Larry, as usual, had found something to interest him, and dropped behind in the village, and they were alone.
A passing countryman, to whom Donogan addressed a few words in Irish, told them that a short distance from Croghan they could stable the pony at a small ‘shebeen.’
On reaching this, Nina, who seemed to have accepted Donogan’s companionship without further question, directed him to unpack the carriage and take out her easel and her drawing materials. ‘You’ll have to carry these--fortunately not very far, though,’ said she, smiling, ‘and then you’ll have to come back here and fetch this basket.’
‘It is a very proud slavery--command me how you will,’ muttered he, not without emotion.
‘That,’ continued she, pointing to the basket, ‘contains my breakfast, and luncheon or dinner, and I invite you to be my guest.’
‘And I accept with rapture. Oh!’ cried he passionately, ‘what whispered to my heart this morning that this would be the happiest day of my life!’
‘If so, Fate has scarcely been generous to you.’ And her lip curled half superciliously as she spoke.
‘I’d not say that. I have lived amidst great hopes, many of them dashed, it is true, by disappointment; but who that has been cheered by glorious daydreams has not tasted moments at least of exquisite bliss?’
‘I don’t know that I have much sympathy with political ambitions,’ said she pettishly.
‘Have you tasted--have you tried them? Do you know what it is to feel the heart of a nation throb and beat?--to know that all that love can do to purify and elevate, can be exercised for the countless thousands of one’s own race and lineage, and to think that long after men have forgotten your name, some heritage of freedom will survive to say that there once lived one who loved his country.’
‘Oh, how is it that you, who can stimulate one’s heart to such confessions, know nothing of the sentiment?’
‘I have my ambitions,’ said she coldly, almost sternly.
‘They are not like yours, though they are perhaps just as impossible.’ She spoke in a broken, unconnected manner, like one who was talking aloud the thoughts that came laggingly; then with a sudden earnestness she said, ‘I’ll tell you one of them. It’s to catch the broad bold light that has just beat on the old castle there, and brought out all its rich tints of greys and yellows in such a glorious wealth of colour. Place my easel here, under the trees; spread that rug for yourself to lie on. No--you won’t have it? Well, fold it neatly, and place it there for my feet: very nicely done. And now, Signer Ribello, you may unpack that basket, and arrange our breakfast, and when you have done all these, throw yourself down on the grass, and either tell me a pretty story, or recite some nice verses for me, or be otherwise amusing and agreeable.’