"Ah now, Miss Helen, get out with your jokes! Is it the mule I'm driving these eight year, and me not know him? Any way, I saw him in the harness room as I went out—it was never the mule, it was ayther Dillon in another form—or——" here she paused significantly, and left her listeners to complete the sentence for themselves.
The next evening, Helen was sitting out under a hay-cock, after tea, reading a venerable magazine. She had had a very fatiguing day, and overcome by the sultry, drowsy air, she fell fast asleep.—After a pleasant little doze, she awoke with a guilty start, and discovered that the stars were out, and the midges had gone in, that the air had become chill,—and that she had been asleep. Somewhat ashamed of herself, she rose, picked up her book, replaced her hat, and was turning towards the house, when a curious trailing, whirring noise on the grass, arrested her attention. Glancing behind her, she beheld what seemed to be a colossal, winged figure, pacing the sward within ten yards of her recent nest. A figure somewhat resembling old Father Time, with pinions which rose and fell, expanded, or collapsed at will. She stood and stared, in blank bewilderment. The creature, like a gorged vulture, appeared to be making futile efforts to rise from the ground and fly! but, in spite of its exertions, and violent, almost passionate flapping of its wings, it still remained a prisoner to mother earth. What was it? Was it as Sally had suggested? Her heart stood still, for she now beheld it moving towards her! she felt her knees giving way beneath her,—her hair rising on her forehead; she leant against the hay-cock for support, and tightly closed her eyes. Hearing no sound for the space of a minute, she ventured to open them once more, and it was nowhere to be seen. Seizing this opportunity, she flew across the lawn, and darted into the candle-lit, ever-open hall, from thence into the dining room, where she sank into the nearest chair, gasping for breath. She had barely recovered the power of speech, and was about to explain her condition to her astonished cousins, when the door opened gently, and her uncle came into the room; he stood near the table, and looking at her fixedly with his coal-black eyes, said, in his usual slow way,—
"I'm afraid I alarmed you somewhat, niece—you saw me just now trying the apparatus."
Helen gazed at him blankly, unable to utter a word.
"You look quite foolishly startled; but come with me, and you shall be completely reassured. Dido and Katie," addressing his daughters, "rise and follow me, my children, and behold with your own eyes the fruit of my labours!"
CHAPTER XXXVI.
"THE APPARATUS."
"The flighty purpose never is o'ertook."
Macbeth.
The three girls lost no time in responding to this invitation; they crossed the hall, passed through the door connecting it with the Castle, and ascended a rugged, spiral stone staircase in the wake of Mr. Sheridan, who preceded them at a swift pace,—carrying a light in his hand. Halting on the first landing, he threw open a door, and said to his niece,—