CHAPTER II
Honor's Home
For a full understanding of Honor Fitzgerald we must go back a fewweeks, and see her in that Irish home which was so far away and soutterly different from Chessington College. Kilmore Castle was a great,rambling, old-fashioned country house, built beside an inland creek ofthe sea, and sheltered by a range of hills from the wild winds ofKerry. To Honor that was the dearest and most beautiful spot in theworld. She loved every inch of it--the silvery strips of water that ledbetween bold, rocky headlands out to the broad Atlantic; the tallmountain peaks that showed so rugged an outline against the sky; thebrown, peat-stained river that came brawling down from the uplands, andpoured itself noisily into the creek; the wide, lonely moors, withtheir stretches of brilliant green grass and dark, treacherous bogpools; and the craggy cliffs that made a barrier against theever-dashing waves, and round which thousands of sea birds flew, withharsh cries and whir of white wings.
Its situation at the end of a long peninsula made Kilmore Castle anisolated little kingdom of its own. On the shore stood a row of low,fishermen's white-washed cabins, dignified by the name of "thevillage"; but otherwise there was no human habitation in sight, andBallycroghan, the market town and nearest postal, railway, andtelegraph station, was ten miles off.
Trees were rarities at Kilmore; a few stunted specimens, all blown oneway by the prevailing gale, grew as if huddled together for protectionat the foot of the glen, but they were the exception that proved therule; nevertheless, under the sheltering walls of the Castle Mrs.Fitzgerald had managed to acclimatize some exotic shrubs, and tocultivate quite a beautiful garden of flowers, for the temperature wasuniformly mild, though the winds were boisterous. Brilliant St.Brigid's anemones, the poet's narcissus, tulips, jonquils, andhyacinths bloomed here almost as early as in the Scilly Isles, and madepatches of fragrant brightness under the sitting-room windows; while inthe crannies of the walls might be seen delicate maidenhair and otherferns, too tender generally to stand a winter in the open.
Born and bred in this far-away corner of the world, Honor had grown upalmost a child of nature. Her whole life had been spent as much aspossible out-of-doors, boating, fishing, or swimming in the creek;driving in a low-backed car over the rough Kerry roads; galloping hershaggy little pony on the moors; following the otter hounds up theriver, and sharing in any sport that her father considered suitable forher age and sex. She was the only girl among five brothers, and in hermother's opinion was by far the most difficult to manage of the wholeflock. All the wild Irish blood of the family seemed to have settled inher; the high spirits, the fire, the pride, the quick temper, theimpatience of control, the happy-go-lucky, idle, irresponsible ways ofa long line of hot-headed ancestors had skipped a generation or two,and, as if they had been bottling themselves up during the interval,had reappeared with renewed force in this particular specimen of theFitzgerald race.
"She's more trouble than the five boys put together," her mother oftendeclared, and her friends cordially agreed with her. Mrs. Fitzgeraldherself was a mild, quiet, nervous, delicate lady, as much astonishedat her lively, tempestuous daughter as a meek little hedge-sparrowwould be, that had hatched a young cuckoo. Frankly, she did notunderstand Honor, whose strong, uncontrolled character differed soentirely from her own gentle, clinging, dependent disposition; andwhose storms of grief or anger, wild fits of waywardness and equallypassionate repentance, and self-willed disobedience, alternating withsudden bursts of reformation, were a constant source of worry andanxiety, and the direct opposite of her ideal of girlhood. Poor Mrs.Fitzgerald would have liked a docile, tractable daughter, who wouldhave been content to sit beside her sofa doing fancy work, instead ofriding to hounds; and who would have had more consideration for herweak state of health. She appreciated Honor's warm-hearted affection tothe full, but at the same time wished she could make her realize thatrough hugs, boisterous kisses, and loud tones were hardly suitable toan invalid. Suffering as she was from a painful and incurablecomplaint, it was sometimes impossible for her to admit Honor to hersick-room, and for weeks together the girl would hardly see her mother.It was through no lack of love that Honor had failed to give thatservice and tenderness which, in the circumstances, an only daughtermight so fitly have rendered; it was from sheer want of thought, andgeneral heedlessness. Some girls early acquire a sense ofresponsibility and care for others, but in Honor these qualities wereas undeveloped as in a child of six.
Many were the governesses who had attempted to tame the young rebel,and bring her into a state of law and order, but all had been equalfailures. She had learnt lessons when she felt inclined, and left themundone when she was idle; and she had managed to make life in theschoolroom such a purgatory that it had been difficult to persuade anyteacher to stay long at the Castle, and cope with so thankless a taskas her education.
It had been of little use to complain to her father, the only person inthe world whose authority she recognized; he was proud of his handsomedaughter, and, except when her temper crossed his own, was apt toindulge her in most of her whims. Matters had at last, however, come toa crisis. An act of more than usual assumption on Honor's part hadaroused Major Fitzgerald's utmost indignation, and had caused himsuddenly to decide that she was spoiling at home, and that the onlypossible solution of the difficulty was to dispatch her to school assoon as the necessary arrangements could be made for her departure.
The incident that led to this resolution was very characteristic ofHonor's headstrong, impulsive nature. She was passionately fond ofhorses, and for some time had been anxious to possess a new pony. Itwas not that she loved Pixie, her former favourite, any the less; buthe was growing old, and was now scarcely able to take a fence, or carryher in mad career over the moors, being only fit for a sober trot onthe high road, or to draw her mother's Bath chair round the garden. Toobtain a strong, well-bred, fiery substitute for Pixie was the summitof Honor's ambition. One day, when she was with her father atBallycroghan, she saw exactly the realization of her ideal. It was asmall black cob, which showed a trace of Arab blood in its archingneck, slender limbs, and easy, springy motion. Though its bright eyesproved its high spirit, it was nevertheless as gentle as a lamb, andwell accustomed to carrying a lady. Its owner, a local horse-dealer,was anxious to sell it, and pressed Major Fitzgerald to take it as abargain. Honor simply fell in love with it on the spot. She ascertainedthat its name was Firefly, and begged and besought her father to buy itfor her. But on this occasion he would not yield, even to her utmostcoaxing. He did not wish to keep another pony in the stable, and heconsidered the price asked was excessive, and entirely beyond thepresent limits of his purse.
"No, Honor, it can't be done," he said. "You must be content with poorold Pixie. I have quite enough expenses just now, without running intosuch an extravagance."
"But couldn't I have it instead of something else?" pleaded Honor.
"There's nothing we could knock off, dear child," replied her father.
"I could do without a governess," suggested Honor hopefully. "I'd setmyself my own lessons, and learn them too. Oh, Daddy, darling, if wegave up Miss Bury, wouldn't you have money enough to buy Firefly?"
Major Fitzgerald laughed in spite of himself.
"I consider Miss Bury a necessity, and not a luxury," he replied. "Agoverness is the very last person we could dispense with. I should liketo see you setting your own lessons! Remarkably short and easy onesthey would be! No, little woman, I'm afraid Firefly is animpossibility, and you must just try to forget his existence."
Unfortunately, that was exactly what Honor could not do. She thoughtcontinually about the beautiful black cob, and the more she dwelt onher disappointment the more keenly she felt it. She considered, mostunreasonably, that her governess was the alternative of the pony, andthat if she were without the one she might possibly acquire the other.Her behaviour had never been exemplary, but on the strength of thisgrievance she grew so unruly, so disrespectful, and so absolutelyunmanageable that Miss Bury at length refuse
d to teach her any longer,and, after an interview with Major Fitzgerald in the library, packedher boxes and returned home to England.
Honor viewed her exodus with keen delight. It seemed the removal of anobstacle to her plan. She went in to luncheon determined to broach oncemore the subject of Firefly, hoping this time to meet with bettersuccess. She saw at once, however, from her father's face, that he wasnot in a suitable mood to grant her any favour. He was much annoyed atthe governess's departure, for which he had the justice to blame Honoralone; and he was worried with business matters.
"That tiresome agent has not sent the telegram I expected," heannounced. "I shall be obliged to go over to Cork, to consult mysolicitor. Tell Murphy to have the trap ready by two o'clock, and letHolmes pack my bag. I shall probably be away until Friday evening."
As soon as her father had started for the station, Honor sauntered outin the direction of the stables. It was one of her mother's bad days.Mrs. Fitzgerald was confined to her room, therefore Honor, releasedfrom Miss Bury's authority, felt herself her own mistress. FindingFergus, the groom, she ordered him to saddle Pixie, and make ready toaccompany her on a ride. Fergus was devoted to "Miss Honor", and wouldnever have dreamt of disputing any command she might give him; beforethree o'clock, therefore, her pony was at the door, and, dressed in herneat blue habit, she was ambling away in the direction of Ballycroghan.It was a leisurely progress, for poor Pixie's gait was slow, in spiteof his best endeavours, and Honor loved him too well to urge him hard.
She was determined to call at the horse-dealer's, and to ascertain ifFirefly were still for sale. Perhaps, when her father returned home,she might catch him at a favourable moment, and be able to cajole himinto changing his mind and buying the cob. Mr. O'Connor, thehorse-dealer, lived at a large farm on the way to the town, and, toHonor's intense delight, the first object that met her eyes onapproaching the house was Firefly, feeding demurely in a paddock to theleft of the road. By an equally lucky chance Mr. O'Connor happened tobe at home, and came hurrying out at once when he saw "one of thequality", as he expressed it, drawing bridle at his door.
"Good afternoon! I see you still have the black cob," began Honoreagerly.
"Yes, missy," replied the horse-dealer, "and I was thinking of sendinga message to your father about him this very day. It's the good fortuneto see you here! I've had a man over from Limerick who's anxious totake him--a tradesman who'd run him in a light cart--but I didn't closethe bargain at once. I said to my wife: 'Firefly is too good a breed tocarry out groceries. I'd rather be for selling him to the Castle. MissFitzgerald took the fancy for him, and I'll not be parting with himtill I've had word again from the Major.' Maybe his honour will bewanting him, after all? But sure I must know at once, for the Limerickman will be here at noon to-morrow, and I've promised to tell him oneway or another."
"Could you possibly wait until Saturday?" asked Honor.
The dealer shook his head.
"I can't afford to miss a sale," he replied. "I've had the cob on myhands for some time; it's just eating its head off, and it's anxious Iam to get rid of it."
Honor was in a fever of excitement. Firefly, so spirited and soaristocratic, whose delicately shaped limbs looked only fit for leapingbrooks, or cantering over the short grass on the uplands, to be sold toa tradesman, and to run between the shafts of a cart that deliveredgroceries! It seemed a degradation and an outrage. She could not dreamof allowing it; she must save him at any cost from such a fate.
"Must you absolutely have an answer to-day?" she asked.
"Yes, missy. I fear I couldn't put off Sullivan any longer than noonto-morrow. He's a touchy man, and ready to carry his businesselsewhere."
"Very well, then, that settles the matter. We will take the cob. Youmay send him over to the Castle this evening."
HONOR CONCLUDES THE PURCHASE OF FIREFLY]
Honor spoke in such a high-handed manner that the dealer never guessedshe was acting on her own authority. As she had made a special visit tothe farm, accompanied by her groom, he imagined she must have beenentrusted by Major Fitzgerald with full powers to buy the pony if shewished.
"Many thanks to you, missy! It's the fine mistress you'll make forFirefly. My respects to his honour, and the price shall be the same asI was asking him before."
The price! Honor had quite forgotten that. Weighed against Firefly'spossible future, it had seemed an unimportant detail. She rememberednow, however, that her father had considered it extravagant, anddeclared he could not afford it. The thought was sufficient to checkher joy suddenly, and to send her home in a sober frame of mind thatwas well justified by the sequel.
Major Fitzgerald's wrath, when he arrived on the Friday and found theblack cob installed in the stable, was more serious than his daughterhad ever experienced before.
"It was a piece of unwarranted presumption!" he declared. "I shall notallow you to keep the pony. It must be sent back to O'Connor's, andresold at the first opportunity. As for you, the sooner you are packedoff to school the better. We have indulged you too much at home, and itis time indeed that you learnt to submit to some kind of discipline."
The proposal to send her away to school was a terrible blow to Honor.At first she appealed to her mother, begging her to plead with herfather and try to persuade him to alter his resolution. But Mrs.Fitzgerald, while regretting to part with her troublesome daughter, wasso convinced of the wisdom of the proceeding that, instead ofinterceding, she applauded her husband's decision.
"I can't ever like England!" sobbed Honor. "I'd rather have ourmountains and lakes and bogs than all the grand streets and houses. I'mIrish to the core, and I don't believe any school over the water canchange me. There's no place in the world like Kilmore. I love even thecabins, and the peat fires, and the pigs, and the potatoes! I shan'tforget a single stick or stone of it, and I shall never know a moment'shappiness till I'm home again."
After considerable hesitation, and the examination of a large number ofprospectuses, Major and Mrs. Fitzgerald had determined to send Honor toChessington College. It had a wide and well-deserved reputation, andMiss Cavendish, the principal, was understood to give much individualattention to the characters and dispositions of her pupils. Added tothis, it was situated within a few miles of the Naval PreparatorySchool where Dermot, Honor's younger brother, had been for the last twoyears; so that they knew from experience that the neighbourhood wasbracing and healthy.
"It's a comfort, at any rate, that I shall be near Dermot," said Honor,as she sat watching while her mother superintended the maid who waspacking her boxes.
"I'm afraid you won't see much of him, dear, during term-time," repliedMrs. Fitzgerald. "He will not be able to visit you, I'm sure; neitherwill Miss Cavendish allow you to go out with him."
"Why not?" demanded Honor.
"Because it would be against the rules."
"Then the rules are absurd, and I shan't keep them."
"Honor! Honor! Don't speak like that! You have run wild here, but atChessington College you will be obliged to fall in with the ordinaryregulations."
"They'll have hard work to tame me, Mother!" laughed Honor, jumping upand dancing a little impromptu jig between the boxes. "I don't want togo, but since I must, I mean to get any enjoyment I can out of it.After all, perhaps it may be rather fun. It's deadly dull heresometimes, when the boys are at school, and Father is busy or away."
Mrs. Fitzgerald sighed. In her delicate health she could scarcelyexpect to be a companion for Honor, yet when she thought of how fewyears might be left them together, the parting seemed bitter, and shewas hurt that her only daughter would evidently miss her so little.Young folks often say cruel things from mere thoughtlessness, andunintentionally grieve those who love them. In after years Honor wouldkeenly regret her tactless speech, and blame herself that she had notspent more hours in trying to be a comfort, instead of a care; but forthe present, though she noticed the look of disappointment that passedover the sensitive face, she did not fully realize its cause, and th
ewords that might have healed the wound went unspoken.
At length the preparations were concluded, and the time had almostarrived to bid farewell to Kilmore Castle and the surrounding demesne.Honor's friends in the village mourned her approaching departure withcharacteristic Irish grief.
"Miss Honor, darlint, it's meself that will be hungerin' for a sight ofyez!" cried old Mary O'Grady, standing at the doorway of her thatchedcabin, from which the blue peat smoke issued like a thin mist.
"And it's grand news entoirely they'll be afther tellin' me too, thatye're lavin' the Castle, and goin' over the seas!" put in BiddyMacarthy, a next-door neighbour of Mary's. "It's fine to think of allthe iligant things ye'll be seein' now!"
"Bless your bright eyes, it's many a sad heart ye'll lave behind yez!"added Pat Conolly, the oldest tenant on the estate.
"England can never compare with dear Ireland, in my opinion," repliedHonor, with a choke in her voice. "There's no spot so sweet as Kilmore,and all the while I'm away I shall be wishing myself back in the 'ouldcounthree'!"
"Will ye be despisin' this bit of a present, Miss Honor?" said oldMary, producing a cardboard box, from which, out of many folds oftissue paper, she proudly displayed a large bunch of imitationfour-leaved shamrock. "My grandson Micky brought it for me all the wayfrom Dublin city, and I've kept it fine and new in its papers. Sure, Iknow it's not worthy of offerin' to a young lady like yourself, butI'll take it kindly if ye'll deign to accept it."
"Of course I'll accept it!" returned Honor heartily. "It's very kind ofyou to give it to me. It shall go to school with me, as a remembranceof Ireland, and of you all."
"The four-leaved shamrock brings good luck to its wearer, mavourneen;may it bring it to you! And whenever ye look at the little greenleaves, give a thought to the true hearts that will be ay wishin' ye aspeedy return."
The last day came all too soon, and Mrs. Fitzgerald, with tears in hereyes, stood at her window, watching the disappearing carriage in whichHonor sat by her father's side, waving an energetic good-bye.
"Surely," she said to herself, "school will have the influence that weexpect! The general atmosphere of law and order, the well-arrangedrules, the esprit de corps and strict discipline of the games, allcannot fail to have their effect; and among so large a number ofcompanions, and in the midst of so many new and absorbing interests, mywild bird will find her wings clipped, and will settle down sensiblyand peaceably among the others."