Blind Love

VIII

On the afternoon of the same day, Iris arrived at the village situated

in the near neighbourhood of Arthur Mountjoy's farm.

The infection of political excitement (otherwise the hatred of England)

had spread even to this remote place. On the steps of his little

chapel, the priest, a peasant himself, was haranguing his brethren of

the soil. An Irishman who paid his landlord was a traitor to his

country; an Irishman who asserted his free birthright in the land that

he walked on was an enlightened patriot. Such was the new law which the

reverend gentleman expounded to his attentive audience. If his brethren

there would like him to tell them how they might apply the law, this

exemplary Christian would point to the faithless Irishman, Arthur

Mountjoy. "Buy not of him, sell not to him; avoid him if he approaches

you; starve him out of the place. I might say more, boys--you know what

I mean."

To hear the latter part of this effort of oratory, without uttering a

word of protest, was a trial of endurance under which Iris trembled.

The secondary effect of the priest's address was to root the conviction

of Arthur's danger with tenfold tenacity in her mind. After what she

had just heard, even the slightest delay in securing his safety might

be productive of deplorable results. She astonished a barefooted boy,

on the outskirts of the crowd, by a gift of sixpence, and asked her way

to the farm. The little Irishman ran on before her, eager to show the

generous lady how useful he could be. In less than half an hour, Iris

and her maid were at the door of the farm-house. No such civilised

inventions appeared as a knocker or a bell. The boy used his knuckles

instead--and ran away when he heard the lock of the door turned on the

inner side. He was afraid to be seen speaking to any living creature

who inhabited the "evicted farm."

A decent old woman appeared, and inquired suspiciously "what the ladies

wanted." The accent in which she spoke was unmistakably English. When

Iris asked for Mr. Arthur Mountjoy the reply was: "Not at home." The

housekeeper inhospitably attempted to close the door. "Wait one

moment," Iris said. "Years have changed you; but there is something in

your face which is not quite strange to me. Are you Mrs. Lewson?"

The woman admitted that this was her name. "But how is it that you are

a stranger to me?" she asked distrustfully.

"If you have been long in Mr. Mountjoy's service," Iris replied, "you

may perhaps have heard him speak of Miss Henley?"