He went off waving his hand in adieu, and Bridgie stood watching the two riders until they disappeared from sight, and repeating his loving words with fond appreciation. Hard time! Who had had a hard time? She was a fortunate girl to have had so much love and kindness, to possess such a dear, gallant, handsome father. What if they had to leave the Castle? Happiness did not depend upon the walls by which they were surrounded. So long as they were all together, they might laugh at poverty!
Meanwhile Esmeralda and her father were gently trotting along towards the park at Roskillie, from whence, in hunting parlance, they were to proceed to “draw Long Gorse,” and on their way were enjoying the picturesque surroundings of a meet in the country. Along every high road, footpath, and byroad came horses and riders of various sorts and sizes, walking or jogging along towards the central point. Schoolboys were coming on ponies to see the start, farmers on clever nags; neatly dressed grooms riding, or leading horses conspicuous for shape and beauty. Down the cross-road approached the hounds themselves, headed by their whipper-in and surrounding the picturesque figure of the huntsman. They took up their position in the park, and presently from every point of the compass the scarlet coats came trotting forward, followed by a string of drags, dogcarts, and gigs. The Major and his daughter came in for greetings on every side, for they were among old friends, and the girl’s beauty and daring had made her popular with all. There were other ladies present, but they looked colourless and insignificant beside the glowing young Amazon, and she was quite conscious of the fact, and of the becoming correctness of the new habit. While yet twenty yards distant her quick eye had distinguished Geoffrey Hilliard, but she affected not to see him until he rode up to her side, his face aglow with pleasure.
“You managed it, then? You managed to get here?”
“My sister is not feeling very well. She begged to be excused,” replied Esmeralda demurely, and Hilliard laughed and muttered something about “blessed Saint Bridget,” which on the whole she thought it wiser not to hear. When the signal was given to move on, he kept beside her as the horsemen proceeded to cross several grassy fields; and, contrary to his usual custom, her father lagged behind, as though relieved to leave her to the care of another. Esmeralda turned lightly in her saddle, saw him riding at the farther end of the long line, and looked wonderingly at her companion.
“Something’s wrong with the Major. He was so glum all the way here, and look at him now with his head hanging forward! It’s not like him to be down-hearted at a meet.”
“Perhaps he is tired. He’ll waken up presently when we get to business. It would only worry him if we took any notice.”
“That’s true. Perhaps the mare fidgets him. It’s the one he bought a short time since, and she has an awkward temper. Sometimes she is a paragon and does everything that she ought, but at others she is fidgety and uncertain. Father thinks she has been badly ridden at the start, but that she is good enough to take trouble with still.”
“She looks a beauty, and she has not had any time to annoy him to-day. I think it can hardly be that. Did not your brother return to town yesterday? I stayed away on purpose, because I feared that on his last day you would not care to be disturbed; but isn’t it very likely that Major O’Shaughnessy is depressed at being without him?”
Esmeralda looked up with a brightening glance. “Why, of course, I never thought of that! Father hates saying good-bye to Jack, hates him being in town at all, for he is the first O’Shaughnessy who has ever gone into business. There was a great scene when Jack was twenty, because he insisted on doing something for himself. ‘Have you no pride?’ cries my father. ‘Faith I have!’ cries Jack. ‘Too much of it to spend all my life starving in a ruin.’ ‘You will be the first of your race to soil your hands with trade.’ ‘Honest work,’ says Jack, ‘will soil no man’s hands, and please God, I’ll touch nothing that isn’t honest.’ ‘You’ll be falling into English ways and selling the old place as not fit for you to live in. I know the ways of your purse-proud English.’ Then Jack went white all over his face, and he says, ‘It’s never a stone of Knock I’d sell if I could keep it with my own heart’s blood, but it’s time it had a master who could spend money on it instead of seeing it fall to pieces before his eyes.’ Then it was the Major’s turn to go white, and mother said softly, ‘Jack dear—Jack!’ You never knew my mother. Bridgie is like her, she always made peace—and after that father made no more objections. I think, in a curious sort of way, he was proud of Jack because he would have his will, and he is doing well. He will retrieve our fortunes some fine day. There! there go the hounds! They are over into the covert, and see! see! there’s that old shepherd holding up his hat. The fox is off! Now for it!”
Now for it indeed! From that time forth there was little chance of connected conversation, but all his life long Geoffrey Hilliard looked back upon that morning with the fond, yearning tenderness with which we recall the sunshine which precedes a storm. It was so delightful to be mounted upon a fine horse galloping lightly across country with that beautiful figure by his side, the dark eyes meeting his with a flash of understanding at every fresh incident of the run. As time wore on and the ground became more difficult, the other ladies dropped behind one by one, but Esmeralda never wearied, never flinched before any obstacle. It was the prettiest thing in the world to see her trot slowly but straightly towards gate or fence, loosen the reins, and soar like a bird over the apparently formidable obstacle, and Hilliard privately admitted that it took him all his time to keep level with her. The Major still rode apart, and seemed to take pleasure in choosing the most difficult jumps that came in his way; but his mare behaved well, and no one felt any anxiety about the safety of one of the cleverest riders present. Danger was close at hand, however, in one of those nasty “bits of water” of which Esmeralda had spoken to her sister. The hounds doubled suddenly, and the huntsmen, wheeling their horses to follow, saw before them at a distance of some quarter of a mile a line of those well-known willows which to the practised eye so plainly bespeak the presence of a brook. Esmeralda pointed towards them and spoke a few warning words.