Part 2 (1/2)

Upon the level roof of Holy Cross there was s.p.a.ce enough to handle cavalry, and a wide outlook across the desert. There we had lie-down chairs, rugs, and cus.h.i.+ons; and after dinner, when the day's work was done, we would sit watching the sunset, the red afterglow, the rich of night come up in the east, the big stars wheeling slowly until it was sleep-time. But when the boy was at college, and the boss away from home, there was only Lady Balshannon and me to share the long evenings.

”Billy,” she said once, for she never would call me Chalkeye, ”Billy, do you know that I'm dying?”

”Yes, mum, and me too, but I don't reckon to swim a river till I reach the brink.”

”My feet are in the waters, Billy, now.”

”I wouldn't hurry, mum. It may be heaven beyond, or it may be--disappointing.”

”You dear boy,” she laughed; ”I want to tell you a story.”

I lit a cigarette, and lay down at the rugs at her feet. ”I can bear it, mum.”

She lay back in her chair, brus.h.i.+ng off the warm with her fan.

”Did my husband ever tell you about a man named Ryan?”

”Not to me--no.”

”Well, the Ryans were tenant farmers on the Balshannon Estate, at home in Ireland. They were well-to-do yeomen, almost gentlefolk, and George Ryan and my husband were at school together. They might have been friends to-day, but for the terrible Land League troubles, which set the tenants against their landlords. It was a sort of smouldering war between the poor folk and our unhappy Irish gentry. It's not for me to judge; both sides were more or less in the wrong; both suffered, the landlords ruined, the tenants driven into exile. It's all too sad to talk about.

”My husband's regiment was in India then; my son was born there. Rex used to get letters from poor Lord Balshannon, his father, who was all alone at Balshannon, reduced to dreadful poverty, trying to do his duty as a magistrate, while the wretched peasants had to be driven from their homes. His barns were burnt, twice the house was set on fire, his cattle and horses were mutilated in the fields, and he never went out without expecting to be shot from behind a hedge. He needed help, and at last my husband couldn't bear it any longer. He sent in his papers, left the profession he loved, and went back to Ireland. He was so impatient to see all his old friends that he wired Mr. George Ryan to meet the train at Blandon, and drive with him up to Balshannon House for dinner. n.o.body else was told that Colonel du Chesnay was coming. Would you believe it, Billy, those Land Leaguers tore up the track near Blandon Station, pointing the broken rails out over the river! Mr. Ryan was their leader, who knew that my husband was in the train. n.o.body else knew. No, mercifully the train wasn't wrecked. The driver pulled up just in time, and my husband left the train then, and walked up through Balshannon Park to the house. He found his father ill in bed; something wrong with the heart, and sat nursing him until nearly midnight, when the old man fell asleep. After that he crept down very quietly to the dining-room.

He found cheese and biscuits, and went off in search of some ale. When he came back he found Mr. Ryan in the dining-room.

”The man was drenched to the skin, and scratched from breaking through hedges. He said that the police were after him with a warrant on the charge of attempted train-wrecking. He swore that he was innocent, that he had come to appeal to Lord Balshannon against what he described as a police conspiracy. Rex told him that the old man was too ill to be disturbed, that the least shock might be fatal. 'Surrender to me,' said Rex, 'and if the police have been guilty of foul play, I'll see that you get full justice.'

”At that moment they heard footsteps outside on the gravel, and peeping out through the window, Mr. Ryan found that the police had surrounded the building. He charged Rex with setting a trap to catch him: he pointed a pistol in my husband's face. 'Don't fire!' said Rex, 'my father is upstairs very ill, and if you fire the shock may be fatal.

Don't fire!'

”Mr. Ryan fired.

”The bullet grazed my husband's head, and knocked him senseless. When he recovered he found that Ryan had escaped--n.o.body knows how, and a sergeant of the Royal Irish Constabulary told him that the police were in hot pursuit. He heard shots fired in the distance, and that made him frightened for his father. He rushed out of the room, and half-way up the staircase found the old may lying dead. The shock had killed him.”

”Lady,” I said, ”if I were the boss, I'd shoot up that Ryan man into small sc.r.a.ps.”

”Billy, you've got to save my husband from being a murderer.”

”Ryan,” said I, ”ain't eligible for the grave until he meets up with Balshannon's gun.”

”Promise me to save my husband from this crime.”

”But I cayn't promise to shoot up this Ryan myself. He's Balshannon's meat, not mine.”

”You must dissuade my husband.”

”I'll dissuade none between a man and his kill.”