XXVI
'BE-N EIRINN I!
Barres senior rose with the sun. Also with determination, which tookthe form of a note slipped under his wife's door as he was leaving thehouse:
"DARLING:
"I lost last night's fishing and I'm hanged if I lose it to-night! So don't ask me to fritter away a perfectly good evening at the Gerhardt's party, because the sun is up; I'm off to the woods; and I shall remain there until the last trout breaks.
"Tell the little Soane girl that I left a rod for her in the work-room, if she cares to join me at the second lake. Garry can bring her over and leave her if he doesn't wish to fish. Don't send a man over with a lot of food and shawls. I've a creel full of provisions, and I am sufficiently clad, and I hate to be disturbed and I am never grateful to people who try to be good to me. However, I love you very dearly.
"Your husband,
"REGINALD BARRES."
At half past seven trays were sent to Mrs. Barres and to Lee; and ateight-thirty they were in the saddle and their horses fetlock deep inmorning dew.
Dulcie, sipping her chocolate in bed, marked their departure withsleepy eyes. For the emotions of the night before had told on her, andwhen a maid came to remove the tray she settled down among herpillows again, blinking unresponsively at the invitation of the sun,which cast over her a fairy net of gold.
Thessalie, in negligee, came in later and sat down on the edge of herbed.
"You sleepy little thing," she said, "the men have breakfasted and arewaiting for us on the tennis court."
"I don't know how to play," said Dulcie. "I don't know how to doanything."
"You soon will, if you get up, you sweet little lazy-bones!"
"Do you think I'll ever learn to play tennis and golf and to ride?"inquired Dulcie. "You know how to do everything so well, Thessa."
"Dear child, it's all locked up in you--the ability to do everything--beanything! The only difference between us is that I had the chance totry."
"But I can't even stand on my head," said Dulcie wistfully.
"Did you ever try?"
"N-no."
"It's easy. Do you want to see me do it?"
"Oh, please, Thessa!"
So Thessalie, calmly smiling, rose, cast herself lightly upon herhands, straightened her lithe figure leisurely, until, amid a cataractof tumbling silk and chiffon, her rose silk slippers pointed towardthe ceiling. Then, always with graceful deliberation, she brought herfeet to the floor, forming an arc with her body; held it a moment, andslowly rose upright, her flushed face half-buried in her loosenedhair.
Dulcie, in raptures, climbed out of bed and insisted on immediateinstruction. Down on the tennis court, Garry and Westmore heard theirpeals of laughter and came across the lawn under the window toremonstrate.
"Aren't you ever going to get dressed!" called up Westmore. "If you'regoing to play doubles with us you'd better get busy, because it'sgoing to be a hot day!"
So Thessalie went away to dress and Dulcie tiptoed into her bath,which the maid had already drawn.
But it was an hour before they appeared on the lawn, cool and fresh intheir white skirts and shoes, and found Westmore and Barres, red anddrenched, hammering each other across the net in their second furiousset.
So Dulcie took her first lesson under Garry's auspices; and she tookto it naturally, her instinct being sound, but her technique ascharmingly awkward as a young bird's in its first essay at flying.
To see her all in white, with sleeves tucked up, throat bare, and thesun brilliant on her ruddy, rippling hair, produced a curiousimpression on Barres. As far as the East is from the West, so far wasthis Dulcie of the tennis court separated from the wistful, shabbychild behind the desk at Dragon Court.
Could they possibly be the same--this lithe, fresh, laughing girl,with white feet flashing and snowy skirts awhirl?--and the pale,grey-eyed slip of a thing that had come one day to his threshold witha faltering request for admittance to that wonderland wherein dweltonly such as he?
Now, those grey eyes had turned violet, tinged with the beauty of theopen sky; the loosened hair had become a net entangling the verysunlight; and the frail body, now but one smooth, soft symmetry,seemed fairly lustrous with the shining soul it masked within it.
* * * * *
She came over to the net, breathless, laughing, to shake hands withher victorious opponents.
"I'm so sorry, Garry," she said, turning penitently to him, "but Ineed such a lot of help in the world before I'm worth anything toanybody."
"You're all right as you are. You always have been all right," he saidin a low voice. "You never were worth less than you are worth now;you'll never be worth more than you are worth to me at this moment."
They were walking slowly across the lawn toward the northern veranda.She halted a moment on the grass and cast a questioning glance athim:
"Doesn't it please you to have me learn things?"
"You always please me."
"I'm so glad.... I try.... But don't you think you'd like me better ifI were not so ignorant?"
He looked at her absently, shook his head:
"No ... I couldn't like you better.... I couldn't care more--for anygirl--than I care for you.... Did you suspect that, Dulcie?"
"No."
"Well, it's true."
They moved slowly forward across the grass--he distrait, his handsomehead lowered, swinging his tennis-bat as he walked; she very still andlithe and slender, moving beside him with lowered eyes fixed on theirmingled shadows on the grass.
"When are you to see Mr. Skeel?" he asked abruptly.
"This afternoon.... He asked if he might hope to find me alone.... Ididn't know exactly what to say. So I told him about the rosearbour.... He said he would pay his respects to your mother and sisterand then ask their permission to see me there alone."
They came to the veranda; Dulcie seated herself on the steps and heremained standing on the grass in front of her.
"Remember," he said quietly, "that I can never care less for you thanI do at this moment.... Don't forget what I say, Dulcie."
She looked up at him, happy, wondering, even perhaps a littleapprehensive in her uncertainty as to his meaning.
He did not seem to care to enlighten her further. His mood changed,too, even as she looked at him, and she saw the troubled gravity fadeand the old gaiety glimmering in his eyes:
"I've a mind to put you on a horse, Sweetness, and see what happens,"he remarked.
"Oh, Garry! I don't want to tumble off before _you_!"
"Before whom had you rather land on that red head of yours?" heinquired. "I'd be more sympathetic than many."
"I'd rather have Thessa watch me break my neck. Do you mind? It'shorrid to be so sensitive, I suppose. But, Garry, I couldn't bear tohave you see me so shamefully awkward and demoralised."
"Fancy your being awkward! Well, all right----"
He looked across the lawn, where Thessalie and Westmore sat together,just outside the tennis court, under a brilliant lawn umbrella.
Oddly enough, the spectacle caused him no subtle pang, although theirheads were pretty close together and their mutual absorption inwhatever they were saying appeared evident enough.
"Let 'em chatter," he said after an instant's hesitation. "Thessa ormy sister can ride with you this afternoon when it's cooler. I supposeyou'll take to the saddle as though born there."
"Oh, I hope so!"
"Sure thing. All Irish girls--of your quality--take to it."
"My--quality?"
"Yours.... It's merely happened so," he added irrelevantly, "--but thecontrary couldn't have mattered ... as long as you are _you_! Nothingelse matters one way or another. You _are_ you: that answers allquestions, fulfils all requirements----"
"I _don't_ quite understand what you say, Garry!"
"Don't you, Sweetness? Don't you understand why you've always beenexactly what you appear like at this moment?"
Sh
e looked at him with her lovely, uncertain smile:
"I've always been myself, I suppose. You are teasing me dreadfully!"
He laughed in a nervous, excited way, not like himself:
"You bet you have always been yourself, Sweetness!--in spite ofeverything you've always been _yourself_. I am very slow indiscovering it. But I think I realise it now."
"Please," she remonstrated, "you are laughing at me and I don't knowwhy. I think you've been talking nonsense and expecting me to pretendto understand.... If you don't stop laughing at me I shall retire tomy room and--and----"
"What, Sweetness?" he demanded, still laughing.
"Change to a cooler gown," she said, humorously vexed at her owninability to threaten or punish him for his gaiety at her expense.
"All right; I'll change too, and we'll meet in the music-room!"
She considered him askance:
"Will you be more respectful to me, Garry?"
"Respectful? I don't know."
"Very well, then, I'm not coming back."
But when he entered the music-room half an hour later, Dulcie wasseated demurely before the piano, and when he came and stood behindher she dropped her head straight back and looked up at him.
"I had a wonderful icy bath," she said, "and I'm ready for anything.Are you?"
"Almost," he said, looking down at her.
She straightened up, gazed silently at the piano for a few moments;sounded a few chords. Then her fingers wandered uncertainly, as thoughgroping for something that eluded them--something that they delicatelysought to interpret. But apparently she did not discover it; and hersearch among the keys ended in a soft chord like a sigh. Only her lipscould have spoken more plainly.
At that moment Westmore and Thessalie came in breezily and remained togossip a few minutes before bathing and changing.
"Play something jolly!" said Westmore. "One of those gay Irish things,you know, like 'The Honourable Michael Dunn,' or 'Finnigan's Wake,'or----"
"I don't know any," said Dulcie, smiling. "There's a song called'Asthore.' My mother wrote it----"
"Can you sing it?"
The girl ran her fingers over the keys musingly:
"I'll remember it presently. I know one or two old songs like'Irishmen All.' Do you know that song?"
And she sang it in her gay, unembarrassed way:
"Warm is our love for the island that bore us, Ready are we as our fathers before us, Genial and gallant men, Fearless and valiant men, Faithful to Erin we answer her call. Ulster men, Munster men, Connaught men, Leinster men, Irishmen all we answer her call!"
"Fine!" cried Westmore. "Try it again, Dulcie!"
"Maybe you'll like this better," she said:
"Our Irish girls are beautiful, As all the world will own; An Irish smile in Irish eyes Would melt a heart of stone; But all their smiles and all their wiles Will quickly turn to sneers If you fail to fight for Erin In the Irish Volunteers!"
"Hurrah!" cried Westmore, beating time and picking up the chorus ofthe "Irish Volunteers," which Dulcie played to a thunderous finishamid frantic applause.
She sang for them "The West's Awake!", "The Risin' of the Moon,""Clare's Dragoons," and "Paddy Get Up!" And after Westmore hadexercised his lungs sufficiently in every chorus, he and Thessaliewent off to their respective quarters, leaving Barres leaning on thepiano beside Dulcie.
"Your people are a splendid lot--given half a chance," he said.
"My people?"
"Certainly. After all, Sweetness, you're Irish, you know."
"Oh."
"Aren't you?"
"I don't know what I am," she murmured half to herself.
"Whoever you are it's the same to me, Dulcie." ... He took a fewshort, nervous turns across the room; walked slowly back to her: "Hasit come back to you yet--that song of your mother's you were trying toremember?"
Even while he was speaking the song came back to her memory--hermother's song called "Asthore"--startling her with its poignantsignificance to herself.
"Do you recollect it?" he asked again.
"Y-yes ... I can't sing it."
"Why?"
"I don't wish to sing 'Asthore'----" She bent her head and gazed atthe keyboard, the painful colour dyeing her neck and cheeks.
When at length she looked up at him out of lovely, distressed eyes,something in his face--something--some new expression which she darednot interpret--set her heart flying. And, scarcely knowing what shewas saying in her swift and exquisite confusion:
"The words of my mother's song would mean nothing to you, Garry," shefaltered. "You could not understand them----"
"Why not?"
"B-because you could not be in sympathy with them."
"How do you know? Try!"
"I can't----"
"Please, dear!"
The smile edging her lips glimmered in her eyes now--a reckless littleglint of humour, almost defiant.
"Do you insist that I sing 'Asthore'?"
"Yes."
He seemed conscious of a latent excitement in her to which somethingwithin himself was already responsive.
"It's about a lover," she said, "--one of the old-fashioned, head-long,hot-headed sort--Irish, of course!--you'd not understand--suchthings----" Her tongue and colour were running random riot; her wordsoutstripped her thoughts and tripped up her tongue, scaring her alittle. She drummed on the keys a rollicking trill or two, hesitated,stole a swift, uncertain glance at him.
A delicate intoxication enveloped her, stimulating, frightening her alittle, yet hurrying her into speech again:
"I'll sing it for you, Garry asthore! And if I were a lad I'd besinging my own gay credo!--if I were the lad--and you but a lass,asthore!"
Then, though her gray eyes winced and her flying colour betrayed hertrepidation, she looked straight at him, laughingly, and her clear,childish voice continued the little prelude to "Asthore":
I
"I long for her, who e'er she be-- The lass that Fate decrees for me; Or dark or white and fair to see, My heart is hers _'be n-Eirinn i_!
I care not, I, Who ever she be, I could not love her more! _'Be n-Eirin i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_[1]
II
"I know her tresses unconfined, In wanton ringlets woo the wind-- Or rags or silk her bosom bind It's one to me; my eyes are blind!
I care not, I, Who ever she be, Or poor, or rich galore! _'Be n-Eirinn i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_
III
"At noon, some day, I'll climb a hill, And find her there and kiss my fill; And if she won't, I think she will, For every Jack must have his Jill!
I care not, I, Who ever she be, The lass that I adore! _'Be n-Eirinn i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i-- 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_"
[1] The refrain, pronounced _Bay-nayring-ee_, is common to a number of Irish love-songs written during the last century. It should be translated: "Whoever she be."
In writing this song, it is evident that Eileen Fane was inspired by Blind William of Tipperary; and that she was beholden to Carroll O'Daly for her "Eileen, my Treasure," although not to Robin Adair of County Wicklow.
AUTHOR.
Dulcie's voice and her flushed smile, too, faded, died out. She lookeddown at the keyboard, where her white hands rested idly; she bentlower--a little lower; laid her arms on the music-rest, her face onher crossed arms. And, slowly, the tears fell without a tremor,without a sound.
He had leaned over her shoulders; his bowed head was close to hers--soclose that he became aware of the hot, tearful fragrance of herbreath; but there was not a sound from her, not a stir.
"What is it, Sweetness?" he whispered.
"I--don't know.... I didn't m-mean to--cry.... And I don't know why Ishould.... I'm very h-happy----" She withdrew one arm and stretched itout, blindly, seeking him; and he took her hand and held it close tohis lips.
"Why are yo
u so distressed, Dulcie?"
"I'm not. I'm happy.... You know I am.... My heart was very full; thatis all.... I don't seem to know how to express myself sometimes....Perhaps it's because I don't quite dare.... So something gives way....And this happens--tears. Don't mind them, please.... If I could reachmy handkerchief----" She drew the tiny square of sheer stuff from herbosom and rested her closed eyes on it.
"It's silly, isn't it, Garry?... W-when a girl is so heavenlycontented.... Is anybody coming?"
"Westmore and Thessa!"
She whisked her tears away and sat up swiftly. But Thessa merelycalled to them that she and Westmore were off for a walk, and passedon through the hall and out through the porch.
"Garry," she murmured, looking away from him.
"Yes, dear?"
"May I go to my room and fix my hair? Because Mr. Skeel will be here.Do you mind if I leave you?"
He laughed:
"Of course not, you charming child!" Then, as he looked down at herhand, which he still retained, his expression altered; he inclosed theslender fingers, bent slowly and touched the fragrant palm with hislips.
They were both on their feet the next second; she passing him with apale, breathless little smile, and swiftly crossing the hall; he dumb,confused by the sudden tumult within him, standing there with one handholding to the piano as though for support, and looking after theslim, receding figure till it disappeared beyond the library door.
His mother and sister returned from their morning ride, lingered tochat with him, then went away to dress for luncheon. Murtagh Skeel hadnot yet arrived.
Westmore and Thessalie returned from their walk in the woods by thesecond lake, reporting a distant view of Barres senior, fishing madlyfrom a canoe.
Dulcie came down and joined them in the library. Later Mrs. Barres andLee appeared, and luncheon was announced.
Murtagh Skeel had not come to Foreland Farms, and there was no wordfrom him.
Mrs. Barres spoke of his absence during luncheon, for Garry had toldher he was coming to talk to Dulcie about her mother, whom he hadknown very well in Ireland.
Luncheon ended, and the cool north veranda became the popularrendezvous for the afternoon, and later for tea. People fromNorthbrook drove, rode, or motored up for a cheering cup, and a wordor two of gossip. But Skeel did not come.
By half-past five the north veranda was thronged with a gailychattering and very numerous throng from neighbouring estates. Thelively gossip was of war, of the coming elections, of Germanactivities, of the Gerhardts' promised moonlight spectacle and dance,of Murtagh Skeel and the romantic interest he had aroused amongNorthbrook folk.
So many people were arriving or leaving and such a delightful andgeneral informality reigned that Dulcie, momentarily disengaged from avapid but persistent dialogue with a chuckle-headed but persistentyouth, ventured to slip into the house, and through it to the gardenin the faint hope that perhaps Murtagh Skeel might have avoided thetea-crush and had gone directly there.
But the rose arbour was empty; only the bubble of the little wallfountain and a robin's evening melody broke the scented stillness ofthe late afternoon.
Her mind was full of Murtagh Skeel, her heart of Garry Barres, as shestood there in that blossoming solitude, listening to the robin andthe fountain, while her eyes wandered across flower-bed, pool, andclipped greensward, and beyond the garden wall to the hill where threepines stood silver-green against the sky.
Little by little the thought of Murtagh Skeel faded from her mind;fuller and fuller grew her heart with confused emotions new toher--emotions too perplexing, too deep, too powerful, perhaps, for herto understand--or to know how to resist or to endure. For the firstvague sweetness of her thoughts had grown keen to the verge ofpain--an exquisite spiritual tension which hurt her, bewildered herwith the deep emotions it stirred.
To love, had been a phrase to her; a lover, a name. For beyondthat childish, passionate adoration which Barres had evoked inher, and which to her meant friendship, nothing more subtly mature,more vital, had threatened her unawakened adolescence with anyclearer comprehension of him or any deeper apprehension of herself.
And even now it was not knowledge that pierced her, lighting littleconfusing flashes in her mind and heart. For her heart was still achild's heart; and her mind, stimulated and rapidly developing underthe warm and magic kindness of this man who had become her onlyfriend, had not thought of him in any other way.... Until to-day.
What had happened in her mind, in her heart, she had notanalysed--probably was afraid to, there at the piano in themusic-room. And later, in her bedroom, when she had summoned upinnocent courage sufficient for self-analysis, she didn't know how toquestion herself--did not realise exactly what had happened to her,and never even thought of including him in the enchanted cataclysmwhich had befallen her mind and heart and soul.
Thessalie and Westmore appeared on the lawn by the pool. Behind thewoods the sky was tinted with pale orange.
It may have been the psychic quality of the Celt in Dulcie--a paleglimmer of clairvoyance--some momentary and vague premonitionwirelessed through the evening stillness which set her sensitive bodyvibrating; for she turned abruptly and gazed northward across thewoods and hills--remained motionless, her grey eyes fixed on the farhorizon, all silvery with the hidden glimmer of unlighted stars.
Then she slowly said aloud to herself:
"He will not come. He will never come again--this man who loved mymother."
Barres approached across the grass, looking for her. She went forwardthrough the arbour to meet him.
"Hasn't he come?" he asked.
"He is not coming, Garry."
"Why? Have you heard anything?"
She shook her head:
"No. But he isn't coming."
"Probably he'll explain this evening at the Gerhardts'."
"I shall never see him again," she said absently.
He turned and gave her a searching look. Her gaze was remote, her facea little pale.
They walked back to the house together in silence.
A servant met them in the hall with a note on a tray. It was forBarres; Dulcie passed on with a pale little smile of dismissal; Barresopened the note:
"The pot has boiled over, mon ami. Something has scared Skeel. He gave us the slip very cleverly, leaving Gerhardt's house before sunrise and motoring north at crazy speed. Where he will strike the railway I have no means of knowing. Your Government's people are trying to cover Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. On the Canada side the authorities have been notified and are alert I hope.
"Gerhardt's country house is a nest of mischief hatchers. One in particular is under surveillance and will be arrested. His name is Tauscher.
"Because, mon ami, it has just been discovered that there are _two_ plots to blow up the Welland Canal! One is Skeel's. The other is Tauscher's. It is a purely German plot. They don't intend to blow themselves up these Huns. Oh no! They expect to get away.
"Evidently Bernstorff puts no faith in Skeel's mad plan. So, in case it doesn't pan out, here is Tauscher with another plan, made in Germany, and very, very thorough. Isn't it characteristic? Here is the report I received this morning:
"'Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attache on the ambassadorial staff of Count von Bernstorff, and Captain Hans Tauscher, who, besides being the Krupp agent in America, is also, by appointment of the German War Office, von Papen's chief military assistant in the United States, have plotted the destruction of the Welland Canal in Canada.
"'Captain Hans Tauscher will be arrested and indicted for violation of Section 13 of the United States Criminal Code, for setting on foot a military enterprise against Canada during the neutrality of the United States.
"'Tauscher is a German reserve officer and is subject to the orders of Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attache of Count von Bernstorff. His indictment will be brought about by reason of an attempt to blow up parts of the Welland Canal, the waterway connecting Lak
es Erie and Ontario. A small party of Germans, under command of one von der Goltz, have started from New York for the purpose of committing this act of sabotage, and, incidentally, of assassination of all men, women and children who might be involved in the explosion at the point to be selected by the plotters.
"'Tauscher bought and furnished to this crowd of assassins the dynamite which was to be used for the purpose. The fact that Tauscher had bought the dynamite has become known to the United States authorities and he will be called upon to make an explanation.
"'Captain Tauscher is said to be an agreeable companion, but he had the ordinary predilection of a German officer for assassinating women and children.'
"Now, then, mon ami, this is the report. I expect that United States Secret Service men will arrest Tauscher to-night. Perhaps Gerhardt, also, will be arrested.
"At any rate, at the dance to-night you need not look for Skeel. But may I suggest that you and Mr. Westmore keep your eyes on Mademoiselle Dunois. Because, at the railway station to-day, the German agents, Franz Lehr and Max Freund, were recognised by my men, disguised as liveried chauffeurs, but in whose service we have not yet been able to discover.
"Therefore, it might be well for you and Mr. Westmore to remain near Mademoiselle Dunois during the evening.
"Au revoir! I shall see you at the dance.
"RENOUX."