Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels. A to Z Classics

Ye must find out the schools an’ write me about them when ye go back to London.”

      I jumped up and shook his hand.

      “Mr. Joyce, I am more delighted than I can tell you; and I promise, on my honor, that you shall never in your life regret what you have done.”

      “I’m sure of that — Mr. — Mr. —”

      “Call me Arthur.”

      “Well — I must do it some day — Arthur. An’ as to the matther that Norah told me ye shpoke of — that, if I’d wish it, ye’d be married first. Well, me own mind an’ Norah’s is the same: I’d rather that she come to you as a lady at wance, though, God knows, it’s a lady she is in all ways I iver see one in me life — barrin’ the clothes.”

      “That’s true, Mr. Joyce; there is no better lady in all the land.”

      “Well, that’s all settled. Ye’ll let me know in good time about the schools, won’t ye? An’ now I must get back to me work,” and he passed out of the house, and went up the hillside.

      Then Norah came back, and with joy I told her that all had been settled; and somehow, we seemed to have taken another step up the ascent that leads from earth to heaven, and that all feet may tread which are winged with hope.

      Presently Norah sent me away for a while, saying that she had some work to do, as she expected both Dick and myself to come back to tea with them; and I went off to look for Dick.

      I found him with Murdock. The latter had got over his disappointment, and had evidently made up his mind to trust to Dick’s superior knowledge and intelligence. He was feverishly anxious to continue his search, and when I came up we held a long discussion as to the next measure to be taken. The afternoon faded away in this manner before Murdock summed up the matter thus:

      “The chist was carried on the gun-carriage, and where wan is th’ other is not far off. The min couldn’t have carried the chist far, from what ould Moynahan sez. His father saw the min carryin’ the chist only a wee bit.”

      Dick said:

      “There is one thing, Murdock, that I must warn you about. You have been digging in the clay bank by the edge of the bog. I told you before how dangerous this is; now, more than ever, I see the danger of it. It was only to-day that we got an idea of the depth of the bog, and it rather frightens me to think that with all this rain falling, you should be tampering with what is more important to you than even the foundations of your house. The bog has risen far too much already, and you have only to dig perhaps one spadeful too much in the right place and you’ll have a torrent that will sweep away all you have. I have told you that I don’t like the locality of your house down in the hollow. If the bog ever moves again, God help you! You seem also to have been tampering with the stream that runs into the Cliff Fields. It is all very well for you to try to injure poor Joyce more than you have done — and that’s quite enough, God knows! — but here you are actually imperilling your own safety. That stream is the safety valve of the bog, and if you continue to dam up that cleft in the rock you will have a terrible disaster. Mind, now, I warn you seriously against what you are doing. And, besides, you do not even know for certain that the treasure is here. Why, it may be anywhere on the mountain, from the brook below the boreen to the Cliff Fields. Is the off chance worth the risk you run?”

      Murdock started when he mentioned the Cliff Fields, and then said suddenly:

      “If ye’re afraid ye can go. I’m not.”

      “Man alive!” said Dick, “why not be afraid if you see cause for fear? I don’t suppose I’m a coward any more than you are, but I can see a danger, and a very distinct one, from what you are doing. Your house is directly in the track in which the bog has shifted at any time this hundred years; and if there should be another movement, I would not like to be in the house when the time comes.”

      “All right,” he returned, doggedly, “I’ll take me chance; and I I’ll find the threasure, too, before many days is over!”

      “Well, but be reasonable also, or you may find your death.”

      “Well, if I do that’s me own luk out. Ye may find yer death first.”

      “Of course I may, but I see it my duty to warn you. The weather these last few weeks back has been unusually wet. The bog is rising as it is. As a matter of fact, it is nearly a foot higher now than it was when I came here first; and yet you are doing what must help to rise it higher still, and are weakening its walls at the same time.”

      He scowled at me as he sullenly answered:

      “Well, all I say is I’ll do as I like wid me own. I wouldn’t give up me chance iv findin’ the threasure now — no, not for God himself!”

      “Hush, man; hush!” said Dick sternly, as we turned away. “Do not tempt him, but be warned in time!”

      “Let him look out for himself, an’ I’ll look out for meself,” he answered with a sneer. “I’ll find the threasure, an’, if need be, in spite iv God an’ iv the Divil too!”

Chapter 13 — Murdock’s Wooing

      I think it was a real pleasure to Dick to get Norah’s message that he was expected to tea that evening. Like the rest of his sex, he was not quite free from vanity; for when I told him, his first act was to look down at himself ruefully, and his first words were:

      “But I say, old lad, look at the mess I’m in! and these clothes are not much, anyhow.”

      “Never mind, Dick, you are as good as I am.”

      “Oh, well,” he laughed, “if you’ll do, I suppose I needn’t mind. We’re both pretty untidy. No, begad!” he added, looking me all over, “you’re not out of the perpendicular with regard to cleanliness, anyhow. I say, Art, who’s been tidying you up? Oh, I see! — forgive me, old lad — and quite natural, too! Miss Joyce should see you blush, Art! Why, you are as rosy as a girl!”

      “Call her ‘Norah,’ Dick; it is more natural, and I am sure she will like it better. She is to look on you as a brother, you know.”

      “All right, Art,” he answered, heartily, “but you must manage it for me, for I think I should be alarmed to do so unless I got a lead; but it will come easy enough after the first go off. Remember, we both always thought of her as ‘Norah.’”

      We went down towards the brook and met with Andy, who had the car all ready for us.

      “Begor yer ‘an’rs,” said he, “I thought yez was lost intirely, or that the fairies had carried yez off, both iv yez this time” — this with a sly look at me, followed by a portentous wink to Dick; “an’ I’m thinkin’ it’s a bout time fur so me thin’ to ate. Begor, but me stummick is cryin’ out that me throat is cut!”

      “You’re quite right, Andy, as to the fact,” said Dick, “but you are a little antecedent.”

      “An’ now what’s that, surr? Begor, I niver was called that name afore. Shure, an’ I always thry to be dacent; divvle a man but can tell ye that. Antidacent, indeed! Well, now, what nixt?”

      “It means, Andy, that we are going to be carried off by the fairies, and to have some supper with them too; and that you are to take this half-crown, and go over to Mother Kelligan’s, and get her to try to dissipate that unnatural suspicion of capital offence wreaked on your thoracic region. Here, catch! and see how soon you can be off.”

      “Hurroo! Begor, yer ‘an’r, it’s the larned gintleman y’ are! Musha! but ye ought to be a counsillor intirely. Gee-up, ye ould corn-crake!” and Andy was off at full speed.

      When we had got rid of him, Dick and I went down to the brook and made ourselves look as tidy as we could. At least Dick did; for, as to myself, I purposely disarranged my hair — unknown to Dick — in the hope that