"What in the world is that?" said Mrs. Hartrick.
"Oh, it is one of our Irish words; there"s no other way to express it. And then there are the cliffs, and the great caves, and the yellow, yellow sands, and the sh.e.l.ls, and the seaweeds, and the fish, and the boating, and--and--"
"Go on, Nora; you describe the sea just like any other sea."
"Oh, but it is like no other sea," said Nora. "And then there are the mountains, their feet washed by the waves."
"Quite poetical," said Mrs. Hartrick.
"It is; it is all poetry," said Nora. "You are not laughing at me, are you, Aunt Grace? I wish you could see those mountains and that sea, and then the home--O"Shanaghgan itself."
"Yes, Nora; tell us," said her uncle, who did not laugh, and was much interested in the girl"s description.
"The home," cried Nora; "the great big, darling, empty house."
"Empty! What a very peculiar description!" said Mrs. Hartrick.
"Oh, it is so nice," said Nora. "You don"t knock over furniture when you walk about; and the dining-room table is so big that, even if you did spill a jug of milk, father would not be angry."
Mrs. Hartrick uttered a sigh.
"Oh, we are wild over there," continued Nora; "we have no conventionalities. We share and share alike; we don"t mind whether we are rich or poor. We are poor--oh! frightfully poor; and we keep very few servants; and--and the place is bare; because it can be nothing but bare; but there"s no place like O"Shanaghgan."
"But what do you mean by bare?" said Mrs. Hartrick.
"Bare?" said Nora. "I mean bare; very few carpets and very little furniture, and--and----But, oh! it"s the hearts that are warm, and that is the only thing that matters."
"It must be a right-down jolly place; and, by Jehoshaphat! I wish I was there," interrupted Molly.
"Molly!" said her mother.
"Oh, leave her alone for the present," said Mr. Hartrick. "But do you mean," he continued, looking at Nora in a distressed way, "that--that my sister lives in a house of that sort?"
"Mother?" said Nora. "Of course; she is father"s wife, and my mother; she is the lady of O"Shanaghgan. It is a very proud position. We don"t want grand furniture nor carpets to make it a proud position. She is father"s wife, and he is O"Shanaghgan of Castle O"Shanaghgan. He is a sort of king, and he is descended from kings."
"Well, Terence, I must say this does not at all coincide with your description," said his uncle, turning and looking his nephew full in the face.
"I didn"t wish to make things too bad, sir. Of course, we are not very rich over there; but still, Nora does exaggerate."
"Look here, Nora," said her uncle, suddenly turning and pulling her down to sit beside him, "you and I must have a little chat. We will just go and have it right away. You shall tell me your version of the story quite by ourselves." He then rose and drew her out of the room.
"Where shall we go?" he said when they stood for a moment in the conservatory, into which the big dining room opened.
"Do you really mean it?" said Nora.
"Mean what, dear?"
"To talk to me about--about my letter? Do you mean it?"
"Certainly I do, and there is no time like the present. Come--where shall we go?"
"Where we can be alone; where none of the prim English can interrupt."
"Nora, you must not be so prejudiced. We are not so bad as all that."
"Oh, I know it. I wish you were bad; it"s because you are so awfully good that I hate--I mean, that I cannot get on with any of you."
"Poor child! you are a little wild creature. Come into my study; we shall be quite safe from interruption there."
CHAPTER XVIII.
A COMPACT.
Mr. Hartrick, still holding Nora"s hand, took her down a corridor, and the next moment they found themselves in a large room, with oak bookcases and lined with oak throughout; but it was a stately sort of apartment, and it oppressed the girl as much as the rest of the house had done.
"I had thought," she murmured inwardly, "that his study would be a little bare. I cannot think how he can stand such closeness, so much furniture." She sighed as the thought came to her.
"More and more sighs, my little Irish girl," said Mr. Hartrick.
"Why, what is the matter with you?"
"I cannot breathe; but I"ll soon get accustomed to it," said Nora.
"Cannot breathe? Are you subject to asthma, my dear?"
"Oh, no, no; but there is so much furniture, and I am accustomed to so little."
"All right, Nora; but now you must pull yourself together, and try to be broad-minded enough to take us English folk as we are. We are not wild; we are civilized. Our houses are not bare; but I presume you must consider them comfortable."
"Oh, yes," said Nora; "yes."
"Do you dislike comfortable houses?"
"Hate them!" said Nora.
"My dear, dear child!"
"You would if you were me--wouldn"t you, Uncle George?"
"I suppose if I were you I should feel as you do, Nora. I must honestly say I am very thankful I am not you."
Nora did not reply at all to that.
"Ah, at home now," she said, "the moon is getting up, and it is making a path of silver on the waves, and it is touching the head of Slieve Nagorna. The dear old Slieve generally keeps his snow nightcap on, and I dare say he has it by now. In very hot weather, sometimes, it melts and disappears; but probably he has got his first coat of snow by now, just on his very top, you know. Then, when the moon shines on it and then on the water--why, don"t you think, Uncle George, you would rather look at Slieve Nagorna, with the snow on him and the moon touching his forehead, and the path of silver on the water, than--than be just comfortable?"
"I don"t see why I should not have both," said Mr. Hartrick after a pause; "the silver path on the water and the grand look of Slieve Nagorna (I can quite fancy what he is like from your description, Nora), and also have a house nicely furnished, and good things to eat, and----. But I see we are at daggers drawn, my dear niece. Now, please tell me what your letter means."