Only an Irish Girl, Margaret Wolfe Hungerford [early reader chapter books txt] 📗

is as nice as Launce?"

"As nice as Launce? Well, no, I don't; but then"--gravely--"you don't often see any one who is quite as nice as Launce, do you, dear?"

"I intend to wait till I do, then," Honor retorts.

"Brian Beresford was nearly as nice," Belle says demurely, looking innocently at Honor; "but then he was English, and he had an awful temper--hadn't he?--and----" But she stops with a little gap of surprise, for the man himself, very worn and gaunt-looking, is walking toward them. "Why, Honor, did you know he was coming?"

Honor turns and looks at her tranquilly.

"Did I know who was coming, dear? Aren't you just a trifle vague this morning?"

"I'm awfully glad," the girl answers, with a curious smile; "and I think I'll go home now. Dad is sure to want me; and---- How do you do, Mr. Beresford?"--turning swiftly. "I'm delighted to see you back in Ireland."

"Thanks, Miss Delorme," a deep voice answers; and Honor looks round and sees him standing on the grass quite close to her--this grave, bearded man who left Donaghmore four months ago, looking so very ill and worn. He looks ill now, for that matter; but at the sight of him her heart gives a great leap and the color comes into her face.

"An unexpected guest, I can claim no welcome," he says, looking at her almost wistfully.

"But you are as welcome as unexpected," Honor answers, holding her hand and smiling graciously.

He barely touches the slim white fingers; he looks away from her, as if the sight of her beauty pained him.

Belle has disappeared; they can hear her singing as she flits between the great tree-trunks, a dainty figure in her gay print gown.

"You have been ill again?" Honor says gently. She is feverishly excited, but no one could imagine that from her manner. Her voice trembles a little, but that is the only sign she gives of the tumultuous emotion that the sight of this man has roused in her.

And she thought she had forgotten him--that if he never came to Donaghmore it would not matter in the least. His scornful words had hurt her cruelly; she had never forgiven them, and he knew that she had not.

Though she had been so kind to him all those weeks that he lay hovering between life and death he had not been deceived. He left Donaghmore fully conscious that he was not forgiven.

But that did not trouble him. He had been strong in his resentment then; he had judged her, and disapproved of her in his calm judicial way, and there was an end of it.

"I've had a nasty touch of low-fever, that is all."

"And you never let us know!"

"No. Why should I? You had trouble enough with me!"

"Trouble!" the girl says passionately; and at the sudden change in her voice he raises his head. "Do you forget it was through my fault you were suffering--that if I had not acted so foolishly that night you would not have been shot? Oh, I think of it sometimes till it almost turns my brain!"

It is an exquisite April day, the air is keen and sweet here in the heart of the old-fashioned garden, full of the odor of budding leaves and freshly-turned earth, mingled with the perfume of the great lilac-trees, which are one mass of bloom.

To Honor's Celtic beauty-loving nature such a day as this is full of delights; it soothes her.

"If you have forgotten me," she says more calmly, "for all the pain I brought upon you, I have never forgiven myself."

"I don't know that I have forgiven you," he says, looking at her almost sternly. "There are things a man like me finds it hard to forgive; but as for that stray bullet--it was a mere accident--I have never blamed you in the least for that."

"Then what else had you to forgive me for?"

He laughs, and moves a little way from her--a restless black figure among all his morning freshness.

"Oh, we won't talk of it!" he says, almost awkwardly. "I was a fool to come back, though, and, by Jove, I ought to have known it!"

"No, you are not a fool," the girl answers bitterly; "but you are certainly the worst-tempered man I ever met."

"Thank you for your good opinion!"

"You are welcome; it's an honest opinion so far as it goes. And now we had better go in; you will want something to eat, and you are tired, I dare say."

"Yes, I am tired of a good many things," he replies, with a short laugh.

They walk together back to the house, between the beds of early wall-flowers and the Lent lilies nodding in the sunshine.

"I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Honor."

"Congratulate me," the girl repeats, looking at him with some surprise; then a sudden thought comes to her, and she smiles; but he does not see the smile.

"Yes--on your engagement to this fellow from Dublin. He is very rich, I hear."

"Immensely rich," the girl agrees calmly. "And then he is clever too; he writes--I'm sure I don't know what he writes; but he is literary."

"I'm glad you think so highly of him, and I hope you will be happy," he says after a pause.

"Thanks. I could do with a little happiness for a change, you know! I've not had too much of it in my life, have I?"

"And yet you ought to be happy, if ever a woman ought! You are young and beautiful--I think sometimes you hardly know how beautiful you are; and perhaps that is your greatest charm."

"Oh, yes, I do!" she answers, showing her white teeth and her dimples in a sudden smile. "But, after all, as you said once, if you remember, I am only an Irish girl; and the wonder is that such a fine gentleman as this George Cantrill should look at me! Don't you think so?"

"No, I do not," he returns frigidly. "I think you are a fit wife for any man!"

"And since when have you thought that, Brian? Tell me the truth," the girl says, stopping on the narrow path, and looking up at him with lovely imperious eyes.

The man's heart yearns for her, as she stands there in her grace and beauty, and the passionate love he has tried so hard to subdue rises and masters him.

"What does that matter? I know it now!" he says hoarsely. "Should I be here to-day if I did not?"

"And what brought you here to-day, Brian?" She is looking at him, and he feels his cheeks burn under her glance.

"It's too late to talk of that now," he says, trying not to look at her.

"Let me be judge of that; tell me"--coaxingly--"why you came all this way, and you so ill--not fit to travel?"

"I came to ask you to be my wife, Honor. I fought against it as long as I could; but my love was stronger than my pride, and I came, even at the risk of being mocked at for my folly. But I had not been five minutes in the house before I heard you were going to marry this fellow from Dublin, and even then I was fool enough to come out to look at you. I could not go away without one glance at your face."

"I should think not," Honor says softly.

"Oh, it was very stupid of me!" he answers, with a grim smile. "But there's not much harm done, and I shall go by the next train."

"But"--with a swift hot blush--"you have not done what you came to do!"

He looks at her angrily. He sees nothing but mockery in her face, and his heart is sore, for all his pride resents it.

"Of course not! Why should I ask another man's betrothed to marry me?"

"But I am not another man's betrothed," the girl says, with a little sob. She is acting in a very unlady-like manner; but this is not the time to stand on etiquette; a little false pride now, and this man whom she loves with all her heart would slip out of her life never to return. She trembles and turns pale at the mere thought. "And I do think, if you came all the way from England to ask me that, you should ask me," she stammers, and turns rosy red again.

"Good heavens, Honor, are you making a fool of me?"

She does not speak; all her sweet audacity has fled before the passion in his eyes, in his voice, in his touch as he clasps her hand.

But, looking into her face, he needs no words to tell him that at last he has won the desire of his heart. He knows now what he has gained in winning her love, and how empty the years would have been without it. She is the one "good gift" that can crown his life, this beautiful willful woman whom once, in his ignorance, he called ONLY AN IRISH GIRL.


THE END.
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Publication Date: 05-20-2010

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