And then we trotted slowly off to Castle Conor, which, however, was by no means near to us. “We have ten miles to go;—good Irish miles,” said the father. “I don’t know that I ever remember a fox from Poulnaroe taking that line before.”
“He wasn’t a Poulnaroe fox,” said Peter.
“I don’t know that,” said Jack; and then they debated that question hotly.
Our horses were very tired, and it was late before we reached Mr. O’Conor’s house. That getting home from hunting with a thoroughly weary animal, who has no longer sympathy or example to carry him on, is very tedious work. In the present instance I had company with me; but when a man is alone, when his horse toes at every ten steps, when the night is dark and the rain pouring, and there are yet eight miles of road to be conquered—at such times a man is almost apt to swear that he will give up hunting.
At last we were in the Castle Conor stable yard;—for we had approached the house by some back way; and as we entered the house by a door leading through a wilderness of back passages, Mr. O’Conor said out loud, “Now, boys, remember I sit down to dinner in twenty minutes.” And then turning expressly to me, he laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder and said, “I hope you will make yourself quite at home at Castle Conor—and whatever you do, don’t keep us waiting for dinner. You can dress in twenty minutes, I suppose?”
“In ten!” said I, glibly.
“That’s well. Jack and Peter will show you your room,” and so he turned away and left us.
My two young friends made their way into the great hall, and thence into the drawing-room, and I followed them. We were all dressed in pink, and had waded deep through bog and mud. I did not exactly know whither I was being led in this guise, but I soon found myself in the presence of two young ladies, and of a girl about thirteen years of age.
“My sisters,” said Jack, introducing me very laconically; “Miss O’Conor, Miss Kate O’Conor, Miss Tizzy O’Conor.”
“My name is not Tizzy,” said the younger; “it’s Eliza. How do you do, sir? I hope you had a fine hunt! Was papa well up, Jack?”
Jack did not condescend to answer this question, but asked one of the elder girls whether anything had come, and whether a room had been made ready for me.
“Oh yes!” said Miss O’Conor; “they came, I know, for I saw them brought into the house; and I hope Mr. Green will find everything comfortable.” As she said this I thought I saw a slight smile steal across her remarkably pretty mouth.
They were both exceedingly pretty girls. Fanny the elder wore long glossy curls—for I write, oh reader, of bygone days, as long ago as that, when ladies wore curls if it pleased them so to do, and gentlemen danced in pumps, with black handkerchiefs round their necks—yes, long black, or nearly black silken curls; and then she had such eyes;—I never knew whether they were most wicked or most bright; and her face was all dimples, and each dimple was laden with laughter and laden with love. Kate was probably the prettier girl of the two, but on the whole not so attractive. She was fairer than her sister, and wore her hair in braids; and was also somewhat more demure in her manner.
In spite of the special injunctions of Mr. O’Conor senior, it was impossible not to loiter for five minutes over the drawing-room fire talking to these houris—more especially as I seemed to know them intimately by intuition before half of the five minutes was over. They were so easy, so pretty, so graceful, so kind, they seemed to take it so much as a matter of course that I should stand there talking in my red coat and muddy boots.
“Well; do go and dress yourselves,” at last said Fanny, pretending to speak to her brothers but looking more especially at me. “You know how mad papa will be. And remember, Mr. Green, we expect great things from your dancing tonight. Your coming just at this time is such a Godsend.” And again that soupçon of a smile passed over her face.
I hurried up to my room, Peter and Jack coming with me to the door. “Is everything right?” said Peter, looking among the towels and water-jugs. “They’ve given you a decent fire for a wonder,” said Jack, stirring up the red hot turf which blazed in the grate. “All right as a trivet,” said I. “And look alive like a good fellow,” said Jack. We had scowled at each other in the morning as very young men do when they are strangers; and now, after a few hours, we were intimate friends.
I immediately turned to my work, and was gratified to find that all my things were laid out ready for dressing; my portmanteau had of course come open, as my keys were in my pocket, and therefore some of the excellent servants of the house had been able to save me all the trouble of unpacking. There was my shirt hanging before the fire; my black clothes were spread upon the bed, my socks and collar and handkerchief beside them; my brushes were on the toilet table, and everything prepared exactly as though my own man had been there. How nice!
I immediately went to work at getting off my spurs and boots, and then proceeded to loosen the buttons at my knees. In doing this I sat down in the armchair which had been drawn up for me, opposite the fire. But what was the object on which my eyes then fell;—the objects I should rather say!
Immediately in front of my chair was placed, just ready for my feet, an enormous pair of shooting-boots—half-boots, made to lace up round the ankles, with thick double leather soles, and each bearing half a stone of
