“They are so, Miss Pixie, and Miss Joan down upon us this morning, hinting of what would happen if Jock was forgetting the fly. You mind the night the lady was arriving, and having to find her way in the dark while he was snoring in his bed? It’s a fine flow of language Miss Joan has of her own. It’s as good as a sermon to listen to her when she’s roused, and Jock was getting the benefit of it this day!”
“There’s a fine tale he’s spinning!” exclaimed the defaulting Jock, grinning in unabashed complacency. “Don’t you be after believing a word of it, Miss Pixie dear. It would be a cold bed that would keep Jock Magee from driving ye home this night. And the size of ye too. You’ve grown out of knowledge! It’s a fine strapping lass you will be one of these days.” And Jock gazed with simulated amazement at the elf-like figure as it stepped forward into the lamplight. “My Molly was biddin’ me give you her duty, and say her eyes are longing for the sight of you again.”
“I’ll come to-morrow, as soon as I can get away. Give Molly my love, Jock, and say I was often thinking of her. He is a decent fellow, Jock Magee!” she explained to her companion, as the ramshackle vehicle trundled away in the darkness. “A decent fellow, but he has been terrible unlucky with his wives. They fall ill on him as soon as they’re married, and cost him pounds in doctors and funerals. This one has asthma, and he expects she will die too before very long. He says it doesn’t give a man a chance; but he’s the wonderful knack for keeping up his spirits!”
He had indeed. Mademoiselle found it difficult to think of the jovial, round-faced Jehu as the victim of domestic afflictions, and for the hundredth time she reflected that this Ireland to which she had come was a most extraordinary place. Nothing could be seen from the windows of the fly save an occasional tree against the sky, but ever up and up they climbed, while the wind blew round them in furious blasts. Then suddenly came a bend in the road, and a vision of twinkling windows, row upon row, stretching from one wing to the other of a fine old building, and each window glowing with its own cheery welcome.
“It’s illumined!” cried Pixie wildly, pinching Mademoiselle’s arm in her excitement. “It’s illumined! Oh, Bridgie, Bridgie, did I ever see! Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, did ye ever have a castle illumined for you before? Did they ever give you such a welcome in your own country?”
“Never, never!” cried Mademoiselle. She was almost as excited as Pixie herself, craning forward to peer out of the windows, counting breathlessly the long line of lights, and reflecting that she had not sufficiently realised the grandeur of the household to which she was coming. Another moment and a still brighter light shone through an opened doorway, and a chorus of voices sang out welcome. Then the fly stopped, someone helped her to alight, a hand clasped hers affectionately, and a rich, soft voice spoke in her ears.
“Are you destroyed? The journey you’ve been having, poor creatures, in the wind and the rain! Are you destroyed altogether?”
This was Castle Knock indeed, and Bridgie O’Shaughnessy’s fair face beamed a welcome upon her.