The Building of Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

sight to beat all!”

      Others came running. “Bad cess to ye,” cried one, giving his fellow a clout, “’tis yourself that do be hidin’ the view of her. Sure, I can’t see her at all.”

      The crowd increased. If the sight of Adeline with the parrot was enthralling, the sight of the ayah in her robes with the white-clad child in her arms and, in the child’s arms, the beautiful wax doll increased the excitement to screaming point. The two Irishmen, D’Arcy and Brent, shouldered the crowd aside. Patsy had heard of a carriage that could be hired and presently it came rattling over the cobbles, drawn by a decrepit-looking grey horse who still could move with a strange devil-may-care alacrity.

      Adeline found the priest’s young nieces and asked them where they would stay while repairs were being made. They were weighed down with bundles and looked scarcely so bright and rosy as when they had set out. They had a friend in the town with whom they would leave their possessions. Then they would walk the ten miles to their uncle’s house, spend the night with him, then go home for a sight of their parents. They looked more troubled than happy at the prospect.

      “Faith, the last good-bye near killed our mother,” said the older girl, “and the next one will be worse but she’d think it quare and cruel of us if we didn’t go back to see her.”

      “I can hardly wait,” said the other, “to see her and my da and all the young ones agin. Sure we’ll have things to tell thim to frighten the life out of thim.”

      “Don’t you do it,” said Adeline. “Tell her the sea was as smooth as a pewter plate and the wind no more than a baby’s breath. Tell her that only a wee board came loose on the ship but the Captain was so particular he brought us all the way back to Galway to have it set right. Tell her that I have my eye on you and mean to keep it there till we land in Canada.”

      “Yes, my lady,” they agreed, showing their fine teeth, “we’ll tell her what you say. We’ll niver say a word to scare her.”

      Adeline watched them trudge off with their bundles. She could see the snowy whiteness of their napes beneath their curling dark hair. Now she thought of Mrs. Cameron and Mary. She gave a sigh, feeling suddenly the weight of responsibility for all these weaker creatures.

      She saw Philip putting mother and daughter into the carriage. The ayah and Gussie were already in. He called out: —

      “Make haste, my dear! Let’s get away from here.” An impatient frown dented his fair forehead.

      Up the cobbled street the carriage rattled, followed by part of the crowd. Many of them were boys and girls who jumped up and down screaming in their excitement. Philip and the young Courts walked. Philip disliked being a part of such a procession but his brothers-in-law played up to it with gestures and chaff.

      Later, looking down from her bedroom window, Adeline saw that a fight had started in the street. Errand boys, butchers, beggars, anyone and everyone were shouting and fighting with fists and clubs. Dogs were barking and howling. Then suddenly a squad of peelers appeared. The fighting ceased. The crowd melted into lanes and cellarways. A Sabbath calm soothed the street.

      Philip had watched the scene over Adeline’s shoulder with an amused smile.

      “A funny lot, your people are!” he said, when it was over.

      “They are as God made them,” she replied, a little defensively.

      “And are you sure it was God, my darling?”

      “Well, He may have had a little help from outside.”

      He kissed her. “I scarcely have seen you alone,” he said, “since we sailed. There was always the baby or your brothers or Mary. Egad, I shall be thankful when all this is over and we are established in Quebec.”

      “So shall I. You’d never guess what Mr. Wilmott said when we stepped off the ship.”

      “What?”

      “He said — ‘Do you know I never expected to set foot on these islands again? I hoped never to set foot on them again.’ ‘Never come home to visit again!’ I exclaimed. ‘Never,’ he answered. And he looked sombre — like the hero of a romantic novel. I’ve done my best to encourage an attachment between him and Mrs. Cameron but it seems hopeless.”

      “A seasick widow is not alluring,” said Philip. “And, to judge by the looks he gives, he is more likely to form an attachment to you. He’d better be careful.”

      “That old sobersides,” laughed Adeline. “He’s not at all my sort. But I do like him as an acquaintance and I hope he’ll settle in Quebec near us.”

      “I think we ought to let your parents know we are here,” said Philip, abruptly changing the subject. “It will take quite a week for repairs and, if they find out from other sources, it might give them a bit of a shock.”

      “No, no,” cried Adeline, “I can’t bear another good-bye! It would be unlucky.”

      “We could tell them not to come.”

      “Nothing would keep my mother away. And my father too — he’d come and create some sort of disturbance. He’d probably abuse the Captain for not having a stauncher ship.”

      “They may see it in a newspaper.”

      “I’m willing to risk that. Next week they go on a visit to my grandfather. They’ll have no time for newspapers.”

      So she had her way and they settled down to the strange interlude in their voyage. They explored the streets of the grey old town. Philip and Mr. Wilmott went on fishing excursions. Adeline wandered with her brothers and Mary Cameron along the mountain paths of Clare or on the shore of the bay and brought home pocketfuls of shells for little Augusta. Every day there was the visit to the ship to watch the carpenters at work. Every day people thronged from the country about to see the wonders of the ship. It was grand to see them dancing on the deck in the spring evenings — their lithe bodies bounding and leaping to the whistled tune, clear as a pipe. They snapped their fingers and whirled and bounded in the dance. They had shapely limbs and Spanish faces and there had never been so much merriment on that ship before.

      One evening they were dancing by moonlight and the moon went under a cloud so that no one could say who was who. But a handsome fellow in a blue coat had had his eye on Adeline. He pushed his partner from him and, dancing past Adeline, touched her with his hand. She was standing between her brothers with Mary Cameron hanging as usual on Conway’s arm. Adeline gave a little laugh as the man’s hand touched her shoulder and he could see the white flash of her teeth in the dimness. He danced round the deck and in a moment was at her side again. His arm slid about her. She sprang into the dance. Wildly they danced to the sound of the whistling and the pair of them moved in such beautiful accord that it was pity the whole world could not see — but it was well for her that Philip did not. She was transported by the joy of movement but she kept her eyes on the cloud that hid the moon and, when its edge was silvered, she struck her partner on the breast and whispered — “Let me go, ye devil!”

      As the moon cast its radiance on the deck she stood tall and slim by Sholto’s side. She saw then that Conway and Mary had been dancing.

      He grinned and said — “Now I’ve got something to hold over your head, Sis. Don’t you go telling tails on me.”

      A bell sounded and all had to leave the ship.

      The next day a period of fog and drizzle set in. There was no more dancing on the deck. The days moved heavily. The Captain had promised that repairs should be complete in ten days but it was two weeks before they were ready to sail. There was a strange and rather sombre excitement in this second setting forth. The passengers were now so well aware of the evils which might befall them. Their faith in the worthiness of the ship had been shaken. Of course any ship might spring a leak and Captain Bradley declared that the Alanna was now as sound as a nut.

      They went to church on the Sunday before sailing. Adeline, Philip, Mr. Wilmott, and Mrs. Cameron to the Gothic Abbey church