Chapter 18

THROUGH THE GORGE.

Kathleen O'Connor had been spending the day with Mrs. Sheridan, and was returning slowly, laden with the gossip of the countryside, her rein hanging loosely on Douglas' neck.

She had many things to trouble her young mind at that moment. The thought of Desmond was always with her; she could not reconcile herself to his professed want of faith. Though Father Healy told her to have no fear, and Mrs. Quirk bade her trust in God, she carried a heavy heart for her brother.

Only the day previously yet another sorrow had been confided to her. She had accompanied her dear old friend, her second mother as she called her, to Dr. Marsh. After the examination the doctor had called her back into his surgery.

"I give her six months to live," he said; "but you must keep it to yourself. Old Samuel Quirk has a heart that might stop at any moment. He must not know."

"I may write to Denis Quirk?" she asked, anxious to share the burden with someone.

"By all means. But tell him not to come back until I send for him," the doctor answered.

She had accordingly written to Denis Quirk, confiding the ill news to him. The prospect of separation from Mrs. Quirk was hard to bear, for she was a mother, and "Layton," a home, to the girl.

The road from Mrs. Sheridan's farm to the lower bridge now dips down beside the river, and now rises high above, where it runs through the Gorge. It was at a spot where the river banks are low that Kathleen heard her name called from the river. Looking towards the spot whence the voice came, she saw Gerard seated in a boat that he had moored to the bank. He had been fishing, pipe in mouth, for with the failure of the "Observer," he had returned to desultory journalism and idleness.

Kathleen reined her horse in, and he scrambled out of the boat and came towards her. He was wearing a low-necked shirt; his face and neck were tanned by the sun, as were the arms, bare to the elbow. Without doubt he was a handsome man, and the bold, devil-may-care expression on his face did not make him the less attractive. Kathleen knew that many a girl in the district, well-to-do and not bad looking, would have welcomed the attentions of Gerard.

But, ever since his return from Goldenvale, Kathleen had recognised that the old feeling for him had died out of her heart. He had expected to resume the old, intimate relations, but she had held him at arm's length. Two things were accountable for this--a dread of the influence he had once exerted over her, and resentment of the part he had played in the downfall of Denis Quirk. Gerard had not accepted the girl's change of attitude with philosophy, although he had given no sign that it affected him. He smiled pleasantly as he stood beside her horse's head, one hand stroking the satiny skin, the other on the bridle rein.

"This is quite a pleasant chance," he said. "We never meet one another now."

Kathleen murmured something about being so very busy.

"It is my loss," he answered. "But there is no reason why we should not make the most of this chance meeting. There is my boat. Tie your horse to a tree and allow me to scull you up the river."

"I have no time," Kathleen replied. "I must hurry home to Mrs. Quirk."

"Nonsense," he answered; "Mrs. Quirk can wait for once. You can't refuse me the last favour I shall ever ask of you."

"I can and I will," Kathleen answered; then she added, with a laugh: "You can find any number of girls only too willing to take my place."

"Undoubtedly, but I am a man of caprice. If I order turkey for dinner, I will have turkey or nothing. To-day I intend that you shall do what I ask. If you will do it gracefully, I shall accept it as a great favour; if you refuse, I shall be compelled to insist."

Kathleen became frightened. She cast a glance at his face, careless and bold, staring up into her own with an ardent admiration, and a second glance around her. The place was lonely and unfrequented; only occasionally did a farmer's cart or gig drive along the road. On the further bank of the river a line of pine trees hid them from the distant farm-houses. Under these circumstances it was wisest to temporise.

"If I accept, how long will you keep me?" she asked.

"That depends entirely on the amount of entertainment I find in your society."

"Then I will accept. Will you kindly tie my horse to that tree?"

She dismounted quickly, refusing the help he offered her. Then she threw the reins in to his hands. The nearest tree was some yards distant, and she waited until Gerard had approached it. Then she suddenly made a run towards the boat, and, unhitching the rope, stepped in, and pushed out from the shore. Gerard, seeing what she had done, ran towards the river with a loud curse.

Kathleen could row, and she put the oars in the rowlocks, and sat down to scull. At the same moment Gerard sprang from the bank into the stream, and began swimming towards the boat. Kathleen strained at the oars, and little by little the distance between them increased, although Gerard was a strong swimmer.

But there are sand-spits on the Grey, and on one of these the boat stranded. With a loud shout, Gerard welcomed the fact, while he made stronger exertions to gain the boat. Kathleen seized an oar, and stood up, attempting to free the boat from the obstruction. The boat began to yield to her exertions, but Gerard came nearer and nearer. Just as she had set the boat free his hands were on the gunwale of the boat, but she raised the oar and brought it down smartly across his knuckles. With a fresh curse he let go, and a moment later the boat was drifting further and further from him.

It is a dangerous passage, even for a skilled oarsman, through the Gorge of the Grey River. In times of flood no man who laid claims to sanity would attempt the feat; but, even when the river is low and flows quietly if swiftly, there are rocks and snags that obstruct the passage. To strike one of these would mean a total wreck.

On either side of the river the masses of grey rock ascend steep and slippery from the surface of the water. The stream is deep to the very edges of the cliff, offering but little foothold to one who would climb from the water to firm land. Here and there the caves break the even surface of the rocks, and in yet other places great masses jut out in fantastic shapes above the water. It is always dark and cool in the Gorge, for the sun never penetrates there excepting in stray beams; a pleasant place of a hot summer's day, with an expert oarsman and coxswain to make a safe passage, but full of peril to a young girl alone in a skiff.

Kathleen O'Connor was, however, so glad to be freed from Gerard, not so much because she feared physical violence as on account of the uncanny influence he had over her, that she faced the passage of the Gorge almost with equanimity. She recognised the danger, for more than one narrow escape from drowning was chronicled in connection with the place, and she crouched in the bow of the boat with an oar in her hand, watching anxiously for rock and snags. Now and then she used the blade of her oar as a paddle to prevent the boat from turning broadside to the current. In this manner she was carried safely through the Gorge.

Kathleen O'Connor's passage down the Grey is recorded as the first occasion on which a woman accomplished the feat alone. Others have done it since then from bravado and a desire for notoriety. Kathleen was compelled to be the pioneer among women by fear. The following day she had a paragraph to herself in both papers, and Grey Town was led to believe that she had made the passage merely from a love of adventure. This story was never contradicted, but, like many other tales of adventure, it is untrue.

At last she found herself safe in the wider expanse of water below the Gorge, an object of interest and admiration to the fishers and boating men who frequent that part of the Grey. Of them Kathleen took little notice. She scrambled back to the sculler's seat, and after a short pull found herself beside the boat shed.

Tomkins, who kept the boat shed, was smoking his pipe on the landing stage when Kathleen drifted out from the Gorge. Shading his eyes with a big, rough hand, he stood watching her in amazement.

"It's Miss O'Connor," he muttered to a man beside him, "and she's come through alone. She's the last woman I'd have expected to do such a thing!"

"You never can tell what a woman will do these times. We'll be taking a back seat in the kitchen before long," answered the other.

"But Miss O'Connor's not that sort," said Tomkins. "What I can't make out is this: I let that boat to Gerard. What's become of him?"

As Kathleen stepped from the boat, Tomkins greeted her with applause, seasoned with advice.

"You've done something, miss, that no other woman ever did before. But never you try it again. Next time you and the boat may come drifting down, the one after the other."

"I have no intention of trying the Gorge again," answered Kathleen. "Thank God, I am safe!"

As she was about to leave the shed, to make her amazement more complete, Gerard rode up on her horse and reined in. His clothes were damp and clung to him, but he disregarded that. "You have won your wager, Miss O'Connor!" he cried; "but you went with your life in your hands."

Kathleen was too much astounded by his audacity to reply. He dismounted and lifted her into the saddle holding her rein for one short moment, while he said in a low voice:

"You have nothing more to fear from me. You have taught me a lesson, and, by Jove! you are a well-plucked one."

She did not pause to answer him, but, giving Douglas a cut with the whip, rode away at a smart canter to "Layton."