Chapter III

JACK'S attentions gratified Jeannie for several reasons. First, because she would have found home a dull place without the flattery to which she had of late become accustomed. Secondly, because he was in every sense superior to any other young man in the neighbourhood; and lastly, perhaps most of all, because his devotion would render her an object of envy to all her girl acquaintances.

So Jeannie smiled on Jack and encouraged him in the prettiest, most artless fashion, without troubling her head about results, and probably thinking, as she had done of others, that she might amuse herself very pleasantly for a while, and there would be no harm done. She would be going away again, and if Jack should care a little, he would get over it when she was fairly out of sight. There would be plenty ready to console him. He might go back to Norah. Poor Norah!

Jeannie had heard of Jack's attentions in that quarter whilst she was away, and as her thoughts ran over the details, she smiled to herself at the ease with which she had drawn him from his allegiance. A look of triumph and gratified vanity accompanied the smile, as Jeannie stood passing her white fingers through her dainty ribbons, and surveying her face in an opposite mirror.

The look changed to one of half-contemptuous pity as she turned away and said to herself—

"No wonder Norah is such a dowdy in her country-made gowns and her old-fashioned cloth jacket. Jack really has very good taste in dress for a man. He notices every little change that I make, and always admires it. I should be very dull without Jack here."

If, however, Jeannie thought of simply making a convenience of her country admirer, she found herself mistaken. Jack was very much in earnest, fascinated by the pretty face, the sweet manners, the childlike graces, the general refinement that marked every act of hers. He had spoken frankly to Mr. and Mrs. Bellew, and made sure of their approval, though the former did not give it until he had plainly asked Jack if there had been any kind of engagement between him and Norah Guiness.

"I would not utter that dear girl's name in such a connection," he said; "but for my own daughter's sake everything must be plain and above-board. You were a great deal at the Guinesses' last winter, and people were talking."

Jack blushed violently, but declared, with perfect truth, that he had never said a word of love to Norah; that he thought she was one of the best girls in the world, and they were such old acquaintances. Surely he might go in and out without people gossiping, especially as there were not many houses he dare go to in an unrestrained manner.

"The boys are so nice I made them quite chums," said Jack; "and as to dear old Mr. Guiness, I used to delight in those fireside talks with him. We were always all together. I never spent an hour with Norah alone. But it is always the same in these country places. I have been given to every girl within twenty miles, and my own consent never asked. Isn't it a shame? So just to stop everybody's mouth, or to give the people something true to talk about for once, do say that you will consent to our engagement, if Jeannie says 'Yes' when I ask her. I will be contented to wait your time and hers."

Mr. Bellew offered no further opposition. Jack's wooing was continued, and, with Mrs. Bellew as his friend, soon came to what appeared a satisfactory conclusion.

Jeannie strongly objected to uttering the affirmative which would bind her to Jack Corry, and pleaded how short a time she had been at home. To this the answer was easy.

"It would be too short if we had met as strangers, dear; but we have known each other all our lives."

Jeannie reflected a little. She had gained a complete triumph in winning Jack. He was really nicer than anybody she knew. He promised that she should not be teased or hurried into matrimony. So if she did get tired of him, or if she were after all to see somebody who was a great deal nicer still, she could plead her youth and ignorance of her own mind. Everything would come right. Things always did come right for her.

So she let her little hand lie in Jack's manly palm as she gave a sort of consent, enjoying in a fashion the romance of being engaged to such a fine fellow whilst she was barely eighteen.

What a talk there would be! What congratulations from everybody! And lots of them would not be real; but, anyway, for a while, Jeannie knew that she would be the great centre of interest in and around Ballycorene. She wondered how Norah would look when she called.

This engagement took place just two months after Jeannie's return, and about the middle of June. Jack would have been perfectly happy but for certain twinges of conscience concerning Norah Guiness. He could not recall the conversation with Mr. Bellew, and feel comfortable. He had told nothing but the truth in reply to that gentleman's questions, yet he knew that he had not told the whole truth. Hitherto, anything like duplicity had been foreign to Jack's nature, and he had many a bad quarter of an hour when he looked into the past and when absent from Jeannie. With her, he forgot all but herself, and what a happy fellow he was to have won such a charming creature.

A true-hearted girl can picture for herself what Norah Guiness would feel at this time. A small, vain, selfish nature could never realise such a trial, and an attempt to describe it would be lost time.

How the girl schooled herself into outward calmness; how she prayed for the power to repress every angry and envious thought against Jack Corry and Jeannie; how she strove to fill up time and thoughts by caring, if possible, more and better for her father and the boys, may be named but not described.

If there was one ray of comfort for her, surely she had it in the knowledge that during all those past months when Jack had seemed to find his chief happiness in her society, she could recall no word or act of her own that gave her cause for regret, or that was unbecoming a pure-minded girl.

She determined to go to Benvora, see Jeannie, and offer her good wishes.

"Thank God, I can do that in all sincerity!" she said to herself.

On the way she met Jack and Jeannie, and in sight of two of the most arrant gossips Ballycorene could boast, was enabled to lift her honest face to theirs, shake hands with each, and say the kind words she had meant to say in a less public place.

The worst seemed over now they had met. Jeannie was effusively affectionate to Nora, Jack vastly cheered by her calmness and the smile with which she succeeded in meeting his somewhat conscious looks. Then, as Norah declined to go on to Benvora, the others, who were going in her direction, joined her, and they walked together until they reached her home.

On the whole this outdoor meeting was fortunate, and took the sting out of some gossiping tongues. People might have their opinions about Jack Corry's conduct, but as Norah had been seen with him and Jeannie Bellew, and apparently on the old friendly terms, surely they had no right to take up cudgels on her behalf.

There was one, only one, who named Jack to Norah, her eldest brother, Roderick, or Rory, as he was generally called, a lad of fifteen, who almost worshipped his sister.

"Norah," he said, "I am horribly disappointed in Jack Corry. I thought him the finest fellow in the world—one that could not do a mean thing to save his life. But he is a deceitful wretch, and I hate him! If I were a man, he should pay for his conduct to you, my darling."

The boy flung his arms round Norah's neck and held her in a passionate embrace, while he kissed her again and again. She felt her cheek moist with the tears he could not restrain, and was comforted by the thought of the home affections that were so fully hers. She returned the boy's caresses, and passed her hand tenderly over his curly head as she said—

"Rory, dear lad, you must not talk of hating Jack. He was always good to you boys and to all of us, when his time was not so taken up as it is now. You must not expect him to leave Jeannie for you."

"For me, indeed! as if I cared! It is for you, Norah, you, that I am grieved and angry. He was always coming after you, not to see us, we knew that well enough, and everybody said so. They used to joke and smile about Jack having lost his heart at last, and then they would say, 'He will have the sweetest girl in Ballycorene—God bless her!'"

"How sweet it is to think that people think so kindly of me!" said Norah, turning a bright face to Rory. "But they were wrong. They know better now whom Jack wanted."

"He did not care for Jeannie Bellew then. And if he did not care for you, why did he pretend to do so? You have told us boys many a time that truth was a thing of deeds as well as words, and that we could lie without uttering a syllable. Jack Corry lied in action for months and months, and he knows it. If I could only pay him out!"

"Rory, my darling, this is hardest of all. I cannot bear even for you to speak about Jack and me in that way." And Norah covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly.

Rory was full of remorse; he lavished the tenderest expressions on his sister, begged her to forgive him, and declared he would never speak on the subject again. For the boy's sake Norah tried to conquer her emotion, and at length so far succeeded that she could reply calmly:

"Perhaps it is as well, dear, that there is one person in the world I can open my heart to. I should never have had courage to name him as you have done. It is a comfort to know how my boy loves his sister, and feels for and with her. These last two months have been very dreadful, Rory, but I am better, now it is really all over. He could not help it; Jeannie is so pretty and winning, and I am like a country sparrow by the side of—what bird shall I say, Rory?—a bird of paradise, compared with her in all her plumage."

"Fine feathers make fine birds. She is not fit to tie your shoe," growled Rory.

"Never mind. I have a dear friend in you as well as a brother, a friend whom I can trust at all times. And though we will not talk of it, we shall know there is one secret just between us two that will not be breathed to anyone else in the world."

The thought of Norah's confidence in him, above all others, soothed Rory. They sealed the compact with a kiss, and Jack Corry's conduct was named no more between them, though neither forgot it or was likely to do so.

For a month after his engagement to Jeannie was made public, Norah met the two from time to time, and could not help noticing that whilst Jack's devotion increased, his fiancée seemed rather to tolerate than appreciate it. Then came the conversation between the two girls, in which Jeannie alluded to the probability of her having to leave home again by the doctor's orders, and Norah heard the careless words that have been already recorded: the wish to stay at Benvora in peace or to be able to take away with her, father, mother, 'Jet' the pony, Norah herself, any person, anything but Jack Curry.

It was hard to think she could be in earnest when she said, "The one sweet drop in my cup of banishment is the thought that I shall leave Jack Corry behind me. He bores me to death."

Could it be possible that after all the affection was one-sided, that Jeannie had entered upon the engagement without any real love for Jack, and only as a means of amusing herself and occupying her idle hours?

"You ought not to speak of Jack in such a way," said Norah. "If I were a mischief-maker, and were to repeat words which you do not mean, but which would grieve him terribly, what then?"

"I shall say what I like. I mean every word I do say. You are not a mischief-maker, and would not make mischief to save your own life; but if you were to repeat what you consider my naughty speech to Jack, he would not believe me in earnest—more's the pity. I have told him the same thing myself a score of times. He will not be driven away. So you see, dear there is no alternative but for me to leave him."

"You cannot be in earnest, Jeannie. You would never think of treating Jack in such a manner, when you know how he cares for you, and looks on the engagement between you as the most solemn that can be entered into."

"You look solemn enough, Norah," said Jeannie, lightly. "Let me tell you this engagement, into which I was fairly worried by my mother and Jack together, sits lightly on my conscience. I only meant it as a bit of innocent flirtation; it is they who have made a serious affair of it, not I."

"Think what poor Jack would feel if he heard you," said Norah, shocked and grieved at the heartless speech.

"If Jack is made to feel a little, it will do him good, I hope, and teach him to know his own mind. Has he never flirted, I wonder?"

Jeannie gave a meaning look at Norah, then seeing the rising flush on her friend's face, she added, "You can remember that Jack's name has been coupled with that of first one girl, then another, for years and years past."

"Not seriously, Jeannie. A real engagement was never spoken of until you and Jack entered into one."

"Well, I did not want this to be a real one, either. All the same, it has been pleasant enough to have poor Jack at my beck and call, seeing there is really no one else about here that I should care to employ in the same manner, and I have become used to such attentions now. But, Norah, do you remember those balls we used to play with that had a piece of elastic fastened to them? We threw them, but we could always draw them back at will. I have always kept my affections discreetly in check, and, like that old toy, I never let them go so far that I cannot recall them at will."

Norah sat listening like one in a dream. She had schooled herself to suffer in silence; nay, she had by persistent effort put self out of sight, and looking into her own true heart could say that she honestly wished and prayed for the lasting happiness of these two, believing that they loved each other. To think that she had battled, suffered, conquered in vain, and that this girl, so young, so innocent and winsome to all appearance, could have deliberately set herself to gain Jack Corry's heart, only to wound it and fling it back to him!

The girl could not speak at first. She sat for a few moments, then, without allusion to their conversation, she rose, and in a dazed, mechanical way, said she must go home.

Jeannie went forward to kiss her and say good-bye, but Norah did not, could not return the caress. She started, though, as if a serpent had stung her when Jeannie whispered, "Don't be angry, dear. I only borrowed Jack for a little while; you shall have him back for altogether."

The words and careless smile were too much for Norah. She flung Jeannie's hand from her, and, with flashing eyes and righteous indignation at the girl who had so outraged both friendship and affection, said, "How dare you say such words to me!"

There was no sign of shrinking or timidity in Norah then, as she stood at her full height, looking down, both physically and morally, on the fair form which held so small and selfish a nature. At sight of her, Jeannie flushed, paled, trembled, and then stammered out, "Surely you are not angry at my little joke!"

"Joke!" said Norah. "Do you call it a jest to trifle with the purest, holiest feelings that God has given us the power to entertain one towards another? Is it a jest to bring a man to your feet, to induce him to lay bare his heart, to offer you his affection, to devote all that is best in him, and all that he has to your service, and then to mock him? Mock him, did I say? To wound him cruelly, to take the courage, the joy, hope, sunshine, out of his life—and for what? Not because you valued the priceless gift he had to offer, or that you wanted it. But you did want the paltry satisfaction of showing your power over this man, of being the envied of many, because everyone liked him; of using him in order to make your idle hours pass more quickly; of preventing any other girl from possessing the honest love which many would have prized, though you did not know its value. As to your whispered insult to myself, I have no answer for such words; they are too contemptible. We are not likely soon to meet again, but, as my farewell words, let me say: Think, Jeannie, before you decide to spoil Jack Corry's life, or your own may be saddened by bitter memories that you will never be able to banish while it lasts."

Norah waited for no reply, but almost fled from Jeannie's presence, and hurried homeward, to relieve her outraged feelings in the quiet of her own room.

A smaller nature might have rejoiced that Jack was likely to be doubly repaid for the pain he had caused herself. But Norah's was not a small soul, and she could distinguish the difference between Jack's conduct in yielding to temptation, and Jeannie's actual treachery. Like the high souled girl she was, Norah would have saved Jack from suffering, even at the cost of bearing herself a double burden, though she sighed as the thought came, "Poor Jack! Jeannie could not make him truly happy."

As to Jeannie, she was frightened and angry by turns as she recalled Norah's searching words and reproof, but not sorry.

She tossed her pretty head, and said to herself, "What right had she to take me to task? It is just her jealousy, because Jack left her for me. She shall not have a chance of rating at me again. She may think what she likes; I do not care."

The spirit of the spoiled child, the heiress, and the successful flirt, rose to the occasion. Jeannie decided that after all she had the best of it, and she smiled at the idea of a coming triumph.

The doctor had decreed that she must go away for a month. Jeannie resolved that many months should pass before she returned to Benvora, and took means to hasten her departure—a thing she well knew how to manage.

Needless to say, there was no farewell between her and Norah Guiness; but in parting with Jack Corry she made her feelings sufficiently plain.

How it all came about the gossips never knew, but first there was a whisper about a broken engagement, and then the report was boldly spread that Jack Corry had been summarily dismissed by his fickle little fiancée, who was off to foreign parts again.

Mr. Bellew went away for a time with his wife and daughter, so no one could note how he took the changed aspect of affairs; but those who knew his kind heart gave him credit for the best feelings towards Jack, and not a little regret for Jeannie's conduct.

The question that stirred most minds was how Jack would bear it. Would he get over this blow, and find consolation elsewhere? Would he go back to Norah? And if so, would she forgive him? How would it all end?

Some said, "Jack deserved the treatment he had received," but most felt more kindly towards their old favourite, and were sorry for him.

No one had an opportunity of judging for some little time, for Jack Corry was not to be seen or spoken with. Whether he was at home or not, no one seemed to know, but he was denied to all who inquired for him there.

About a fortnight after the departure of the Bellews, Norah Guiness was returning home after a long walk, when she was caught in a heavy shower. She kept on her way, and, as there seemed little prospect that the rain would cease, she decided to take a short cut through a wood.

Her mind was full of sad thoughts, her heart aching at the remembrance of all that had come and gone in a few short months, when a little turn in the path brought her close to Jack Corry. Such a changed Jack! The light seemed to have left his eyes, the gladness to be gone from his face, and he was pale and weary-looking.

Norah was shocked at the alteration in the fine, gallant young fellow, who had so often brought brightness to their fireside by his cheery ways, and she held out her hand in the old kindly fashion.

Jack took it, and clasping it in both his, stood for a moment without speaking. Then he said:

"You know what has happened, Norah?"

"Yes, Jack. I am so sorry!"

Her lips quivered, her kind eyes filled as she noted the tremulous voice, and the poor ghost of a smile as he looked in hers.

"Thank God! I can believe you yet. Sometimes I feel as if there was no truth in the world, when I remember how simple and innocent she seemed. And she was playing with my heart like a worthless toy, and never cared for me, never! I should have been miserable if she had become my wife, but I am miserable without her. I was true to—to—"

He turned away, unable to utter the name of the girl who had deceived him; and for the first time the full sense of his own conduct to Norah came to his mind, though conscience had reproached him before.

The girl stood weeping quietly, heedless of rain, of everything but Jack's misery, and her own longing to comfort him. She was pained to hear the man's sobs, and then a hollow, racking cough which followed them.

"Jack," she said, "you must not stay in this rain. Your clothes are soaked already. You have taken cold and need care."

"Why should I care?" he replied. "I have spent nearly all my time in this wood since she left; one night I fell asleep under a tree, and woke in the morning soaked through with dew."

"Jack, you are killing yourself!" cried Norah. "Come home with me. We can get to the house without being noticed, and my father and the boys will make you welcome."

How she succeeded in persuading him she could not tell; perhaps her firm hold of his arm was comforting; at any rate, he let her guide him where she would.

It was evident to Mr. Guiness that Jack was fearfully ill, and, owing to reckless exposure of himself, already in a condition of great danger, and hardly responsible for his actions. The doctor confirmed his worst fears. Jack was suffering from inflammation of the lungs; he came of delicate parents, who had died young, and it soon became evident that he had gone to Mr. Guiness's home to die also. Well for him that in his last days he had tender nurses, and was surrounded by true and loving hearts, for the boys, seeing their former friend so pitifully changed could think of nothing but their old happy times together, and even Rory was able to forgive him. It seemed terrible for the lads to think of death in connection with him who had been their model of all that was manly.

"You have forgiven me, Norah? May God bless you, and make you very happy!" said Jack, on the day he died. For answer she bent and kissed the dying lips again and again, and her kind hand was the last that Jack clasped in his.

It was only after the grave closed over him that Norah knew all Jack's remorse on her account. But for Jeannie's wiles their two lives might have been united and happy; but he had loved the little flirt in spite of reason and conscience, and he had paid the penalty. He had, however, made a will three days before he and Norah met in the wood, and to her absolute use he had bequeathed his ample means. He had no near relatives, and his wealth was at his own disposal. In Norah's hands, he knew it would prove a blessing not only to her father and the boys, but to all the poor and friendless within her reach.

Many were the tears she shed by Jack's last resting-place, and gladly would she have given up the wealth he had endowed her with, could he have taken it and lived to use it. She has had suitors many since he died, but they have wooed in vain. Most people think that she has no love to give, and that her heart is buried with Jack.

As to Jeannie, she made a little capital out of her late fiancée's death, and told, in confidence, a little sentimental tale about his devotion and the affection she found herself unable to return as it deserved. It was to a new admirer she told it, and as she wiped away a tear or two she added—

"No doubt my parents were wise to part us. Dear Jack came of a delicate family. He could have had no strength of constitution, or a mere cold would not have killed him. He left all his money to a girl who professed to be my friend, but—"

And then Jeannie stopped, as if she could have told another tale of treachery, but would not.

Later on in the day she listened with apparently artless surprise and pleasure whilst the new admirer sang a quaint little song, in which were these words, glancing the while at the Jeannie present—

"'Where's the way to Jeannie's heart?
That I canna answer;
Here about or there about,
Find it if you can, sir.'"

If the singer had known all!

Girl-readers of this story would doubtless be better pleased if Jeannie had been punished a little, than mated with somebody else, or if she had died instead of poor Jack, and Jack had lived to marry Norah, and be happy ever after. But such an ending would have failed to teach a much-needed lesson, and to show what cruel suffering is brought on true hearts by what girls are in the habit of calling "a mere flirtation." Through such conduct many a man has lost faith in the simplicity and innocence of girlhood and in womanly truth, and has become hard and cynical. He has lived perhaps for many a year—for such wounds do not always kill—but only half a life, since it has been embittered and robbed of its best affections.

Does any girl ask, "Is it possible that one ever lived and acted like Jeannie Bellew?"

I answer "Yes." The portrait is drawn from life, and is given in its natural repulsiveness, that it may prove a warning against flirtation.

BY A GIRL'S HAND