The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche by Mazo de la Roche Page B
Authors: Mazo de la Roche
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eighteen,” he replied gruffly. “But from what was said in the letter they’ve gone straight to his father’s house.”
“If you’d like to go back for them, Captain dear,” put in Adeline, “I’ll pay for the cost of it.”
It was to the Captain’s shame that he looked more tenderly on Adeline than on Mrs. Cameron, whom he regarded as a complaining woman of depressing appearance.
“Do you think the young gentleman will marry her?” he asked Philip, in a low voice.
“I’m sure he intends to,” said Philip, with rather more certainty than he felt.
“Come, come, it may not be so bad as you think,” the Captain comforted Mrs. Cameron. To Adeline he said — “Look backward, Mrs. Whiteoak! The ship’s been flying away like a bird. Youmust understand that it’s impossible for us to return for a young runaway couple.”
“It’s all her fault!” shrieked Mrs. Cameron. “She’s as wicked as her brothers. We don’t want their kind in our beautiful young country! They’re evil!”
Mrs. Cameron became hysterical and it was with difficulty that the Captain and the steward got her back to her cabin. For the remainder of the voyage she never left it. Fortunately there had joined the ship at Galway two new passengers with whom she made friends. They were a married couple from Newfoundland. The husband was in the fisheries business; the wife, deeply religious, was a great comfort to Mrs. Cameron.
The other passengers, and particularly those in the steerage, chose to regard the elopement as a youthful romance and poor Mrs. Cameron as a tyrannical parent. Conway Court had been a favourite on board and it was the general opinion that the plain young girl had done extremely well for herself — for it was taken for granted that he would marry her.
The winds were fair and the ship sped on. The livestock became fewer. A poor woman from Liverpool gave birth to a child with a terrible lack of privacy. In the salon Captain Whiteoak and Messrs. D’Arcy, Brent, and Wilmott played at bezique each evening, while they sipped French Brandy out of small green glasses that were filled from a wicker-clad bottle. Adeline would sit watching them, her wide skirts spread gracefully about her, her chin in her palm while her eyes moved contemplatively from one face to the other of the players.
Then one night a frightening thing happened. James Wilmott had just carried a small glass of the liqueur to Adeline’s side, for she looked pale and rather languid. There came a shuffling sound on the companionway, a growling sound of voices. Adeline half-rose in her chair. The four men turned their heads toward the door. Crowding into it they saw a mob of rough, fierce-looking men. They were carrying clubs, sticks, any weapon they could lay their hands on. The whites of their eyes glistened in the light of the swaying hanging-lamp. One of them raised a hairy arm and pointed to Wilmott.
“Yon’s him!” he exclaimed.
With a threatening growl the others moved in a body toward Wilmott, who faced them coolly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You are Thomas D’Arcy, Esquire, ain’t ye?”
“No, my name is Wilmott.”
D’Arcy rose to his feet. “I am Thomas D’Arcy,” he said, smiling a little.
“Yes — that’s him — the blackguard! The bloody villain! The cold-hearted brute!”
They came forward with cursings, most of them unintelligible from the brogue.
“What’s all this about?” shouted Philip, putting his stalwart figure in opposition to the mob.
Their spokesman shouted — “Get out o’ the way, yer honour! That villain, D’Arcy, is the man we want. We’re not going to leave two whole bones in his body, and may hell-fire blast it when we’ve done with it!”
“I’ve done no harm to any of you,” said D’Arcy, pale but contemptuous.
“Haven’t ye, thin? And didn’t ye evict Tom Mulligan’s ould parents into the winter night, and the rint for the tumble-down hovel that was their
“If you’d like to go back for them, Captain dear,” put in Adeline, “I’ll pay for the cost of it.”
It was to the Captain’s shame that he looked more tenderly on Adeline than on Mrs. Cameron, whom he regarded as a complaining woman of depressing appearance.
“Do you think the young gentleman will marry her?” he asked Philip, in a low voice.
“I’m sure he intends to,” said Philip, with rather more certainty than he felt.
“Come, come, it may not be so bad as you think,” the Captain comforted Mrs. Cameron. To Adeline he said — “Look backward, Mrs. Whiteoak! The ship’s been flying away like a bird. Youmust understand that it’s impossible for us to return for a young runaway couple.”
“It’s all her fault!” shrieked Mrs. Cameron. “She’s as wicked as her brothers. We don’t want their kind in our beautiful young country! They’re evil!”
Mrs. Cameron became hysterical and it was with difficulty that the Captain and the steward got her back to her cabin. For the remainder of the voyage she never left it. Fortunately there had joined the ship at Galway two new passengers with whom she made friends. They were a married couple from Newfoundland. The husband was in the fisheries business; the wife, deeply religious, was a great comfort to Mrs. Cameron.
The other passengers, and particularly those in the steerage, chose to regard the elopement as a youthful romance and poor Mrs. Cameron as a tyrannical parent. Conway Court had been a favourite on board and it was the general opinion that the plain young girl had done extremely well for herself — for it was taken for granted that he would marry her.
The winds were fair and the ship sped on. The livestock became fewer. A poor woman from Liverpool gave birth to a child with a terrible lack of privacy. In the salon Captain Whiteoak and Messrs. D’Arcy, Brent, and Wilmott played at bezique each evening, while they sipped French Brandy out of small green glasses that were filled from a wicker-clad bottle. Adeline would sit watching them, her wide skirts spread gracefully about her, her chin in her palm while her eyes moved contemplatively from one face to the other of the players.
Then one night a frightening thing happened. James Wilmott had just carried a small glass of the liqueur to Adeline’s side, for she looked pale and rather languid. There came a shuffling sound on the companionway, a growling sound of voices. Adeline half-rose in her chair. The four men turned their heads toward the door. Crowding into it they saw a mob of rough, fierce-looking men. They were carrying clubs, sticks, any weapon they could lay their hands on. The whites of their eyes glistened in the light of the swaying hanging-lamp. One of them raised a hairy arm and pointed to Wilmott.
“Yon’s him!” he exclaimed.
With a threatening growl the others moved in a body toward Wilmott, who faced them coolly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You are Thomas D’Arcy, Esquire, ain’t ye?”
“No, my name is Wilmott.”
D’Arcy rose to his feet. “I am Thomas D’Arcy,” he said, smiling a little.
“Yes — that’s him — the blackguard! The bloody villain! The cold-hearted brute!”
They came forward with cursings, most of them unintelligible from the brogue.
“What’s all this about?” shouted Philip, putting his stalwart figure in opposition to the mob.
Their spokesman shouted — “Get out o’ the way, yer honour! That villain, D’Arcy, is the man we want. We’re not going to leave two whole bones in his body, and may hell-fire blast it when we’ve done with it!”
“I’ve done no harm to any of you,” said D’Arcy, pale but contemptuous.
“Haven’t ye, thin? And didn’t ye evict Tom Mulligan’s ould parents into the winter night, and the rint for the tumble-down hovel that was their
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