Part 70 (1/2)
”Shure, you do not forget your own Eily--the girl you made into the picthur, your colleen oge! But maybe it's the jiwils and the clothes that has changed me; it's mighty grand they make me, to be sure, but it was so you should not be ashamed of me I put them on. Arrah, shpake to me, and let me hear the sound of your voice!”
She looked pleadingly into his eyes, but he was speechless. At last by a mighty effort he turned with a sickly smile to some of his guests--
”Here is the original of 'The Queen of Connemara'--scarcely recognisable in her new clothes, is she? Why, Eily, my child,” with a paternal air, ”whatever brought you here to London?”
It was an unwise question; the answer was plain enough.
”Faith, thin, 'twas yourself, Misther Hamilton! You promised to come back to me, and said you would make me the finest lady in the land; and I waited, but faix, I got sick and sore, so I came to find yez, and it's well-nigh at death's door I was till I heard of yez and found where ye live--and musha, but it's a grand place, G.o.d bless it!”
Eily was looking around her now at the beautiful room, the lovely women, their smart attire, and shyness seized her; she hung her head in dismay; every one in the room was pressing forward to see the girl whom Hamilton had immortalised, and comments on her appearance pa.s.sed from lip to lip.
”Stand there, Eily,” said Hamilton kindly, placing her on a low stool that stood near. The game should be played out now.
The crowd pressed around eagerly, delighted and curious.
[Sidenote: A Pleasant Surprise!]
”What a pleasant surprise you have prepared for us, dear Mr. Hamilton!
quite unprepared, I a.s.sure you! but ah, how you artists idealise to be sure! who but genius itself could find anything picturesque under so much glitter and vulgarity?” and so on and so on, until Eily's blus.h.i.+ng face grew paler and paler.
”Now, Eily, you may go; the ladies and gentlemen have looked at you long enough. Here is something to buy a new gown and bonnet,” and Leslie Hamilton, with a patronising smile, put some gold into her hand.
”How kind and considerate!” murmured the highborn dames as they turned away.
He escorted the girl to the door, and drew aside the _portiere_ courteously, but his face became livid with rage as he spoke in a low, stern voice, ”Go, girl! never dare to come here again--if you do, I swear I will call the police!”
He closed the door after her retreating figure, and turned with a smile to the company; his eyes sought those of beautiful Bee Vandaleur, but she had gone.
Outside in the busy street Eily stood, leaning for support against a stone pillar. She heard nothing, saw nothing. A mist swam before her eyes; she was dumb with shame and disappointment; her face, a moment before so eager, was pale as death, and deep sobs that came from her very soul shook her poor body. She clenched the gold in her hands, and then with a bitter, pa.s.sionate cry threw it into the street, and watched while two street-urchins picked it up and ran off with their treasure-trove.
”May I help you, my poor girl? Are you in trouble?” Bee Vandaleur spoke gently and softly; she had heard all that pa.s.sed between the artist and his model.
Eily looked up. ”Oh, me lady, G.o.d bless ye! but I'm past the helping now! I loved him, I would have died to save him from a minute's sorrow, and he threatened the police on me!”
”Come with me; I will take care of you, and you shall tell me all.” Miss Vandaleur hailed a pa.s.sing hansom and jumped in, followed by Eily, white, s.h.i.+vering, and limp. ”Now tell me all,” she said, as they were driven at a rapid pace through the streets. Eily, won by her gentleness, told her the pitiful story of her love; told her of her simple mountain home, of the handsome stranger who had promised to return and carry her to a land where she would be fairest of the fair; told it with dry eyes and white set lips, while her heart was breaking and her temples beat, beat, beat, like sledge-hammers beneath the weight of the fringe with which she had thought to please him.
Miss Vandaleur heard all, and made no sign, save that her lips tightened now and then, and an expression of pain stole into her soft grey eyes.
It was a pathetic story, and the rich girl was touched as she listened to the poor simple one at her side. ”Where do you live, Eily?” she asked, as the girl stopped speaking, and lay back with closed eyes.
”At me aunt's, your honour, but I won't go back! shure, I cannot! Oh, me lady, let me go; it's not for the likes of me to be keeping your ladys.h.i.+p away from her grand friends. G.o.d's blessing upon ye for your kindness to a poor girl!”
Bee was silent, wondering what she could do with the unhappy creature beside her; presently a bright thought struck her.
”I am looking out for a girl who will attend on me, Eily; do you think you would like the place if you are taught?”
[Sidenote: ”An Angel from Heaven!”]
”Arrah, me lady, me lady! it's an angel from heaven ye are!” cried Eily gratefully, but her head sank back again, till the gaudy pink feather in her hat was spoilt for ever.