The house door opened, and an elderly man, looking cowed and humble, shuffled out to meet them.
"We"ve come at last!" cried out her aunt in a loud voice; "it"s the last time I"ll take the trouble to visit my folks! What the better am I for all the money I"ve spent on the trip? Better, indeed! A good deal worse _I_ should say! Take in the box, William! what are you stopping for?"
she demanded angrily.
"Oh, nothing, nothing, my dear! I"ll take the box in at once, certainly!" The old man hurried to do his wife"s bidding, and entered the squalid house. Eily followed with her parcels, and stood in doubt as to what her next proceedings should be, while her aunt bustled away somewhere, on food intent.
The old man, having obediently deposited the box in the region of upstairs, shuffled down again, and approached Eily gently. "Are you her niece, my poor girl?" he whispered, with a backward glance in the direction of his departed spouse.
"I am, sorr," answered Eily; "I am come to help me aunt wid the claning and the lodgers."
"Poor child! poor child! I was afraid so," he murmured, shaking his head dolefully; "but, look here, don"t notice her tempers and her tantrums, her carries on fearful sometimes, but least said soonest mended, and if you want to please her keep a still tongue in your head; I"ve learnt to do it, and it pays best. If ever you want a friend your uncle William will stand by you; now, not a word, not a word!" and he shuffled noiselessly away as loud footsteps drew near, and Mrs. Murphy appeared on the scene.
"Now then, girl, come downstairs and set to work; the fire"s black out, and not a drop o" water to be had! It"s like him; he"s got a brain like a sieve"--pointing to her husband, "and here am I nigh dying of thirst.
Drat that bell!" she exclaimed, as a loud peal from upstairs sounded in the pa.s.sage.
William lit the fire, boiled the kettle, and frizzled the bacon, his wife sitting by criticising the work of his hands, and warming her elastic-sided boots at the fire. She ate her breakfast in silence, and then remembered Eily, who was sitting on the stairs, hungry, forlorn, and desolate, the tears running down her cheeks.
"Come, girl, get your tea!" she called, as she replenished the pot from the kettle; "here"s bread for you, better than that rubbishy stuff your mother makes; such bread as that I never see, it"s that heavy it lies on your chest like a mill-stone."
Eily took the slice of bread offered her and gnawed it hungrily; she had tasted nothing since the previous evening, as her aunt objected to waste money on "them swindling refreshment rooms," and the stock of bread and cakes her mother had given her was soon exhausted.
"Now, girl, if you start crying you"ll find you make a great mistake. I brought you here to work, and work you must! Fie, for shame! an ignorant country girl like you should be thankful for such a start in life as you are getting."
"I"m not ignorant," Eily answered with spirit, "and it"s yourself that knows it!"
[Sidenote: "Do what you"re Told!"]
"Then get up and wash that there delf--don"t give me any imperence, or you"ll find yourself in the street; there"s others better than you I"ve turned away, and the work"us has been their end--so mind your business, and do what you"re told!" With this parting injunction Mrs. Murphy left the kitchen.
The winter pa.s.sed--cold, foggy, murky, miserable winter. Eily was transformed. No longer bright, sparkling, and gay, but pale, listless, and weary--the veriest drudge that ever lived under an iron rule. A thick black fringe adorned her forehead, her ears were bedecked with gaudy rings, and her waist squeezed into half its ordinary size; her clothes, bought cheaply at a second-hand shop, were tawdry and ill-fitting, yet they were her only pleasure; she watched herself gradually developing into a "fine lady" with a satisfaction and excitement that alone kept her from giving way altogether.
Her heart was still aching for a sight of her lover, and many a time when her aunt was out she neglected tasks that she might sit at the parlour window and watch with feverish expectancy for the owner of the fair moustache and languid manner that had so completely taken her fancy; but he never came, and she rose from her vigils with a sore heart.
Two friends she had; two who never spoke roughly, nor upbraided her.
"Uncle William," himself cowed and subdued, stood first. Sometimes, when the lady of the house became unbearable, and poor Eily"s head ached with all the tears she shed, he would take her in the cool of the evening away to a large green park, where the wind blew fresh, the dew sparkled on the gra.s.s, and the noisy traffic of the streets was still; there she would rest her weary body, while the old man soothed her gently and stroked her poor hands, all chapped and red with hard work.
Eily"s other friend was a lady who occupied a single top room in her aunt"s tall house. She was a gentle, white-haired woman, with faded blue eyes and a sweet smile. She had won Eily"s heart from the first by the soft, kindly tones of her voice, and the consideration she showed for the severely-tried feet of the little Irish maid. Mrs. Grey taught drawing and painting; her pupils were few, her terms low; it was a difficult matter to make both ends meet, but she managed it by careful contriving, and sometimes had enough to treat her waiting-maid to a morsel of something savoury cooked on her own little stove.
It was May. Eily was standing at the window while Mrs. Murphy went forth on a bargain-hunting expedition.
"Eily, come upstairs, child; I have something to show you." Mrs. Grey was in the room, looking flushed and excited; she was flourishing a book in her hand. Eily"s heart beat rapidly as she ascended the steep staircase in the wake of her friend. Was it possible she could have news of _him_? Then she shook her head, for Mrs. Grey was not in her secret.
They entered the neat little room at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Grey, walking to the table, never pausing to unfasten her bonnet-strings or to unb.u.t.ton her gloves, opened the book and laid it on the table, exclaiming in triumph, "There you are to the life, Eily! See! it is the picture of the year, and is called "The Queen of Connemara.""
A girl with eyes half-defiant, half-coquettish, lips demure and smiling, hair tied loosely in a knot at the back of her proudly-set head, was leaning against the white-washed wall of a thatched cabin--ah! it was Dermot"s own! Eily noted the geraniums in the little blue box that he had tended himself.
Eily"s heart leapt, and then was still; there were her two bare feet peeping from beneath her thick red petticoat, just as they used in the olden times, and there was the blue-checked ap.r.o.n she had long ago discarded. With face now white, now red, she gazed at the picture, then spelt out its t.i.tle, "The Queen of Connemara," painted by Leslie Hamilton.
"Arrah, "tis Misther Hamilton himself! "twas he painted me!" she cried breathlessly, and sank into a chair completely overcome.
"Then, Eily, you are a lucky girl! Every one in London is talking about "The Queen of Connemara," and this Hamilton has made his name and fortune by your picture. Well, well! no wonder you are surprised! Here is the artist"s portrait; do you remember him?" She turned over a few leaves of the book and pushed it towards Eily.
[Sidenote: "At Last!"]
Did Eily remember him? Ay, indeed! There were the clear blue eyes, the straight nose, the drooping moustache. Eily s.n.a.t.c.hed up the book eagerly, "Misther Hamilton! at last! at last!" With a great sob her head fell forward on the table, and Mrs. Grey guessed the young girl"s secret.
Leslie Hamilton, R.A., was entertaining. In the middle of a smart crowd of society people he stood, the lion of the season. "The Queen of Connemara" had made him name and fame. He was smiling on all, as well he might, for his name was in every one"s mouth.
Standing about the studio, chattering gaily, or lounging idly, the guests of Leslie Hamilton were admiring everything while they sipped tea out of delicate Sevres cups. The artist himself was busy, yet his attention was chiefly directed to a beautiful young girl who sat on a velvet lounge, a tiny lap-dog on her knee. She was tall and dignified in mien, with soft grey eyes and bronze-gold hair, among which the sunlight was playing as it stole through a window behind her. She was the beauty of the season, and her father"s sole heiress. Cold and distant with others, she was affable and even kind to Leslie Hamilton, and among her friends it was whispered such treatment could only end in one way; and though better things had been spoken of for Bee Vandaleur, the wife of an R.A. was by no means a position to be despised, and if Bee"s fancy lay that way, why----! a shrug of its white shoulders, an elevation of its pencilled eyebrows, and Society went on its way.
Leslie Hamilton had taken up his position near the door that he might easily acknowledge each new arrival. He was leaning over the fair Bee Vandaleur, watching the animation in her beautiful face, the grace with which she wore her large picture-hat, and the regal manner in which she sat. He glanced at the gay throng that filled his rooms, growing gayer still as the tinkle of tiny silver spoons increased in number and volume; there was not one to compare with Bee, _his_ Bee as he dared, in his own mind, to call her already. Gentle, dignified, graceful, always sweet and gracious to him, and with an ample fortune of her own, it was no wonder the artist felt that she was worth the winning.
"How I should enjoy a peep at your model!" she was saying as she looked at a rough sketch he was showing her. "Was she as beautiful as you have made her?"
"She was tolerably----" Hamilton hesitated. "Well, of course an artist"s business is to make the most of good points, and omit the bad. She was a little rough and troublesome sometimes, but, on the whole, not a bad sitter."
"And her name?" asked Miss Vandaleur.
"Her name? oh, Mary, or Biddy, or Eily Joyce; really I cannot be sure; every one in that part of the world is either Eily or Biddy, and Joyce is the surname of half the population. She was a vain girl, I a.s.sure you; no beauty in her first season thought more of herself than did she."
"I do not wonder at that," said Bee gently; "there are few women who possess beauty to such a marvellous degree. If only your Biddy could come to London she would be worshipped by all who were not utterly envious."
Just what he had a.s.sured Eily himself nine months back, but it is inconvenient to remember everything one has said so long ago; we live at a pace now, and nine months is quite an epoch in our existence--so many things change in nine months!
[Sidenote: A Startling Visitor]
Hamilton smiled; it was rare to hear one beauty acknowledge another. He bent his head to make some remark that her ear alone might catch, but as he did so a slight stir at the door attracted his attention, and he looked up.
The sight that met his gaze froze the smile on his lips; with a start which he could scarcely conceal the blood left his cheeks; him face became stern and white as death.
There stood Eily herself, behind her the page who did duty at the door.
The boy was pulling angrily at her sleeve, and an altercation was going on.
"Shure "tis himself will be glad to see me, ye spalpeen! Shame on yez to insult a poor girl. Musha, is it Misther Hamilton within and ashamed to spake to his Eily!"
One more moment, then within that room in which art, and beauty, and refinement were gathered in one harmonious whole, a figure stole shyly.
It was a young girl, gaudily attired in a blue dress; a hat, encircled by a long pink feather, crowned a face that was beautiful, were it not that it was marred by its many adornments. Gilt earrings glistened in the ears, a dark curly fringe covered forehead and eyebrows, and the chin was embedded in a tawdry feather boa of a muddy hue. An excited flush lay on her cheeks as she looked at the gay crowd within, searching for the loved face.
At last a joyful recognition shone in her dark eyes, and forgetful of everything and everybody, she rushed across the polished floor to the horror-stricken artist.
"Ah, Misther Hamilton, acushla! shure it"s your own Eily has found yez at last!" She caught the artist"s hand in her own impulsively--"Arrah, but it"s the wide world I have searched, and I"ve found yez at last!"
Silence had fallen on that part of the room where this little _contretemps_ was taking place. Hamilton saw the looks of wonderment on his guests" faces change into an amused smile as the little comedy progressed.
The girl was looking earnestly at him.