Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels. A to Z Classics
are the happy hours so short, while misery and anxiety spread out endlessly?”
But as the red light of the sunset smote my face, a better and a holier feeling came to me; and there on the top of the hill I knelt and prayed, with a directness and fervor that are the spiritual gifts of youth, that every blessing might light on her — the arrière pensée being — her, my wife. Slowly I went down the mountain after the sun had set; and when I got to the foot I stood bareheaded for a long time, looking at the summit which had given me so much happiness.
Do not sneer or make light of such moments, ye whose lives are gray. Would to God that the gray haired and gray-souled watchers of life, could feel such moments once again!
I walked home with rare briskness, but did not feel tired at all by it; I seemed to tread on air. As I drew near the hotel I had some vague idea of hurrying at once to my own room, and avoiding dinner altogether as something too gross and carnal for my present exalted condition; but a moment’s reflection was sufficient to reject any such folly. I therefore achieved the other extreme, and made Mrs. Keating’s kindly face beam by the vehemence with which I demanded food. I found that Dick had not yet returned — a fact which did not displease me, as it insured me a temporary exemption from Andy’s ill-timed banter, which I did not feel in a humor to enjoy at present.
I was just sitting down to my dinner when Dick arrived. He, too, had a keen appetite; and it was not until we had finished our fish, and were well into our roast duck, that conversation began. Once he was started, Dick was full of matters to tell me. He had seen Moriarty — that was what had kept him so late — and had got his permission to investigate and experiment on the bog. He had thought out the whole method of work to be pursued, and had, during Murdock’s dinner-time, made to scale a rough diagram for me to work by. We had our cigars lit before he had exhausted himself on this subject. He had asked me a few casual questions about my walk, and, so as not to arouse any suspicions, I had answered him vaguely that I had had a lovely day, had enjoyed myself immensely, and had seen some very pretty things — all of which was literally and exactly true. I had then asked him as to how he had got on with his operations in connection with the bog. It amused me to think how small and secondary a place Shleenanaher, and all belonging to it, now had in my thoughts. He told me that they had covered a large portion of the new section of the bog; that there was very little left to do now, in so far as the bog was concerned; and he descanted on the richness and the fine position of Murdock’s new farm.
“It makes me angry,” said he, “to think that that human-shaped wolf should get hold of such a lovely spot, and oust such a good fellow as the man whom he has robbed — yes, it is robbery, and nothing short of it. I feel something like a criminal myself for working for such a wretch at all.”
“Never mind, old chap,” said I; “you can’t help it. Whatever he may have done wrong, you have had neither act nor part in it. It will all come right in time.” In my present state of mind I could not imagine that there was, or could be, anything in the world that would not come all right in time.
We strolled into the street, and met Andy, who immediately hurried up to me:
“Good-evenin’, yer ‘an’r! An’ did ye give me insthructions to me father?”
“I did, Andy; and he asked me to tell you that all shall be done exactly as you wish.”
“Thank yer ‘an’r.”
He turned away, and my heart rejoiced, for I thought I would be free from his badinage; but he turned and came back, and asked, with a servility which I felt to be hypocritical and assumed:
“Any luck, yer ‘an’r, wid bogs to-day?”
I know I got red as I answered him:
“Oh, I don’t know — yes, a little — not much.”
“Shure, an’ I’m glad to hear it, surr; but I might have known be the luk iv ye and be yer shtep. Faix, it’s aisy known whin a man has been lucky wid bogs!” The latter sentence was spoken in a pronounced “aside.”
Dick laughed, for although he was not in the secret he could see that there was some fun intended. I did not like his laugh, and said hotly:
“I don’t understand you, Andy!”
“Is it undershtand me ye don’t do? Well, surr, if I’ve said anythin’ that I shouldn’t, I ax yer pardon. Bogs isn’t to be lightly shpoke iv at all, at all;” then, after a pause: “Poor Miss Norah!”
“What do you mean?” said I.
“Shure yer ‘an’r, I was only pityin’ the poor crathur. Poor thing! but this’ll be a bitther blow to her intirely!” The villain was so manifestly acting a part, and he grinned at me in such a provoking way, that I got quite annoyed.
“Andy, what do you mean? — out with it!” I said, hotly.
“Mane, yer ‘an’r? Shure nawthin’. All I mane is, poor Miss Norah! Musha! but it’ll be the sore thrial to her. Bad cess to Knocknacar, anyhow!”
“This is infernal impertinence! Here —”
I was stopped by Dick’s hand on my breast:
“Easy, easy, old chap! What is this all about? Don’t get angry, old man. Andy is only joking, whatever it is. I’m not in the secret myself, and so can give no opinion; but there is a joke somewhere. Don’t let it go beyond a joke.”
“All right, Dick,” said I, having had time to recover my temper. “The fact is that Andy has started some chaff on me about bogs — meaning girls thereby — every time he mentions the word to me; and now he seems to accuse me in some way about a girl that came to meet her father that night I left him home at Knockcalltecrore. You know Joyce, that Murdock has ousted from his farm. Now, look here, Andy! You’re a very good fellow, and don’t mean any harm; but I entirely object to the way you’re going on. I don’t mind a button about a joke. I hope I’m not such an ass as to be thin-skinned about a trifle, but it is another matter when you mention a young lady’s name alongside mine. You don’t think of the harm you may do. People are very talkative, and generally get a story the wrong end up. If you mention this girl — whatever her name is —”
“Poor Miss Norah!” struck in Andy, and then ostentatiously corrected himself — “I big yer ‘an’r’s pardon, Miss Norah, I mane.”
“This Miss Norah — along with me,” I went on, “and especially in that objectionable form, people may begin to think she is wronged in some way, and you may do her an evil that you couldn’t undo in all your lifetime. As for me, I never even saw the girl. I heard her speak in the dark for about half a minute, but I never set eyes on her in my life. Now, let this be the last of all this nonsense! Don’t worry me any more; but run in and tell Mrs. Keating to give you a skinful of punch, and to chalk it up to me.”
Andy grinned, ducked his head, and made his exit into the house as though propelled or drawn by some unseen agency. When I remarked this to Dick he replied, “Some spirit draws him, I dare say.”
Dick had not said a word beyond advising me not to lose my temper. He did not appear to take any notice of my lecture to Andy, and puffed unconcernedly at his cigar till the driver had disappeared. He then took me by the arm, and said:
“Let us stroll a bit up the road.”
Arm in arm we passed out of the town and into the silence of the common. The moon was rising, and there was a soft, tender light over everything. Presently, without looking at me, Dick said:
“Art, I don’t want to be inquisitive or to press for any confidences, but you and I are too old friends not to be interested in what concerns each other. What did Andy mean? Is there any girl in question?”
I was glad to have a friend to whom to open my mind, and without further thought I answered:
“There is, Dick.”
Dick grasped