Honor hastens down the avenue, looking neither to the right nor left.  Her head is dizzy, her heart beating heavily in this nervous dread that has come upon her.  She starts at every shadow that crosses her path; the sound of the wind in the pine-trees almost makes her scream, and when, just as she reaches the ruins, a low whistle breaks the quiet, a sharp cry of terror escapes her lips.

“Whist, miss!  It’s a friend,” a deep voice whispers close beside her, though she can see no one; and the next moment Power Magill comes out from the low doorway and calls her gently by name.

“My darling, this has been too much for you!” he says, seeing the dread on her face as she stands close beside him.  “I should not have asked you to come here; but I felt that I could not go away till I had seen your face, and heard you tell me with your own lips that you have forgiven me.”

He has led her across the great paved court to a corner where they can stand together without being seen by any one passing along the avenue.

There is something awful in the silence that broods round them; but the girl’s nerves are too much shaken for her to be quite conscious of her surroundings.  The man standing beside her is no less agitated.

“Honor, you know that, in acting as I did, I brought suffering upon myself horrible suffering apart from all social considerations!  You have never doubted my love?  You are true to me still; and I’m thankful for it.  I would rather see you dead at my feet than know you were false to your solemn promise!”

The passionate voice, speaking so close to her ear that she can feel his hot breath on her cheek, the pale eager face peering into hers, as if to read its secret even in the darkness, strikes a sudden chill through the girl.  For the first time personal fear fear of the man before her assails her.

“Have you no word for me?” the man pleads wistfully.  “You stand there like a spirit, and say no word of comfort or of pity!  By heavens, if I did not know all that you dared for my sake, I should swear that you had no love in your heart for me!”

“Love for you!” she cries at last, speaking on the impulse of the moment, as it is in her nature to speak.  “Why should I love you?  What love had you for me when you shot my father when ”

But he steps her almost savagely.

“I fired only one shot that night; but [lack in the text] ses on my false aim! that missed the man I hated.”

“And that man was Brian Beresford?”

“Yes,” he answers slowly, defiantly, even, “it was Brian Beresford.  It is no fault of mine he is alive to-night.”

“And you would have killed him?” she cries, drawing back from him.

“Why not?  He would have sent me to Kilmainham.”

He is changed already the girl divines this instinctively, and shrinks still farther away from him against the damp wall.  This life that he has led separated from friends and equals has done its work.

“And now, Honor, we have no time to lose.  Everything is ready for me to get away to-night, but” with a sudden break in the passionate voice “oh, my love, I cannot go without you!”

“You cannot go without me, Power?” the girl gasps.  In her wildest dreams no such fancy as this had risen to trouble her.  “But you must go without me!  I cannot go with you!”

“And why not, if you love me?”

“But I do not love you,” the girl says calmly.  “I am very sorry for you; but all love is done with between us.  Surely, Power, after that night you knew it would be so?”

He does not answer her, and his silence fills her with more anxiety and fear than could any passionate outburst.

He has walked to the end of the court, and stands there, looking over the broken parapet.  Once she fancies that he raises his hand, as though beckoning to some one, but she is not certain, because it is so dark and he is so far off.  As she stands shivering, she hears a step go slowly past.  Surely it is Brian’s step?  Oh, what would she not give for the sight of his face now?  And then his warning comes back to her “He’s a dangerous man a man not to be trusted.”  Can it be that he knew him better than she did?  Power himself has not been careful to keep this meeting from his friends.  More than once she has caught a glimpse of dark figures passing to and fro at the farther end of the court, where the pillars are still standing; and, as she realizes the fact that she is alone, a helpless girl, in the midst of these men, desperate and lawless as she knows them to be, it is only by an immense effort she keeps from screaming aloud.  It would be useless, she knows it might even bring about the very results she has most to dread.

“Honor,” her lover says, coming back to her, “I have no time to plead with you, and sure I have no need to tell you again how I love you.  I thought and hoped you would have come with me this night of your own free will; but since you will not do that, by St. Joseph, you shall come without it!”

From the road comes a sudden shrill whistle, and the girl’s heart sinks within her.  Oh, how mad she has been to put herself in the power of this man and his associates!

For an instant, as she leans against the wall behind her, a faintness steals over her.  Her eyes grow dim, and there is a sound in her ears like the rush and roar of the weir down the river.

When this feeling has passed away she hears Power’s voice speaking, as it seems to her dizzy brain, out of great darkness.

“There is a car waiting to take us to Boyne.  Once there we are with friends, and you can make all needful preparations for our journey.”

She does not answer him; she could not.  Her lips are dry and quivering with the terror that has come upon her.

At this moment some one glides from behind a pillar and touches Power on the arm.  With an impatient gesture he moves back a little way to listen to the man’s message; and in this one second Honor sees her only chance of escape.

With a slow gliding motion she gains the end of the wall, and sees the open square of the old court before her.

Some one may be watching from behind those broken buttresses, she knows; but she is desperate, and has no time to count the chances.  With a rapid step she crosses the square, and is almost at the open gateway when a man steps forward and holds her back by the arm.

“Not so fast, miss!  Shure ye’d not be for forgetting the masther!”

With a sharp cry of fear she struggles to get free; but she might as well try to fly as to loose her arm from the grip of those grimy fingers.

Surely the steps she heard a little while ago are coming back again more slowly this time, but still coming!  Yes, and it is Brian she knows it; she cannot be mistaken, and, yielding to a sudden impulse, she calls his name aloud, calls it again and again, in her utter helplessness and misery.

She does not think that he will hear and come to her.  She has no hope of help from any quarter, as she looks round upon the dark menacing faces of the men who have gathered so noiselessly and rapidly about her.  She is in their power she realizes that; and, as a Blake of Donaghmore, she expects but little mercy, unless it be granted her for Power Magill’s sake.

He has come up to her now, and the men fall back a little at a sign from him.

“Are you mad, Honor?” he asks hoarsely.  “Is it your own death or is it mine that you seek this night?”

“Oh, let me go home!” she moaned, looking at him piteously.  “If ever you loved me, Power, let me go home!”

But a threatening murmur rises from the men about them.

“If I would trust you to carry our secret back to Donaghmore they would not,” he said curtly.  “No, no, Honor there is no turning back for either of us!”

The steps the slow, heavy tread, as of a man in deep thought are close at hand now.  She can hear them plainly; so does Power, for he pauses and seems almost to hold his breath in the deep stillness that has fallen upon the place.

Through this quiet Honor’s despairing cry “Brian oh, Brian, come to me!” rings sharply out.

She hears a shout as if in answer; and the hoarse murmur of threatening voices fills her heart with fear.  She has twisted her ankle on the rough stones, and now, when she tries to move, she cannot, so she crouches back against the wall and waits for the help that she is sure is coming in an agony that is fast merging into unconsciousness.

“Honor, where are you?  Speak!”

She tries to answer:  but her voice has failed her; she can only moan faintly in her great pain.

And clearly, above all the sounds of this terrible night, she hears a man’s voice saying sternly: 

“Back, Magill!  Would yez risk the lives of your friends for the sake of a woman?”

Then comes silence a great silence and darkness; and the terror and the pain and the longing for Brian all fade away together.

Fortunately Honor’s swoon does not last long.  The cold night air revives her, and she opens her eyes to see Brian Beresford kneeling beside her.  He had almost stumbled over her in his eager search for her, and at the first glance he thought that she was dead.

Everything is intensely quiet as the girl raises her head from his shoulder and looks round her with terrified eyes.  There is not a sound to tell that the place has so lately been filled with armed men.

“Where are they?” she whispers, trembling.  “Oh, Brian, if they come back they will kill us both!”

The same thought is in his own mind; but not for worlds would he put it into words.  The men fled in a panic, thinking he was not alone; but let them discover that they have only one man to face, and they will soon return and make short work of him.

He knows it well; but what can he do?  He cannot leave Honor, and, with his wounded arm, it would be impossible for him to carry her so far as the house.  And as he holds her there, her cheeks against his shoulder, her little cold hands in his, he thinks that death itself with her might not be so very terrible after all.

“They will not come back,” he tells her “at least not yet.  They will be afraid.”

But even as he speaks a stealthy footfall breaks the quiet, and a man’s voice says low and guardedly, yet distinct enough for them to hear: 

“Have they had time to get to the house, Neil?”

“Troth an’ they have, sor twice over!  I’d take my oath they didn’t let the grass grow under their feet, once they got free!” and the man laughs grimly, a low mocking laugh that echoes through the lonely place.

Honor clings more close to Brian, and shivers like one stricken with ague.  So far they have not been seen; and the men Power Magill and his servant must have passed close to them.  But any moment a stir, a heavy breath may betray them.

“If I thought there was a chance of overtaking them, I would follow them even now,” Power Magill says fiercely.  “To think a fellow like that should have baffled us at the last moment!  If it were not for the men’s cowardly fear that the police were with him, he couldn’t have done it.”

“Faith, and that’s true for yer honor!”

Very slowly they come back again, talking earnestly.  It is evident from what they way that Power Magill has offended his friends by to-night’s rashness and, though his companion speaks respectfully there is a veiled threat in his words that Power cannot but feel.

“I would do it over again,” Power answers sternly, “if it was my life that I was risking in place of my liberty.”

“But the boys don’t care to risk their liberty why should they, the cratures? even for a beautiful young lady like Miss Honor Heaven bless her!” the other man says sturdily.

His master retorts angrily; but they are too far off now for their words to be heard; and again silence reigns.

It is long before Brian and Honor dare to move, though the girl is trembling with cold and the man’s arm is paining him intensely longer still before they venture out of their hiding-place.

Honor will never forget that walk up to the house in the chill damp night, the dread of pursuit making her heart throb wildly.  Her companion is very silent; and, when he does speak, his voice sounds cold and harsh.  More than once she tries to thank him for coming to her help so bravely; but the words die away on her lips.  She finds it hard to believe that this man spoke tenderly to her only a little time ago.  His very words ring in her ears and serve to make his grim silence more oppressive.

“He is sorry already for having spoken then,” she says to herself; “but he need not be.  I shall never remind him of them never!”

They are within sight of the house before she can summon up courage to thank him for coming to her aid.

“It was so brave of you,” she adds simply; “for of course you did not know how many you might have to face!  I’m afraid I am very stupid I don’t know how to thank you as you deserve.”

“No, no,” he says hastily, almost impatiently.  “Pray do not thank me at all; I deserve no thanks, I assure you!  I would have done as much for any woman!”

There is something almost cruel in the way in which he says it, and tears well up in the girl’s eyes.

“I know you would,” she says, with cold gentleness; “but that does not make the act less brave.”

Suddenly he turns on her with unexpected passion.

“I was not half so courageous as you were, Honor!  I would not have met Power Magill at such an hour and in such a place for any consideration.  You were if you will let me say so recklessly brave to do such a thing.”

The light from the open door streams out, and she looks up at him as he speaks.  His face is ghastly pale, and his tone is angry and scornful.  She realizes for the first time how strange her rash act must appear in the eyes of this fastidious Englishman.  The women of his world would never have done such a thing, she knows; but that does not trouble her it is the scornful surprise on his face that cuts her so cruelly.

“Never mind,” she says to herself, suppressing a sob as they go up the steps together.  “I am not a fine London lady, and I don’t wish to be; if the pater and the boys are content with me as I am that is enough.  It is nothing to me what this man thinks.”

Brian is almost past conscious thought just now; but he hides his pain bravely till they get into the house and he has seen the great doors fastened securely; then he sinks down exhausted, and Honor sees, by the blood on his sleeve, that he has been wounded.

Instantly the whole place is in confusion.  A messenger is sent off at once to the chief constable at Drum and another fetches Doctor Symmonds, who when he arrives finds his patient very low indeed.

“It is not the wound,” he explains to the squire, “it is the loss of blood that has done the mischief.  A little longer, and the poor fellow would have bled to death; as it is, he will need the greatest care to pull him through.”

“My dear Honor, I do wish you would try to like him!” Belle Delorme says, looking up at her friend with pretty pleading eyes.  “I’m sure he’s awfully fond of you any one can see that.”

“And he’s rich why don’t you tell me that?” Honor returns scornfully.  “Every one’s head seems to be turned by the man’s money even the pater’s.”

“Your head is not turned,” Belle observes dryly, “nor your heart either, unfortunately.”

“Tell me one thing,” says Honor, facing her friend suddenly “do you think this George Cantrill is as nice as Launce?”

“As nice as Launce?  Well, no, I don’t; but then” gravely “you don’t often see any one who is quite as nice as Launce, do you, dear?”

“I intend to wait till I do, then,” Honor retorts.

“Brian Beresford was nearly as nice,” Belle says demurely, looking innocently at Honor; “but then he was English, and he had an awful temper hadn’t he? and ” But she stops with a little gap of surprise, for the man himself, very worn and gaunt-looking, is walking toward them.  “Why, Honor, did you know he was coming?”

Honor turns and looks at her tranquilly.

“Did I know who was coming, dear?  Aren’t you just a trifle vague this morning?”

“I’m awfully glad,” the girl answers, with a curious smile; “and I think I’ll go home now.  Dad is sure to want me; and How do you do, Mr. Beresford?” turning swiftly.  “I’m delighted to see you back in Ireland.”

“Thanks, Miss Delorme,” a deep voice answers; and Honor looks round and sees him standing on the grass quite close to her this grave, bearded man who left Donaghmore four months ago, looking so very ill and worn.  He looks ill now, for that matter; but at the sight of him her heart gives a great leap and the color comes into her face.

“An unexpected guest, I can claim no welcome,” he says, looking at her almost wistfully.

“But you are as welcome as unexpected,” Honor answers, holding her hand and smiling graciously.

He barely touches the slim white fingers; he looks away from her, as if the sight of her beauty pained him.

Belle has disappeared; they can hear her singing as she flits between the great tree-trunks, a dainty figure in her gay print gown.

“You have been ill again?” Honor says gently.  She is feverishly excited, but no one could imagine that from her manner.  Her voice trembles a little, but that is the only sign she gives of the tumultuous emotion that the sight of this man has roused in her.

And she thought she had forgotten him that if he never came to Donaghmore it would not matter in the least.  His scornful words had hurt her cruelly; she had never forgiven them, and he knew that she had not.

Though she had been so kind to him all those weeks that he lay hovering between life and death he had not been deceived.  He left Donaghmore fully conscious that he was not forgiven.

But that did not trouble him.  He had been strong in his resentment then; he had judged her, and disapproved of her in his calm judicial way, and there was an end of it.

“I’ve had a nasty touch of low-fever, that is all.”

“And you never let us know!”

“No.  Why should I?  You had trouble enough with me!”

“Trouble!” the girl says passionately; and at the sudden change in her voice he raises his head.  “Do you forget it was through my fault you were suffering that if I had not acted so foolishly that night you would not have been shot?  Oh, I think of it sometimes till it almost turns my brain!”

It is an exquisite April day, the air is keen and sweet here in the heart of the old-fashioned garden, full of the odor of budding leaves and freshly-turned earth, mingled with the perfume of the great lilac-trees, which are one mass of bloom.

To Honor’s Celtic beauty-loving nature such a day as this is full of delights; it soothes her.

“If you have forgotten me,” she says more calmly, “for all the pain I brought upon you, I have never forgiven myself.”

“I don’t know that I have forgiven you,” he says, looking at her almost sternly.  “There are things a man like me finds it hard to forgive; but as for that stray bullet it was a mere accident I have never blamed you in the least for that.”

“Then what else had you to forgive me for?”

He laughs, and moves a little way from her a restless black figure among all his morning freshness.

“Oh, we won’t talk of it!” he says, almost awkwardly.  “I was a fool to come back, though, and, by Jove, I ought to have known it!”

“No, you are not a fool,” the girl answers bitterly; “but you are certainly the worst-tempered man I ever met.”

“Thank you for your good opinion!”

“You are welcome; it’s an honest opinion so far as it goes.  And now we had better go in; you will want something to eat, and you are tired, I dare say.”

“Yes, I am tired of a good many things,” he replies, with a short laugh.

They walk together back to the house, between the beds of early wall-flowers and the Lent lilies nodding in the sunshine.

“I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Honor.”

“Congratulate me,” the girl repeats, looking at him with some surprise; then a sudden thought comes to her, and she smiles; but he does not see the smile.

“Yes on your engagement to this fellow from Dublin.  He is very rich, I hear.”

“Immensely rich,” the girl agrees calmly.  “And then he is clever too; he writes I’m sure I don’t know what he writes; but he is literary.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of him, and I hope you will be happy,” he says after a pause.

“Thanks.  I could do with a little happiness for a change, you know!  I’ve not had too much of it in my life, have I?”

“And yet you ought to be happy, if ever a woman ought!  You are young and beautiful I think sometimes you hardly know how beautiful you are; and perhaps that is your greatest charm.”

“Oh, yes, I do!” she answers, showing her white teeth and her dimples in a sudden smile.  “But, after all, as you said once, if you remember, I am only an Irish girl; and the wonder is that such a fine gentleman as this George Cantrill should look at me!  Don’t you think so?”

“No, I do not,” he returns frigidly.  “I think you are a fit wife for any man!”

“And since when have you thought that, Brian?  Tell me the truth,” the girl says, stopping on the narrow path, and looking up at him with lovely imperious eyes.

The man’s heart yearns for her, as she stands there in her grace and beauty, and the passionate love he has tried so hard to subdue rises and masters him.

“What does that matter?  I know it now!” he says hoarsely.  “Should I be here to-day if I did not?”

“And what brought you here to-day, Brian?” She is looking at him, and he feels his cheeks burn under her glance.

“It’s too late to talk of that now,” he says, trying not to look at her.

“Let me be judge of that; tell me” coaxingly “why you came all this way, and you so ill not fit to travel?”

“I came to ask you to be my wife, Honor.  I fought against it as long as I could; but my love was stronger than my pride, and I came, even at the risk of being mocked at for my folly.  But I had not been five minutes in the house before I heard you were going to marry this fellow from Dublin, and even then I was fool enough to come out to look at you.  I could not go away without one glance at your face.”

“I should think not,” Honor says softly.

“Oh, it was very stupid of me!” he answers, with a grim smile.  “But there’s not much harm done, and I shall go by the next train.”

“But” with a swift hot blush “you have not done what you came to do!”

He looks at her angrily.  He sees nothing but mockery in her face, and his heart is sore, for all his pride resents it.

“Of course not!  Why should I ask another man’s betrothed to marry me?”

“But I am not another man’s betrothed,” the girl says, with a little sob.  She is acting in a very unlady-like manner; but this is not the time to stand on etiquette; a little false pride now, and this man whom she loves with all her heart would slip out of her life never to return.  She trembles and turns pale at the mere thought.  “And I do think, if you came all the way from England to ask me that, you should ask me,” she stammers, and turns rosy red again.

“Good heavens, Honor, are you making a fool of me?”

She does not speak; all her sweet audacity has fled before the passion in his eyes, in his voice, in his touch as he clasps her hand.

But, looking into her face, he needs no words to tell him that at last he has won the desire of his heart.  He knows now what he has gained in winning her love, and how empty the years would have been without it.  She is the one “good gift” that can crown his life, this beautiful willful woman whom once, in his ignorance, he called only an Irish girl.