Part 2 (1/2)

To him she was a beautiful girl with poetical ideas, which he found rather amusing.

To her he was a revelation.

In all her nineteen years Eileen had never met any one so cultured as Lawrence Blake, except Jack's father, and he, since his wife's death, had grown so reserved and retiring that no one was able ever to bring him out of himself. There seemed to be nothing that Lawrence did not know and had not studied, and so eager was she to learn from him that she was blind altogether to the defects which made him an object of aversion to honest, outspoken Jack. It must be confessed, however, that Lawrence, when he liked, could be as charming a companion as any one need wish, and if it so pleased him, and he were not too lackadaisical, could make his way into almost any one's heart. It was generally said of him that he had the most disarming smile in the world, and from wearing a cynical, morose expression, could change in an instant to a polished courtier if he so wished, and turn an enemy into an ally after half an hour's conversation.

And it pleased him during that sunny October to stand well with Eileen.

He liked her. She was not only beautiful to look at, but interesting to talk to, and a delightful listener, and for the rest--well, what harm in it?

So it chanced in the end that a certain subdued love-light drove much of the usual wistfulness from Eileen's eyes, and when unoccupied she would steal oftener to the mountains or sit longer in the starlight on her favourite seat by the Loch. Her mother watched her a little anxiously, but feared to do harm by speaking. Paddy treated it all as a great joke, and Jack, without in the least knowing why, felt a quite unaccountable longing to duck Lawrence in the bay whenever he heard him mentioned. Then suddenly Mr Blake died, and everything was changed.

Lawrence, being very fond of his mother, rarely left her in her terrible grief. Finally, by the doctor's advice, he took her abroad, and the beautiful, hospitable house was closed, to the loss of the whole neighbourhood. That was three years ago, and now they were coming back once more, and it seemed likely that the old _regime_ would recommence.

To Eileen it was simply ”he” was coming back.

She told the birds about it as she hastened up to her beloved nook, and the little trickling streams, and the flowers, and the mountains that towered all round.

She was so sure he was coming back to her. Had he not lived in her thoughts and been the central figure of her dreams ever since he went away three years ago? Was it likely it could have been otherwise with him, after the way he had looked at her and sought her companions.h.i.+p?...

And now he was to love her so much more than before, for had she not read and thought and studied, to make herself a fitter companion? She smiled to think what a little ignoramus she must have seemed to him three years ago. Of course she was that, compared to him, still, but she had at least tried to educate herself to a higher plane and knew that she had not tried altogether in vain. ”Will he know it at once, I wonder?” she whispered to herself, sitting in her favourite att.i.tude, with her elbows on her knees and her chin sunk deep in her hands, gazing at the deep blue of the distant sea. ”Will he be glad? Is he feeling as I feel now?--as if Heaven had somehow come down to earth and shed a new loveliness over the mountains, and the valleys, and the sea?--as if one must always be good because of the joy in the world, and make everyone so happy that evil must eventually die out?”

Then she fell to dreaming golden dreams of love, and wonder, and tenderness, till her eyes shone, and losing all consciousness of time and s.p.a.ce her soul carried her away into an unreal dreamland of ecstasy.

From this she was somewhat suddenly and forcibly awakened by the apparition of a stalwart form, not in the least ethereal or dream-like, with a gun on his shoulder and two brace of snipe in his hand. He had, moreover, emerald green on his stockings, a tan waistcoat, and a pale green tie instead of a terra cotta one that had raised such objections in the morning; and whatever Paddy or anyone else might like to say, he formed as pleasing a picture of a typical young Briton as any one need wish. He expressed surprise at seeing Eileen, but not being a good actor, any experienced ear would easily have detected that he had come to that spot with the express hope of finding her.

”Have you been up here long?” he asked, throwing down the gun and the birds in the heather and telling his spaniel to keep guard over them.

”About three hours, I should think,” she replied, looking a little askance at the gun. ”Is it unloaded?”

”Yes. You're not afraid of it, are you?”

”N-no,” slowly. ”Isn't it rather early to shoot snipe?”

”Yes, but there wasn't anything else.”

”I thought you and Paddy were going across to Rostrevor this afternoon?”

”So we were, but we fell out.”

”Has Paddy gone alone, then?”

”Yes. She said she'd rather swim across than have to go in the same boat with me.” And he smiled at the recollection.

Eileen smiled vaguely also, but she was not listening very attentively, so she was not quite sure what she was smiling at. She had unconsciously slipped into her old att.i.tude again, and, chin in hand, was gazing out to sea.

Jack, having thrown himself down beside her, pulled at the heather in silence, watching her secretly. ”What do you think about when you sit here by yourself?” he asked suddenly. ”It seems as if it must be so awfully slow.”

”Oh, no, it isn't at all slow,” she answered simply.

”But what do you think about?” he reiterated.

”I don't think I could explain,” slowly, ”except that it's just everything.”