“What’s this! Bridget O’Rourke here too? A well-planned plot, truly.” And John Rossetti strode into the room as though on the point of turning the girl out from
it, only his daughter, coming to meet him, stepped unwittingly between.
“Yes, papa,” she said, “it’s Bridget, come to the city, I suppose, for the first time in her life. And, papa, she tells such a sad story about Errickdale. Will you please send them some money at once?”
“Not a penny,” her father answered. “Not one penny of mine or yours shall they have. These people think to force me to their will by a strike! They shall learn what manner of master they have. Do they not know that Errick mines might lie idle a year, and I hold my head above water bravely? And do they dream there are no men willing and glad to be hired for the price they cavil at? Let them strike when they please. That is the only message John O’Rourke has to carry home with him for his pains, and all that you shall have either, Bridget. Take it and be gone.”
“Oh! no, Bridget, not yet,” Eleanora cried. “I am not ready. Papa, what can you be thinking of—sending her away when I am not ready to have her go? Let us consider for a minute, papa. She is so troubled”; and, indeed, Bridget’s face was livid in its distress, and when she strove to speak her voice died away in a moan. “How much do the people want, papa?”
He laughed grimly. “I shall grant them nothing,” he said. “However, since you are curious, they do not want as much as your ball will cost me, my love. How would you like to give that up for them?”
“My ball! Of course not. What a ridiculous idea! All Malton knows of it by this time, and twenty people are invited already, and I have sent for my dressmaker. Of course
I could not give that up for anything! But you were only jesting, papa dear. I know you could not mean it. Bridget, papa knows best, you may be sure. I never trouble my head about business. But I will tell you what you shall do. I am going to have a masque-ball at Errickdale in January—such grand doings as were never known there before—and you shall come to it! You shall be where you can see the splendid court-dresses and the flowers and the feast, and hear the music—the very best music that Malton can furnish. So don’t worry any more, Bridget, and you shall surely be there.”
Bridget looked slowly round the room, full of warmth and light, and comfort and beauty. From the picture-frames haggard eyes seemed to stare at her; in the corners, and half hidden by the velvet hangings, figures wasted by want seemed to stretch their bony fingers towards her; through the canary’s song and the splash of the scented fountain voices weak with fasting seemed to call on her for aid. But it had become impossible for her to utter another word in their behalf. A plan, a hope, flashed through her mind.
“Yes, Miss Eleanora,” she said, “I will come to your ball.” And waiting for no more words, she went away.