“groping in the windy stair,
darkness and the breath of space
like loud waters everywhere.”
the room was cold, and i at once made for the fire, and, to my surprise, found the hearthrug occupied by an untidy little girl, who was engaged in dropping grease from a candle over the coals to make them burn. on seeing me she sprang to her feet, and, with semi-articulate apologetic murmurs, she gathered up a coal-box and retired in confusion.
i concluded that, improbable as it{61} appeared, this was the under-housemaid, and reflected with some astonishment on the incongruities of the durrus establishment. however, i afterwards found she held no official position, but was a satellite of the under-housemaid’s, privately imported by her as a species of body-servant or slave. in fact, at the risk of digressing, i may here add that in process of time i discovered that the illicit apprenticeship of a young relation was a common custom of the durrus servants, and in the labyrinthine remoteness of the servants’ quarters they could be concealed without fear of attracting the master’s eye.
in spite of its top dressing of grease, the fire was not a tempting one to sit over, and i roamed round the large ill-lighted room, taking in with leisurely wonderment the style of its decorations. it was, in startling contrast to the rest of the house,{62} painted and papered in semi-aesthetic hues, pale sage-green and pink being the prevailing colours. this innovation of culture had not, however, extended itself to the furniture, which was of the solidly ugly type prevalent fifty years ago.
heavy mahogany tables, each duly set forth with books and daguerrotypes, stood inconveniently about, causing a congestion among the lesser furniture. the pictures, which had been taken down at the repapering of the room, leaned against the wall with their faces inwards. i turned one of the nearest to me, expecting to come upon a family portrait, but found it represented a turk of truculent aspect, worked in berlin wool—a testimony to the amount of spare time at the disposal of the ladies of durrus. the thick coating of dust on my fingers which was the result of this investigation did not encourage me to{63} make any further researches, and an examination of the old china on the marble cheffonier between the windows had equally disastrous results. in one corner there was an ancient grand piano, which to my astonishment proved to be in good tune. i had not been playing for very long when willy came in, and, without speaking, placed himself beside me.
“well, i declare!” he said, as i finished playing one of schubert’s impromptus, “it’s a long time since i heard that old piano. i got it tuned the other day on purpose for you, and you know how to knock sparks out of it, anyhow! i heard henrietta o’neill playing that piece once, and it didn’t sound half so well—though, i can tell you, she thinks no end of herself.”
“by-the-by, willy, why did you stop me when i began to speak of mr. o’neill?”
“o’neill,” corrected willy.{64}
“oh, well, o’neill,” i said peevishly. “but what was the harm of talking about him?”
“no harm, as far as i am concerned, but the governor hates him like poison. i believe they had some row in my grand-father’s time—i don’t know exactly what-and they never made it up since. but there’s no regular quarrel; i go to all their parties, and i think the governor rather likes nugent and the girls.”
“what is madam o’neill like?”
“oh, i get along with her first-rate,” said willy, stretching out one of his long legs, and serenely studying the gold-embroidered clock on his sock. “but other people say she’s rather a bitter old pill; and i can tell you, she has the two girls in great order!”
i began to play as he finished speaking; but his thoughts had travelled on to my{65} other unlucky remark at dinner, for he presently interrupted me by saying in an uncertain way—
“oh! you know that girl we were talking of at dinner, the one you saw at the gate—anstice brian her name is—her mother is a bit queer in her head, and she’d be very apt to give you a start if you didn’t know her ways. she’s a harmless poor creature, but she wanders about these bright nights, and she gets into the house sometimes.”
i probably looked as alarmed as i felt, for he laughed protectingly, and, drawing his chair a little closer to mine, said reassuringly—
“never fear! she’s not half as silly as they say; and do you think i’d let her be about if there was any chance at all of her frightening you?”
“what is she like? is she an old{66} woman?”—ignoring the reproachful warmth of this last observation.
“is it old moll hourihane? she’s as old as two men—or she looks it, anyhow. she used to be my nurse till she went off her head.”
“i thought you said her name was brian,” i said.
“that’s only her husband’s name. the women mostly stick to their own names in this country when they’re married.”
“and you’re quite sure she’s not dangerous?” i said, feeling only half reassured.
“no more than i am myself”—with a glance to see if i were going to contradict this assertion. “she has a sort of dumb madness—like a hound, you know—and she’ll never speak; though i dare say after all that’s no great loss,” he concluded.{67}
i was by this time feeling very sleepy, and hoping i should soon be able to escape to my own room, when the door opened, and my uncle came solemnly in.
“i have come, theodora, my dear, to suggest an early retirement on your part.”
he avoided looking at willy, and i felt that the effects of my ill-timed remarks at dinner had not yet died out. he looked haggard and troubled, and a sudden pity and sense of kinship impelled me to raise my cheek towards him as he took my hand to say good night. he stooped his head as if to kiss me, but checked himself, and after an instant of hesitation his moustache touched my forehead.
there was something repelling in his manner, but i felt that he was not unconscious of the sympathy i had intended to express. he turned and left the room, and i heard him go back to the library{68} and shut himself in, the sound of the closing door emphasizing his solitariness.
i went upstairs with the feeling of isolation again strongly upon me. the wind had risen, and on the walls of the draughty corridor each gust made the old pictures shake in their mouldering frames. at intervals, through the panes of the large skylight overhead, the moon’s light dropped in pale wavering squares on the floor of the hall below. i leaned over the balustrades watching the spectral alternations of light and darkness, as the clouds swept across the moon, till the objects beneath me seemed to take intermitting motion from the flitting of the moonbeams.
as i looked, the dim lamp in the hall flickered and went out. a gust from below circled round the corridor, lifting the hair upon my forehead and almost extinguishing my candle as it passed me.{69}
perhaps i was overtired and nervous, but a causeless fear possessed me—the old unreasoning dread of some vague pursuit out of the darkness, that i had not felt since i was a child. i gave a terrified glance over my shoulder at the swaying pictures, and then, shielding my candle with my hand, i ignominiously ran down the corridor into my own room.
