really odd thing ; only that everything 
 nature does is thought odd by some minds) that there 
 should be one genus of plants, the Aristolochia, which 
 is as widely distributed as the poisonous snake whose 
 bite it heals. 
 
 Under the form of what, to her, was an angel of light, 
 the snake of Communism had bitten Moyrah, and tried 
 to kill her soul ; but she had quickly found the true 
 Aristolochia. Those plants of the heart which are as 
 widely spread as true womanhood, had provided an 
 antidote ready to hand ; an antidote which, in her Irish 
 soul, had lost none of its power, and which made* the 
 poison of the most malignant viper as contemptible as 
 an earwig's pinch. 
 
 Patience, at least, she could have. What an insig- 
 nificant place moralists appoint to patience ; but the 
 authors of the new translation of the Bible have given 
 a striking version, and one which raises patience to a 
 kingly throne. " In patience ye shall win your souls.'^ 
 In the battle for our salvation it is, then, what the sword 
 is in a light cavalry charge. It is remarkable, too, that 
 Goethe, who knew a good deal of the external relative 
 value of virtues (and often virtues are most correctly 
 judged of from the outside) gives patience a position of 
 supreme importance. When Mephistopheles is mocking 
 Faust, until he maddens him, Faust curses everything 
 holy ; but he curses patience with a fury greater than 
 that with which he curses faith or hope. 
 
 Moyrah had never thought much about patience ;
 
 318 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 Irish natures as a rule do not. But it was a flower she 
 would cultivate. Flowering is always accompanied by 
 an evolution of heat considerably over the normal 
 temperature of the plant ; and the very fever of her 
 pain may have brought those flowers to light. The 
 lessons of unselfishness she had learned, as she knelt by 
 her father in the little chapel, were, no doubt, the parent 
 stock from which the blossoms sprang; but, still they 
 required the suflerings of the present hour to bring them 
 to perfection. 
 
 As the train rattled on, and the sun rose higher and 
 higher in the sky, the heat became overpowering. 
 Moyrah was obliged to put up her thick veil, or it 
 would have been a case of suflbcation. 
 
 For a moment the enchanting excitement of political 
 squabbling was forgotten, and that prodigy witnessed, a 
 carriage full of silent Frenchmen. After staring for 
 some time, however, and giving one or two low whistles, 
 they soon began to fight again. Fight, fight, fight in 
 words, the whole employment of the modern descendants 
 of Bayard, Charlemagne, King Louis, and many 
 thousands like them fight, fight, fight about every- 
 thing natural and un-natural ; while the only intercourse 
 with the supernatural they appear to have is like what 
 Balaam had when taking his ride.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 OWEVER enigmatical the complicated problem 
 of a man's mind may be, even to himself, and 
 
 ■^^ much more to a woman, this much is certain : 
 that he has in it depths of power and heights of majesty, 
 a capability of conceiving glorious visions, of putting 
 into practice noble dreams and high purposes, such as 
 no woman's mind can ever approach to, or even guess 
 at. It is useless for women to deny, or to grumble and 
 be cross at this. No amount of wounded vanity or 
 spiteful words will alter facts ; it is an ordinance of 
 nature. They might as well expect to make the half- 
 penny dip they carry about the house turn suddenly 
 into the sun by nagging at the sun, as to make their 
 little, but, nevertheless, useful, as far as they go, intellects 
 turn into the mighty minds which have produced the 
 greatest works the world has ever seen. Within 
 themselves, men are constantly surrounded by a 
 splendid pageant of imagery, which, if it leaves them 
 for a time, when engaged in business, etc., they can 
 whistle back in a moment. 
 
 This, perhaps, is what separates them most from 
 women, and makes the simile of the sun and a half- 
 penny dip not an exaggerated one. For, of this 
 imagery women know nothing, except what they read 
 in the poetry of men, or in what often seems to be their 
 almost divinely inspired poetic prose. It is disagree- 
 able for women to have to own this ; but there is no use 
 in running your head against a stone wall; contradicting 
 a fact will not alter it.
 
 320 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 Every man at his outset into life, has a beautiful 
 building-, a temple, in his heart. In those earliest days, 
 his happiest times are when he can go out for a long 
 dreamy walk or ride in lovely scenery, alone ; then he 
 enters by himself into this temple, and explores its 
 wonders. It is like the Taj Mahal at Agra. 
 
 To bring it a little before those carping, criticising 
 women-puffers and men-condemners, who are trying to 
 give an object lesson to society by proving white is 
 black in the present day, I would like to describe the 
 Taj Mahal. I will do so by a quotation from one of the 
 most brilliant writers of our time, whose words will 
 portray it more graphically than any language I can 
 command. 
 
 " 1 had recently been in India, where my eye had 
 been educated, and my taste chastened by wrapt 
 contemplation of the fairest masterpiece fashioned by 
 human hands, conceived by human brain, in all the 
 world. Few who can appreciate the divine simplicity 
 of true beauty can gaze on the Taj Mahal at Agra 
 without tears. There is no single flaw to be found in 
 its unique completeness. It is approached by a massive 
 and noble archway of highly decorated— purposely 
 over-decorated — red sandstone, and as you stand on 
 the steps under its shadow, your heart-beats seem to 
 be stilled by the poetic languor of the scene. Fine 
 trees, a wealth of trailing creepers and flowering 
 shrubs ; in the centre a long, white, straight line of 
 tank, in whose pellucid water is mirrored the most 
 elegant and fairy-like building conceivable, of warm 
 white marble, crowned by an exquisite cupola. The 
 delicate and refined grace of its shape is sharply cut 
 out against a cloudless sky of purest turquoise ; its 
 pale hue becomes visionary by contrast with the full 
 green of the foliage. It combines the acme of light- 
 ness with solidity and dignity ; is essentially lady-like 
 in the best acceptation of the word ; fit resting place 
 for a lady who has been handed down through admiring
 
 The Silver Whistle. 321 
 
 ages as the best and fairest of her sex. Closer inspection 
 leads to greater admiration, for walls which might at 
 close quarters seem too severely simple, are relieved 
 by a delicate tracery in pietra dura, an inlaid pattern, 
 composed of jasper, cornelian and lapis lazuli. The 
 cunning architect has to throw up the mellow beauty 
 of the white, juxtaposed at fitting distances, buildings 
 of warm red sandstone peeping through the green. 
 As one sits and looks and marvels, one is smitten with 
 awe in that a mind should have existed so highly 
 cultured as to conceive such a combination of per- 
 fections."* 
 
 A man built the Taj Mahal, and this is what is in 
 every man's heart at his outset in life. This is what 
 makes a young man's face, just as he is standing on the 
 threshold of the world of action, the most beautiful 
 sight that is ever seen. It is the glory of the temple 
 shining out through his eyes. Later on he may let an 
 earthquake in his lower nature dasli the building down, 
 and shatter it. If he does so, he soon finds it cannot be 
 re-built ; it lies a heap of ruins for the rest of life. , But 
 the stones have voices, and they tell him always of what 
 they once made. The vision of the temple as first he 
 saw it haunts him to the last ; it has a persistent vitality 
 which sometimes he wishes it had not. But my 
 argument is, that it existed in a man's mind, and it 
 never existed in a woman's, and there's the difference ; 
 as great as between a halfpenny dip and the sun. The 
 simile is not exaggerated ; I insist on that. Men's 
 writings, men's paintings, men's buildings, men's 
 musical compositions prove its truth. That temple 
 as it stands at dawning manhood is meant, is built 
 entirely, expressly, and only, whether he knows it 
 or not, to hold the image of the Madonna. Many 
 men who do not know it, acting up to what they 
 do know, keep that temple without a rift to the end. 
 
 * " Wanderings of a Globe Trotter," by Hon. Lewis Winglield. 
 
 Y
 
 322 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 And then at the last, let us hope — who can say? — 
 they have the exceedingly great reward, when the 
 sight of all earthly buildings is growing faint, of 
 knowing what it was built for. A Catholic young 
 man does know it from the first; with him, when 
 it falls, the ruin is complete. 
 
 Henri de St. Cyr knew it well enough ; he had 
 learned it at his mother's knee. 
 
 In a house in a narrow street in Bayonne, a young 
 man lay dying. Round his bed were gathered a number 
 of other men, mostly middle aged, but one or two young 
 ones. 
 
 The dying man's face had the most terrible expression 
 on it. Had a model been wanted for one of the men 
 only just arrived in Dante's " Inferno," he would have 
 supplied it. The bewilderment, the horror, the amaze- 
 ment, the repulsion, the terror, the longing to get away, 
 and the not knowing where to go ; the " I must get out 
 of this," and then the baffled look on finding he could 
 not, were all there. 
 
 A clever-looking, smartly-dressed man, with his hair 
 already considerably tinged with grey, held before him 
 a dagger, and said: " Renew your vow." 
 
 '' Yes, yes ; I do ! " said the dying man, in a tone of 
 agony, hurriedly, while he turned his eyes towards the 
 door with a hungry, eager look. 
 
 " That won't do," said the man. " You must say '• I 
 renew it,' and kiss the dagger." 
 
 " I renew my vow," repeated Henri St. Cyr, for 
 that was the name of the victim, and he kissed the 
 dagger. 
 
 " You know," said the eldest man present, " you 
 joined the society when you were in full health and 
 strength, of your own free will, and now you must 
 remain true to the end." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know," gasped Henri. '^ But if I might 
 see my brother for only, only " — a fearful gasp — " one
 
 The Silver Whistle. 323 
 
 *' But your brother is a priest ; you know what he 
 would do." 
 
 *^ I would do nothing ; I swear to you I would do 
 nothing. I only want to say one word on family 
 business." 
 
 " But whatever family business you have to arrange 
 you can tell me. I will repeat it to him later on. 
 Kemember, I am a lawyer. You know you are not 
 dying intestate. We have your will and your letters 
 of administration, and I am the administrator." 
 
 ^' Yes, yes ; I know," said the sick man, with a 
 frown and another hunted, hungry look at the door. 
 
 " The trustees will see that all the legacies are 
 duly paid, especially those to the propagators of the 
 society." 
 
 A look of hideous torment came over the young 
 man's face. He clenched his white blue-veined fist 
 and dashed it down on the coverlet. 
 
 " I give you my word of honour I don't want to 
 recant, t give you my word of honour of it. I only 
 want to speak to my brother about something he and 
 I know about, and nobody else knows. I will leave 
 all my money to you, every single farthing. I swear 
 to you not a penny shall go to my own family, if 
 you will only let me see him for five minutes by the 
 clock!" 
 
 He fixed his terrified, bloodshot eyes, full of the most 
 agonizing entreaty, on the administrator's face. 
 
 At that instant an old lady, with a sad face and 
 snow-white hair, and a young priest, were standing on 
 the steps knocking at the hall door. 
 
 A man put his head out of a window near the door. 
 " It is useless for you to knock," he said, " I have my 
 orders, and you cannot come in. How often do you 
 require to be told ? " 
 
 " But I am his mother I O, have pity on me ! I 
 will pay you anything you like to ask ! Have pity on 
 me ; you must have had a mother ! " 
 
 y2
 
 324 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 " Allez vous en ! " said the man, fiercely, slamming 
 the window. 
 
 The lady and the priest — who was Henri's twin 
 brother Louis — beat upon the door with all their might. 
 Louis kicked it until he hurt his toes well, but it 
 resisted every assault. 
 
 Suddenly a thought struck Louis. He smashed in 
 a window on the ground floor, undid the fastening, 
 flung up the sash and bounded in. Like a greyhound 
 he sprang across the floor, and was soon up the first 
 flight of stairs. He had taken three steps at a time 
 of the second, when two men seized him from behind, 
 and dragged him down. They were immediately 
 reinforced by two others, and in the desperate struggle 
 which ensued the young priest's smooth black coat was 
 torn from top to bottom, his head was dashed against the 
 bannister and cut, until blood streamed over his face, and 
 his left wrist was dislocated ; but he fought on like a man. 
 
 In the meantime, in the sick man's room the 
 conversation continued. 
 
 " Bah ! You wish to be a renegade at the last ! " 
 said the eldest man, contemptuously. 
 
 " No ! no ! I swear to you it is only something 
 connected with my boyhood — something I once did 
 that only my brother knows about — that I wish to 
 speak to him of. Oh, 1 beg of you ! " and he stretched 
 out his hand, while a look of piteous entreaty, which 
 seemed as if it must move any human heart, came 
 over him. 
 
 " Enough of this ! Silence ! " said Lenoir, who was 
 standing by a small table near the bed. 
 
 " Are you ready, gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Bein; oui." 
 
 Henri trembled so that the bed shook under him. 
 He knew what was coming. 
 
 Alphonse quickly took a parcel out of a cardboard 
 box, unwound the paper and held a statue of the Mater 
 Purissima before him.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 325 
 
 " Say she was not a virgin and curse her ! " 
 
 Henri turned his head away. 
 
 " Come ! come ! " said Lenoir, " Make haste ! " 
 
 Henri turned his face towards the pillow. 
 
 "Come! come!" said Lenoir, stamping his foot. 
 " What the devil are you maundering about now ? " 
 
 Still Henri did not look round. 
 
 " Damn you ; you weak-kneed, lukewarm turncoat ! " 
 and Lenoir struck his fist angrily on the bed. " We're 
 not going to stand any snivelling or drivelling now, 
 I can tell you." 
 
 " Don't frighten him," said the elder man, cautiously, 
 " or we shan't get him to do anything." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Lenoir, fiercelv, " we'll soon see what 
 he'll do." 
 
 Lenoir was in no mood to be crossed or worried just 
 now. He had arrived from Paris thoroughly out of 
 temper, and his present employment was not calculated 
 to restore him. 
 
 " Come, come ; make haste ! " Lenoir felt his pulse. 
 " I would'nt give you five minutes more ; come ! '• and 
 he held the statue close up to his face. 
 
 " Say you curse her," said the oldish man, in a much 
 gentler, quieter manner than Lenoir spoke in. 
 
 Henri's ashy lips trembled so that they could scarcely 
 close and open, his hands clutched at the bedclothes, 
 and his eyes wandered from one of his persecutors to 
 the other, with a half piteous and imploring, and a half 
 hating and loathing look. 
 
 Lenoir seized his shaking, wiry wrist, with the dew 
 of death upon it, and exclaimed furiously, ^' We'll stand 
 no more trifling, young cub ; curse her this instant ! " 
 
 The bloodless lips moved up and down, and the 
 faltering words came out : '' I curse her ! " 
 
 Lenoir fixed his piercing, yellowy black eyes Intently 
 on him. 
 
 " Say she was a vile woman, and you hope her name 
 may be trampled off the earth."
 
 326 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 " I do ! " said Henri. Then he gave a shriek, his 
 head fell back, and in another instant he was gone. 
 That frightful shriek penetrated the thin glass of the 
 windows and reached his mother's ears as she stood on 
 the doorstep. It seemed to freeze her blood to ice. It 
 never again left her ears. 
 
 Lenoir gave his shoulders a contemptuous shrug, and, 
 turning away, sat down at a table in the window to 
 finish a letter he had begun some time before. It was 
 a letter full of advice to one of the Irish-American 
 agitators in New York — advice which was followed. 
 He had scarcely stamped and sealed it when a telegram 
 was put into his hand. He tore it open, and read : 
 
 " Fly for your life. Your cocotte has peached and 
 flown to a royalist lover at St. Cloud. England 
 safest." 
 
 The telegram was in hieroglyphics, but this was 
 its translation. 
 
 Crushing it in his hand, he uttered a frightful curse 
 on Moyrah. Then he said a few words to one or two 
 of the men. They stood in a sort of conclave for a 
 short time. After that he left the room hurriedly.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 WHEN Moyrah reached Bayonne, the sun was 
 setting; another brilliant sunset like the 
 last night's. It made the broad winding 
 river a sheet of gold, and lighted up the rigging of the 
 countless ships lying along the quays. It fell upon the 
 trees scattered here and there on its banks, and trans- 
 formed them until it seemed as if they were clothed 
 already in their autumn robe of many colours ; last of 
 all it lighted up the low spire, with the large cross, the 
 flying buttresses, and the pointed windows of the 
 cathedral. It shone in long, slanting rays upon the 
 Place du March^, and lit up the door to the south 
 transept of the Cathedral, the only part where the 
 ancient statues are preserved. Those old stone ^ints 
 have seen strange things in their day, but surely the 
 events of these later times surpass all. In the days 
 when they lived, sin existed in France, certainly, but it 
 was a foe, and when you fell you went down under the 
 blows of an open enemy. Now, it is the god at whose 
 shrine you are to worship, and when you have the 
 misfortune to fall into goodness, hundreds of willing 
 hands are ready to drag you out of the scrape, 
 thousands of racy books to tell you how to avoid 
 getting into it again. This is what makes those poor 
 old stone saints stare with such wide open eyes as 
 they do, so that the lids in many cases are crumbling 
 away. 
 
 Moyrah thought of none of these things as she hurried 
 along with her head bent down. She got confused by 
 the labyrinth of streets, and lost her way, and strayed
 
 328 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 round by the Chateau de Marrac, where Napoleon 
 dethroned the Bourbons of Spain, and put his own 
 bi other Joseph in their place ; and at the same time, 
 with his usual unique liberality, bestowed on Spain 
 a new constitution. As the Americans say : " Conceit 
 grows as natural as the hair on one's head, but 
 it is longer coming out." Where the strange, 
 extraordinary scene was enacted between Cliarles IV., 
 Ferdinand VII., and Napoleon ; each one simulating 
 passion, and teUing lies in hopes of deceiving the other, 
 a veil which, however, was too thin to wash. Like men 
 pretending to play chess blindfold, but each detecting 
 the other peeping from under the bandage, they soon 
 burst into that noble contempt which such circumstances 
 command, and the house is chiefly commemorated by the 
 row they had there. 
 
 Moyrah had the bit of paper, with the address on it, 
 which Lenoir had given her ; but she could not find the 
 street. She wandered on and passed without noticing 
 it that symbol of the lihre jjenseur^ the high column 
 of vapour, which marks the hot fountain in the middle 
 of the town. Suddenly she came upon an old lady 
 sitting on the doorstep of a house, sobbing bitterly. 
 Moyrah never could see suffering without the most 
 strange passionate longing to alleviate it. Hurried and 
 miserable as she was she stopped *, bending down towards 
 the lady, she said : " Will ye forgi' me for spakin' to yer 
 honour, but could I do anythin' to help ye?" 
 
 The lady looked up in astonishment. It was some 
 years since she had heard English spoken, but she had 
 known it well when youug. The sweet, pale, lovely 
 face looking down at her, full of the most intense 
 compassion, touched her heart. 
 
 " My son is dying," she said, taking Moyrah's hand 
 in an agitated, trembling grasp, " and I cannot go to 
 him." 
 
 ''But why not? " exclaimed Moyrah, with breathless 
 eagerness.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 329 
 
 " They will not let me in. It is in this house, this 
 very house." and again her sobs burst forth." 
 
 '^ I'll knock wid a rale slatherin' row," she exclaimed, 
 seizing the knocker, and giving such a rat-tat-tat as 
 nearly broke the door in. 
 
 "It is useless," she said, in a tone which pierced 
 Moyrah's heart. '^ My son, the vicaire, has gone in 
 through the window. God grant," and she clasped her 
 hands, and raised her eyes to heaven, " they will not 
 kill him ! " 
 
 " But who are they '? What are they ? " exclaimed 
 Moyrah, furiously. 
 
 '' They are the leading members of a secret society, 
 who wish to prevent him from seeing a priest on his 
 death bed, for fear he should save his soul." 
 
 " God help us ! " said Moyrah, crossing herself. Then, 
 seeing the need of comfort the poor old lady stood in, 
 she added : " But, maybe they'll give in whin they see 
 him sit upon it inthirely." 
 
 " If you know anything of my unhappy country, you 
 will know how much chance there is of that, when I tell 
 you Alphonse Lenoir is leading them." 
 
 Moyrah uttered a piercing exclamation, and recoiled 
 backwards. 
 
 " What ! " she exclaimed, " lohat did ye say ? " 
 
 "Do you know Alphonse Lenoir?" asked the old 
 lady, looking up in surprise. 
 
 " T do, I do." 
 
 The old lady looked at her ; then repeated low : 
 " May God have mercy on you if he is a friend of 
 yours ! " 
 
 " A friend of mine ! " exclaimed Moyrah. " He is 
 my husband ! " 
 
 " No, that he is not, and never can be as long as my 
 most miserable daughter is alive," said the old lady, 
 starting to her feet. 
 
 Moyrah uttered a crv of terror. 
 
 " What"^ What did vesav?"
 
 330 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 '^ Alplionse Lenoir married my unfortunate daughter 
 some years ago, when they were both very young ; she 
 has been obliged to separate from him ; his conduct 
 was too infamous for it to be possible for her to remain 
 with him. She now gives him an allowance to live 
 away from her. He is always teasing her to get a 
 divorce ; but, of course, she is a good Catholic, c'est 
 impossible." 
 
 Moyrah leaned against the projecting corner of the 
 house, while a pallor, positively death-like, spread over 
 her. 
 
 At that instant a man sprang out of the window 
 Louis ^^t. Cyr had broken to get in at. 
 
 As he turned to hurry away, the lady stretched out 
 her hand and said : " Le voila ! " 
 
 Moyrah looked and recognized Lenoir's figure, 
 though he was very much muffled up. 
 
 He did not see them, apparently. He never turned 
 round, but walked so fast as to be almost running, only 
 evidently he did not wish to create suspicion by running 
 actually. 
 
 As Lenoir hurried along he muttered : " I wish I 
 could get hold of Moyrah, I'd teach her a lesson she 
 would not forget in a hurry. This comes of being 
 kind to people. 1 never was so kind to anyone in my 
 life as I was to her. She must have broken open my 
 escritoire; the little devil. If so, she has all my 
 secrets, and a good many other people's, too, in her 
 possession. She is too dangerous to be at large ; I 
 must get hold of her by hook or by crook ; besides, I 
 had intended, when I had initiated her, to make her of 
 great use with the Irish contingent. This comes of 
 showing kindness to people. She shan't have much of 
 that to complain of when we meet again." 
 
 At that moment the door opened and a man came 
 out whom Moyrah instantly recognised as the man 
 whom she had heard making the socialistic speech in 
 the bye street in Paris.
 
 The Silver Whistle. 331 
 
 He recognised Madame St. Cyr at once. " Well, 
 old macaques," he exclaimed, jeeringly ; " your cub 
 is dead ! He died true to his principles, and cursed 
 your Virgin with his last breath, led by Alphonse 
 Lenoir." 
 
 Moyrah uttered a low exclamation of agony, and 
 put her hand to her forehead for a moment. 
 
 " What did you say Alphonse Lenoir did?" she 
 asked, in the best French she could command. 
 
 " He — y, ma femme galante," he exclaimed, turning 
 and looking at her lovely face with the utmost inso- 
 lence. " What do you know of Alphonse Lenoir ? 
 
 What did he do? Why " and he repeated his 
 
 former words, only this time so clearly and distinctly 
 that there was no possibility of mistaking their meaning. 
 
 The most terrible emotions passed over Moyrah's 
 face. Even the chartered libertine who was staring at 
 her, and who had a fresh insult on his lips, shrunk 
 back abashed at the sight of such agony. 
 
 At that moment the young priest, a most noble 
 looking young man, came out, his clothes all torn, his 
 hair dishevelled and his face cut and bleeding. 
 
 " You are safe, my son ! You are safe ! Thank 
 God!" exclaimed his mother, embracing him. He 
 offered her his arm, and with one glance of contempt 
 at the man who was on the door step, was walking 
 away when Madame St. Cyr stopped, and putting her 
 hand on Moyrah's arm said : " Gome home with us ; 
 this is no fit place for you." 
 
 Moyrah gladly followed the old lady and her son ; 
 but she walked as if in a dream ; there was a dazed 
 look in her face, and a stamp as if some horrible actual 
 bodily torture had passed over her on her brow, which 
 it would have wrung the hardest heart to see, while 
 there was an expression in her eyes which the old lady, 
 in all her long life of seventy-eight years, had never 
 seen in any human eyes before. When she reached 
 Madame St. Cyr's house she both felt and looked so
 
 332 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 terribly ill that she willingly assented to the kind old 
 lady's entreaties that she would go to bed, and soon 
 found herself in a pretty primitive apartment, hung 
 with white dimity curtains, and a polished wood floor. 
 
 The fact was, the heavy town air of Paris and the 
 long close confinement to the house, so different to her 
 usual life, had ah^eady begun to tell on her, while the 
 events of the last few days seemed likely to bring 
 matters to a crisis with a regular bad illness. 
 
 For the first day or two, she was too stunned, too 
 paralysed in mind to speak or act at all ; and it seemed 
 to those watching her as if her brain must give way ; so 
 great was the trial her mind was undergoing, that sub- 
 stantial things appeared to express no meaning to 
 her. And this is the most terrible sign of all mental 
 phenomena, when the doctrine of union, or the common 
 tie of soul and body seems to be shattered while both 
 are living. 
 
 But, gentle nursing and tender care, combined with 
 the feeling of safety, calmness and security, which came 
 over her insensibly in Madame St. Cyr's house, acted 
 as powerful restoratives. The kind old lady, who spent 
 her whole time in good works, had taken an immense 
 fancy to her ; broken hearted herself at the appalling 
 death of her son, she seemed to find a comfort in 
 soothing Moyrah's grief. After a time ; and by dint 
 of some cautious French questioning, always the 
 cleverest questioning in the world, Moyrah told her 
 a little about the history of her life ; and Madame 
 St. Cyr listened, her face quivering with interest, 
 her eyes full of tears of sympathy. 
 
 In return she told her how, almost immediately after 
 her daugher had left her convent school, Lenoir, who 
 was then occupying what appeared to be a good 
 commercial position at Bayonne, had won her affections 
 and been legally married to her in the cathedral of the 
 town, obtaining with her a handsome dot. She was then 
 proceeding to give an account of her daughter's married
 
 The Silver Whistle, 333 
 
 life ; but there was an expression on Moyrah's face which 
 obliged her to stop ; the cruellest person on earth could 
 not have gone on, and Madame St. Oyr was far from 
 being that. She had, however, said enough to show 
 what would probably have been the fate of anyone who 
 remained with Lenoir. As the Latin verses on the walls 
 of Pompeii are to Christians, so were her words to 
 Moyrah ; a scarecrow to prove the horrors from which 
 their creed has saved them. She merely added, there- 
 fore, that she had been obliged to leave him ; and that 
 she now feared she was sinking into a consumption, and 
 had gone to spend the winter with a cousin at Granada, 
 in hopes that the change of climate might restore her 
 health. 
 
 When she returned to her son in the drawing room, 
 she said, at they sat over their tea, after she had explained 
 the whole story to him, ^' What words can tell the misery 
 that one man without principles can work?" 
 
 " No ; not without principles," said the young priest, 
 emphatically, "but with clear, definite and decided 
 principles, and who acts up to them^'' he put d(^wn 
 his tea and leaned forward. '^ This, mother, is what 
 I want you to explain to the Irish young lady, for it 
 is necessary for the good of her country that it should 
 be distinctly understood there." Like all men his 
 interest quickly went from the individual to the 
 general, from persons to politics. " Entreat of her to 
 tell all the people round her what results must follow 
 from the principles of Communism, which I see from 
 the papers are being preached to the less learned part 
 of her people just now. We, in France, have put those 
 principles into practice, and can speak with the authority 
 of experience ; tell her this ; persuade her to become an 
 apostle when she goes home, so as to avert the ruin of 
 her nation." His fair young face flushed as he leaned 
 forward in eager excitement. " Tell her to do this, 
 unless she wishes to see her brothers die as I have just 
 seen mine ; her sisters become as she is."
 
 384 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 His mother turned away with a sob, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 " O, do tell her mother," he reiterated, with intense 
 earnestness. " The laity might do so much if they only 
 knew ; people pay ten times as much attention to them 
 as to the clergy." 
 
 " I cannot," said Madame St. Cyr. 
 
 " At least, mother ; at least explain to her that he is 
 not a man without principles, for this is the gist of the 
 whole matter. A man without principles does little 
 harm, weathercocks don't influence the wind ; but a 
 man with villainous principles, who persuades men they 
 are right, acts up to them, and spreads them, he is the 
 real devastator. It is the principles, mother, which I 
 dread, not the individuals ; this is what I want you to 
 make clear to her, to impress upon her." 
 
 She shook her head, buried her face in her hands, 
 and sobbed : " I cannot speak to her again upon the 
 subject." 
 
 " O mother, do, do ! " and he laid his hand on 
 her shoulder. 
 
 " Louis," and looking up, she fixed her eyes steadily 
 on him, " do you really expect a girl in her position to 
 go about lecturing her countrymen on politics?" 
 
 '' Not politics ! Religion, faith, home, her own soul, 
 the souls of her countrymen ! Surely for these, she 
 might forget herself for the sake of her nation " (and all 
 the large manliness and grandeur of his man's nature 
 shone out through his eyes), ''personal feelings are so 
 small and contemptible when duty calls ; joro j^a^rm, one 
 can do anything." 
 
 But his mother had only the small woman's nature, 
 in which the individual evermore obscures the general ; 
 and she knew Moyrah had it, too. So she shook her 
 head again more decidedly than before.
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 S soon as Moyrah's physical strength was 
 
 1^ sufficiently improved to enable her to get out 
 — of bed and stand without support, which it 
 was after a few days, she decided to start directly for 
 home. 
 
 She would go at once to Cormac, and ask him if 
 what Lenoir had said of him was true ; for she now 
 began to doubt every word he had uttered. If it was 
 not, she would' humbly beg his pardon for having 
 believed such a charge against him ; then she would go 
 back to the Blue House ; once more see her father ; then 
 lie down quietly and die, she hoped, and be buried 
 under the shadow of the old Irish cross in the church- 
 yard, with its many mystical meanings worked out in the 
 lives of those who knelt round its foot. 
 
 Madame St. Cyr endeavoured, in vain, to persuade 
 her to stay on with her until her health was entirely 
 restored, and promised, if she would do so, that she 
 should have the most perfect quiet, and as much 
 seclusion as she could desire ; and that when she was 
 obliged to go, she would herself accompany her as far 
 as Paris. But Moyrah was firm, and the first day that 
 she was able to go out, she decided to take the evening 
 mail to Paris. 
 
 In the interval between her cafi noir and roll, and 
 the large dejeuner at eleven o'clock, she stole out 
 unobserved, and for the first and last time entered the 
 old cathedral. 
 
 She did not stare about her ; she did not even ask to 
 see the chasse of St. Leon, patron and bishop of the
 
 336 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 cathedral ; nor the cro.^se of St. Francois de Sales, 
 though Madame St. Cyr had told her she must be sure 
 to see them when she went. She stole up one of the 
 side aisles with her head bent down and her eyes on the 
 ground. 
 
 The dominant impulse in her mind at that moment 
 was to creep away into some dark corner where no one 
 could see her, and there remain unnoticed by men or 
 angels or any living or discerning creature for ever. 
 Her one desire was that her name, her personality, the 
 fact she had ever existed, might be blotted from the 
 history of mankind. 
 
 The only pain human nature is called upon to bear, 
 which seems absolutely intolerable, and as if it must 
 end in death unless relief quickly comes, is the pain of 
 shame. What is so terrible is, that when that shadow 
 strikes even the most sturdy intellect, the dial of 
 conscience appears useless ; and this is, perhaps, because 
 the sunshine of that heavenly love, which, falling on our 
 conscience, alone enables us to keep time with the 
 march of the church militant, seems to be darkened 
 with a darkness which, in our then state of mind, we 
 imagine will never be removed. 
 
 When we are in great shame we do not think we 
 shall ever come out of it. Our reason forgets itself, and 
 gives an impulsive assent to the dictum of our imagin- 
 ation, which says it is for ever. 
 
 This is what Moyrah felt; the sun was never to 
 shine on her again. It seemed as if the whole world 
 had its eye fixed upon her in the accumulated scorn of 
 all scorners put together ; and this eye, she thought, 
 would be there for ever, following her on into an 
 eternity of ever deepening disgrace. There was no 
 cave in the centre of some far off and entirely lonely 
 mountain where that eye of scorn would not follow her. 
 Nowhere on earth ! And heaven seemed a long way 
 off and, so to speak, entirely out of her beat, now. It 
 was the sense of its endlessness, of the impossibility of
 
 The ^Silver Whistle. 337 
 
 its ever being removed, which was, perhaps, the 
 bitterest drop in the dregs of the cup which was now 
 held to her lips. 
 
 There was, however, another very bitter drop, and 
 that was that she felt as if she were prevented from 
 asking for compassion. She thought she was the only 
 person who ever was in shame, and she dared not claim 
 sympathy in so unnatural a trouble. She realized from 
 the hrst that there are some wounds of the soul so deep, 
 that the dearest and most intimate earthly friend cannot 
 sympathise with them ; so deep, that we do not put 
 them into words even to our own secret thoughts. It 
 is this hiddenness which acts like such a strong narcotic 
 over the rebound of hope, even in extreme youth. 
 
 Too often, also, acute shame so dulls the intellectual 
 faculties, that we turn away from all light, even divine 
 light, to hide ourselves where, as we hope, light of any 
 sort can never come. 
 
 In such moments we forget that heavenly light 
 shining on the tear of worthy shame — and certainly 
 there is such a thing — is like a beam of solar light 
 falling obliquely on a rain drop. It is refracted on 
 entering the drop, is in part reflected at the back of the 
 drop, and on coming out from the drop is again 
 refracted, so that the dazzling blaze is softened to our 
 weak eyes, and still enriched with many warm, beautiful 
 prismatic colours ; and is ten times more lovely when it 
 comes out than when it went in. But all this is hidden 
 from us at the time. It was all hidden from Moyrah ; 
 and what in part hid it was the shadow which shut out 
 human sympathy from her. No kind eyes could be won 
 to look with pity into hers, as they had hitherto done 
 in the smallest home troubles. No warm, strong 
 human hand could clasp hers, and give her that 
 indescribable sensation of support which such a grasp 
 imparts. 
 
 Fragments of scenes in her future life rose before her ; 
 no longer haunting and evanescent, but taking a
 
 338 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 scorching reality and nearness of colouring from her 
 quickened imagination — an imagination always vivid, 
 and now terribly sharpened. Everyone turning away 
 from her, and pretending not to see her. Kind old 
 village friends, who were wont to stop her when she 
 was busy and in a hurry just for the pleasure of a chat, 
 now crossing to the other side of the road, and striding 
 or bustling along with their heads down ; as she had 
 seen happening to other girls in the village before. 
 Black looks on all sides, even from people she used to 
 think small things of. No sympathy anywhere. 
 
 She had always been deficient in mastering the cold, 
 hard, unsympathetic side of human nature ; but now it 
 came before her, not as a shadow seen from a distance, 
 but as a present and very close reality. It came in 
 that horribly real way suffering has got of coming to 
 us when we are most defenceless. It came, and she 
 felt, indeed, a prisoner, with the torturer standing near 
 at hand. 
 
 Like all natures which are themselves full of 
 sympathy, and with affections so quickly in touch with 
 those around her that sometimes her intuition seemed 
 like magic, she was morbidly sensitive to want of 
 sympathy in others. One glance of coldness, one word 
 of indifference, in the old days, would upset her entirely, 
 and would dwell in her mind for months, seeming to 
 destroy the springs of buoyancy, and make her unable 
 to laugh, even at her father's best jokes. 
 
 Then, though she felt what was coming and tried to 
 ward it off, there rose before her her father's face. Oh, 
 awful thought ! His face when he came out to meet her, 
 as she walked up through the garden of the Blue House ; 
 the look of suffering with her suffering that would be 
 on it. She could not bear that greatest of all pains, 
 seeing one we love suffering for us, and we unable to 
 comfort them. She could not bear it ! No ! she could not 
 bear it. She drove the image almost passionately away. 
 Then her mother's bitter disappointment, which she
 
 Ihe Silver Whistle. 339 
 
 knew would, after a time, take the form of reproach. 
 Then P^ileen's face, and the boys' faces. Then again, 
 in spite of all her efforts, her father's face. No ! she 
 could not bear it. She trembled from head to foot, 
 while she buried her face in her hands and shuddered. 
 And ever as she tried, almost fiercely, to drive away the 
 thought of her father, of that rugged brow, and those 
 soft grey eyes, of the load of suffering and humiliation 
 she would add to his closing years, it came back over 
 her again and again, and stabbed blow after blow down 
 deep into her heart. Could she have borne her troubles 
 alone, hard as that might seem at first, it was almost 
 happiness compared to the thought of the expression 
 with which his eyes would meet hers evermore for the 
 rest of her life. 
 
 But while struggling with the thoughts of her father, 
 a hitherto undreamed of agony slowly crept up towards 
 her. Its shadow, getting closer and closer, seemed to 
 paralyse her efforts to keep it at a distance. Up to this 
 moment the tortures she had suffered had not been one, 
 but broken into numberless partial aspects, independent 
 each of each, and so unable, because baffled by division, 
 to reach the utmost depth of pain. But now, one, one 
 only, was coming. Not the combination of many 
 torments, scattering their darts in many places, but 
 one, only one, all by itself. Closer and closer it stole 
 up, as some awful figure seems to be coming near us 
 sometimes in the depth of a dark night. She struggled 
 so fearfully to escape, that even her body moved as if a 
 corporeal danger was at hand. But her last shield of 
 self-defence was broken. 
 
 It came, and, in one instant, all other thoughts were 
 swept away — as they must be in such a character as 
 hers — like a number of little ripples before a tidal wave, 
 when the thought of Lenoir rushed over her. She had 
 loved him with a love which was perfectly dispropor- 
 tionate, according to the judgment of reason — a love 
 which had magnified itself as it grew until it became
 
 340 The Stlve7^ Whistle. 
 
 almost dangerous to the dignity of her nature. Every- 
 day she had loved him more and more, and each hour 
 she had, as it were, put stone upon stone, until the 
 edifice of her prison was complete, and she found herself 
 surr6unded by walls thicker than those of the Bastille. 
 The walls of love for an object which was worthy only 
 of hatred and scorn. But she was as little at home 
 with hatred and scorn as Lenoir with thoughts of true 
 love. 
 
 She had loved — had loved — had! And now, in one 
 moment, she was asked to tear that love out of her 
 heart entirely and for ever. She was asked with a 
 small human hand to tear down the walls of the Bastille. 
 And no one would sympathise with her for having to do 
 so. On the contrary, she would meet only with blame 
 and reproach for ever having felt that love. But what 
 did she care for contempt, or reproach, or anything else, 
 if that love must go ? It seemed as if agony, in a con- 
 crete, personal form, was taking the measure of her 
 capability to bear agony. For the shadow had come 
 up to her now, and was worse than anything her worst 
 fears had imagined. She was bewildered, almost 
 stunned. Certainly, we need a clue to the labyrinth 
 of unaccustomed visions which twine round us at all the 
 great crises of life. 
 
 She knelt down on the cold stones, behind a pillar, 
 close to an altar of the Blessed Virgin, but from where 
 she could catch a glimpse of the statue. She did not 
 dare to go any nearer, or even to kneel on the little 
 2n-ie-Dieu chair close by. She knelt on those cold, 
 hard stones, which were like the face the world would 
 turn to her for the rest of her life. But she had for- 
 gotten that ; forgotten home and family ; forgotten 
 shame : forgotten her mother's reproaches, even, for 
 the moment, her father's suffering. Forgotten all in 
 the whole world except Lenoir, and felt that if she 
 might still love him she would be content — aye, and 
 happv — to be trampled under the feet of all men. If,
 
 The Silver Whistle. 341 
 
 thougli the world divided them, she might still think of 
 him as hers ; still work for him ; still slave to procure 
 him the smallest happiness, and feel when she did it 
 that he was hers, her own; she would not care if even 
 inanimate things turned away from her in scorn. 
 
 If she might ! If only she might ! Like all of us when 
 we are in suffering, she craved for a versatile rule. 
 That is, a law that would change according to individual 
 character. A law that would not cause such infinite 
 agony, because she was so peculiarly capable of feeling 
 that agony. It sometimes seems to us as if it might 
 be urged, that the variety of different dispositions in 
 human nature, was a reason for expecting a variety of 
 different laws. Not the one unalterable inexorable 
 fixed rule for hard characters and soft, loving natures, 
 and loveless ones. 
 
 In junctures of such awful moment as had now come 
 to Moyrah, our intellect is not left alone, but strange 
 impressions come over it, and words are spoken to it 
 it hears at no other time. Suggestions are made which 
 no antecedent reasoning in our minds has at all either 
 prepared us for, or justified our being tortured 'by. 
 Where do those words come from? Who suggests 
 these suggestions? That imposture too often accom- 
 panies the most subtle working of our brain all will allow; 
 but imposture is not personal enough to ofi'er a sugges- 
 tion. It can obscure, it cannot reverse those true 
 findings of our higher nature of which it is but the 
 mockery. Therefore there must be some personal being 
 at work behind the imposture trying to destroy those 
 findings ; those findings which in most natures of the 
 finer sort have worked for years, and moulded the 
 character before the imposture tries its hand. They had 
 so worked with Moyrah. 
 
 But sometimes the imposture is dominant and tyran- 
 nical ; and though it may only be for a few moments, 
 those moments are a time of crucial peril. Having 
 crept in disguise into the sanctuary of our heart, it puts
 
 342 The Silver Whistle. 
 
 its back against the door and will not be turned out. 
 Without a note of warning to herald its approach, 
 without a preliminary skirmish of any sort, suddenly it 
 seemed to have gained a foot -hold in Moyrah, for the 
 first time in her life. 
 
 Theologians might have used severe language con- 
 cerning the doubts, the questionings, which came to her 
 just then. The leaders of the modern revolt against 
 theologians would have used other language. This is 
 ever the way men act concerning the arguments of 
 others. In reality, they dissent from their first prin- 
 ciples^ which puzzle them, and which they never clearly 
 understand. If we could all get at each other's first 
 jprinci'ples^ and thoroughly understand them, what a 
 reign of peace would descend on earth ! We should 
 know then it was useless to discuss some subjects at 
 all. But life goes by in superficial arguments, which 
 answer no purpose but to inflame the minds of all 
 parties. Many good people are really agreed about 
 first principles, though their mode of expressing their 
 views is so contradictory, involved, and extraordinary, 
 that they come at last to think they differ on every 
 point and must be sworn foes. 
 
 Moyrah's first principles were just now being shaken 
 to their foundations. Her first principles — her very 
 first principles, not her mode of expressing them. It 
 seemed, for a few seconds, as if her soul had become 
 like a pagan city, with the hierarchy all in dispute 
 amongst themselves about signs of bad augury in the 
 heavens. What insubordination, what a tumult was 
 within her ! A riot of revolt, like the riot which ran 
 in the Parisian socialist's words which had so horrified 
 her. How new to her ! How utterly unheard of in 
 her past life, where she had never taught herself to look 
 on disbelief as a privilege, God as behind the age on 
 important points, and man as His teacher; the moral 
 law as a tyranny, and self-will the only freedom ; doubt, 
 the highest religious duty ! All her deepest feelings
 
 The Silver WhMe. 343 
 
 hitherto had been like " Antrustions," who were per- 
 sonal vassals, subservient and extraordinarily obedient 
 to the kings and counts amongst the Franks, in that 
 land where she now was. But now they were in open 
 rebellion. The inborn dislike of rule, the wildness, the 
 love of doing what it was told not, of the Irish nature, 
 defied every barrier of past self-restraint. What that 
 wildness, that delight in insubordination, is, only those 
 most intimately acquainted with that nature can form a 
 correct conception. Her soul was now in a sort of 
 murky, unnatural twilight. Light and darkness are 
 the eternal principles in which our souls live ; not equal 
 principles, but one the negation of the other. iSome- 
 times, in a soul like Moyrah's, in which there has been 
 true light all its life, the noble system of light will sink, 
 as it did with the magicians of old, into a petty char- 
 latanism. The darkness is bad enough, but this is 
 worse. These false lights, so well at home in modern 
 society, were struggling desperately to illuminate her. 
 Fashionable will-o'-the wisps wandering from Paris and 
 London west-end drawing rooms to the L'ish girl's 
 heart in the Basque land of faith. Here was a "new 
 happy hunting ground for them. A landscape of 
 unspotted snow on w4iich their rays had never shone 
 before. Would she be dazzled and bewildered into 
 following them? Would they be powerful enough to 
 melt her Irish faith, child-like earnestness of belief, and 
 innate innocence ? 
 
 An argument with characters of such perfect veracity 
 that it becomes almost personal, may be presented before 
 the mind, but, notwithstanding, there may be no external 
 reality corresponding to it, though it may be so vivid as 
 to appear absolutely faithful to nature. Arguments and 
 images, undreamt of before, crowded over Moyrah's 
 mind ; and they were followed by propositions on pro- 
 positions of the most daringly sceptical and rebellious 
 colour. And words, actual words, seemed to ring in 
 her ears, as if some one was speaking to her. But,
 
 ;U4- The Silver Whistle. 
 
 though puzzled, baffled, bewildered, she retained enough 
 sense to see that she ought to have some more logical 
 reason for assenting to a proposition than the power- 
 fulness of the image of which it was the expression. 
 
 But still it was a hard, a desperate, a hand-to-hand 
 fight. So tremendous was the assault that, for a short — 
 a very short — time principles, and even feelings, of long 
 standing reeled before it, and appeared as if they must 
 go down. The enemy seemed rushing in from every 
 side, equipped with the deadlicBt weapons. Aye, with 
 the deadliest of all, the worship of her whole nature, 
 the love of her whole heart. The solid square of the 
 ten commandments quivered, quivered terribly, but 
 remained unbroken, so far. They stood shoulder tu 
 shoulder, with their feet set on the rock of that church 
 of which Moyrah had, hitherto, been the happy and 
 faithful child. 
 
 But Lucifer had raised his standard with consummate 
 skill and daring, knovv^ing the weak points to an ace 
 on which to concentrate his forces — that standard with 
 the old, old motto ; and the powers of her soul seemed 
 to rally round it with a fierce determination to stay 
 there and not to budge a jot, which appalled her 
 judgment. 
 
 Once again the ten commandments quivered, as they 
 so often do when acting, so to speak, in their private 
 capacity. They stand firm enough on the walls of the 
 church, or in the printed pages of the Bible, but once 
 they quit their official position and enter everyday life, 
 it is there the rebel from the beginning " has at them." 
 
 It appeared to her that in one deafening shout, which 
 stunned her altogether, her own voice, her own very 
 voice, Moyrah's voice, echoed the burning words written 
 in letters of flame on that well worn flag, now as 
 ever, non serviam. Words which rang through heaven 
 once, followed by a quick reply; words which rang 
 through her now, and to which she did not seem able to 
 give any reply; words which sound so fascinating, but
 
 The. Silver Whistle. 345 
 
 hide such wells of bitterness. The motto which has 
 led the first revolutionist to victory so often, over so 
 many broken hearts and ruined lives. 
 
 That motto now seemed to take entire possession of 
 Moyrah. The attack was too sudden for her to protest, 
 or, it seemed to her, even to oscillate. Tier judgment 
 appeared like a general looking on from a hill in horror, 
 while he sees his whole army go over bodily to the 
 enemy. But this was the exaggerated impression which 
 a bird's-eye view so often gives, and which our judgment^ 
 necessarily being bird's-eye, constantly deceives us with. 
 There was no real desertion of the true colours ; only 
 amongst one corps of the army a conspiracy, which 
 might lead to disastrous results, unless treated with 
 rapid decision. Suddenly, while the battle was at its 
 height, she raised her eyes, as of old (^onstantine raised 
 his, and before her, standing on the side altar near which 
 she was kneeling, was the sign he saw. She looked at 
 it intently. In one instant the exorcism was complete. 
 Now there was truly no oscillation. In one blow the 
 dav was won. But the battle over, it left her lonely 
 and desolate. It had taken away her breath with 
 horror and amazement while it lasted ; but it had 
 occupied her. Once over, that fearful desolation took 
 possession of her again. As she knelt, with her head 
 bent low, a longing for sympathy came over her, so 
 terrible in its passionate thirst that it seemed harder to 
 bear even than the pain which caused it. This, she 
 thought, could never be satisfied. For that tender 
 mother to whom she had gone for comfort in all her 
 other troubles had never known the one she was now 
 called upon to bear. Shame had no place in the burdens 
 of her sinless soul. 
 
 While she was thinking this, the low, deep notes of 
 the organ began to swell through the gothic arches. 
 With a soft, gradually increasing glow of tone, full of 
 richness and splendour, rolling on in one glorious flood 
 of mellow harmony, pealed forth the strains of Rossini's 
 
 A A
 
 346 The Silver Whistle, 
 
 ^' Stabat Mater." A few soft, southern, tenor voices 
 and one boy's soprano united in concord with the tones 
 of the organ. A grand volume of melody rolled round 
 and round the pillars, and seemed wafted, like the 
 clouds of the incense, into the furthest corners of the 
 church. It lingered round the heads of the old grey 
 saints in their niches ; and some of them, fonder of 
 music than the rest, clasped the roving notes in passing, 
 and took from them that softened expression which 
 some of those old, grey cathedral saints have so much 
 more than others. 
 
 It was Friday, and a rich chatelaine of the neigh- 
 bourhood was having a requiem mass said at the high 
 altar for the repose of the soul of her only son, who had 
 been killed in the Franco-German war. 
 
 Moyrah had sometimes helped in the village choir at 
 home. She knew the music well, and she had learned 
 the English translation of the words by heart out of her 
 prayer book, the Golden Manual. Those sublime words, 
 which have brought consolation to so many thousands 
 of sufferers i^ince first Jacopo di Todi, himself a sufferer 
 and in shame, wrote them, came like balm over that 
 pain which had been so great because it was not known 
 to any one. 
 
 It seemed as if the very abyss of her misery had 
 spoken to the abyss of peace, and that, all in one 
 moment, the answer had come. As she listened she 
 meditated as she had done in Paris. But the scene 
 was changed now. 
 
 It was a cold, grey morning in Jerusalem, the 
 morning of the first Good Friday. Moyrah had so 
 often read about this in her " Douai," and in a few 
 rather musty old "Lives of the Saints," which her 
 mother kept in a tin biscuit box in her bed room, 
 that the scene seemed to come before her as if she 
 were there. 
 
 The inhabitants of the densely populated city, and all 
 the strangers who had collected for the festival, were
 
 The Silver Whistle. 347 
 
 hurrying about fearing an insurrection. As they went 
 they remarked : 
 
 " The disciples of that impostor will now not know 
 where to hide their heads." 
 
 " He will find no one now to cut olive branches and 
 strew their garments before his feet." 
 
 " Yes, and of all his disciples, one has betrayed 
 him, one has denied him, and the rest have all run 
 away." 
 
 The Blessed Virgin was there, but not so as to be 
 recognized, but she overheard all that was passing. 
 
 Moyrah went with her in spirit, step by step, through- 
 out the whole of that day. And in the evening she 
 was standing alone in the small, eastern room of her 
 now desolate home. Moyrah knelt at the door. She 
 saw her, and turned. She held out her hand, with a 
 sort of light on her face, wliich was scarcely a smile, 
 breaking through her tears. Moyrah looked up, and as 
 she did so, felt she had never known the meaning of the 
 word sympathy before. 
 
 The rich, beautiful, southern voice had finished* the 
 Cujas Animara^ and the hymn was drawing to its close. 
 The choir were singing with such harmony and modula- 
 tiou that no single strain could have been taken away 
 without injury to the whole. Now and again a boy's 
 voice flew with that peculiar Basque lightness — for 
 some of the choir were Basques — up to heaven, as 
 though tipped by an arrow plume. Then the rich, deep 
 baritones rolled round the arches, full of ihe colour of 
 tone, and imparting such an ideal of the strength the 
 words give to bear sufi'ering, that the listeners wondered 
 if any bribing would coax those deep notes to linj^rer 
 on for ever, to be at their side, to heal each future wound 
 in life. As they repeated — 
 
 " Eia mater fons amoris 
 Me sentire vim doloris 
 Fac ut tecum lugeam."
 
 348 The Sliver Whistle. 
 
 Moyrah did, indeed, mingle tears with that compas- 
 sionate mother, and as she did so, felt that there was 
 one, at least, who loved her better in her shame than in 
 her joy. One face of her own sex that never would be 
 turned away from her, one entirely human heart which 
 beat, even in her deepest humiliation, side by side, pulse 
 for pulse, with hers ; one mother's breast on which she 
 could lay her tired head, and learn all that " a mother " 
 means. 
 
 END OF VOL I.
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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