Complete Works of Bram Stoker (40 page)

“May I bring in Turco? he is so quiet with me; and he must learn to know you and love you, or he won’t be any friend of mine.” She looked at me lovingly, and went and brought in the mastiff, by whom I was forthwith received into friendship.

That was indeed a happy day. We had a family consultation about the school; the time of beginning was arranged, and there was perfect accord among us. As Dick and I drove back through the darkness, I could not but feel that, even if evil were looming ahead of us, at least some of us had experienced what it is to be happy.

It had been decided that after a week’s time  —  on the 28th of October  —  Norah was to leave for school. Her father was to bring her as far as London, and Mr. Chapman was to take her over to Paris. This was Joyce’s own wish. He said:

“‘Twill be betther for ye, darlin’, to go widout me. Ye’ll have quite enough to do for a bit to keep even wid the girls that have been reared in betther ways nor you, widout me there to make little ivye.”

“But, father,” she remonstrated, “I don’t want to appear any different from what I am. And I am too fond of you, and too proud of you, not to want to appear as your daughter.”

Her father stroked her hair gently as he answered:

“Norah, my darlin’, it isn’t that. Ye’ve always been the good and dutiful daughter to me; an’ in all your pretty life there’s not wan thing I wish undone or unsaid. But I’m older than you, daughter, an’ I know more iv the world; an’ what I say is best for ye  —  now, and in yer future. I’m goin’ to live wid Eugene; an’ afther a while I suppose I, too, ‘II be somethin’ different from what lam. An’ thin, whin I’ve lived a while in a city, and got somethin’ of city ways, I’ll come an’ see ye, maybe. Ye must remimberthat it’s not only of you we’ve to think, but of th’ other girls in the school. I don’t want to have any of them turnin’ up their noses at ye; that’s not the way to get the best out iv school, my dear; for I suppose school is like everywhere else in the world: the higher ye’re able to hould yer head, the more others’II look up to ye.”

His words were so obviously true, that not one of us had a word to say, and the matter was acquiesced in nem. con. I myself got leave to accompany the party as far as London, but not beyond. It was further arranged that Joyce should take his daughter to Galway to get some clothes for her  —  just enough to take her to Paris  —  and that when in Paris she should have a full outfit under the direction of Madame Lepecheaux. They were to leave on Friday, so as to have the Saturday in Galway; and as Norah wanted to say goodbye on the Sunday to old school-fellows and friends in the convent, they would return on Monday, the 25th of October. Accordingly, on the morning after next, Joyce took a letter for me to Mr. Caicy, who was to pay to him whatever portion of the purchase-money of his land he should require, and whom I asked to give all possible assistance in whatever matters either he or Norah might desire. I would have dearly liked to have gone myself with them, but the purpose and the occasion were such that I could not think of offering to go. On the dayfixed they left on the long carfrom Carnaclif. They started in torrents of rain, but were as well wrapped up as the resources of Dick and myself would allow.

When they had gone Dick and I drove over to Knockcalltecrore. Dick wished to have an interview with Murdock, regarding his giving up possession of the land on the 27th, as arranged. We left Andy as usual at the foot of the Hill, and went up to Murdock’s house. The door was locked; and although we knocked several times, we could get no answer. We came away, therefore, and went up the Hill, as Dick wished me to see where, according to old Moynahan, was the last place at which the Frenchmen had been seen. As we went on and turned the brow of the mound, which lay straight up  —  for the bog-land lay in a curve round its southern side  —  we saw before us two figures at the edge of the bog. They were those of Murdock and old Moynahan. When we saw who they were, Dick whispered to me: “They are at the place to which I changed the mark, but are still on Joyce’s land.” They were working just as Dick and I had worked with Murdock, when we had recovered the gun-carriage, and were so intent on the work at which they toiled with feverish eagerness that they did not see us coming; and it was only when we stood close beside them that they were conscious of our presence. Murdock turned at once with a scowl and a sort of snarl. When he saw who it was he became positively livid with passion, and at once began to bombard us with the foulest vituperation. Dick pressed my arm, as a hint to keep quiet and leave the talking to him, and I did nothing; but he opposed the Gombeen Man’s passion with an unruffled calm. Indeed, he seemed to me to want even to exasperate Murdock to the last degree. When the latter paused for a second for breath, he quietly said: “Keep yourhairon, Murdock, and just tell me quietly why you are trespassing; and why, and what, you are trying to steal from this property?”

Murdock made no answer, so Dick went on: “Let me tell you that I act for the owner of this land, who bought it as it is, and I shall hold you responsible for your conduct. I don’t want to have a row needlessly, so if you go away quietly, and promise to not either trespass here again, ortryto steal anything, I shall not take any steps. If not, I shall do as the occasion demands.”

Murdock answered him with the most manifestly intentional insolence: “You! ye tell me to go away! I don’t ricognise ye at all. This land belongs to me frind, Mr. Joyce, an’ I shall come on it whin I like; and do as I like. Whin me frind tells me not to come here, I shall shtayaway. Till then I shall do as I like.”

Said Dick:

“You think that will do to bluff me because you know Joyce is away for the day, and that, in the mean time, you can do what you want, and perhaps get out of the bog some property that does not belong to you. I shall not argue with you any more; but I warn you that you will have to answer for your conduct.” Murdock and Moynahan continued their pulling at the rope. We waited till the haul was over, and saw that the spoil on this occasion was a part of the root ofa tree. Then, when both men were sitting exhausted beside it, Dick took out his note-book, and began to make notes of everything. Presently he turned to Murdock, and said: “Have you been fishing, Mr. Murdock? What a strange booty you have brought up! It is really most kind of you to be aiding to secure the winterfiring for Mr. Joyce and my friend. Is there anything but bog-wood to be found here?” Murdock’s reply was a curse and a savage scowl; but old Moynahan joined in the conversation: “Now, I tould ye, Murtagh, that we wur too low down.” “Shut up!” shouted the other, and the old man shrank back as if he had been struck. Dick looked down, and seemed to be struck by the cross of loose stones at his feet, and said: “Dear me! that is very strange  —  a cross of stones! It would almost seem as if it were made here to mark something; but yet”  —  here he lifted one of the stones  —  ”it cannot have been long here; the grass is fresh under the stones.” Murdock said nothing, but clinched his hands and ground his teeth. Presently, however, he sent Moynahan back to his house to get some whiskey. When the latter was out of ear-shot, Murdock turned to us, and said: “An’ so ye think to baffle me, do ye? Well, I’ll have that money out if I have to wade in yer blood. I will, by the livin’ God!” and he burst into a string of profanities that made us shudder.

He was in such deadly earnest that I felt a pity for him, and said impulsively: “Look here, if you want to get it out, you can have a little more time if you like, if only you will conduct yourself properly. I don’t want to be bothered looking for it. Now, if you’ll only behave decently, and be something like a civilised being, I’ll give you another month if you want it.”

Again he burst out at me with still more awful profanities. He didn’t want any of my time. He’dtakewhat time he liked. God himself  —  and he particularised the persons of the Trinity  —  couldn’t balk him, and he’d do what he liked; and if I crossed his path it would be the worse for me! And, as for others, that he would send the hard word round the country about me and my leman. I couldn’t be always knocking the ruffian down, so I turned away and called to Dick. “Coming,” said Dick, and he walked up to Murdock and knocked him down. Then, as the latter lay dazed on the grass, he followed me. “Really,” he said, apologetically, “the man wants it. It will do him good.”

Then we went back to Carnaclif.

These three days were very dreary ones for me; we spent most of the time walking over Knockcalltecrore and making plans for the future. But, without Norah, the place seemed very dreary.

We did not go over on the Monday, as we knew that Joyce and Norah would not get home until late in the evening, and would be tired. Early, however, on the day after  —  Tuesday  —  we drove over. Joyce was out, and Dick left me at the foot of the boreen, so when I got to the house I found Norah alone.

The dear girl showed me her new dresses with much pride; and presently going to her room put on one of them, and came back to let me see how she looked. Herface was covered with blushes. Needless to say that I admired the new dress, as did her father, who just then came in.

When she went away to take off the dress Joyce beckoned me outside. When we got away from the house he turned to me; his face was very grave, and he seemed even more frightened than angry. “There’s somethin’ I was touid while I was away that I think ye ought to know.”

“Go on, Mr. Joyce.” “Somebody has been sayin’ hard things about Norah.” “About Norah! Surely there is nobody mad enough or bad enough to speak evil of her.” “There’s wan.” He turned as he spoke, and looked instinctively in the direction of Murdock’s house. “Oh, Murdock, as he threatened. What did he say?” “Well, I don’t know. I could only get it that somebody was sayin’ somethin’, an’ that it would be well to have things so that no wan could say anythin’ that we couldn’t prove. It was a frind tould me; and that’s all he would tell. Mayhap he didn’t know any more himself; but I knew him to be a frind.”

“And it was a friendly act, Mr. Joyce. I have no doubt that Murdock has been sending round wicked lies about us all. But, thank God, in a few days we will be all moving, and it doesn’t matter much what he can do.” “No, it won’t matter much in wan way, but he’s not goin’, all the same, to throw dirt on me child. If he goes on I’ll folly him up.”

“He won’t go on, Mr. Joyce. Before long, he’ll be out of the neighborhood altogether. To tell you the truth, I have bought the whole of his land, and I get possession of it tomorrow; and then I’ll never let him set foot here again. When once he is out of this he will have too much other wickedness on hand to have time to meddle with us.” “That’s thrue enough. Well, we’ll wait an’ see what happens; but we’ll be mighty careful all the same.”

“Quite right,” I said, “we cannot be too careful in such a matter.” Then we went back to the house, and met Norah coming into the room in her red petticoat, which she knew I liked. She whispered to me, oh, so sweetly:

“I thought, dear, you would like me to be the old Norah, today. It is our last day together in the old way.” Then hand in hand we went down to the Cliff Fields, and sat on the table rock for the last time, and feasted our eyes on the glorious prospect, while we told each other our bright dreams of the future.

In the autumn twilight we came back to the house. Dick had, in the mean time, come in, and we both stayed for tea. I saw that Dick had something to tell me, but he waited until we were going home before he spoke.

It was a sad parting with Norah that night; for it was the last day together before she went off to school. For myself, I felt that whatever might be in the future  —  and I hoped for much  —  it was the last time that I might sit by the fire-light with the old Norah. She, too, was sad, and when she told me the cause of her sadness I found that it was the same as my own.

“But oh, Arthur, my darling, I shall try  —  I shall try to be worthy of my great good-fortune  —  and of you,” she said, as she put her arms round my neck, and leaning her head on my bosom, began to cry.

“Hush, Norah. Hush, my darling!” I said; “you must not say such things to me  —  you, who are worthy of all the good gifts of life. Oh, my dear, my dear! I am only fearful that you maybe snatched away from me by some terrible misfortune; I shall not be happy till you are safely away from the shadow of this fateful mountain, and are beginning your new life.”

“Only one more day,” she said. “To-morrow we must settle up everything  —  and I have much to do forfather  —  poorfather, how good he is to me! Please God, Arthur, we shall be able some day to repay him for all his goodness to me.” How inexpressibly sweet it was to me to hear her say “we” shall be able, as she nestled up close to me. Ah, that night! Ah, that night!  —  the end of the day when, for the last time, I sat on the table rock with the old Norah that I loved so well. It almost seemed as if Fate, who loves the keen contrasts of glare and gloom, had made on purpose that day so bright, and of such flawless happiness. As we went back to Carnaclif, Dick told me what had been exercising his mind all the afternoon. When he had got to the bog he found that it had risen so much that he thought it well to seek the cause. He had gone at once to the place where Murdock had dammed up the stream that ran over into the Cliff Fields, and had found that the natural position of the ground had so far aided his efforts that the great stones thrown into the chine had become solidified with the rubbish bythe new weight of the risen bog into a compact mass, and unless some heroic measure, such as blowing up the dam, should be taken, the bog would continue to rise until it should flowoverthe lowest part of the solid banks containing it. “As sure as we are here, Art,” he said, “that man will do himself to death. I am convinced that if the present state of things goes on, with the bog at its present height, and with this terrible rainfall, there will be another shifting of the bog, and then, God help him; and, perhaps, others too! I told him of the danger, and explained it to him; but he only laughed at me and called me a fool and a traitor; that I was doing it to prevent him getting his treasure  —  his treasure, forsooth! And then he went again into those terrible blasphemies, so I came away; but he is a lost man, and I don’t see how we can stop him.” I said, earnestly: “Dick, there’s no danger to them  —  the Joyces  —  is there?”