THE WICKED WOODS OF BY THE AUTHOR OF "HESTER'S HISTORY." CHAPTER XXIX. PAUL'S TROUBLES BEGIN. DAYS passed, and Katherine had domesticated herself thoroughly at Monasterlea. She had taken possession of all the best things in the house with the most charming goodwill. The prettiest and most comfortable furniture had been carried into her room, and she had the warmest seat at the fire and at the table. The little red couch under the black archway in the parlour, which was covered with Miss Martha's knitting, and cushioned with pillows stuffed with down off Miss Martha's own geese, She she had at once made quite her own. had taken possession of Bridget, so that the handmaiden did little besides attend upon Miss Archbold. The visitor had also her hostess in thorough subjection, and she wrought her will pretty freely upon May, in spite of that young lady's rebellion against the tyranny of her rule. But Katherine's attentions were chiefly devoted to Paul, and to no one else did she care to be agreeable. All through the dark winter days, in the quiet little cottage, she was restless and troublesome, and sorely tried the patience of her entertainers; but when the evening brought Paul her mood was sure to change. She took as much pains to amuse May's lover as though her life had depended on his being merry. And Paul was glad to be amused, though he did not like Katherine. He did not like Katherine, and yet it was certain that she exercised an extraShe ordinary influence over his actions. absorbed his attention, in spite of his dis PRICE TWOPENCE. satisfaction and unwillingness to gratify her. Meanwhile May stood aside patiently, not wondering that the brilliant beauty should be found more amusing and attractive than herself. She stifled her heartache, for was she not sure of Paul's love? And why need she be jealous, and ungenerous, and unkind? Tender trust such as Paul felt in her was a thousand times more precious than the admiration of a moment. Therefore she would be tolerant, and await, however longingly, the happy hour when Katherine should take her way back to Camlough. But as weeks went by, and Paul's strange unhappiness increased, all thought of her own pain passed away, and keen fear for his welfare caused her a misery far more sharp than she had yet suffered. It was but a short time since he had begged her to save him from anything that should look to her like the beginning of that evil which he believed to lie in wait for him. And it seemed to her now that it was time to be up and doing for his sake. One night the three young people were sitting late over the fire. The keeping of late hours made one of the changes which VOL. VII. 175 Katherine had introduced into the house. She loved to amuse herself a long way into the night, though the servants grumbled, and even Miss Martha was dissatisfied. The mild old lady had been obliged to yield the point. She might go to bed herself when her eyes would not keep open, but midnight often found the three young heads bent together over the fire. May on such occasions would be as merry as her guest. She would have laugh for laugh and jest for jest with Katherine; and she would not be disheartened even when she found that Paul would listen to the stranger, and would give little heed to her. "Tell me about Tobereevil," said Katherine to Paul. I have heard scraps of the history, but I want to know it all. There could not be a better time for an uncomfortable story." Paul's face darkened, as he gloomily prepared to comply with her request. He went steadily through the whole of the wild tale, passing from one lean hero to another amongst his ancestors, till he finished with Simon, the present terror of the country. 66 "Oh, dear!" said Katherine, when he had done. And you are the next-of-kin. Why the end of it is that you will be the richest man in Ireland." "That is it," said Paul; "and there will not be many wealthier elsewhere. I have lately been calculating the old man's wealth. Think of the accumulation during many hundreds of years!" He said this with his brow bent and his eyes on the fire, and a look in his face which May had never seen there before. "What is this old man like?" asked Katherine, who had lost all her levity, and become for once grave and earnest. "Is he very old? Is he in good health? Is he likely to die soon ?" "That is as may be," said Paul, grimly. "He may live long enough unless some one interfere to help him out of the world before his time. You know it is on the cards that I, being his kinsman, may do him that good office." is a view of the matter which I did not take before. But then-suppose I turn into a miser, and some bolder kinsman comes forward and murders me? It might be wiser to take the thing into my own hands." "Nonsense!" said Katherine. "I forbid you to ruin yourself by anything so silly. Have a little patience, and don't believe in bogies. The old man will die, and you will get possession of all the wealth. You will leave this mouldy place, and become a great man in England, where taste and money are appreciated. You are cultivated and accomplished. You can have your will of all the good things of the world.. You may marry the handsomest woman of your time-but, oh, I forgot! I beg your par don!" and Katharine glanced at May, and laughed in make-believe confusion. But May was bravely at her post, and out-laughed her. "Go on, please," she said, blithely. "Go on and finish the story. We must let nothing interfere with the hero's grandeur. You must wed him to a princess-unless. indeed, you can find an unmarried queer.. You are bound not to stop until you have placed him on a throne." "I am bound to no such thing!" said Katherine, pettishly. "And he shall not go on a throne, for kings are wretched creatures." "Well," said May, "that does not prove that your hero may not be a king. You have not done anything for him yet to prevent his being a very wretched creature. But all I say is this, that I hope he will be allowed to look after his poor subjects in these parts. There is a long due to them from the forefathers of his majesty. We will include the settling of this amongst the pleasures you have mentioned." account Katherine laughed a cynical laugh. "No, indeed!" she said, "no such thing! My hero shall send Tobereevil to the hammer, He shall fly from this land of beggars and of bogs. He shall revel in his inheritance, not squander it for nothing." "We talk about my hero,' and 'my hero,'" said May, smilingly, "but the heir of Tobereevil must declare for himself. Let him speak and say if he will turn his back upon his people." 66 'But you could never be so silly!" cried Katherine, eagerly. "You would be probably found out, and if you did escape punishment, there would still be a great deal of trouble and unpleasantness. Besides, if you are of a superstitious turn of Both bright pairs of eyes were turned on mind, as I strongly suspect you to be, it Paul, May's with more eagerness and might interfere with the enjoyment of your anxiety lurking in them than their owner happiness." cared that they should betray. Paul grew "That is true," said Paul, dryly. "It troubled and embarrassed under their gaze. "I don't know," he said; "I am not prepared to declare. But I am not sure that the wisest plan for the future master of Tobereevil would not be to get rid of the whole thing, and leave the curse and the woods to rot or flourish as they please." May grew pale, but she answered readily, before Katherine had time to speak. "Well, there will be time enough to decide when the right moment comes. In the meanwhile, is it not time that this meeting should break up?" And the meeting did break up. Katherine had achieved triumph enough to last her for one night, and went singing down the cloisters to her chamber. She sang her light song while she unbound her golden hair and put off her jewels, and her laces, and her gown of glittering silk. And she fell asleep, smiling, and dreamt that May was weeping at her door, but she would not let her in. Yet May was not weeping; only lying awake in pain, with wide open eyes, and fiercely - throbbing heart; for tears could not save Paul, however strength and courage might. All the courage was needed, and needed yet more urgently as days and weeks went on. The change in Paul became more marked, and Katherine's subtle power gathered closer round him, while her cunning boldness kept him further out of the reach of May's wholesome influence. Her conversation ran upon money and power, upon the folly of a man's not enjoying whatever he could touch, upon the uselessness of so-called benevolent endeavours to do good to one's fellowcreatures, and every hour Paul showed a more restless impatience to possess the inheritance which the miser had promised should be his. His temper was altered; every flickering shadow had become a sombre cloud, every gleam of his old good humour appeared only under the guise of a feverish hilarity. Katherine amused him with stories of the gay world where people did what they pleased without trouble about duty, and in perfect freedom from the thraldom of what stupid people call conscience. She showed him that life in such a dreary corner of the world as this was no better than that of the mole in the earth, that gaiety, and excitement, and luxury were the only things that made existence worth having. And when Katherine talked she drove out the devil of gloom that tormented his soul; but only that when she had ceased seven others might enter in and take possession of it: while May became like some pale spirit hovering on the threshold of this dwelling which had been her own, and kept aloof by the demons that had driven her out. It had taken three strange months to bring things to this point, and one bleak day in March Katherine took a fancy to walk out by herself, away from Monasterlea, and towards the Woods of Tobereevil. It was a gray morning, with a cold and scathing wind, but Katherine was healthy and strong, and clad so as to defy the bitter weather. She was all wrapped up in furs, and carried a gay hat and feathers upon her head. As she walked along the road people curtsied to her, and looked after her, for her beauty shone dazzlingly in the chill of the colourless day. It seemed to amuse her to be out thus alone, and on an errand of her own, for she laughed pleasantly to herself as she went along. She sometimes looked behind her, but she did not stop at all till she had come to the entrance of the Tobereevil Woods. Then she stood still and gazed at them. Katherine Archbold had not the least share of superstition or of poetry in her nature, yet her mind as she gazed at the trees was filled with the recollection of the story of their origin. But she had no shudder for the cruelty of the wholesale murder that had driven their roots into the soil. She was not troubled about freezing mothers and babes, and famished men. She thought only of the success of these strong woods which had so forced their roots into the sad reluctant land, covering many a mile with their mighty limbs. She had a vast admiration for anything that had triumphed, and she gloried in the triumph of the trees. Having gazed her fill at them, she dived in amongst them, walking over the meek primroses, and never seeing the young violets. She plunged into the thickets, and amused herself by forcing her way through the underwood, fighting with stubborn branches that barred her way, delighted when she could break them and trample them under foot. The trees thrust her back, but she had her way, in spite of them, conveying herself into certain of their fastnesses, where human footstep seldom made its way. She found a pillared chamber of gloom, where the sun could never shine, and by the gradual spread of whose impenetrable roof the faithful light of the stars had been one by one put out. Perpetual darkness reigned in this spot, and there was also a ceaseless bound to get my will whosomedever lends sound of disturbance, for the roar of sway-me a hand. ing miles of wood surged above and below "Come," said Katherine, "this is interest. in continual thunder. Even the mildest airs ing. My dear wise woman, I thank you of heaven seemed to have secret stings, for your compliments, and I am delighted which goaded the Tobereevil Woods un- to make your acquaintance. You thought ceasingly into motion and sound. The dark- you had something good, and you find you ness and confusion were very awful in this have something naughty; so you become solitary dungeon which the trees had made quite friendly and tell me your secrets, for themselves. It seemed like a meeting- Nothing could please me more. It gives me place for evil spirits. Katherine approved intense pleasure to meet with people who of it, and, in order to enjoy herself, took intend to have their will. And who is your her seat on a fallen trunk over which she boy Con—and what is he to Simon?" had stumbled. CHAPTER XXX. TWO CONGENIAL SOULS. KATHERINE had not been long in this uncomfortable spot when she heard a sound which, fearless as she was, caused her a momentary shock. To hear a footstep in such a place was startling. Yet there was a crackling of the underwood to be detected through, or rather on the surface of, the roar of the woods. Her eyes, being now used to the darkness, distinguished the outline of a woman's form, which was groping its way amongst the bushes. Presently a scream from the new-comer announced fear at the glimmer of Miss Archbold's white furs. The figure fell and cowered on the ground, and Katherine amused herself for some minutes with the terror of this unknown and silly wretch. Then she touched the prostrate body with the toe of her little boot. "Get up quickly,' she said, "whoever you may be!" The creature, an old woman, revived at the human voice, and gathered herself grotesquely into a sitting posture. They could see each other now, however dimly. Katherine looked like some beautiful fairy, who had chosen for no good end to pay a visit to this spot; the other like some witch in her familiar haunt. For the old woman was ugly, and she was weird. In short, she was Tibbie. ye now! "I know ye now!" she cried, "I know Ye're Sir John Archbold's daughter from beyant the mountain. Many a time I have heard o' the beauty o' yer face, an' the hardness o' yer heart. I know ye by yer hair, for though my eyes is not good, I can see the glint o't. I took ye for an angel, an' I'm not good company for the angels-not till my boy Con's someway settled to his property. When Simon gives him his rights, then I'll set my mind to goodness; but people can't get their wills wid the grace o' God about them. An' I'm She knew the story well, but chose to hear it from Tibbie. "He's my sister's own son, an' Simon's nephew," she said. "An' I've swore an cath on my knees that he shall be master o Tobeerevil. There was a will that was nearly signed whin Paul Finiston he ct in an' turned us out o' doors. I've been years starvin' yonder wid the black-beetles an' the rats; an' I'm bound to have reward. I'll get back to his kitchen, an I'll put my boy into Paul's shoes. I' been begging on the hills, but it's little I' think o' that when I've the money-bags in my clutches, an' I'm come this ways through th woods in hopes o' meetin' somethin' wickel that 'd help me. There do be devils an bad spirits always livin' in the threes-I' not afraid o' them if they'd give me a har But I'm mortial feared o' the angels, for they might keep me from my will." Katherine looked at the creature with admiration. Where in all the land coll she meet with anything so congenial as this hag, who had thus avowed a purpose which had made them enemies at once! "For I," thought Katherine, "have de termined that Paul Finiston shall be master of Tobereevil, and I am resolved to have my will. And this creature is also be upon forcing fate, so that her Con shal take his place. Yet we shall be friends, in spite of this little difference." My dear soul," said she, "sit down on this stump and tell me all about it. I am anxious to hear your plans. What do yo mean to do in order to ruin Paul Finiston? "I would not tell you," said Tibbie only that I know you are hard-hearted If I thought you soft an' good, I woulda: open my lips to ye, not if ye prayed me yer knees. For Paul Finiston's the sort that women likes." "But he is a fool,” said Katherine, “an impostor, and a beggar, who must be turned by the shoulders out of the country, Tibbie crowed, and clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, musha!" she cried; "you have the purty tongue in your head." "How do you mean to do it?" asked Katherine. "Don't be afraid to tell me, for there is no one within miles of us. Shall you give him a taste of nightshade, or a little hemlock-tea ?" "No," said Tibbie, doubtfully, as if the idea had not startled her, but was familiar to her mind. "I have thought o' that, an' thought o't, an' I'll thry another way. I'll do it by a charm. An' that's what brought me here to-day. There's roots that does be growin' in divils' places like this, an' if ye can catch them, an' keep them, ye may do anything ye like." do "Roots!" said Katherine. you do with them ?" "And what Some needs wan doin', an' some another," said Tibbie. The best of all is a mandhrake, for that's a divil in itsel'. It looks like a little man, and ye hang it up in a corner, where it can see ye walkin' about. So long as you threat it well it'll bring ye the luck o' the world. I go sarchin' through every bad place in the woods, and on the mountains, turnin' up the stones, and glowerin' under the bushes, hopin' to find a mandhrake that'll do my will. If I can find him, oh, honey! won't I make my own o' the miser? I'll make the keys dance out o' his pockets, and the money-bags dance out o' the holes he has hid them in, an' the goold jump out o' the bags into Tibbie's pockets. I'll make him burn the will that has Paul in it, an' write out another that'll put Con in his place. I'll have all my own way; an' the ould villain may break his heart and die widout me needin' to lift a hand against him." "Capital," cried Katherine; "but where will you find the mandrake? Are you sure that it grows in this country at all? And suppose it does, don't you know that to suit your purpose it must spring from a murderer's grave? Then, even when it is found, there is danger in getting possession of it. It screams when its root is torn from the earth, and the shriek kills the person who plucks it." Tibbie's face fell as she listened. "You're larnder nor me,' she said. "An' are ye tellin' me the thruth?" "Certainly, the truth," said Katherine. Tibbie lifted up her voice and howled with disappointment. "Everythin's agin me," she said, rocking herself dismally. "But I'm not goin' to be baffled. cross the says if ye'll tell me the counthry I'll where it'll be found. I'll get somebody to pluck it for me that'll not know the harm. For I tell ye that I am bound to get my will." Katherine stood looking on, while the old creature thus bemoaned herself. "There, now," she said, presently, "do not cry any more. I have a mandrake myself, and I will give it to you. It will be no loss to me, for I have everything I want. I like meeting with difficulties, for I have power within myself to break them down. If you like to have the mandrake, I will give it to you." "Like it!" cried Tibbie. "Is it would I like it, she says? Oh, wirra, wirra! isn't her ladyship gone mad? Like to have the mandrake! Like to get my will! An' they said ye were hard-hearted. Then it's soft-hearted ye are, an' I was a fool to be talkin' to ye. Give away yer luck to wan like me! If I had it I'd see ye die afore I'd give it to ye." "Oh, very well," said Katherine, turning away. "Of course, if you don't want it, I can give it to some one else." Tibbie uttered a cry. She fell on the ground, and laid hold of Katherine's gown. "Ladyship, ladyship!" she said. "I meant no harm. It's on'y amazed I was, an' I ax yer honour's pardon. Give me up the mandhrake, an' ye may put yer foot on me, an' walk on me. I'll do anythin' in the world for ye when I have a divil to do my will. Ladyship, ladyship, give me the mandhrake!" "There, then," said Katherine, "I promise that you shall have it; and if ever I should want anything of you I expect you to be friendly. Stay, there is one thing 1 should like to see the house of Tobereevil. Bring me there, now, and you shall have the mandrake to-morrow. I don't want to see the miser; only his den." "Well," said Tibbie, who had now got on her feet, and recovered her self-possession, "if you can creep, an' hould yer tongue, an' if yer shoes don't squeak, I'll take ye through the place. There's little worth seein' for a lady like yersel', but come wid me if you like it. On'y don't blame Tibbie if Simon finds ye out." "Leave that to me," said Katherine, “I'm not afraid of Simon." Tibbie clasped her hands and rocked herself with delight. "That's the mandhrake," she muttered. "There's nobody can gainsay her wid the mandhrake undher her thumb; an to-morrow it'll be Tibbie's." So these new friends set to work to |