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diff --git a/16004-0.txt b/16004-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..79c906e --- /dev/null +++ b/16004-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15851 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector, by William Carleton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector + The Works of William Carleton, Volume One + +Author: William Carleton + +Illustrator: M. L. Flanery + +Release Date: June 7, 2005 [EBook #16004] +Last Updated: March 1, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVIL EYE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE EVIL EYE; + +OR, THE BLACK SPECTOR + + +By William Carleton + + + + + +PREFACE. + +There is very little to be said about this book in the shape of a +preface. The superstition of the Evil Eye is, and has been, one of the +most general that ever existed among men. It may puzzle philosophers to +ask why it prevails wherever mankind exists. There is not a country on +the face of the earth where a belief in the influence of the Evil Eye +does not prevail. In my own young days it was a settled dogma of belief. +I have reason to know, however, that, like other superstitions, it is +fast fading out of the public mind. Education and knowledge will soon +banish those idle and senseless superstitions: indeed, it is a very +difficult thing to account for their existence at all. I think some of +them have come down to us from the times of the Druids,--a class of men +whom, excepting what is called their human sacrifices, I respect. My +own opinion is, that what we term human sacrifices was nothing but their +habitual mode of executing criminals. Toland has written on the subject +and left us very little the wiser. Who could, after all, give us +information upon a subject which to us is only like a dream? + +What first suggested the story of the Evil Eye to me was this: A man +named Case, who lives within a distance of about three or four hundred +yards of my residence, keeps a large dairy; he is the possessor of five +or six and twenty of the finest cows I ever saw, and he told me that +a man who was an enemy of his killed three of them by his overlooking +them,--that is to say, by the influence of the Evil Eye. + +The opinion in Ireland of the Evil Eye is this: that a man or woman +possessing it may hold it harmless, unless there is some selfish design +or some spirit of vengeance to call it into operation. I was aware of +this, and I accordingly constructed my story upon that principle. I have +nothing further to add: the story itself will detail the rest. + + + + +CHAPTER I. Short and Preliminary. + + +In a certain part of Ireland, inside the borders of the county of +Waterford, lived two respectable families, named Lindsay and Goodwin, +the former being of Scotch descent. Their respective residences were not +more than three miles distant; and the intimacy that subsisted between +them was founded, for many years, upon mutual good-will and esteem, +with two exceptions only in one of the families, which the reader will +understand in the course of our narrative. Each ranked in the class +known as that of the middle gentry. These two neighbors--one of whom, +Mr. Lindsay, was a magistrate--were contented with their lot in life, +which was sufficiently respectable and independent to secure to them +that true happiness which is most frequently annexed to the middle +station. Lindsay was a man of a kind and liberal heart, easy and passive +in his nature, but with a good deal of sarcastic humor, yet neither +severe nor prejudiced, and, consequently, a popular magistrate as +well as a popular man. Goodwin might be said to possess a similar +disposition; but he was of a more quiet and unobtrusive character than +his cheerful neighbor. His mood of mind was placid and serene, and his +heart as tender and affectionate as ever beat in a human bosom. His +principal enjoyment lay in domestic life--in the society, in fact, of +his wife and one beautiful daughter, his only child, a girl of nineteen +when our tale opens. Lindsay's family consisted of one son and two +daughters; but his wife, who was a widow when he married her, had +another son by her first husband, who had been abroad almost since his +childhood, with a grand-uncle, whose intention was to provide for him, +being a man of great wealth and a bachelor. + +We have already said that the two families were upon the most intimate +and friendly terms; but to this there was one exception in the person of +Mrs. Lindsay, whose natural disposition was impetuous, implacable, and +overbearing; equally destitute of domestic tenderness and good temper. +She was, in fact, a woman whom not even her own children, gifted as they +were with the best and most affectionate dispositions, could love as +children ought to love a parent. Utterly devoid of charity, she was +never known to bestow a kind act upon the poor or distressed, or a +kind word upon the absent. Vituperation and calumny were her constant +weapons; and one would imagine, by the frequency and bitterness with +which she wielded them, that she was in a state of perpetual warfare +with society. Such, indeed, was the case; but the evils which resulted +from her wanton and indefensible aggressions upon private character +almost uniformly recoiled upon her own head; for, as far as her name +was known, she was not only unpopular, but odious. Her husband was a man +naturally fond of peace and quietness in his own house and family and, +rather than occasion anything in the shape of domestic disturbance, +he continued to treat her intemperate authority sometimes with +indifference, sometimes with some sarcastic observation or other, and +occasionally with open and undisguised contempt. In some instances, +however, he departed from this apathetic line of conduct, and turned +upon her with a degree of asperity and violence that was as impetuous as +it was decisive. His reproaches were then general, broad, fearful; but +these were seldom resorted to unless when her temper had gone beyond +all reasonable limits of endurance, or in defence of the absent or +inoffensive. It mattered not, however, what the reason may have been, +they never failed to gain their object at the time; for the woman, +though mischievous and wicked, ultimately quailed, yet not without +resistance, before the exasperated resentment of her husband. Those +occasional victories, however, which he gained over her with reluctance, +never prevented her from treating him, in the ordinary business of life, +with a systematic exhibition of abuse and scorn. Much of this he bore, +as we have said; but whenever he chose to retort upon her with her own +weapons in their common and minor skirmishes, she found his sarcasm too +cool and biting for a temper so violent as hers, and the consequence +was, that nothing enraged her more than to see him amuse himself at her +expense. + +This woman had a brother, who also lived in the same neighborhood, and +who, although so closely related to her by blood, was, nevertheless, as +different from her in both character and temper as good could be from +evil. He was wealthy and generous, free from everything like a worldly +spirit, and a warm but unostentatious benefactor to the poor, and +to such individuals as upon inquiry he found to be entitled to his +beneficence. His wife had, some years before, died of decline, which, +it seems, was hereditary in her family. He felt her death as a calamity +which depressed his heart to the uttermost depths of affliction, and +from which, indeed, he never recovered. All that remained to him after +her demise was a beautiful little girl, around whom his affections +gathered with a degree of tenderness that was rendered almost painful +by the apprehension of her loss. Agnes, from her eighth or ninth year, +began to manifest slight symptoms of the same fatal malady which had +carried away her mother. These attacks filled his heart with those +fearful forebodings, which, whilst they threw him into a state of terror +and alarm, at the same time rendered the love he bore her such as may +be imagined, but cannot be expressed. It is only when we feel the +probability of losing a beloved object that the heart awakens to a more +exquisite perception of its affections for it, and wonders, when the +painful symptoms of disease appear, why it was heretofore unconscious +of the full extent of its love. Such was the nature of Mr. Hamilton's +feelings for his daughter, whenever the short cough or hectic cheek +happened to make their appearance from time to time, and foreshadow, +as it were, the certainty of an early death; and then he should be +childless--a lonely man in the world, possessing a heart overflowing +with affection, and yet without an object on which he could lavish it, +as now, with happiness and delight. He looked, therefore, upon decline +as upon an approaching foe, and the father's heart became sentinel +for the welfare of his child, and watched every symptom of the dreaded +disease that threatened her, with a vigilance that never slept. Under +such circumstances we need not again assure our readers that his +parental tenderness for this beautiful girl--now his “only one,” as +he used to call her--was such as is rare even in the most affectionate +families; but in this case the slight and doubtful tenure which his +apprehensions told him he had of her existence raised his love of her +almost to idolatry. Still she improved in person, grace, and intellect; +and although an occasional shadow, as transient as that which passes +over and makes dim the flowery fields of May or April, darkened her +father's heart for a time, yet it passed away, and she danced on in the +light of youthful happiness, without a single trace of anxiety or care. +Her father's affection for her was not, however, confined to herself; +on the contrary, it passed to and embraced every object that was dear +to her--her favorite books, her favorite playthings, and her favorite +companions. Among the latter, without a single rival, stood her young +friend, Alice Goodwin, who was then about her own age. Never was the +love of sisters greater or more beautiful than that which knit the +innocent hearts of those two girls together. Their affections, in short, +were so dependent upon each other that separation and absence became a +source of anxiety and uneasiness to each. Neither of them had a sister, +and in the fervor of their attachment, they entered into a solemn +engagement that each of them should consider herself the sister of the +other. This innocent experiment of the heart--for such we must consider +it in these two sisterless girls--was at least rewarded by complete +success. A new affinity was superadded to friendship, and the force of +imagination completed what the heart begun. + +Next to Agnes was Alice Goodwin awarded a place in Mr. Hamilton's +heart. 'Tis true he had nieces; but in consequence of the bitter and +exasperating temper of their mother, who was neither more nor less than +an incendiary among her relations, he had not spoken to her for +years; and this fast occasioned a comparative estrangement between +the families. Sometimes, however, her nieces and she visited, and were +always upon good terms; but Agnes's heart had been preoccupied; and even +if it had not, the heartless predictions of her aunt, who entertained +her with the cheering and consoling information that “she had death in +her face,” and that “she knew from the high color of her cheek that +she would soon follow her mother,” would have naturally estranged +the families. Now, of this apprehension, above all others, it was the +father's wish that Agnes should remain ignorant; and when she repeated +to him, with tears in her eyes, the merciless purport of her aunt's +observations, he replied, with a degree of calm resentment which was +unusual to him, “Agnes, my love, let not anything your aunt may say +alarm you in the least; she is no prophetess, my dear child. Your life, +as is that of all his creatures, is in the hands of God who gave it. I +know her avaricious and acrimonious disposition--her love of wealth, and +her anxiety to aggrandize her family. As it is, she will live to regret +the day she ever uttered those cruel words to you, my child. You shall +visit at your uncle's no more. Whenever the other members of her +family may please to come here, we shall receive them with kindness and +affection; but I will not suffer you to run the risk of listening to +such unfeeling prognostications in future.” + +In the meantime her health continued in a state sufficiently +satisfactory to her father. It is true an occasional alarm was felt from +time to time, as a slight cold, accompanied with its hard and unusual +cough, happened to supervene; but in general it soon disappeared, and +in a brief space she became perfectly recovered, and free from every +symptom of the dreadful malady. + +In this way the tenor of her pure and innocent life went on, until she +reached her sixteenth year. Never did a happier young creature enjoy +existence--never lived a being more worthy of happiness. Her inseparable +and bosom friend was Alice Goodwin, now her sister according to their +artless compact of love. They spent weeks and months alternately with +each other; but her father never permitted a day to pass without +seeing her, and every visit filled his happy spirit with more hopeful +anticipations. + +At this period it occurred to him to have their portraits drawn, and +on hearing him mention this intention, their young hearts were ecstatic +with delight. + +“But, papa,” said Agnes, “if you do I have a favor to ask of you.” + +“Granted, Agnes, if it be possible.” + +“O, quite possible, papa; it is to get both our portraits painted in +the same frame, for, do you know, I don't think I could feel happy if +Alice's portrait was separated from mine.” + +“It shall be done, darling--it shall be done.” + +And it was done, accordingly; for what father could refuse a request +founded upon an affection so tender and beautiful as theirs? + +Agnes has now entered her seventeenth year--but how is this? Why does +her cheek begin to get alternately pale and red? And why does the +horizon of the father's heart begin to darken? Alas! it is so--the +spoiler is upon her at last. Appetite is gone--her spirits are gone, +unless in these occasional ebullitions of vivacity which resemble the +lightnings which flash from the cloud that is gathering over her. It +would be painful to dwell minutely upon the history of her illness--upon +her angelic patience and submission to the will of God, and upon the +affection, now consecrated by approaching death into something sacred, +which she exhibited to her father and Alice. The latter was never from +her during the progress of that mournful decline. The poor dying girl +found all the tenderest offices of love and friendship anticipated. +Except heaven she had scarcely anything to wish for. But who can even +imagine the hopeless agony of her father's soul? She had been the single +remaining plank which bore him through a troubled ocean to a calm and +delightful harbor; but now she is going down, leaving him to struggle, +weak and exhausted for a little, and then the same dark waves will cover +them both. + +At length the dreadful hour arrived--the last slight spasm of death was +over, and her spotless soul passed into heaven from the bereaved arms +of her hopeless and distracted father, who was reduced by the depth and +wildness of despair to a state of agony which might wring compassion +from a demon. + +On the morning of her interment, Alice, completely prostrated by excess +of grief and watching, was assisted to bed, being unable to accomplish +even the short distance to her father's house, and for nearly a +fortnight serious doubts were entertained of her recovery. Her +constitution, however, though not naturally strong, enabled her to +rally, and in three weeks' time she was barely able to go home to her +family. On the day following Mr. Hamilton called to see her--a task to +which, under the dreadful weight of his sorrow, he was scarcely equal. +He said he considered it, however, his duty, and he accordingly went. +His visit, too, was very short, nor had he much to say, and it was +well he had not; for he could by no exertion have summoned sufficient +fortitude for a lengthened conversation on a subject arising from the +loss of a child so deeply beloved. + +“Alice,” said he, “I know the arrangement entered into between +you--and--and--” + +Here he was overcome, and could not for a few minutes maintain +sufficient calmness to proceed, and poor Alice was almost as deeply +affected as himself. At last he strove to go on. + +“You know,” he resumed, “the agreement I allude to. You were to be +sisters, and you were sisters. Well, my dear Alice, for her sake, as +well as for your own, and as she looked upon you in that affectionate +light, the contract between you, as far as it now can be done, shall be +maintained. Henceforth you are my daughter. I adopt you. All that +she was to have shall be yours, reverting, however, should you +die without-issue, to my nephew, Henry Woodward; and should he die +childless, to his brother, Charles Lindsay; and should he die without +offspring, then to my niece Maria. I have arranged it so, and have to +say that, except the hope of meeting my child in death, it is now the +only consolation left me. I am, I know, fulfilling her wishes; and, my +dear Alice, you will relieve my heart--my broken heart--by accepting +it.” + +“O, would to God,” replied Alice, sobbing bitterly, “that I could give a +thousand times as much to have our beloved Agnes back again! I have now +no sister! Alas! alas! I have now no sister!” + +“Ah, my child,” he replied, “for now I will call you so, your grief, +though deep and poignant, will pass away in time, but mine will abide +with me whilst I stay here. That period, however, will not be long; the +prop of my existence, the source of my happiness, is gone; and I will +never know what happiness is until I rejoin her and her blessed mother. +Good-by, my daughter; I will have neither reply nor remonstrance, nor +will I be moved by any argument from this my resolution.” + +He then passed out of the house, entered his carriage with some +difficulty, and proceeded home with a heart considerably relieved by +what he had done. + +It was in vain that Alice and her father did subsequently remonstrate +with him upon the subject. He refused to listen to them, and said, his +determination was immovable. + +“But,” he added, “if it be any satisfaction to you to know it, I have +not forgotten my relations, to whom I have left the legacies originally +intended for them. I would have left it directly to Henry Woodward, were +it not that his grasping mother sent him to another relation, from whom +she calculated that he might have larger expectations; and I hope he +may realize them. At all events, my relatives will find themselves in +exactly the same position as if our beloved Agnes had lived.” + +Mr. Hamilton, then advanced in years--for Agnes might be termed the +child of his old age--did not survive her death twelve months. That +afflicting event fairly broke him down. Death, however, to him had no +terrors, because he had nothing to detain him here. On the contrary, +he looked to it only as a release from sorrow; an event that would soon +wipe away all tears from his eyes, draw the sting of affliction from +his heart, and restore him once more to his beloved Agnes and her dear +mother. He looked forward only to close his eyes against the world and +sleep with them--and so he did. + +When his will was opened, the astonishment and dismay of his +relations may be! easily imagined, as well as the bitterness of +their disappointment. The bequeathal of the bulk of his property to +a stranger, who I could urge no claim of consanguinity upon him, +absolutely astonished them; and their resentment at his caprice--or +rather what they termed his dotage--was not only deep, but loud. To say +the truth, such an unexpected demise of property was strongly calculated +to try their temper. After the death of Agnes--an event which filled the +unfeeling and worldly heart of her aunt with delight--they made many a +domestic calculation, and held many a family council as to the mode in +which their uncle's property might be distributed among them, and many +anticipations were the result, because there was none in the usual +descent of property to inherit it but themselves. Now, in all this, they +acted very naturally--just, perhaps, as you or I, gentle reader, would +act if placed in similar circumstances, and sustained by the same +expectations. + +In the meantime matters were not likely to rest in quiet. Murmurs went +abroad, hints were given, and broader assertions advanced, that the old +man had not been capable of making a will, and that his mind had been so +completely disordered and prostrated by excessive grief for the loss of +his daughter, that he became the dupe and victim of undue influence in +the person of a selfish and artful girl--that artful girl being no other +than Alice Goodwin, aided and abetted by her family. Every circumstance, +no matter how trivial, that could be raked up and collected, was now +brought together, and stamped with a character of significance, in order +to establish his dotage and their fraud. It is not necessary to dwell +upon this. In due time the matter came to a trial, for the will had +been disputed, and, after a patient hearing, its validity was completely +established, and all the hopes and expectations of the Lindsays blown +into air. + +In the meantime, and while the suit was pending, the conduct of Alice +was both generous and disinterested. She pressed her parents to allow +her, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, to renounce the +bequest, inasmuch as she thought that Mr. Hamilton's relatives had a +stronger and prior claim. This, however, they peremptorily refused to +do. + +“I care not for money,” said her father, “nor have I much to spare; +but you must consider, my dear Alice, that the act upon the part of Mr. +Hamilton was a spontaneous demise of his own property, as a reward to +you on behalf of his daughter, for the affection which you bore her, and +which subsisted between you. You were her nurse, her friend, her sister; +you tended her night and day during her long illness, even to the injury +of your health, and almost at the risk of your very life. Suppose, +for instance, that Mr. Hamilton had had male heirs; in that case, the +Lindsays would have been just as they are, perhaps not so well; for he +might not have left them even a legacy. Then, they unjustly tax us with +fraud, circumvention, and the practice of undue influence; and, indeed, +have endeavored to stamp an indelible stain upon your character and +honor. Every man, my dear, as the proverb has it, is at liberty to +do what he pleases with his own, according to his free will, and a +reasonable disposition. Let me hear no more of this, then, but enjoy +with gratitude that which God and your kind friend have bestowed upon +you.” + +We need not assure our readers that the Lindsays henceforth were +influenced by an unfriendly feeling toward the Goodwins, and that +all intercourse between the families terminated. On the part of Mrs. +Lindsay, this degenerated into a spirit of the most intense hatred and +malignity. To this enmity, however, there were exceptions in the family, +and strong ones, too, as the reader will perceive in the course of the +story. + +Old Lindsay himself, although he mentioned the Goodwins with moderation, +could not help feeling strongly and bitterly the loss of property which +his children had sustained, owing to this unexpected disposition of it +by their uncle. Here, then, were two families who had lived in mutual +good-will and intimacy, now placed fronting each other in a spirit of +hostility. The Goodwins felt indignant that their motives should +be misinterpreted by what they considered deliberate falsehood and +misrepresentation; and the Lindsays could not look in silence upon +the property which they thought ought to be theirs, transferred to the +possession of strangers, who had wheedled a dotard to make a will +in their favor. Such, however, in thousands of instances, are the +consequences of the + + _“Opes irritamenta malorum.”_ + +The above facts, in connection with these two families, and the future +incidents of our narrative, we have deemed it necessary, for I the +better understanding of what follows, to place in a preliminary sketch +before our readers. + + + + +CHAPTER II. A Murderer's Wake and the Arrival of a Stranger + + +It is the month of June, and the sun has gone down amidst a mass of +those red and angry clouds which prognosticate a night of storm and +tempest. The air is felt to be oppressive and sultry, and the whole +sky is overshadowed with gloom. On such a night the spirit sinks, +cheerfulness abandons the heart, and an indefinable anxiety depresses +it. This impression is not peculiar to man, who, on such occasions, +is only subject to the same instinctive apprehension which is known +to influence the irrational animals. The clouds are gathering in black +masses; but there is, nevertheless, no opening between them through +which the sky is visible. The gloom is unbroken, and so is the silence; +and a person might imagine that the great operations of Nature had been +suspended and stood still. The outlying cattle betake them to shelter, +and the very dogs, with a subdued and timid bark, seek the hearth, and, +with ears and tail hanging in terror, lay themselves down upon it as if +to ask protection from man. On such a night as this we will request the +reader to follow us toward a district that trenches upon the foot of +a dark mountain, from whose precipitous sides masses of gray rock, +apparently embedded in heath and fern, protrude themselves in uncouth +and gigantic shapes. 'Tis true they were not then visible; but we wish +the reader to understand the character of the whole scenery through +which we pass. We diverge from the highway into a mountain road, which +resembles the body of a serpent when in motion, going literally up one +elevation, and down another. To the right, deep glens, gullies, and +ravines; but the darkness with which they are now filled is thick and +impervious to the eye, and nothing breaks the silence about us but the +rush of the mountain torrent over some jutting precipice below us. To +the left all is gloom, as it would be even were there light to guide the +sight, because on that side spreads a black, interminable moor. As it is +we can see nothing; yet as we get along we find that we are not alone. +Voices reach our ears; but they are not, as usual, the voices of mirth +and laughter. These which we hear--and they are not far from us--are +grave and serious; the utterance thick and low, as if those from whom +they proceed were expressing a sense of sympathy or horror. We have now +advanced up this rugged path about half a mile from the highway we +have mentioned, and discovered a light which will guide us to our +destination. As we approach the house the people are increasing in point +of numbers; but still their conversation is marked by the same strange +and peculiar character. Perhaps the solemn depth of their voices gains +something by the ominous aspect of the sky; but, be this as it may, the +feeling which it occasions fills one with a different and distinct sense +of discomfort. + +We ourselves feel it, and it is not surprising; for, along this wild and +rugged path of darkness, we are conducting the reader to the wake of a +murderer. We have now arrived within fifty yards of the house, which, +however, we cannot see, for nothing but a solitary light is visible. +But, lo! a flash of lightning! and there for a moment is the whole +rugged and savage scenery revealed. The huge, pointed mountains, the +dreary wastes, the wild, still glens, the naked hills of granite, and +the tremendous piles of rocks, ready, one would think, to crash down +from the positions where they seem to hang, if only assailed by a strong +gale of wind--these objects, we say, were fearful and startling in +themselves; but the sensations which they produced were nothing in +comparison with the sight of an unpainted deal coffin which stood +near the door, against the side wall of the house. The appearance of a +coffin, but especially at night, is one that casts a deep shadow over +the spirits, because it is associated with death, of which it is the +melancholy and depressing exponent; but to look upon it by such an awful +though transient light as that which proceeds from the angry fires of +heaven, and to reflect upon the terrible associations of blood and +crime which mingle themselves with that of a murderer, is a dreadful but +wholesome homily to the heart. We now enter the house of death, where +the reader must suppose himself to be present, and shall go on to +describe the scene which presents itself. + +On entering, we found the house nearly crowded; but we could observe +that there were very few of the young and light-hearted present, and +scarcely any females, unless those who were related to the family of the +deceased, or to himself. The house was low and long, and the kitchen +in which they had laid him out was spacious, but badly furnished. +Altogether its destitution was calculated to deepen the sense of awe +which impressed those who had come to spend the night with the miserable +widow and wailing orphans of the murderer. + +The unfortunate man had been executed that morning after having +acknowledged his crime, and, as the laws of that period with respect to +the interment of the convicted dead were not so strict as they are at +present, the body was restored to his friends, in order that they might +bury it when and where they wished. The crime of the unhappy man was +deep, and so was that which occasioned it. His daughter, a young and +beautiful girl, had been seduced by a gentleman in the neighborhood who +was unmarried; and that act of guilt and weakness on her part was the +first act that ever brought shame upon the family. All the terrible +passions of the father's heart leaped into action at the rain of his +child, and the disgrace which it entailed upon his name. The fury of +domestic affection stimulated his heart, and blazed in his brain even +to madness. His daughter was obliged to fly with her infant and +conceal herself from his vengeance, though the unhappy girl, until the +occurrence of that woful calamity, had been the solace and the sunshine +of his life. The guilty seducer, however, was not doomed to escape the +penalty of his crime. Morrissey--for that was the poor man's name--cared +not for law; whether it was to recompense him for the degradation of +his daughter, or to punish him for inflicting the vengeance of outraged +nature upon the author of her ruin. What compensation could satisfy his +heart for the infamy entailed upon her and him? what paltry damages from +a jury could efface her shame or restore her innocence? Then, the man +was poor, and to the poor, under such circumstances, there exists no +law, and, consequently, no redress. He strove to picture to himself his +beautiful and innocent child; but he could not bear to bring the image +of her early and guiltless life near him. The injury was irreparable, +and could only be atoned for by the blood of the destroyer. He could +have seen her borne shameless and unpolluted to the grave, with the +deep, but natural, sorrow of a father; he could have lived with her in +destitution and misery; he could have begged with her through a hard and +harsh world; he could have seen her pine in want; moan upon the bed of +sickness; nay, more, he could have seen her spirit pass, as it were, +to the God who gave it, so long as that spirit was guiltless, and her +humble name without spot or stain; yes, he could have witnessed and +borne all this, and the blessed memory of her virtues would have +consoled him in his bereavement and his sorrow. But to reflect that she +was trampled down into guilt and infamy by the foot of the licentious +libertine, was an event that cried for blood; and blood he had, for he +murdered the seducer, and that with an insatiable rapacity of revenge +that was terrible. He literally battered the head of his victim out of +all shape, and left him a dead and worthless mass of inanimate matter. +The crime, though desperate, was openly committed, and there were +sufficient witnesses at his trial to make it a short one. On that +morning, neither arrest, nor friar, nor chaplain, nor jailer, nor +sheriff could wring from him one single expression of regret or +repentance for what he had done. The only reply he made them was +this--“Don't trouble me; I knew what my fate was to be, and will die +with satisfaction.” + +After cutting him down, his body, as we have said, was delivered to his +friends, who, having wrapped it in a quilt, conveyed it on a common car +to his own house, where he received the usual ablutions and offices of +death, and was composed upon his own bed into that attitude of the grave +which will never change. + +The house was nearly filled with grave and aged people, whose +conversation was low, and impressed with solemnity, that originated from +the painful and melancholy spirit of the event that had that morning +taken place. A deal table was set lengthwise on the floor; on this were +candles, pipes, and plates of cut tobacco. In the usual cases of death +among the poor, the bed on which the corpse is stretched is festooned +with white sheets, borrowed for the occasion from the wealthier +neighbors. Here, however, there was nothing of the kind. The +associations connected with murder were too appalling and terrible +to place the rites required, either for the wake or funeral of the +murderer, within the ordinary claims of humanity for these offices +of civility to which we have alluded. In this instance none of the +neighbors would lend sheets for what they considered an unholy purpose; +the bed, therefore, on which the body lay had nothing to ornament it. A +plain drugget quilt was his only covering, but he did not feel the want +of a better. + +It was not the first time I had ever seen a corpse, but it was the +first time I had ever seen that of a murderer. I looked upon it with an +impression which it is difficult, if not impossible, to describe. I felt +my nerves tingle, and my heart palpitate. To a young man, fresh, and +filled with the light-hearted humanity of youth, approximation to such +an object as then lay before me is a singular trial of feeling, and a +painful test of moral courage. The sight, however, and the reflections +connected with it, rendered a long contemplation of it impossible, and, +besides, I had other objects to engage my attention. I now began to +observe the friends and immediate connections of the deceased. In all, +there were only seven or eight women, including his wife. There were +four boys and no daughters; for, alas! I forgot to inform the reader +that his fallen daughter was his only one; a fact which, notwithstanding +his guilt, must surely stir up the elements of our humanity in +mitigation of his madness. + +This house of mourning was, indeed, a strange, a solemn, and a peculiar +one. The women sat near the bed upon stools, and such other seats as +they had prepared. The wife and his two sisters were rocking themselves +to and fro, as is the custom when manifesting profound sorrow in +Irish wake-houses; the other women talked to each other in a low tone, +amounting almost to a whisper. Their conduct was marked, in fact, by a +grave and mysterious monotony; but after a little reflection, it soon +became painfully intelligible. Here was shame, as well as guilt and +sorrow--here was shame endeavoring to restrain sorrow; and hence the +silence, and the struggle between them which it occasioned. The wife +from time to time turned her heavy eyes upon the countenance of the +corpse; and after the first sensations of awe had departed from me, I +ventured to look upon it with a purpose of discovering in its features +the lineaments of guilt. Owing to the nature of his death, that collapse +which causes the flesh to shrink almost immediately after the spirit has +departed was not visible here. The face was rather full and livid, but +the expression was not such as penitence or a conviction of crime +could be supposed to have left behind it. On the contrary, the whole +countenance had somewhat of a placid look, and the general contour was +unquestionably that of affection and benevolence. + +It was easy, however, to perceive that this agonizing restraint upon +the feelings of that loving wife could not last long, and that the task +which the poor woman was endeavoring to perform in deference to the +conventional opinions of society was beyond her strength. Hers, indeed, +was not a common nor an undivided sorrow; for, alas, she had not only +the loss of her kind husband and his ignominious death to distract her, +but the shame and degradation of their only daughter which occasioned +it; and what a trial was that for a single heart! From time to time a +deep back-drawing sob would proceed from her lips, and the eye was again +fixed upon the still and unconscious features of her husband. At length +the chord was touched, and the heart of the wife and mother could +restrain itself no longer. The children had been for some time +whispering together, evidently endeavoring to keep the youngest of them +still; but they found it impossible--he must go to awaken his daddy. +This was too much for them, and the poor things burst out into an +uncontrollable wail of sorrow. The conversation among the spectators was +immediately hushed; but the mother started to her feet, and turning to +the bed, bent over it, and raised a cry of agony such as I never heard +nor hope ever to hear again. She clapped her hands, and rocking herself +up and down over him, gave vent to her accumulated grief, which now +rushed like a torrent that had been dammed up and overcome its barriers, +from her heart. + +“O Harry,” said she in Irish--but we translate it--“O Harry, the husband +of the kind heart, the loving father, and the good man! O Harry, Harry, +and is it come to this with you and me and our childre! They may say +what they will, but you're not a murderer. It was your love for our +unfortunate Nannie that made you do what you did. O, what was the world +to you without her! Wasn't she the light of your eyes, and the sweet +pulse of your loving heart! And did ever a girl love a father as she +loved you, till the destroyer came across her--ay, the destroyer that +left us as we now are, sunk in sorrow and misery that will never end in +this world more! And now, what is she, and what has the destroyer made +her? O, when I think of how you sought after her you loved as you did, +to take her life, and when I think of how she that loved you as she +did was forced to fly from the hand that would pluck out your own heart +sooner than injure a hair of her head--so long as she was innocent--O, +when I think of all this, and look upon you lying there now, and all for +the love you bore her, how can my heart bear it, and how can I live. O, +the destroyer, the villain! the devil! what has he wrought upon us! +But, thank God, he is punished--the father's love punished him. They are +liars! you are no murderer. The mother's heart within me tells me that +you did what was right--you acted like a man, my husband. God bless +you, and make your soul happy for its love to Nannie. I'll kiss you, +Harry--I'll kiss you, my heart's treasure, for your noble deed--but O +Harry, you don't know the lips of sorrow that kiss! you now. Sure they +are the lips of your own Rose, that gave her young heart to you, and was +happy for it. Don't feel ashamed, Harry; it's a good man's case to die +the death you did, and be at rest, as I hope you are, for you are not a +murderer; and if you are, it is only in the eye of the law, and it was +your love for Nannie that did it.” + +This woeful dirge of the mother's heart, and the wife's sorrow, had +almost every eye in tears; and, indeed, it was impossible that the +sympathy for her should not be deep and general. They all knew the +excellence and mildness of her husband's character, and that every word +she uttered concerning him was truth. + +In Irish wakehouses, it is to be observed, the door is never closed. The +heat of the house, and the crowding of the neighbors to it, render it +necessary that it should be open; but independently of this, we believe +it a general custom, as it is also to keep it so during meals. This last +arises from the spirit of hospitality peculiar to the Irish people. + +When his wife had uttered the words “you are no murderer,” a young and +beautiful girl entered the house in sufficient time to have heard them +distinctly. She was tall, her shape was of the finest symmetry, her +features, in spite of the distraction which, at first glance, was +legible in them, were absolutely fascinating. They all knew her well; +but the moment she made her appearance, the conversation, and those +expressions of sympathy which were passing from one to another, were +instantly checked; and nothing now was felt but compassion for the +terrible ordeal that they knew was before her mother. She rushed up to +where her mother had sat down, her eyes flashing, and her long brown +hair floating about her white shoulders, which were but scantily +covered. + +“You talk of a murderer, mother,” she exclaimed. “You talk of a +murderer, do you? But if murder has been committed, as it has, I am the +murderer. Keep back now, let me look upon my innocent father--upon that +father that I have murdered.” + +She approached the bed on which he lay, her eyes still flashing, and her +bosom panting, and there she stood gazing upon his features for about +two minutes. + +The silence of the corpse before them was not deeper than that which her +unexpected presence occasioned. There she stood gazing on the dead body +of her father, evidently torn by the pangs of agony and remorse, her +hands clenching and opening by turns, her wild and unwinking eyes +riveted upon those moveless features, which his love for her had so +often lit up with happiness and pride. Her mother, who was alarmed, +shocked, stunned, gazed upon her, but could not speak. At length she +herself broke the silence. + +“Mother,” said she, “I came to see my father, for I know he won't strike +me now, and he never did. O, no, because I ran away from him and from +all of you, but not till after I had deserved it; before that I was +safe. Mother, didn't my father love me once better than his own life? +I think he did. O, yes, and I returned it by murdering him--by sending +him--that father there that loved me so well--by--by sending him to the +hangman--to a death of disgrace and shame. That's what his own Nannie, +as he used to call me, did for him. But no shame---no guilt to you, +father; the shame and the guilt are your own Nannie's, and that's the +only comfort I have; for you're happy, what I will never be, either in +this world or the next. You are now in heaven; but you will never see +your own Nannie there.” + +The recollections caused by her appearance, and the heart-rending +language she used, touched her mother's heart, now softened by her +sufferings into pity for her affliction, if not into a portion of the +former affection which she bore her. + +“O Nannie, Nannie!” said she, now weeping bitterly upon a fresh sorrow, +“don't talk that way--don't, don't; you have repentance to turn to; and +for what you've done, God will yet forgive you, and so will your mother. +It was a great crime in you; but God can forgive the greatest, if his +own creatures will turn to him with sorrow for what they've done.” + +She never once turned her eyes upon her mother, nor raised them for a +moment from her father's face. In fact, she did not seem to have heard +a single syllable she said, and this was evident from the wild but +affecting abstractedness of her manner. + +“Mother!” she exclaimed, “that man they say is a murderer, and yet I am +not worthy to touch him. Ah! I'm alone now--altogether alone, and he--he +that loved me, too, was taken away from me by a cruel death--ay, a cruel +death; for it was barbarous to kill him as if he was a wild beast--ay, +and without one moment's notice, with all his sins upon his head. He +is gone--he is gone; and there lies the man that murdered him--there +he lies, the sinner; curse upon his hand of blood that took him I loved +from me! O, my heart's breakin' and my brain is boilin'! What will I do? +Where will I go? Am I mad? Father, my curse upon you for your deed of +blood! I never thought I'd live to curse you; but you don't hear me, +nor know what I suffer. Shame! disgrace--ay, and I'd bear it all for his +sake that you plunged, like a murderer, as you were, into eternity. How +does any of you know what it is to love as I did? or what it is to lose +the man you love by a death so cruel? And this hair that he praised so +much, who will praise it or admire it now, when he is gone? Let it go, +too, then. I'll not keep it on me--I'll tear it off--off!” + +Her paroxysm had now risen to a degree of fury that fell little, if +anything, short of insanity--temporary insanity it certainly was. +She tore her beautiful hair from her head in handfuls, and would have +proceeded to still greater lengths, when she was seized by some of those +present, in order to restrain her violence. On finding that she was held +fast, she looked at them with blazing eyes, and struggled to set herself +free; but on finding her efforts vain, she panted deeply three or four +times, threw back her head, and fell into a fit that, from its violence, +resembled epilepsy. After a lapse of ten minutes or so, the spasmodic +action, having probably wasted her physical strength, ceased, and she +lay in a quiet trance; so quiet, indeed, that it might have passed for +death, were it not for the deep expression of pain and suffering which +lay upon her face, and betrayed the fury of the moral tempest which +swept through her heart and brain. All the mother's grief now was +hushed--all the faculties of her soul were now concentrated on her +daughter, and absorbed by the intense anxiety she felt for her recovery. +She sat behind the poor girl, and drew her body back so that her head +rested on her bosom, to which she pressed her, kissing her passive lips +with streaming eyes. + +“O, darling Nannie!” she exclaimed, “strive and rouse yourself; it is +your loving mother that asks you. Waken up, poor misled and heart-broken +girl, waken up; I forgive you all your errors. O, avillish machree +(sweetness of my heart), don't you hear that it is your mother's voice +that's spakin' to you!” + +She was still, however, insensible; and her little brothers were all in +tears about her. + +“O mother!” said the oldest, sobbing, “is Nannie dead too? When she went +away from us you bid us not to cry, that she would soon come back; and +now she has only come back to die. Nannie, I'm your own little Frank; +won't you hear me I Nannie, will you never wash my face of a Sunday +morning more? will you never comb down my hair, put the pin in my shirt +collar, and kiss me, as you used to do before we went to Mass together?” + +The poor mother was so much overcome by this artless allusion to her +innocent life, involving, as it did, such a manifestation of affection, +that she wept until fairly exhausted, after which she turned her eyes up +to heaven and exclaimed, whilst her daughter's inanimate body still lay +in her arms, + +“O Lord of mercy, will you not look down with pity and compassion on me +this night!” + +In the course of about ten minutes after this her daughter's eyes began +to fill with those involuntary tears which betoken in females recovery +from a fit; they streamed quietly, but in torrents, down her cheek. +She gave a deep sigh, opened her eyes, looked around her, first with +astonishment, and then toward the bed with a start of horror. + +“Where am I?” said she. + +“You are with me, darlin',” replied the mother, kissing her lips, and +whispering, “Nannie, I forgive you--I forgive you; and whisper, your +father did before he went to death.” + +She smiled faintly and sorrowfully in her mother's face, and said, +“Mother, I didn't know that.” After which she got up, and proceeding to +the bed, she fell upon his body, kissed his lips, and indulged in a wild +and heart-breaking wail of grief. This evidently afforded her relief, +for she now became more calm and collected. + +“Mother,” said she, “I must go.” + +“Why, sure you won't leave us, Nannie?” replied the other with +affectionate alarm. + +“O, I must go,” she repeated; “bring me the children till I see them +once--Frank first.” + +The mother accordingly brought them to her, one by one, when she stooped +down and kissed them in turn, not without bitter tears, whilst they, +poor things, were all in an uproar of sorrow. She then approached her +mother, threw herself in her arms, and again wept wildly for a time, as +did that afflicted mother along with her. + +“Mother, farewell,” said she at length--“farewell; think of me when I am +far away--think of your unfortunate Nannie, and let every one that hears +of my misfortune think of all the misery and all the crime that may come +from one false and unguarded step.” + +“O, Nannie darling,” replied her mother, “don't desert us now; sure you +wouldn't desert your mother now, Nannie?” + +“If my life could make you easy or happy, mother, I could give it for +your sake, worthless now and unhappy as it is; but I am going to a far +country, where my shame and the misfortunes I have caused will never +be known. I must go, for if I lived here, my disgrace would always be +before you and myself; then I would soon die, and I am not yet fit for +death.” + +With these words the unhappy girl passed out of the house, and was +never after that night seen or heard of, but once, in that part of the +country. + +In the meantime that most pitiable mother, whose afflicted heart could +only alternate from one piercing sorrow to another, sat down once more, +and poured forth a torrent of grief for her unhappy daughter, whom she +feared, she would never see again. + +Those who were present, now that the distressing scene which we have +attempted to describe was over, began to chat together with more +freedom. + +“Tom Kennedy,” said one of them, accosting a good-natured young fellow, +with a clear, pleasant eye, “how are all your family at Beech Grove? +Ould Goodwin and his pretty daughter ought to feel themselves in good +spirits after gaining the lawsuit in the case of Mr. Hamilton's will. +They bate the Lindsays all to sticks.” + +“And why not,” replied Kennedy; “who had a betther right to dispose of +his property than the man that owned it? and, indeed, if any one livin' +desarved it from another, Miss Alice did from him. She nearly brought +herself to death's door, in attending upon and nursing her sister, as +she called poor Miss Agnes; and, as for her grief at her death, I never +saw anything like it, except “--he added, looking at the unfortunate +widow--“where there was blood relationship.” + +“Well, upon my sowl,” observed another, “I can't blame the Lindsays for +feeling so bittherly about it as they do. May I never see yestherday, if +a brother of mine had property, and left it to a stranger instead of to +his own--that is to say, my childre--I'd take it for granted that he was +fizzen down stairs for the same. It was a shame for the ould sinner to +scorn his own relations for a stranger.” + +“Well,” said another, “one thing is clear--that since he did blink them +about the property, it couldn't get into betther hands. Your master, +Tom, is the crame of a good landlord, as far as his property goes, and +much good may it do him and his! I'll go bail that, as far as Miss Alice +herself is consarned, many a hungry mouth, will be filled many a naked +back covered, and many a heavy heart made light through the manes of +it.” + +“Faith,” said a third spokesman, “and that wouldn't be the case if that +skinflint barge of Lindsay's had got it in her clutches. At any rate, +it's a shame for her and them to abuse the Goodwins as they do. If ould +Hamilton left it to them surely it wasn't their fault.” + +“Never mind,” said another, “I'll lay a wager that Mrs. Lindsay's son--I +mane the step-son that's now abroad with the uncle---will be sent for, +and a marriage will follow between him and Miss Goodwin.” + +“It maybe so,” replied Tom, “but it's not very probable. I know the man +that's likely to walk into the property, and well worthy he is of it.” + +“Come, Tom, let us hear who is the lucky youth?” + +“Family saicrets,” replied Tom, “is not to be rovaled. All I can say is, +that he is a true gentleman. Give me another blast o' the pipe, for I +must go home.” + +Tom, who was servant to Mr. Goodwin, having now taken his “blast,” + wished them good-night; but before he went he took the sorrowing widow's +cold and passive hand in his, and said, whilst the tears stood in his +eyes, + +“May God in heaven pity you and support your heart, for you are the +sorely tried woman this miserable night!” + +He then bent his steps to Beech Grove, his master's residence, the hour +being between twelve and one o'clock. + +The night, as we have already said, had been calm, but gloomy and +oppressive. Now, however, the wind had sprung up, and, by the time +Kennedy commenced his journey home, it was not only tempestuous but +increasing in strength and fury every moment. This, however, was not +all;--the rain came down in torrents, and was battered against his +person with such force that in a few moments he was drenched to the +skin. So far, it was wind and rain--dreadful and tempestuous as they +were. The storm, however, was only half opened. Distant flashes of +lightning and sullen growls of thunder proceeded from the cloud masses +to the right, but it was obvious that the thunderings above them were +only commencing their deep and terrible pealings. In a short time they +increased in violence and fury, and resembled, in fact, a West Indian +hurricane more than those storms which are peculiar to our milder +climates. The tempest-voice of the wind was now in dreadful accordance! +with its power. Poor Kennedy, who fortunately knew every step of the +rugged road along which he struggled and staggered, was frequently +obliged to crouch himself and hold by the projecting crags about him, +lest the strength of the blast might hurl him over the rocky precipices +by the edges of which the road went. With great difficulty, however, and +not less danger, he succeeded in getting into the open highway below, +and into a thickly inhabited country. Here a new scene of terror and +confusion awaited him. The whole neighborhood around him were up and in +alarm. The shoutings of men, the screams of women and children, all in +a state of the utmost dread and consternation, pierced his ears, even +through the united rage and roaring of the wind and thunder. The +people had left their houses, as they usually do in such cases, from an +apprehension that if they remained in them they might be buried in their +ruins. Some had got ladders, and attempted, at the risk of their lives, +to secure the thatch upon the roofs by placing flat stones, sods, and +such other materials, as by their weight, might keep it from being borne +off like dust upon the wings of the tempest. Their voices, and! screams, +and lamentations, in accordance, as they were, with the uproar of the +elements, added a new feature of terror to this dreadful tumult. The +lightnings now became more vivid and frequent, and the pealing of the +thunder so loud and near, that he felt his very ears stunned by it. +Every cloud, as the lightnings flashed from it, seemed to open, and to +disclose, as it were, a furnace of blazing fire within its black +and awful shroud. The whole country around, with all its terrified +population running about in confusion and dismay, were for the moment +made as clear and distinct to the eye as if it were noonday, with this +difference, that the scene borrowed from the red and sheeted flashes a +wild and spectral character which the light of day never gives. In fact, +the human figures, as they ran hurriedly to and fro, resembled those +images which present themselves to the imagination in some frightful +dream. Nay, the very cattle in the fields could be seen, in those +flashing glimpses, huddled up together in some sheltered corner, and +cowering with terror at this awful uproar of the elements. It is a very +strange, but still a well-known fact, that neither man nor beast wishes +to be alone during a thunder-storm. Contiguity to one's fellow creatures +seems, by some unaccountable instinct, to lessen the apprehension of +danger to one individual when it is likely to be shared by many, +a feeling which makes the coward in the field of battle fight as +courageously as the man who is naturally brave. + +The tempest had not yet diminished any of its power; so far from that, +it seemed as if a night-battle of artillery was going on, and raging +still with more violence in the clouds. Thatch, doors of houses, glass, +and almost everything light that the winds could seize upon, were flying +in different directions through the air; and as Kennedy now staggered +along the main road, he had to pass through a grove of oaks, beeches, +and immense ash trees that stretched on each side for a considerable +distance. The noises here were new to him, and on that account the more +frightful. The groanings of the huge trees, and the shrieking of their +huge branches as they were crushed against each other, sounded in +his ears like the supernatural voices of demons, exulting at their +participation in the terrors of the storm. His impression now was that +some guilty sorcerer had raised the author of evil, and being unable to +lay him, the latter was careering in vengeance over the earth until he +should be appeased by the life of some devoted victim--for such, when a +storm more than usually destructive and powerful arises, is the general +superstition of the people--at least it was so among the ignorant in our +early youth. + +In all thunder-storms there appears to be a regular gradation--a +beginning, a middle, and an end. They commence first with a noise +resembling the crackling of a file of musketry where the fire runs along +the line, man after man; then they increase, and go on deepening their +terrors until one stunning and tremendous burst takes place, which is +the acme of the tempest. After this its power gradually diminishes +in the same way as it increased--the peals become less loud and less +frequent, the lightning feebler and less brilliant, until at length it +seems to take another course, and after a few exhausted volleys it dies +away with a hoarse grumble in the distance. + +Still it thundered and thundered terribly; nor had the sweep of +the wind-tempest yet lost any of its fury. At this moment Kennedy +discovered, by a succession of those flashes that were lighting the +country around him, a tall young female without cloak or bonnet, her +long hair sometimes streaming in the wind, and sometimes blown up in +confusion over her head. She was proceeding at a tottering but eager +pace, evidently under the influence of wildness and distraction, or +rather as if she felt there was something either mortal or spectral in +pursuit of her. He hailed her by her name as she passed him, for he knew +her, but received no reply. To Tom, who had, as the reader knows, been +a witness of the scene we have described, this fearful glimpse of Nannie +Morrissey's desolation and misery, under the pelting of the pitiless +storm and the angry roar of the I elements, was distressing in the +highest degree, and filled his honest heart with compassion for her +sufferings. + +He was now making his way home at his utmost speed, when he heard the +trampling of a horse's feet coming on at a rapid pace behind him, and on +looking back he saw a horseman making his way in the same direction +with himself. As he advanced, the repeated flashes made them distinctly +visible to each other. + +“I say,” shouted the horseman at the top of his lungs, “can you direct +me to any kind of a habitation, where I may take shelter?” + +“Speak louder,” shouted Tom; “I can't hear you for the wind.” + +The other, in a voice still more elevated, repeated the question, “I +want to get under the roof of some human habitation, if there be one +left standing. I feel that I have gone astray, and this is no night to +be out in.” + +“Faith, sir,” again shouted Tom, “it's pure gospel you're spakin', at +any rate. A habitation! Why, upon my credibility, they'd not deserve a +habitation that 'ud refuse to open the door for a dog on such a night +as this, much less to a human creature with a sowl to be saved. A +habitation! Well, I think I can, and one where you'll be well treated. I +suppose, sir, you're a gentleman?” + +“Speak out,” shouted the traveller in his turn; “I can't hear you.” + +Tom shaded his mouth with his hand, and shouted again, “I suppose, sir, +you're a gentleman?” + +“Why, I suppose I am,” replied the stranger, rather haughtily. + +“Becaise,” shouted Tom, “devil a traneen it 'ud signify to them I'm +bringing you to whether you are or not. The poorest man in the parish +would be sheltered as well as you, or maybe a betther man.” + +“Are we near the house?” said the other. + +“It's just at hand, sir,” replied Tom, “and thanks be to God for it; for +if ever the devil was abroad on mischief, he is this night, and may the +Lord save us! It's a night for a man to tell his grandchildre about, and +he may call it the 'night o' the big storm.'” + +A lull had now taken place, and Tom heard a laugh from the stranger +which he did not much relish; it was contemptuous and sarcastic, and +gave him no very good opinion of his companion. They had now arrived +at the entrance-gate, which had been blown open by the violence of the +tempest. On proceeding toward the house, they found that their way was +seriously obstructed by the fall of several trees that had been blown +down across it. With some difficulty, however, they succeeded in +reaching the house, where, although the hour was late, they found the +whole family up, and greatly alarmed by the violence of the hurricane. +Tom went in and found Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin in the parlor, to both of +whom he stated that a gentleman on horseback, who had lost his way, +requested shelter for the night. + +“Certainly, Kennedy, certainly; why did you not bring the gentleman in? +Go and desire Tom Stinton to take his horse to the stable, and let him +be rubbed down and fed. In the meantime, bring the gentleman in.” + +“Sir,” said Tom, going to the bottom of the hall door-steps, “will +you have the goodness to walk in; the masther and misthress are in the +parlor; for who could sleep on such a night as this?” + +On entering he was received with the warmest and most cordial +hospitality. + +“Sir,” said Mr. Goodwin, “I speak in the name of myself and my wife +when I bid you heartily welcome to whatever my roof can afford you, +especially on such an awful night as this. Take a seat, sir; you must +want refreshments before you put off those wet clothes and betake +yourself to bed, after the dreadful severity of such a tempest.” + +“I have to apologize, sir, for this trouble,” replied the stranger, “and +to thank you most sincerely for the kindness of the reception you and +your lady have given to an utter stranger.” + +“Do not mention it, sir,” said Mr. Goodwin; “come, put on a dry coat and +waistcoat, and, in the meantime, refreshments will be on the table in a +few minutes. The servants are all up and will attend at once.” + +The stranger refused, however, to change his clothes, but in a few +minutes an abundant cold supper, with wine and spirits, were placed upon +the table, to all of which he did such ample justice that it would seem +as if he had not dined that day. The table having been cleared, Mr. +Goodwin joined him in a glass of hot brandy and water, and succeeded +in pressing him to take a couple more, whilst his wife, he said, was +getting a bed and room prepared for him. Their! chat for the next +half hour consisted in a discussion of the storm, which, although much +abated, was not yet over. At length, after an intimation that his room +was ready for him, he withdrew, accompanied by a servant, got into an +admirable bed, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III. Breakfast next morning. + +--Woodward, on his way Home, meets a Stranger.--Their Conversation. + + +The next morning he joined the family in the breakfast parlor, where he +was received with much kindness and attention. The stranger was a young +man, probably about twenty-seven, well made, and with features that must +be pronounced good; but, from whatever cause it proceeded, they were +felt to be by no means agreeable. It was impossible to quarrel with, or +find fault with them; their symmetry was perfect; the lip well defined, +but hard and evidently unfeeling; his brows, which joined each other, +were black, and, what was very peculiar, were heaviest where they +met--a circumstance which, notwithstanding the regularity of his other +features, gave him, unless when he smiled, a frowning if not a sinister +aspect. That, however, which was most remarkable in his features was +the extraordinary fact that his eyes were each of a different color, one +being black and piercing in its gleam, and the other gray; from which +circumstance he was known from his childhood by the name of _Harry na +Suil Gloir_--Suil Gloir being an epithet always bestowed by the Irish +upon persons who possessed eyes of that unnatural character. This +circumstance, however, was not observed on that occasion by any of the +family. His general manners, though courteous, were cold, and by no +means such as were calculated either to bestow or inspire confidence. +His language, too, was easy enough when he spoke, but a cold habit of +reserve seemed to permeate his whole being, and to throw a chill upon +the feelings of those to whom he addressed himself. So much was this the +case that when ever he assumed an air of familiarity a dark, strange, +and undefinable spirit, which was strongly felt, seemed not only to +contradict his apparent urbanity, but to impress his auditors with a +sense of uneasiness sometimes amounting to pain--an impression, however, +for which they could not at all account. + +“Sir,” said Mr. Goodwin, “I hope you slept well after what you suffered +under the tempest of last night?” + +“I assure you, sir, I never enjoyed a rounder night's sleep in my life,” + replied their guest; “and were it not for the seasonable shelter of +your hospitable roof I know not what would have become of me. I am +unacquainted with the country, and having lost my way, I knew not where +to seek shelter, for the night was so dreadfully dark that unless by the +flashes of the lightning nothing could be seen.” + +“It was certainly an awful--a terrible night,” observed his host; +“but come, its severity is now past; let me see you do justice to your +fare;--a little more ham?” + +“Thank you, sir,” replied the other; “if you please. Indeed, I cannot +complain of my appetite, which is at all times excellent”--and he +certainly corroborated the truth of his statement by a sharp and +vigorous attack upon the good things before him. + +“Sir,” said Mrs. Goodwin, “we feel happy to have had the satisfaction +of opening our doors to you last night; and there is only one other +circumstance which could complete our gratification.” + +“The gratification, madam,” he replied, “as well as the gratitude, ought +to be all on my side, although I have no doubt, and can have none, +that the consciousness of your kindness and hospitality are equally +gratifying on yours. But may I ask to what you allude, madam?” + +“You are evidently a gentleman, sir, and a stranger, and we would feel +obliged by knowing--” + +“O, I beg your pardon, madam,” he replied, interrupting her; “I presume +that you are good enough to flatter me by a wish to know the name of +the individual whom your kindness and hospitality have placed under such +agreeable obligations. For my part I have reason to bless the tempest I +which, I may say, brought me under your roof. 'It is an ill wind,' says +the proverb, 'that blows nobody good;' and it is a clear case, my very +kind hostess, that at this moment we are mutually ignorant of each +other. I assure you, then, madam, that I am not a knight-errant +travelling in disguise and in quest of adventure, but a plain gentleman, +by name Woodward, step-son to a neighbor of yours, Mr. Lindsay, of +Rathfillan House. I need scarcely say that I am Mrs. Lindsay's son by +her first husband. And now, madam, may I beg to know the name of the +family to whom I am indebted for so much kindness.” + +Mrs. Goodwin and her husband exchanged glances, and something like a +slight cloud appeared to overshadow for a moment the expression of their +countenances. At length Mr. Goodwin spoke. + +“My name, sir,” he proceeded, “is Goodwin; and until a recent melancholy +event, your family and mine were upon the best and most cordial terms; +but, unfortunately, I must say that we are not so now--a circumstance +which I and mine deeply regret. You must not imagine, however, that +the knowledge of your name and connections could make the slightest +difference in our conduct toward you on that account. Your family, Mr. +Woodward, threw off our friendship and disclaimed all intimacy with us; +but I presume you are not ignorant of the cause of it.” + +“I should be uncandid if I were to say so, sir. I am entirely aware of +the cause of it; but I cannot see that there is any blame whatsoever +to be attached to either you or yours for the act of my poor uncle. I +assure you, sir, I am sorry that my family failed to consider it in its +proper light; and you will permit me to request that you we not identify +my conduct with theirs. So far as I am least am concerned, my uncle's +disposition of his property shall make no breach nor occasion any +coolness between us. On the contrary, I shall feel honored by being +permitted to pay my respects to you all, and to make myself worthy of +your good opinions.” + +“That is generously spoken, Mr. Woodward,” replied the old man; “and it +will afford us sincere pleasure to reciprocate the sentiments you have +just expressed.” + +“You make me quite happy, sir,” replied Woodward, bowing very +courteously. “This, I presume, is the young lady to whom my cousin Agnes +was so much attached?” + +“She is, sir,” replied her father. + +“Might I hope for the honor of being presented to her, Mr. Goodwin?” + +“With pleasure, sir. Alice, my dear, although you already know who this +gentleman is, yet allow me, nevertheless, to present him to you.” + +The formal introduction accordingly took place, after which Woodward, +turning to Mrs. Goodwin, said, + +“I am not surprised, madam, at the predilection which my cousin +entertained for Miss Goodwin, even from what I see; but I feel that I am +restrained by her presence from expressing myself at further length. I +have only to say that I wish her every happiness, long life, and health +to enjoy that of which she seems, and I am certain is, so worthy.” + +He accompanied those words with a low bow and a very gracious smile, +after which, his horse having been brought to the door, he took his +leave with a great deal of politeness, and rode, according to the +directions received from Mr. Goodwin, toward his father's house. + +After his departure the family began to discuss his character somewhat +to the following effect: + +“That is a fine young man,” said Mr. Goodwin, “liberal-minded and +generous, or I am much mistaken. What do you think, Martha,” he added, +addressing his wife. + +“Upon my word,” replied that lady, “I am much of your opinion--yet I +don't know either; although polite and courteous, there is something +rather disagreeable about him.” + +“Why,” inquired her husband, “what is there disagreeable about him? I +could perceive nothing of the sort; and when we consider that his uncle, +who left this property to Alice, was his mother's brother, and that he +was nephew by blood as well as by law, and that it was the old man's +original intention that the property should go directly to him, or in +default of issue, to his brother--I think when we consider this, Martha, +that we cannot but entertain a favorable impression of him, considering +what he has lost by the unexpected turn given to his prospects in +consequence of his uncle's will. Alice, my dear, what is your opinion of +him?” + +“Indeed, papa,” she replied, “I have had--as we all have had--but a very +slight opportunity to form any opinion of him. As for me, I can judge +only by the impressions which his conversation and person have left upon +me.” + +“Well, anything favorable or otherwise?” + +“Anything at all but favorable, papa--I experienced something like pain +during breakfast, and felt a strong sense of relief the moment he left +the room.” + +“Poor child, impressions are nothing. I have met men of whom first +impressions were uniformly unfavorable, who, notwithstanding their rough +outsides, were persons of sterling worth and character.” + +“Yes, papa, and men of great plausibility and ease of manner, who, on +the contrary, were deep, hypocritical and selfish when discovered and +their hearts laid open. As regards Mr. Woodward, however, heaven forbid +that I should place the impressions of an ignorant girl like myself +against the knowledge and experience of a man who has had such +opportunities of knowing the world as you. All I can say is, that +whilst he seemed to breathe a very generous spirit, my impressions +were completely at variance with every sentiment he uttered. Perhaps, +however, I do him injustice--and I should regret that very much. I will +then, in deference to your opinion, papa, endeavor to control those +impressions and think as well of him as I can.” + +“You are right, Alice, and I thank you. We should never, if possible, +suffer ourselves to be prematurely ungenerous in our estimate of +strangers, especially when we know that this world is filled with the +most absurd and ridiculous prejudices. How do you know, my dear child, +that yours is not one of them?” + +“Alice, love,” said her mother, “I think, upon reflection, your father +is right, as he always is; let us not be less generous than this young +man, and you know it would be ungenerous to prejudge him; and this comes +the more strange from you, my love, inasmuch as I never yet heard you +express a prejudice almost against any person.” + +“Because I don't remember, mamma, that I ever felt such an +impression--prejudice--call it what you will--against any individual as +I do against this man. I absolutely fear him without knowing why.” + +“Precisely so, my dear Alice,” replied her father, “precisely so; and, +as you say, with-out knowing why. In that one phrase, my child, you have +defined prejudice to the letter. Fie, Alice; have more sense, my dear; +have more sense. Dismiss this foolish prejudice against a young man, +who, from what he said at breakfast, is entitled to better feelings at +your hands.” + +“As I said, papa, I shall certainly strive to do so.” + +Alice Goodwin's person and character must, at this stage of our +narrative, be made known to our readers. As to her person, it is only +sufficient to say that she was a tall, beautiful girl, of exceeding +grace and wonderful proportions. There was, however, a softness about +her appearance of constitutional delicacy that seemed to be incompatible +with a strong mind, or perhaps we should rather say that was identical +with an excess of feeling. This was exhibited in the tenderness of +her attachment to Agnes Hamilton, and in the agonizing grief which she +experienced at her death--a grief which had well-nigh become fatal to a +girl of her fragile organization. The predominant trait, however, in her +character was timidity and a terror of a hundred trifles, which, in the +generality of her sex, would occasion only indifference or laughter. On +that very morning, for instance, she had not recovered from her painful +apprehensions of the thunder-storm which had occurred on the preceding +night. Of thunder, but especially of lightning, she was afraid even to +pusillanimity; indeed so much so, that on such occurrences she would +bind her eyes, fly down stairs, and take refuge in the cellar until the +I hurly-burly in the clouds was over. This, however, was not so much +to be wondered at by those who live in our present and more enlightened +days; as our readers will admit when they are told that the period of +our narrative is in the reign of that truly religious monarch, Charles +the Second, who, conscious of his inward and invisible grace, was known +to exhaust himself so liberally of his virtue, when touching for the +Evil, that there was very little of it left to regulate that of his own +private life. In those days Ireland was a mass of social superstitions, +and a vast number of cures in a variety of diseases were said to be +performed by witches, wizards, fairy-men, fairy-women, and a thousand +other impostors, who, supported by the gross ignorance of the people, +carried that which was first commenced in fraud and cunning into a +self-delusion, which, in process of time, led them to become dupes to +their own impostures. It is not to be wondered at, then, that Alice +Goodwin, a young creature of a warm imagination and extraordinary +constitutional timidity, should feel the full force of the superstitions +which swarmed around her, and impregnated her fancy so strongly that +it teemed with an unhealthy creation, which frequently rendered her +existence painful by a morbid apprehension of wicked and supernatural +influences. In other respects she was artlessness itself, could never +understand what falsehood meant, and, as to truth, her unspotted +mind was transparent as a sunbeam. Our readers are not to understand, +however, that though apparently flexible and ductile, she possessed +no power of moral resistance. So very far from that, her disposition, +wherever she thought herself right, was not only firm and unbending, +but sometimes rose almost to obstinacy. This, however, never appeared, +unless she considered herself as standing upon the basis of truth. In +cases where her judgment was at fault, or when she could not see her +way, she was a perfect child, and, like a child, should be taken by the +hand and supported. It was, however, when mingling in society that her +timidity and bashfulness were most observable; these, however, were +accompanied with so much natural grace, and unaffected innocence of +manner, that the general charm of her whole character was fascinating +and irresistible; nay, her very weaknesses created an atmosphere of love +and sympathy around her that nobody could breathe without feeling her +influence. Her fear of ghosts and fairies, her dread of wizards and +witches, of wise women and strolling conjurers, with the superstitious +accounts of whom the country then abounded, were, in the eyes of +her more strong-minded friends, only a source of that caressing and +indulgent affection which made its artless and innocent object more dear +to them. Every one knows with what natural affection and tenderness we +love the object which clings to us for support under the apprehension +of danger, even when we ourselves are satisfied that the apprehension +is groundless. So was it with Alice Goodwin, whose harmless foibles +and weaknesses, associated as they were with so much truth and purity, +rendered her the darling of all who knew her. + +Woodward had not proceeded far on his way when he was overtaken by +an equestrian, who came up to him at a smart pace, which, however, he +checked on getting beside him. + +“A fine morning, sir, after an awful night,” observed the stranger. + +“It is, sir,” replied Woodward, “and a most awful night it assuredly +was. Have you heard whether there has been destruction to life or +property to any extent?” + +“Not so much to life,” replied his companion, “but seriously, I +understand, to property. If you had ridden far you must have observed +the number of dwelling-houses and out-offices that have been unroofed, +and some of them altogether blown down.” + +“I have not ridden far,” said Woodward; “I was obliged to take shelter +in the house of a country gentleman named Goodwin, who lives over in the +trees.” + +“You were fortunate in finding shelter anywhere,” replied the stranger, +“during such a tempest. I remember nothing like it.” + +As they proceeded along, indulging in similar chat, they observed that +five or six countrymen, who had been walking at a smart pace, about a +couple of hundred yards before them, came suddenly to a stand-still, +and, after appearing to consult together, they darted off the road +and laid themselves down, as if with a view of concealment, behind the +grassy ditch which ran along it. + +“What can these persons mean?” asked Woodward; “they seem to be +concealing themselves.” + +“Unquestionably they do,” replied the stranger; “and yet there appears +to be no pursuit after them. I certainly can give no guess as to their +object.” + +While attempting, as they went along, to account for the conduct of the +peasants, they were met by a female with a head of hair that was nearly +blood-red, and whose features were hideously ugly, or rather, we should +say, absolutely revolting. Her brows, which were of the same color as +the hair, were knit into a scowl, such as is occasioned by an intense +expression of hatred and malignity, yet which was rendered almost +frightful by a squint that would have disfigured the features of a +demon. Her coarse hair lay matted together in stiff, wiry waves! on each +side of her head, from whence it streamed down her shoulders, which +it covered like a cape of scarlet. As they approached each other, she +glanced at them with a look from which they could only infer that she +seemed to meditate the murder of each, and yet there was mingled with +its malignity a bitter but derisive expression that was perfectly +diabolical. + +“What a frightful hag!” exclaimed Woodward, addressing his companion; “I +never had a perfect conception of the face of an ogress until now! +Did you observe her walrus tusks, as they projected over her misshapen +nether lip? The hag appears to be an impersonation of all that is evil.” + +“She may be a very harmless creature for all that,” replied the other; +“we are not to judge by appearances. I know a man who had murder +depicted in his countenance, if ever a man had, and yet there lived! +not a kinder, more humane, or benevolent creature on earth. He was as +simple, too, as a child, and the most affectionate father! and husband +that ever breathed. These, however, may be exceptions; for most +certainly I am of opinion that the countenance may be considered, in +general, a very certain index to the character and disposition. But what +is this?--here are the men returning from their journey, let us question +them.” + +“Pray,” said Woodward, addressing them, “if it be not impertinent, may +I inquire why you ran in such a hurry off the road just now, and hid +yourselves behind the ditch?” + +“Certainly, sir, you may,” replied one of them; “we wor on our way to +the fair of, Knockmore, and we didn't wish to meet Pugshy Roe.” (Red +Peggy). + +“But why should you not wish to meet her?” + +“Bekaise, sir, she's unlucky--unlucky in the three ways--unlucky to man, +unlucky to baste, and unlucky to business. She overlooks, sir; she has +the Evil Eye--the Lord be about us!” + +“The Evil Eye,” repeated Woodward, dryly; “and pray, what harm could her +evil eye do you?” + +“Why, nothing in the World,” replied the man, naively, “barrin' to +wither us off o' the earth--that's all.” + +“Has she been long in this neighborhood?” asked the stranger. + +“Too long, your honor. Sure she overlooked Biddy Nelligan's child, and +it never did good afterwards.” + +“And I,” said another, “am indebted to the thief o' hell for the loss of +as good a cow as ever filled a piggin.” + +“Well, sure,” observed a third, “Father Mullen is goin' to read her out +next Sunday from the althar. She has been banished from every parish in +the counthry. Indeed, I believe he's goin' to drown the candles against +her, so that, plaise the Lord, she'll have to tramp.” + +“How does she live and maintain herself?” asked the stranger again. + +“Why, sir,” replied the man, “she tuck possession of a waste cabin and +a bit o' garden belongin' to it; and Larry Sullivan, that owns it, was +goin' to put her out, when, Lord save us, he and his whole family were +saized with sickness, and then he sent word to her that if she'd take it +off o' them and put it on some one else he'd let her stay.” + +“And did she do so?” + +“She did, sir; every one o' them recovered, and she put it on his +neighbor, poor Harry Commiskey and his family, that used to visit them +every day, and from them it went over the country--and bad luck to her! +Devil a man of us would have had luck or grace in the fair to-day if we +had met her. That's another gift she has--to bring bad luck to any +one that meets her first in the mornin'; for if they're goin' upon +any business it's sure not to thrive with them. She's worse than Mrs. +Lindsay; for Mrs. Lindsay, although she's unlucky to meet, and unlucky +to cattle, too, has no power over any one's life; but they say it has +always been in her family, too.” + +The equestrians then proceeded at a rather brisk pace until they had got +clear of the peasants, when they pulled up a little. + +“That is a strange superstition, sir,” said Woodward, musingly. + +“It is a very common one in this country, at all events,” replied the +other; “and I believe pretty general in others as well as here.” + +“Do you place any faith in it?” asked the other. + +The stranger paused, as if investigating the subject in question, after +which he replied, + +“To a certain extent I do; but it is upon this principle, that I believe +the force of imagination on a weak mind constitutes the malady. What is +your own opinion?” + +“Why, that it is not a superstition but a fact; a fact, too, which has +been frequently proved; and, what is more, it is known, as the man said, +to be hereditary in families.” + +“I don't give credence to that,” said the stranger. + +“Why not, sir?” replied Woodward; “are not the moral qualities +hereditary? are not the tempers and dispositions hereditary, as well as +decline, insanity, scrofula, and other physical complaints?” + +The stranger paused again, and said, “Perhaps so. There is certainly +much mystery in human nature; more, probably, than we can conceive or be +aware of. Time, however, and the progress of science, will develop much. +But who was this Mrs. Lindsay that the man spoke of?” + +“That lady, sir,” replied the other, “is my mother.” + +The stranger, from a feeling of delicacy, made no observation upon this, +but proceeded to take another view of the same subject. + +“Suppose, then,” he added, “that we admit the fact that the eye of a +certain individual can transfuse, by the force of strong volition, an +evil influence into the being or bodily system of another--why should it +happen that an eye or touch charged with beneficence, instead of evil, +should fail to affect with a sanative contagion those who labor under +many diseases?” + +“The only reply I can make to your question,” said Woodward, “is this: +the one has been long and generally known to exist, whereas the latter +has never been heard of, which most assuredly would not have been the +case if it had ever existed; as for the cure of the King's Evil it is a +royal imposture.” + +“I believe in the latter,” observed the other calmly. + +“Upon what grounds?” asked his companion. + +“Simply because I know a person who possesses the sanative power I speak +of.” + +“And I believe in the former,” replied Woodward, “and upon better +grounds still, because I possess it myself.” + +“You will pardon me,” said the other; “but I hesitate to believe that.” + +Woodward, who felt this imputation against his veracity with resentment, +suddenly pulled up his horse, and, turning himself on the saddle, looked +upon his companion with an expression that was as extraordinary as it +was blighting. The stranger, on the other hand, reining in his horse, +and taking exactly the same attitude as Woodward, bent his eye on him in +return; and there they sat opposite to each other, where we will leave +them until we describe the somewhat extraordinary man who had become the +fellow-traveller of the hero of the breakfast table. + +[Illustration: PAGE 631-- The gaze was long and combative] + +He was mounted upon a powerful charger; for indeed it was evident at +a glance that no other would have been equal to his weight. He was +well-dressed--that is to say, in the garb of a country gentleman of the +day. He wore his own hair, however, which fell in long masses over his +shoulders, and a falling collar, which came down over his breast. His +person was robust and healthy looking, and, what is not very usual in +large men, it was remarkable for the most consummate proportion and +symmetry. He wore boots and silver spurs, and his feet were unusually +small, considering his size, as were also his hands. That, however, +which struck the beholder with amazement, was the manly beauty of his +features. At a first glance this was visible; but on contemplating +them more closely you began to feel something strange and wonderful +associated with a feeling of veneration and pleasure. Even this, +however, was comparatively little to what a still more deliberate +perusal of that face brought to light. There could be read that +extraordinary union of humility and grandeur; but above all, and beyond +all other expressions, there proceeded from his eyes, and radiated like +a halo from every part of his countenance, a sense of power which was +felt to be irresistible. His eyes, indeed, were almost transparent with +light--a light so clear, benignant, and strong, that it was impossible +to withstand their glance, radiant with benevolence though it was. The +surrender to that glance, however, was a willing and a pleasing one. The +spectator submitted to it as an individual would to the eye of a blessed +spirit that was known to communicate nothing but good. There, then, they +sat contemplating one another, each, as it were, in the exercise of some +particular power, which, in this case, appeared to depend altogether +on the expressions of the eye. The gaze was long and combative in its +character, and constituted a trial of that moral strength which each, +in the peculiar constitution of his being, seemed to possess. After some +time, however, Woodward's glance seemed to lose its concentrative +power, and gradually to become vague and blank. In a little time he felt +himself rapidly losing ground, and could hardly avoid thinking that +the eyes of his opponent were looking into his very soul: his eyelids +quivered, his eyes assumed a dull and listless appearance, and +ultimately closed for some moments--he was vanquished, and he felt it. + +“What is the matter with you?” said his companion at length, “and why +did you look at me with such a singular gaze? I hope you do not feel +resentment at what I said. I hesitated to believe you only because I +thought you might be mistaken.”. + +“I entertain no resentment against you,” replied Woodward; “but I must +confess I feel astonished. Pray, allow me to ask, sir, are you a medical +man?” + +“Not at all,” replied the other; “I never received a medical education, +and yet I perform a great number of cures.” + +“Then, sir,” said Woodward, “I take it, with every respect, that you +must be a quack.” + +“Did you ever know a quack to work a cure without medicine?” replied the +other; “I cure without medicine, and that is more than the quack is able +to do with it; I consequently, cannot be a quack.” + +“Then, in the devil's name, what are you?” asked Woodward, who felt that +his extraordinary fellow-traveller was amusing himself at his expense. + +“I reply to no interrogatory urged upon such authority,” said the +stranger; “but let me advise you, young man, not to allow that +mysterious and malignant power which you seem to possess to gratify +itself by injury to your fellow-creatures. Let it be the principal +purpose of your life to serve them by every means within your reach, +otherwise you will neglect to your cost those great duties for which God +created you. Farewell, my friend, and remember my words; for they are +uttered in a spirit of kindness and good feeling.” + +They had now arrived at cross-roads; the stranger turned to the right, +and Woodward proceeded, as directed, toward Rathfillan House, the +residence of his father. + +The building was a tolerably large and comfortable one, without any +pretence to architectural beauty. It had a plain porch before the +hall-door, with a neat lawn, through which wound a pretty drive up to +the house. On each side of the lawn was a semicircle of fine old trees, +that gave an ancient appearance to the whole place. + +Now, one might imagine that Woodward would have felt his heart bound +with affection and delight on his return to all that ought to have been +dear to him after so long an absence. So far from that, however, he +returned in disappointment and ill-temper, for he calculated that unless +there had been some indefensible neglect, or unjustifiable offence +offered to his uncle Hamilton by his family, that gentleman, who, he +knew, had the character of being both affectionate and good-natured, +would never have left his property to a stranger. The alienation of this +property from himself was, indeed, the bitter reflection which rankled +in his heart, and established in it a hatred against the Goodwins which +he resolved by some means to wreak upon them in a spirit of the blackest +vengeance. Independently of this, we feel it necessary to say here, that +he was utterly devoid of domestic affection, and altogether insensible +to the natural claims and feelings of consanguinity. His uncle abroad, +for instance, had frequently urged him to pay a visit to his relatives, +and, of course, to supply him liberally with the necessary funds for the +journey. To every such suggestion, however, he gave a decided negative. +“If they wish to see me,” he would reply, “let them come and see me: as +for me, I have no wish to see them, and I shall not go.” + +This unnatural indifference to the claims of blood and affection, not +only startled his uncle, but shook his confidence in the honor and +integrity of his favorite. Some further discoveries of his dishonesty +ultimately led to his expulsion from the heart of that kind relative, as +well as from the hospitable roof of which he proved himself so unworthy. + +With such a natural disposition, and affected as he must have been by a +train of circumstances so decidedly adverse to his hopes and prospects, +our readers need not feel surprised that he should return home in +anything but an agreeable mood of mind. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Woodward meets a Guide--His Reception at Home--Preparations for a Fete. + + +Woodward rode slowly, as he indulged in those disagreeable reflections +to which we alluded, until he reached a second crossroads, where he +found himself somewhat at a loss whether to turn or ride straight +onward. While pausing for a moment, as to which way he should take, the +mellow whistle of some person behind him indulging in a light-hearted +Irish air, caused him to look back, when he saw a well-made, compact, +good-looking young fellow approaching, who, finding his attention +evidently directed to him, concluded his melody and respectfully touched +hia hat.” + +“Pray, my good friend,” said Woodward, “can you direct me to Rathfillan, +the residence of Mr. Lindsay, the magistrate?” + +“Misther Lindsay's, is it?” + +“Yes; I said so.” + +“Well, I think I can, sir.” + +“Yes; but are you sure of it?” + +“Well, I think I am, sir.” + +“You think! why, d--n it, sir, do you not know whether you are or not?” + +“May I ax, sir,” inquired the other in his turn, “if you are a religious +character?” + +“WHy, what the devil has that to do with the matter in question?” said +Woodward, beginning to lose his temper. “I ask you to direct me to +the residence of a certain gentleman, and you ask me whether I am a +religious character? What do you mean by that?” + +“Why, sir,” replied the man, “not much, I'm afeard--only if you had let +me speak, which you didn't, God pardon you, I was going to say, that +if you knew the way to heaven as well as I do to Misther Lindsay's you +might call yourself a happy man, and born to luck.” + +Woodward looked with something of curiosity at his new companion, and +was a good deal struck with his appearance. His age might be about +twenty-eight or from that to thirty; his figure stout and well-made; +his features were decidedly Milesian, but then they were Milesian of +the best character; his mouth was firm, but his lips full, red, and +handsome; his clear, merry eyes would puzzle one to determine whether +they were gray or blue, so equally were the two colors blended in them. +After a very brief conversation with him, no one could doubt that humor +formed a predominant trait in his disposition. In fact, the spirit of +the forthcoming jest was visible in his countenance before the jest +itself came forth; but although his whole features bore a careless +and buoyant expression, yet there was no mistaking in them the +unquestionable evidences of great shrewdness and good sense. He also +indulged occasionally in an ironical and comic sarcasm, which, however, +was never directed against his friends; this he reserved for certain +individuals whose character entitled them to it at his hands. He +also drew the long-bow, when he wished, with great skill and effect. +Woodward, after having scrutinized his countenance for some time, was +about to make some inquiries, as a stranger, concerning his family and +the reputation they bore in the neighborhood, when he found himself, +considerably to his surprise, placed in the witness-box for a rather +brisk fire of cross-examination. + +“You are no stranger in this part of the country, I presume” said +he, with a view of bringing him out for his own covert and somewhat +ungenerous purposes. + +“I am no stranger, sure enough, sir,” replied the other, “so far as a +good slice of the counthry side goes; but if I am not you are, sir, or +I'm out in it.” + +“Yes, I am a stranger here.” + +“Never mind, sir, don't let that disthress you; it's a good, man's case, +sir. Did you thravel far, wid submission? I spake in kindness, sir.” + +“Why, yes, a--a--pretty good distance; but about Mr. Lindsay and--” + +“Yes, sir; crossed over, sir, I suppose? I mane from the other side?” + +“O! you want to know if I crossed the Channel?” + +“Had you a pleasant passage, sir?” + +“Yes, tolerable.” + +“Thank God! I hope you'll make a long stay with us, sir, in this part +of the counthry. If you have any business to do with Mr. Lindsay--as of +coorse you have--why, I don't think you and he will quarrel; and by the +way, sir, I know him and the family well, and if I only got a glimpse, I +could throw in a word or two to guide you in dalin' wid him--that is, if +I knew the business.” + +“As to that,” replied Woodward, “it is not very particular; I am only +coming on a pretty long visit to him, and as you say you know the +family, I would feel glad to hear what you think of them.” + +“Misther Lindsay, or rather Misther Charles, and you will have a fine +time of it, sir. There's delightful fishin' here, and the best of +shootin' and huntin' in harvest and winter--that is, if you stop so +long.” + +“What kind of a man is Mr. Lindsay?” + +“A fine, clever (*Portly, large, comely) man, sir; six feet in his +stockin' soles, and made in proportion.” + +“But I want to know nothing about his figure; is the man reputed good or +bad?” + +“Why, just good or bad, sir, according as he's treated.” + +“Is he well liked, then? I trust you understand me now.” + +“By his friends, sir, no man betther--by them that's his enemies, not so +well.” + +“You mentioned a son of his, Charles, I think; what kind of a young +fellow is he?” + +“Very like his father, sir.” + +“I see; well, I thank you, my friend, for the liberality of your +information. Has he any daughters?” + +“Two, sir; but very unlike their mother.” + +“Why, what kind of a woman is their mother?” + +“She's a saint, sir, of a sartin class--ever and always at her prayers,” + (_sotto voce_, “such as they are--cursing her fellow-cratures from +mornin' till night.”) + +“Well, at all events, it is a good thing to be religious.” + +“Devil a better, sir; but she, as I said, is a saint from--heaven” + (_sotto voce_, “and very far from it too.) But, sir, there's a lady +in this neighborhood--I won't name her--that has a tongue as sharp and +poisonous as if she lived on rattlesnakes; and she has an eye of her own +that they say is every bit as dangerous.” + +“And who is she, my good fellow?” + +“Why, a very intimate friend of Mrs. Lindsay's, and seldom out of her +company. Now, sir, do you see that house wid the tall chimleys, or +rather do you see the tall chimleys--for you can't see the house itself? +That's where the family we spake of lives, and there you'll see Mrs. +Lindsay and the lady I mention.” + +Woodward, in fact, knew not what to make of his guide; he found him +inscrutable, and deemed it useless to attempt the extortion of any +further intelligence from him. The latter was ignorant that Mrs. +Lindsay's son was expected home, as was every member of that gentleman's +family. He had, in fact, given them no information of his return. +The dishonest fraud which he had practised upon his uncle, and the +apprehension that that good old man had transmitted an account of his +delinquency to his relatives, prevented him from writing, lest he might, +by subsequent falsehoods, contradict his uncle, and thereby involve +himself in deeper disgrace. His uncle, however, was satisfied with +having got rid of him, and forbore to render his relations unhappy by +any complaint of his conduct. His hope was, that Woodward's expulsion +from his house, and the withdrawal of his affections from him, might, +upon reflection, cause him to turn over a new leaf--an effort which +would have been difficult, perhaps impracticable, had he transmitted to +them a full explanation of his perfidy and ingratitude. + +A thought now occurred to Woodward with reference to himself. He saw +that his guide, after having pointed out his father's house to him, was +still keeping him company. + +“Perhaps you are coming out of your way,” said he; “you have been +good enough to show me Mr. Lindsay's residence, and I have no further +occasion for your services. I thank you: take this and drink my +health;”,and as he spoke he offered him some silver. + +“Many thanks, sir,” replied the man, in a far different tone of voice, +“many thanks; but I never resave or take payment for an act of civility, +especially from any gentleman on his way to the family of Mr. Lindsay. +And now, sir, I will tell you honestly and openly that there is not +a better gentleman alive this day than he is. Himself, his son, and +daughter* are loved and honored by all that know them; and woe betide +the man that 'ud dare to crock (crook) his finger at one of them.” + + * His daughter Jane was with a relation in England, and does + not appear in this romance. + +“You seem to know them very well.” + +“I have a good right, sir, seein' that I have been in the family ever +since I was a gorson.” + +“And is Mrs. Lindsay as popular as her husband?” + +“She is his wife, sir--the mother of his children, and my misthress; +afther that you may judge for yourself.” + +“Of course, then, you are aware that they have a son abroad.” + +“I am, sir, and a fine young man they say he is. Nothing vexes them so +much as that he won't come to see them. He's never off their tongue; and +if he's aquil to what they say of him, upon my credit the sun needn't +take the trouble of shinin' on him.” + +“Have they any expectation of a visit from him, do you know'?” + +“Not that I hear, sir; but I know that nothing would rise the cockles of +their hearts aquil to seein' him among them. Poor fellow! Mr. Hamilton's +will was a bad business for him, as it was thought he'd have danced into +the property. But then, they say, his other uncle will provide for him, +especially as he took him from the family, by all accounts, on that +condition.” + +This information--if information it could be called--was nothing more +nor less than wormwood and gall to the gentleman on whose ears and +into whose heart it fell. The consciousness of his present +position--discarded by a kind uncle for dishonesty, and deprived, as +he thought, by the caprice or mental imbecility, of another uncle, of a +property amounting to upwards of twelve hundred per annum--sank upon his +heart with a feeling which filled it with a deep and almost blasphemous +resentment at every person concerned, which he could scarcely repress +from the observation of his guide. + +“What is your name?” said he abruptly to him; and as he asked the +question he fixed a glance upon him that startled his companion. + +The latter looked at him, and felt surprised at the fearful expression +of his eye; in the meantime, we must say, that he had not an ounce of +coward's flesh on his bones. + +“What is my name, sir?” he replied. “Faith, afther that look, if you +don't know my name, I do yours; there was your mother's eye fastened on +me to the life. However, take it easy, sir; devil a bit I'm afeared. If +you're not her son, Misther Woodward, why, I'm not Barney Casey, that's +all. Don't deny it, sir; you're welcome home, and I'm glad to see you, +as they all will be.” + +“Harkee, then,” said Woodward, “you are right; but, mark me, keep quiet, +and allow me to manage matters in my own way; not a syllable of the +discovery you have made, or it will be worse for you. I am not a person +to be trifled with.” + +“Troth, and you're right there, sir; it's what I often said, often say, +and often will say of myself. Barney Casey is not the boy to be trifled +wid.” + +On arriving at the house, Barney took round the horse--a hired one, by +the way--to the stable, and Woodward knocked. On the door being +opened, he inquired if Mr. Lindsay was within, and was answered in the +affirmative. + +“Will you let him know a gentleman wishes to see him for a few minutes?” + +“What name, sir, shall I say?” + +“O, it doesn't matter--say a gentleman.” + +“Step into the parlor, sir, and he will be with you immediately.” + +He did so, and there was but a very short time when his step-father +entered. Short, as the time was, however, he could not prevent himself +from reverting to the strange equestrian he had met on his way, nor to +the extraordinary ascendancy he had gained over him. Another young man +placed in his circumstances would have felt agitated and excited by his +approaching interview with those who were so nearly related to him, and +whom, besides, he had not seen for such a long period of time. To +every such emotion, however, he was absolutely insensible; there was +no beating pulse, no heaving of the bosom, not a nerve disturbed by the +tremulous vibrations of awakened affection, no tumult of the heart, no +starting tear--no! there was nothing of all this--but, on the contrary, +a calm, cold, imperturbable spirit, so dead and ignorant of domestic +attachment, that the man could neither feel nor understand what it +meant. + +When his step-father entered, he naturally bowed to the stranger, +and motioned him to a seat, which the other accordingly took. Lindsay +certainly was, as Barney Casey had said, a very fine-looking man for his +years. He was tall, erect, and portly, somewhat inclined to corpulency, +of a handsome, but florid countenance, in which might be read a large +expression of cheerfulness and good humor, together with that peculiar +tinge which results from conviviality. Indeed, there could scarcely +be witnessed a more striking contrast than that between his open, +kind-looking features, and the sharp, disagreeable symmetry which marked +those of his step-son with such a dark and unpleasant character. + +“My servant tells me,” said Lindsay, courteously, “that you wished to +see me.” + +“I did, sir,” replied Woodward; “in that, he spoke correctly; I wished +to see you, and I am glad to see you.” + +“I thank you, sir,” replied the other, bowing again; “but--ahem--in the +meantime, sir, you have the advantage of me.” + +“And intend to keep it, sir, for a little,” replied Woodward with one of +his cold smiles. “I came to speak to you, sir, concerning your son who +is abroad, and to ask if you have recently heard from himself or his +uncle.” + +“O, then, I presume, sir,” replied Lindsay, “you are an acquaintance +or friend of his; if so, allow me to bid you welcome; nothing, I assure +you, could afford either myself or my family greater pleasure than to +meet and show attention to any friend of his. Unfortunately, we have +heard nothing from him or his uncle for nearly the last year and a half; +but, you will be doubly welcome, sir, if you can assure us that they are +both well. His uncle, or rather I should, say his grand-uncle, for in +that relation he stands to him, adopted him, and a kinder man does not +live.” + +“I believe Mr. Woodward and his uncle are both well, the former, I +think, sir, is your step-son only.” + +“Don't say only, sir, he is just as much the son of my affection as his +brother, and now, sir, may I request to know the name of the gentleman I +am addressing?” + +“Should you wish to see Henry Woodward himself, sir?” + +“Dear sir, nothing would delight me more, and all of us, especially his +mother; yet the ungrateful boy would never come near us, although he was +pressed and urged to do so a hundred times.” + +“Well, then, sir,” replied that gentleman, rising up, “he now stands +before you; I am Henry Woodward, father.” + +A hug that half strangled him was the first acknowledgment of his +identity. “Zounds, my dear Harry--Harry, my dear boy, you're welcome a +thousand times, ten thousand times. Stand off a little till I look at +you; fine young fellow, and your mother's image. Gadzooks, I was stupid +as a block not to know you; but who would have dreamed of it. There, I +say--hallo, Jenny!--come here, all of you; here is Harry at last. Are +you all deaf, or asleep?” + +These words he shouted out at the top of his voice, and in a few minutes +his mother, Charles, and his sister Maria entered the room, the two +latter in a state of transport. + +“Here, Jenny, here he is; you have the first claim; confound it, +Charley, Maria, don't strangle the boy; ha, ha, ha!” + +In fact, the precaution, so far as the affectionate brother and sister +were concerned, was anything but needless. His mother, seeing their +eagerness to embrace him, which they did with tears of delight, stood +calmly by until he was disentangled from their arms, when she approached +him and imprinted two kisses upon his lips, with an indifference of +manner that, to a stranger, would have been extraordinary, but which, +to those who were present, excited no surprise; for she had scarcely, +during her life, ever kissed one of her own children. Nothing, indeed, +could exceed the tumultuous exultation of spirits with which they +received him, nor was honest Lindsay himself less joyously affected. Yet +it might be observed that there was a sparkle in the eye of his mother, +which was as singular as it was concentrated and intense. Such an +expression might be observed in a menagerie when a tigress, indolently +dallying with one of her cubs, exhibits, even in repose, those fiery +scintillations in the eye which startle the beholders. The light of that +eye, though intense, was cold, calculating, and disagreeable to look +upon. The frigidity of her manner and reception of him might, to a +certain extent, be accounted for from the fact that she had gone to his +uncle's several times for the purpose of seeing him, and watching his +interests. Let us not, therefore, impute to the coldness of her habits +any want of affection for him; on the contrary, his little finger was a +thousand times dearer to her than the bodies and souls of all her other +children, adding to them her husband himself, put together. Besides, +she was perfectly unsusceptible of emotions of tenderness, and, +consequently, a woman of powerful will, inflexible determination, and +the most inexorable resentments. She was also ambitious, as far as +she had scope for it, within her sphere of life, and would have been +painfully penurious in her family, were it not that the fiery resolution +of her husband, when excited by long and intolerable provocation, was at +all times able to subdue her--a superiority over her will and authority +which she never forgave him. In fact, she neither loved himself, +nor anything in common with him; and the natural affection which he +displayed on the return of her son was one reason why she received him +with such apparent indifference. To all the rest of the family she had a +heart of stone. Since her second marriage they had lost three children; +but, so far as she was concerned, each of them went down into a tearless +grave. She had once been handsome; but her beauty, like her son's, was +severe and disagreeable. There is, however, such a class of beauty, and +it is principally successful with men who have a penchant for overcoming +difficulties, because it is well known that the fact of conciliating or +subduing it is justly considered no ordinary achievement. A great number +of our old maids may trace their solitude and their celibacy to the very +questionable gift of such beauty, and the dispositions which usually +accompany it. She was tall, and had now grown thin, and her features had +become sharpened by ill-temper into those of a flesh-less, angular-faced +vixen. Altogether she was a faithful exponent of her own evil and +intolerable disposition; and it was said that she had inherited that and +the “unlucky eye” from a family that was said to have I been deservedly +unpopular, and equally unscrupulous in their resentments. + +“Well, Harry,” said she, after the warmhearted ebullition of feeling +produced by his appearance had subsided, “so you have returned to us at +last; but indeed, you return now to a blank and dismal prospect. Miss +Goodwin's adder tongue has charmed the dotage of your silly old uncle to +some purpose for herself.” + +“Confound it, Jenny,” said her husband, “let the young man breathe, at +least, before you bring up that eternal subject. Is not the matter over +and decided and where is the use of your making both yourself and us +unhappy by discussing it?” + +“It may be decided, but it is not over, Lindsay,” she replied; “don't +imagine it: I shall pursue the Goodwins, especially that sorceress, +Alice, with a vengeance that will annul the will, and circumvent those +who wheedled him into the making of it. My curse upon them all, as it +will be!” + +“Harry, when you become better acquainted with your mother,” said his +step-father, “you will get sick of this. Have you breakfasted; for that +is more to the point?” + +“I have, sir,” replied the other; “and you would scarcely guess where;” + and here he smiled and glanced significantly at his mother. + +“Why, I suppose,” said Lindsay, “in whatever inn you stopped at.” + +“No,” he replied; “I was obliged to seek shelter from the storm last +night, and where do you think I found it?” + +“Heaven knows. Where?” + +“Why, with your friend and neighbor, Mr. Goodwin.” + +“No friend, Harry,” said his mother; “don't say that.” + +“I slept there last night,” he proceeded, “and breakfasted there this +morning, and nothing could exceed the cordiality and kindness of my +reception.” + +“Did they know who you were?” asked his mother, with evident interest. + +“Not till this morning, at breakfast.” + +“Well,” said she again, “when they heard it?” + +“Why, their attention and kindness even redoubled,” replied her son; +“and as for Miss Goodwin herself, she's as elegant, as sweet, and as +lovely a girl as I ever looked on. Mother, I beg you to entertain no +implacable or inveterate enmity against her. I will stake my existence +that she never stooped to any fraudulent circumvention of my poor +uncle. Take my word for it, the intent and execution of the will must be +accounted for otherwise.” + +“Well and truly said, Harry,” said his step-father--“well and generously +said; give me your hand,--my boy; thank you. Now, madam,” he proceeded, +addressing his wife, “what have you to say to the opinion of a man who +has lost so much by the transaction, when you hear that that opinion is +given in her favor?” + +“Indeed, my dear Harry,” observed his sister, “she is all that you +have said of her, and much more, if you knew her as we do; she is all +disinterestedness and truth, and the most unselfish girl that ever +breathed.” + +Now, there were two persons present who paused upon hearing this +intelligence; one of whom listened to it with unexpected pleasure, and +the other with mingled emotions of pleasure and pain. The first of these +were Mrs. Lindsay, and the other her son Charles. Mrs. Lindsay, whose +eyes were not for a moment off her son, understood the significant +glance he had given her when he launched forth so heartily in the praise +of Alice Goodwin; neither did the same glance escape the observation of +his brother Charles, who inferred, naturally enough, from the warmth of +the eulogium that had been passed upon her, that she had made, perhaps, +too favorable an impression upon his brother. Of this, however, the +reader shall hear more in due time. + +“Well,” said the mother slowly, and in a meditating voice, “perhaps, +after all, we may have done her injustice. If so, no person would regret +it more than myself; but we shall see. You parted from them, Harry, on +friendly terms?” + +“I did, indeed, my dear mother, and am permitted, almost solicited, to +make their further acquaintance, and cultivate a friendly intimacy with +them, which I am determined to do.” + +“Bravo, Harry, my fine fellow; and we will be on friendly terms with +them once more. Poor, honest, and honorable old Goodwin! what a pity +that either disunion or enmity should subsist between us. No; the +families must be once more cordial and affectionate, as they ought to +be. Bravo, Harry! your return is prophetic of peace and good feeling; +and, confound me, but you shall have a bonfire this night for your +generosity that will shame the sun. The tar-barrels shall blaze, and the +beer-barrels shall run to celebrate your appearance amongst us. Come, +Charley, let us go to Rathfillan, and get the townsfolk to prepare +for the fete: we must have fiddlers and pipers, and plenty of dancing. +Barney Casey must go among the tenants, too, and order them all into the +town. Mat Mulcahy, the inn-keeper, must give us his best room; and, my +life to yours, we will have a pleasant night of it.” + +“George,” exclaimed his wife, in a tone of querulous remonstrance, “you +know how expensive--” + +“Confound the expense and your penury both,” exclaimed her husband; +“is it to your own son, on his return to us after such an absence, that +you'd grudge the expense of a blazing bonfire?” + +“Not the bonfire,” replied his wife, but--” + +“Ay, but the cost of drink to the tenants. Why, upon my soul, Harry, +your mother is anything but popular here, you must know; and I think +if it were not from respect to me and the rest of the family she'd +be indicted for a witch. Gadzooks, Jenny, will I never get sense +or liberality into your head? Ay, and if you go on after your usual +fashion, it is not unlikely that you may have a tar-barrel of your own +before long. Go, you and Harry, and tell your secrets to each other +while we prepare for the jubilation. In the meantime, we must get up an +extempore dinner to-day--the set dinner will come in due time, and be a +different affair; but at all events some of the neighbors we must have +to join us in the jovialities--hurroo!” + +“Well, George,” said she, with her own peculiar smile, “I see you are in +one of your moods to-day.” + +“Ay, right enough, the imperative one, my dear.” + +“And, so far as I am concerned, it would not certainly become me to +stand in the way of any honor bestowed upon my son Harry; so I perceive +you must only have it your own way--I consent.” + +“I don't care a fig whether you do or not. When matters come to a push, +I am always master of my own house, and ever will be so--and you know +it. Good-by, Harry, we will be back in time for dinner, with as many +friends as we can pick up on so short notice--hurroo!” + +He and Charles accordingly went forth to make the necessary +preparations, and give due notice of the bonfire, after which they +succeeded in securing the attendance of about a dozen guests to partake +of the festivity. + +Barney, in the meantime, having received his orders for collecting, +or, as it was then called, warning in the tenantry to the forthcoming +bonfire, proceeded upon his message in high spirits, not on account of +the honor it was designed to confer on Woodward, against whom he had +already conceived a strong antipathy, in consequence of the resemblance +he bore to his mother, but for the sake of the fun and amusement which +he purposed to enjoy at it himself. The first house he went into was a +small country cabin, such as a petty farmer of five or six acres at that +time occupied. The door was not of wood, but of wicker-work woven across +long wattles and plastered over with clay mortar. The house had two +small holes in the front side-walls to admit the light; but during +severe weather these were filled up with straw or rags to keep out the +storm. On one side of the door stood a large curra, or, “ould man,” for +it was occasionally termed both--composed of brambles and wattles tied +up lengthwise together--about the height of a man and as thick as an +ordinary sack. This was used, as they termed it, “to keep the wind from +the door.” If the blast came from the right, it was placed on that side, +and if from the left, it was changed to the opposite. Chimneys, at that +period, were to be found only upon the houses of extensive and wealthy +farmers, the only substitute for them being a simple hole in the roof +over the fireplace. The small farmer in question cultivated his acres +with a spade: and after sowing his grain he harrowed it in with a large +thorn bush, which he himself, or one of his sons, dragged over it with +a heavy stone on the top to keep it close to the surface. When Barney +entered this cabin he found the vanithee, or woman of the house, engaged +in the act of grinding oats into meal for their dinner with a quern, +consisting of two diminutive millstones turned by the hand; this was +placed upon a praskeen, or coarse apron, spread under it on the floor to +receive the meal. An old woman, her mother, sat spinning flax with the +distaff--for as yet flax wheels were scarcely known--and a lubberly +young fellow about sixteen, with able, well shaped limbs and great +promise of bodily strength, sat before the fire managing a double task, +to wit, roasting, first, a lot of potatoes in the _greeshaugh_, which +consisted of half embers and half ashes, glowing hot; and, secondly, at +a little distance from the larger lighted turf, two duck eggs, which, +as well as the potatoes, he turned from time to time, that they might +be equally done. All this he conducted by the aid of what was termed a +_muddha vristha_, or rustic tongs, which was nothing more than a wattle, +or stick, broken in the middle, between the ends of which he held +both his potatoes and his eggs while turning them. Two good-looking, +fresh-colored girls were squatted on their hunkers (hams), cutting +potatoes for seed--late as the season was--with two case knives, which, +had been borrowed from a neighboring farmer of some wealth. The dress +of the women was similar and simple. It consisted of a long-bodied gown +that had only half skirts; that is to say, instead of encompassing the +whole person, the lower part of it came forward only as far as the hip +bones, on each side, leaving the front of the petticoat exposed. This +posterior part of the gown would, if left to fall to its full length, +have formed a train behind them of at least two feet in length. It +was pinned up, however, to a convenient length, and was not at all an +ungraceful garment, if we except the sleeves, which went no farther than +the elbows--a fashion in dress which is always unbecoming, especially +when the arms are thin. The hair of the elder woman was doubled back in +front, from about the middle of the forehead, and the rest of the +head was covered by a _dowd cap_, the most primitive of all female +headdresses, being a plain shell, or skull-cap, as it were, for the +head, pointed behind, and without any fringe or border whatsoever. +This turning up of the hair was peculiar only to married life, of which +condition it was universally a badge. The young females wore theirs +fastened behind by a skewer; but on this occasion one of them, the +youngest, allowed it to fall in natural ringlets about her cheeks and +shoulders. + +“God save all here,” said Barney, as he entered the house. + +“God save you kindly, Barney,” was the instant reply from all. + +“Ah, Mrs. Davoren,” he proceeded, “ever the same; by this and by that, +if there's a woman living ignorant of one thing, and you are that +woman.” + +“Sorrow off you, Barney! well, what is it?” + +“Idleness, achora. Now, let me see if you have e'er a finger at all to +show; for upon my honorable word they ought to be worn to the stumps +long ago. Well, and how are you all? But sure I needn't ax. Faith, +you're crushin' the _blanter_* anyhow, and that looks well.” + + * Blantur, a well-known description of oats. It was so + called from having been originally imported from Blantire in + Scotland. + +“We must live, Barney; 'tis a poor shift we'd make 'idout the praties +and the broghan,” (meal porridge). + +“What news from the big house?” + +“News, is it? Come, Corney, come, girls, bounce; news is it? O, faitha', +thin it's I that has the news that will make you all shake your feet +to-night.” + +“Blessed saints, Barney what is it?” + +“Bounce, I say, and off wid ye to gather brusna (dried and rotten +brambles) for a bonfire in the great town of Rathfillan.” + +“A bonfire, Barney! Arra, why, man alive?” + +“Why? Why, bekaise the masther's stepson and the misthress's own pet has +come home to us to set the counthry into a state o' conflagration wid +his beauty. There won't be a whole cap in the barony before this day +week. They're to have fiddlers, and pipers, and dancin', and drinkin' +to no end; and the glory of it is that the masther, God bless him, is to +pay for all. Now!” + +The younger of the two girls sprang to her feet with the elasticity and +agility of a deer. + +“O, _beetha_, Barney,” she exclaimed, “but that will be the fun! And +the misthress's son is home? Arra, what is he like, Barney? Is he as +handsome as Masther Charles?” + +“I hope he's as good,” said her mother. + +“As good, Bridget? No, but worth a shipload of him; he has a pair of +eyes in his head, _Granua_,” (anglice, Grace,) addressing the younger, +“that 'ud turn _Glendhis_ (the dark glen) to noonday at midnight; divil +a lie in it; and his hand's never out of his pocket wid generosity.” + +“O, mother,” said Grace, “won't we all go?” + +“Don't ax your mother anything about it,” replied Barney, “bekaise +mother, and father, and sister, and brother, daughter and son, is all to +come.” + +“Arra, Barney,” said Bridget Davoren, for such was her name, “is this +gentleman like his _ecald_ of a mother?” + +“Hasn't a feature of her purty face,” he replied, “and, to the back o' +that, is very much given to religion. Troth, my own opinion is, he'll be +one of ourselves yet; for I can tell you a saicret about him.” + +“A saicret, Barney,” said Grace; “maybe he's married?” + +“Married, no; he tould me himself this momin' that it's not his +intention ever to marry 'till he meets a purty girl to plaise him; he'll +keep a loose foot, he says, and an aisy conscience till then, he says; +but the saicret is this, he never aits flesh mate of a Friday--when +he emit get it. Indeed, I'm afeared he's too good to be long for this +world; but still, if the Lord was to take him, wouldn't it be a proof +that he had a great regard for him!” + +Grace Davoren was flushed and excited with delight. She was about +eighteen, rather tall for her age, but roundly and exquisitely moulded; +her glossy ringlets, as they danced about her cheeks and shoulders, were +black as ebony; but she was no brunette; for her skin was milk white, +and that portion of her bosom, which was uncovered by the simple nature +of her dress, threw back a polished light like ivory; her figure was +perfection, and her white legs were a finer specimen of symmetry +than ever supported the body of the _Venus de Medicis_. This was all +excellent; but it was the sparkling lustre of her eyes, and the radiance +of her whole countenance, that attracted the beholder. If there was +anything to be found fault with, it was in the spirit, not in the +physical perfection, of her beauty. There was, for instance, too much +warmth of coloring and of constitution visible in her whole exquisite +person; and sometimes her glances, would puzzle you to determine whether +they were those of innocence or of challenge. Be this as it may, she was +a rare specimen of rustic beauty and buoyancy of spirit. + +“O, Barney,” said she, “that's the pleasantest news I heard this month +o' Sundays--sich dancin' as we'll have! and maybe I won't foot it, and +me got my new shoes and drugget gown last week;” and here she lilted a +gay Irish air, to which she set a-dancing with a lightness of foot +and vivacity of manner that threw her whole countenance into a most +exquisite glow of mirthful beauty. + +“Granua,” said her mother, reprovingly, “think of yourself and what +you are about; if you worn't a light-hearted, and, I'm afeard, a +light-headed, girl, too, you wouldn't go on as you do, especially when +you know what you know, and what Barney here, too, knows.” + +“Ah,” said Barney, his whole manner immediately changing, “have you +heard from him, poor fellow?” + +“Torley's gone to the mountains,” she replied, “and--but here he is. +Well, Torley, what news, asthore?” + +Her husband having passed a friendly greeting to Barney, sat down, and +having taken off his hat, lifted the skirt of his cothamore (big coat) +and wiped the perspiration off his large and manly forehead, on which, +however, were the traces of deep care. He did not speak for some time, +but at length said: + +“Bridget, give me a drink.” + +His wife took a wooden noggin, which she dipped into a churn and handed +him. Having finished it at a draught, he wiped his mouth with his +gathered, palm, breathed deeply, but was still silent. + +“Torley, did you hear me? What news of that unfortunate boy?” + +“No news, Bridget, at least no good news; the boy's an outlaw, and will +be an outlaw--or rather he won't be an outlaw long; they'll get him +soon.” + +“But why would they get him? hasn't he sense enough to keep from them?” + +“That's just what he has not, Bridget; he has left the mountains and +come down somewhere to the Infield country; but where, I cannot make +out.” + +“Well, asthore, he'll only bring on his own punishment. Troth, I'm not a +bit sorry that Granua missed him. I never was to say, for the match, +but you should have your way, and force the girl there to it, over and +above. Of what use is his land and wealth to him now?” + +“God's will be done,” replied her husband, sorrowfully. “As for me, I +can do no more in it, nor I won't. I was doing the best for my child. +He'll be guided by no one's advice but his own.” + +“That's true,” replied his wife, “you did. But here's Barney Casey, from +the big house, comin' to warn the tenantry to a bonfire that's to be +made to-night in Rathfillan, out of rejoicin' for the misthress's son +that's come home to them.” + +Here Barney once more repeated the message, with which the reader is +already acquainted. + +“You are all to come,” he proceeded, “ould and young; and to bring every +one a backload of sticks and brusna to help to make the bonfire.” + +“Is this message from the masther or misthress, Barney?” asked Davoren. + +“O, straight from himself,” he replied. “I have it from his own lips. +Troth he's ready to leap out of his skin wid delight.” + +“Bekaise,” added Davoren, “if it came from the misthress, the sorrow +foot either I or any one of my family would set near her; but from +himself, that's a horse of another color. Tell him, Barney, we'll be +there, and bring what we can to help the bonfire.” + +Until this moment the young fellow at the fire never uttered a syllable, +nor seemed in the slightest degree conscious that there was any +person in the house but himself. He was now engaged in masticating the +potatoes, and eggs, the latter of which he ate with a thin splinter of +bog deal, which served as a substitute for an egg-spoon, and which is +to-this day used among the poor for the same purpose in the remoter +parts of Ireland. At length he spoke: + +“This won't be a good night for a bonfire anyhow.” + +“Why, Andy, _abouchal?_” (my boy.) + +“Bekaise, mudher, _the storm was in the fire_* last night when I was +rakin' it.” + + * This is a singular phenomenon, which, so far as I am + aware, has never yet been noticed by any Irish or Scotch + writers when describing the habits and usages of the people + in either country. When stirring the _greeshaugh_, or red- + hot ashes, at night at the settling, or mending, or Taking + of the fire, a blue, phosphoric-looking light is distinctly + visible in the embers, and the more visible in proportion to + the feebleness of the light emitted by the fire. It is only + during certain states of the atmosphere that this is seen. + It is always considered as as prognostic of severe weather, + and its appearance is termed as above. + +“Then we'll have rough weather,” said his father; “no doubt of that.” + +“Don't be afeard,” said Barney, laughing; “take my word for it, if +there's to be rough weather, and that some witch or wizard has broken +bargain with the devil, the misthress has intherest to get it put off +till the bonfire's over.” + +He then bade them good-by, and took his departure to fulfil his +agreeable and welcome mission. Indeed, he spent the greater portion of +the day not only in going among the tenants in person, but in sending +the purport of the said mission to be borne upon the four winds of +heaven through every quarter of the barony; after which he proceeded to +the little market-town of Rathfillan, where he secured the services of +two fiddlers and two pipers. This being accomplished, he returned home +to his master's, ripe and ready for both dinner and supper; for, as he +had missed the former meal, he deemed it most judicious to kill, as he +said, the two birds with one stone, by demolishing them both together. + + + + +CHAPTER V. The Bonfire--The Prodigy. + + +Andy Davoren's prognostic, so far as the appearance of the weather went, +seemed, at a first glance, to be literally built on ashes. A calm, mild, +and glorious serenity lay upon the earth; the atmosphere was clear and +golden; the light of the sun shot in broad, transparent beams across +the wooded valleys, and poured its radiance upon the forest tops, which +seemed empurpled with its rich and glowing tones. All the usual signs +of change! or rough weather were wanting. Everything was quiet; and a +general stillness was abroad, which, when a sound did occur, caused +it to be heard at an unusual distance. Not a breath of air stirred the +trees, which stood as motionless as if they had been carved of marble. +Notwithstanding all these auspicious appearances, there were visible to +a clear observer of nature some significant symptoms of a change. The +surfaces of pools and rivers were covered with large white bubbles, +which are always considered as indications of coming rain. The dung +heaps, and the pools generally attached to them, emitted a fetid and +offensive smell; and the pigs were seen to carry straw into their sties, +or such rude covers as had been constructed for them. + +In the meantime the dinner party in Lindsay's were enjoying themselves +in a spirit quite as genial as his hospitality. It consisted of two +or three country squires, a Captain Dowd--seldom sober--a pair of twin +brothers, named Gumming, with a couple of half sirs--a class of persons +who bore the same relation to a gentleman that a salmon-trout does to +a salmon. The Protestant clergyman of the parish was there--a jocund, +rattling fellow, who loved his glass, his dog, his gun, and, if fame did +not belie him, paid more devotion to his own enjoyments than he did to +his Bible. He dressed in the extreme of fashion, and was a regular dandy +parson of that day. There also was! Father Magauran, the parish priest, +a rosy-faced, jovial little man, with a humorous! twinkle in his blue +eye, and an anterior rotundity of person that betokened a moderate +relish for the convivialities. Altogether it was a merry meeting; and of +the host himself it might be said that he held as conspicuous a place in +the mirth as he did in the hospitality. + +“Come, gentleman,” said he, after the ladies had retired to the +withdrawing-room, “come, gentlemen, fill high; fill your glasses.” + +“Troth,” said the priest, “we'd put a heap on them, if we could.” + +“Right, Father Magauran; do put a heap on them, if you can; but, at all +events, let them be brimmers; I'm going to propose a toast.” + +“Let it be a lady, Lindsay, if you love me,” said the parson, filling +his glass. + +“Sorra hair I care if it is,” said the priest, “provided she's dacent +and attends her duty; go on, squire; give us her name at once, and don't +keep the parson's teeth watering.” + +“Be quiet, reverend gentlemen,” said Lindsay, laughing; “how can a man +speak when you take the words out of his mouth?” + +“The Lord forbid we'd swallow them, though,” subjoined the parson; “if +we did, we'd not be long in a state of decent sobriety.” + +“Talk about something you understand, my worthy friends, and, allow me +to proceed,” replied the host; “don't you know that every interruption +keeps you from your glass? Gentlemen, I have great pleasure in proposing +the health of my excellent and worthy step-son, who has, after a long +absence, made me and all my family happy by his return amongst us. I +am sure you will all like him when you come to know him, and that the +longer you know him, the better you will like him. Come now, let me +see the bottom of every man's glass uppermost. I do not address myself +directly to the parson or the priest, because that, I know, would be, as +the latter must admit, a want of confidence in their kindness. + +“Parson,” said the priest, in a whisper, “that last observation is +gratifying from Lindsay.” + +“Lindsay is a gentleman,” replied the other, in the same voice; “and the +most popular magistrate in the barony. Come, then.” + +Here the worthy gentleman's health was drank with great enthusiasm, +after which he thanked them in very grateful and courteous terms, paying +at the same time, some rather handsome compliments to the two clergymen +with respect to the appropriate gravity and exquisite polish of their +manners. He saw the rapidity with which they had gulped down the wine, +and felt their rudeness in interrupting Mr. Lindsay, when about to +propose his health, as offensive, and he retorted it upon them with +peculiar irony, that being one of the talents, which, among others, he +had inherited from his mother. + +“I cannot but feel myself happy,” said he, “in returning to the roof of +so hospitable a father; but sensible to the influences of religion, as I +humbly trust I am, I must express a still higher gratification in having +the delightful opportunity of making the acquaintance of two reverend +gentlemen, whose proper and becoming example will, I am sure, guide +my steps--if I have only grace to follow it--into those serious and +primitive habits which characterize themselves, and are so decent and +exemplary in the ministers of religion. They may talk of the light of +the gospel; but, if I don't mistake, the light of the gospel itself +might pale its ineffectual fires before that which shines in their +apostolic countenances.” + +The mirth occasioned by this covert, but comical, rebuke, fell +rather humorously upon the two worthy gentlemen, who, being certainly +good-natured and excellent men, laughed heartily. + +“That's a neat speech,” said the parson, “but not exactly appropriate. +Father Tom and I are quite unworthy of the compliment he has paid us.” + +“Neat,” said Father Tom; “I don't know whether the gentleman has a +profession or not; but from the tone and spirit in which he spoke, I +think that if he has taken up any other than that of his church, he +has missed his vocation. My dear parson, he talks of the light of our +countenances--a light that is lit by hospitality on the one hand, and +moderate social enjoyment on the other. It is a light, however, that +neither of us would exchange for a pale face and an eye that seems to +have something mysterious at the back of it.” + +“Come, come, Harry,” said Lindsay, “you mustn't be bantering these two +gentlemen; as I said of yourself, the longer you know them the better +you will relish them. They have both too much sense to carry religion +about with them like a pair of hawkers, crying out 'who'll buy, who'll +buy;' neither do they wear long faces, nor make themselves disagreeable +by dragging religion into every subject that becomes the topic of +conversation. On the contrary, they are cheerful, moderately social, and +to my own knowledge, with all their pleasantry, are active exponents of +much practical benevolence to the poor. Come, man, take your wine, and +enjoy good company.” + +“Lindsay,” said one of the guests, a magistrate, “how are we to get the +country quiet? Those rapparees and outlaws will play the devil with us +if we don't put them down. That young scoundrel, _Shawn na Middogue_, is +at the head of them it is said, and, it would seem, possesses the +power of making himself invisible; for we cannot possibly come at him, +although he has been often seen by others.” + +“Why, what has been Shawn's last exploit?” + +“Nothing that I have heard of since Bingham's robbery; but there is none +of us safe. Have you your house and premises secured?” + +“Not I,” replied Lindsay, “unless by good bolts and bars, together with +plenty of arms and ammunition.” + +“How is it that these fellows are not taken?” asked another. + +“Because the people protect them,” said a third; “and because they have +strength and activity; and thirdly, because we have no adequate force to +put them down.” + +“All very sound reasons,” replied the querist; but as to _Shawn na +Middogue_, the people are impressed with a belief that he is under the +protection of the fairies, and can't be taken on this account. Even if +they were willing to give him up, which they are not, they dare not +make the attempt, lest the vengeance of the fairies might come down on +themselves and their cattle, in a thousand shapes.” + +“I will tell you what the general opinion upon the subject is,” replied +the other. “It seems his foster-mother was a midwife, and that she was +called upon once, about the hour of midnight, to discharge the duties +of her profession toward a fairyman's wife, and this she refused to do +unless they conferred some gift either upon herself personally, or +upon some one whom she should name. Young Shawn, it appears, was her +favorite, and she got a solemn promise from them to take him under their +protection, and to preserve him from danger. This is the opinion of the +people; but whether it is true or not I won't undertake to determine.” + +“Come, gentlemen,” said their host, “push the bottle; remember we must +attend the bonfire.” + +“So,” said the magistrate, “you are sending us to blazes, Mr. Lindsay.” + +“Well, at all events, my friends,” continued Mr. Lindsay, “we must make +haste, for there's little time to spare. Take your liquor, for we must +soon be off. The evening is delightful. If you are for coffee, let us +adjourn to the ladies; and after the bonfire we will return and make a +night of it.” + +“Well said, Lindsay,” replied the parson; “and so we will.” + +“Here, you young stranger,” said the priest, addressing Woodward, “I'll +drink your health once more in this bumper. You touched us off decently +enough, but a little too much on the sharp, as you would admit if you +knew us. Your health again, sir, and you are welcome among us!” + +“Thank you, sir,” replied Woodward; “I am glad to see that you can bear +a jest from me or my father, even when it is at your own expense--your +health.” + +“Are you a sportsman?” asked the parson; “because, if you are not, just +put yourself under my patronage, and I will teach you something worth +knowing. I will let you see what shooting and hunting mean.” + +“I am a bit of one,” replied Woodward, “but shall be very happy to put +myself into your hand, notwithstanding.” + +“If I don't lengthen your face I shall raise your heart,” proceeded, the +divine. “If I don't make a sportsman of you--” + +“Ay,” added the priest, “you will find yourself in excellent hands, Mr. +Woodward.” + +“If I don't make a sportsman of you:--confound your grinning, Father +Tom, what are you at?--I'll make a far better thing of you, that is, a +good fellow, always, of course, provided that you have the materials in +you.” + +“Not a doubt of it,” added Father Tom; “you'll polish the same youth +until he shines like yourself or his worthy father here. He'll give you +a complexion, my boy--a commodity that you sadly want at present.” + +The evening was now too far advanced to think of having coffee--a +beverage, by the way, to which scarcely a single soul of them was +addicted. They accordingly got to their legs, and as darkness was +setting in they set out for the village to witness the rejoicings. Young +Woodward, however, followed his brother to the drawing-room, whither he +had betaken himself at an early hour after dinner. Under their escort, +their mother and sister accompanied them to the bonfire. The whole town +was literally alive with animation and delight. The news of the intended +bonfire had gone rapidly abroad, and the country people crowded into +the town in hundreds. Nothing can at any time exceed the enthusiasm with +which the Irish enter into and enjoy scenes like that to which they +now flocked with such exuberant spirits. Bells were ringing, drums were +beating, fifes were playing in the town, and horns sounding in every +direction, both in town and country. The people were apparelled in their +best costume, and many of them in that equivocal description of it +which could scarcely be termed costume at all. Bareheaded and barefooted +multitudes of both sexes were present, regardless of appearances, half +mad with delight, and exhibiting many a frolic and gambol considerably +at variance with the etiquette of fashionable life, although we question +whether the most fashionable fete, of them all ever produced half so +much happiness. Farmers had come from a distance in the country, mounted +upon lank horses ornamented with incrusted hips, and caparisoned with +long-straw back-suggauns that reached from the shoulders to the tail, +under which ran a crupper of the same material, designed, in addition to +a hay girth, to keep this primitive riding gear firm upon the animal's +back. Behind the farmer, generally sat either a wife or a daughter, +remarkable for their scarlet cloaks and blue petticoats; sometimes with +shoes and stockings, and very often without them. Among those assembled, +we cannot omit to mention a pretty numerous sprinkling of that class +of strollers, vagabonds, and impostors with which the country, at the +period of our tale, was overrun. Fortune-tellers, of both sexes, quacks, +cardcutters, herbalists, cow-doctors, whisperers, with a long list +of such cheats, were at the time a prevailing nuisance throughout the +kingdom; nor was there a fair proportion of them wanting here. That, +however, which filled the people with the most especial curiosity, +awe, and interest, was the general report that nothing less than a live +conjurer, who had come to town on that very evening, was then +among them. The town, in fact, was crowded as if it had been for an +illumination; but as illuminations, unless they could be conducted with +rushlights, were pageants altogether unknown in such small remote towns +as Rathfillan, the notion of one had never entered their heads. All +around the country, however, even for many miles, the bonfires were +blazing, and shone at immense distances from every hill-top. We have +said before that Lindsay was both a popular landlord and a popular +magistrate; and, on this account alone the disposition to do honor +to any member of his family was recognized by the people as an act of +gratitude and duty. + +The town of Rathfillan presented a scene of which we who live in the +present day can form but a faint conception. Yet, sooth to say, we +ourselves have, about forty years ago, witnessed in remote glens and +mountain fastnesses little clumps of cabins, whose inhabitants stood +still in the midst even of the snail's progress which civilization +had made in the rustic parts of Ireland; and who, upon examination, +presented almost the same rude personal habits, antiquated social +usages, agricultural ignorance, and ineradicable superstition as their +ancestors did in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Lindsay, knowing +how unpopular his wife was, not only among their own tenantry, but +throughout the country at large, and feeling, besides, how well that +unpopularity was merited, very properly left her and Maria to his son +Charles, knowing that as the two last named shared in the good-will +which the people bore him, their mother would be treated with +forbearance and respect so long as she was in their company. He wished, +besides, that Harry should seem to partake of the honor and gratitude +which their enthusiasm would prompt them to pay to himself. + +The whole town was one scene of life, bustle, and enjoyment. It was +studded with bonfires, which were surrounded by wild groups of both +sexes, some tolerably dressed, some ragged as Lazarus, and others young +urchins with nothing but a slip of rag tied about their loins “to make +them look jinteel and daicent.” The monster bonfire, however--that which +was piled up into an immense pyramid in honor of the stranger--was not +ignited until the arrival of the quality. The moment the latter made +their appearance it was set in a flame, and in a few minutes a +blaze issued up from it into the air that not only dimmed the minor +exhibitions, but cast its huge glare over the whole town, making every +house and hut as distinctly visible as if it were broad daylight. Then +commenced the huzzaing--the bells rang out with double energy--the drums +were beaten more furiously--the large bullocks' horns were sounded until +those who blew them were black in the face, and every manifestation of +joy that could be made was resorted to. Fiddles and pipes were in busy +requisition, and “The Boys of Rathfillan,” the favorite local air, +resounded in every direction. And now that the master and the quality +had made their appearance, of course the drink should soon follow, and +in a short time the hints to that effect began to thicken. + +“Thunder and turf, Jemmy, but this is dry work; my throat's like a +lime-burner's wig for want of a drop o' something to help me for the +cheerin'.” + +Hould your tongue, Paddy; do you think the masther's honor would allow +us to lose our voices in his behalf. It's himself that hasn't his heart +in a trifle, God bless him.” + +“Ah, thin, your honor,” said another fellow, in tatters, “isn't this +dust and hate enough to choke a bishop? O Lord, am I able to spake at +all? Upon my sowl, sir, I think there's a bonfire in my throath.” + +Everything, however, had been prepared to meet these demands; and in +about a quarter of an hour barrels of beer and kegs of whiskey were +placed under the management of persons appointed to deal out their +contents to the thirsty crowds. Then commenced the dancing, whilst the +huzzaing, shouting, jingling of bells, squeaking of fifes, blowing of +horns, and all the other component parts of this wild melody, were once +more resumed with still greater vigor. The great feat of the night, +however, so far as the people were concerned, was now to take place. +This was to ascertain, by superior activity, who among the young men +could leap over the bonfire, when burnt down to what was considered +such a state as might make the attempt a safe one. The circles about the +different fires were consequently widened to leave room for the run, +and then commenced those hazardous but comic performances. As may be +supposed, they proceeded with various success, and occasioned the most +uproarious mirth whenever any unfortunate devil who had overtasked his +powers in the attempt, happened to fail, and was forced to scamper +out of the subsiding flames with scorched limbs that set him a dancing +without music. In fact, those possessed of activity enough to clear them +were loudly cheered, and rewarded with a glass of whiskey, a temptation +which had induced so many to try, and so many to fail. When these +had been concluded about the minor fires, the victors and spectators +repaired to the great one, to try their fortune upon a larger and more +hazardous scale. It was now nearly half burned down, but was still a +large, glowing mass, at least five feet high, and not less than eighteen +in diameter at the base. On arriving there they all looked on in +silence, appalled by its great size, and altogether deterred from so +formidable an attempt. + +It would be death to try it, they exclaimed; no living man could do it; +an opinion which was universally acceded to, with one single exception. +A thin man, rather above the middle size, dressed in a long, black coat, +black breeches, and black stockings, constituted that exception. There +was something peculiar, and even strikingly mysterious, in his whole +appearance. His complexion was pale as that of a corpse, his eyes dead +and glassy, and the muscles of his face seemed as if they were paralyzed +and could not move. His right hand was thrust in his bosom, and! over +his left arm he bore some dark garment of a very funereal cast, almost +reminding one of a mortcloth. + +“There is one,” said he, in a hollow and sepulchral voice, “that could +do it.” Father Magauran, who was present, looked at him with surprise; +as indeed did every one who had got an opportunity of seeing him. + +“I know there is,” he replied, “a sartin individual who could do it; +ay, in troth, and maybe if he fell into the flames, too, he'd only +find himself in his own element; and if it went to that could dance a +hornpipe in the middle of it.” + +This repartee of the priest's elicited loud laughter from the +by-standers, who, on turning round to see how the other bore it, found +that he had disappeared. This occasioned considerable amazement, not +unmixed with a still more extraordinary feeling. Nobody there knew him, +nor had ever even seen him before; and in a short time the impression +began to gain ground that he must have been no other than the conjurer +who was said to have arrived in the town that day. In the meantime, +while this point was under discussion, a clear, loud, but very mellow +voice was heard about twenty yards above them, saying, “Stand aside, and +make way--leave me room for a run.” + +The curiosity of the people was at once excited by what they had only +a few minutes before pronounced to be a feat that was impossible to be +accomplished. They accordingly opened a lane for the daring individual, +who, they imagined, was about to submit himself to a scorching +that might cost him his life. No sooner was the lane made, and the +by-standers removed back, than a person evidently youthful, tall, +elastic, and muscular, approached the burning mass with the speed, and +lightness of a deer, and flew over it as if he had wings. A tremendous +shout burst forth, which lasted for more than a minute, and the people +were about to bring him to receive his reward at the whiskey keg, when +it was found that he also had disappeared. This puzzled them once more, +and they began to think that, there were more present at these bonfires +than had ever received baptism; for they could scarcely shake themselves +free of the belief that the mysterious stranger either was something +supernaturally evil himself, or else the conjurer as aforesaid, who, by +all accounts, was not many steps removed from such a personage. Of the +young person who performed this unprecedented and terrible exploit they +had little time to take any notice. Torley Davoren, however, who was one +of the spectators, turned round to his wife and whispered, + +“Unfortunate boy--madman I ought-to say--what devil tempted him to come +here?” + +“Was it him?” asked his wife. + +“Whist, whist,” he replied; “let us say no more about it.” + +In the meantime, although the youthful performer of this daring feat may +be said to have passed among them like an arrow from a bow, yet it so +happened that the secret of his identity did not rest solely with Torley +Davoren. In a few minutes whisperings began to take place, which spread +gradually through the crowd, until at length the name of _Shawn na +Middogue_ was openly pronounced, and the secret--now one no longer--was +instantly sent abroad through the people, to whom his fearful leap was +now no miracle. The impression so long entertained of his connection +with the fairies was thus confirmed, and the black stranger was no +other, perhaps, than the king of the fairies himself. + +At this period of the proceedings Mrs. Lindsay, in consequence of some +significant whispers which were directly levelled at her character, +suggested to Maria that having seen enough of these wild proceedings, +it would be more advisable to return home--a suggestion to which Maria, +whose presence there at all was in deference to her father's wishes, +very gladly consented. They accordingly placed themselves under the +escort of the redoubtable and gallant twins, and reached home in safety. + +It was now expected that the quality would go down to the inn, where the +largest room had been fitted up for refreshments and dancing, and into +which none but the more decent and respectable classes were admitted. +There most of the beauties of the town and the adjoining neighborhood +were assembled, together with their admirers, all of whom entered into +the spirit of the festivity with great relish. When Lindsay and his +company were about to retire from the great bonfire, the conductors of +the pageant, who also acted as spokesmen on the occasion, thus addressed +them: + +“It's right, your honors, that you should go and see the dancin' in +the inn, and no harm if you shake a heel yourselves, besides taking +something to wash the dust out o' your throats; but when you come out +again, if you don't find a fresh and high blaze before you still, the +devil's a witch.” + +As they proceeded toward the inn, the consequences of the drink, which +the crowd had so abundantly received, began, here and there, to manifest +many unequivocal symptoms. In some places high words were going on, in +others blows; and altogether the affair seemed likely to terminate in a +general conflict. + +“Father,” said his son Charles, “had you not better try and settle these +rising disturbances?” + +“Not I,” replied the jovial magistrate; “let them thrash one another +till morning; they like it, and I make it a point never to go between +the poor people and their enjoyments. Gadzooks, Charley, don't you know +it would be a tame and discreditable affair without a row?” + +“Yes; but now that they've got drunk, they're cheering you, and groaning +my mother.” + +“Devil's cure to her,” replied his father; “if she didn't deserve it +she'd not get it. What right had she to send my bailiffs to drive their +cattle without my knowledge, and to take duty fowl and duty work from +them whenever my back is turned, and contrary to my wishes? Come in till +we have some punch; let them shout and fight away; it wouldn't fee the +thing, Charley, without it.” + +They found an exceedingly lively scene in the large parlor of the inn; +but, in fact, every available room in the house was crowded. Then, after +they had looked on for some time, every eye soon singled out the +pride and beauty of the assembly in the person of Grace Davoren, whose +features were animated into greater loveliness, and her eyes into +greater brilliancy, by the light-hearted spirit which prevailed. She +was dressed in her new drugget gown, had on her new shoes and blue +stockings, a short striped blue and red petticoat, which displayed as +much of her exquisite limbs as the pretty liberal fashion of the day +allowed; her bust was perfection; and, as her black, natural ringlets +fluttered about her milk-white neck and glowing countenance, she not +only appeared inexpressibly beautiful, but seemed to feel conscious +of that beauty, as was evident by a dash of pride--very charming, +indeed--which shot from her eye, and mantled on her beautiful cheek. + +“Why, Charles,” exclaimed Woodward, addressing his brother in a whisper, +“who is that lovely peasant girl?” + +“Her father is one of our tenants,” replied Charles; “and she was about +to be married some time ago, but it was discovered, fortunately in time, +that her intended husband was head and leader of the outlaws that infest +the country. It was he, I believe, that leaped over the bonfire.” + +“Was she fond of him?” + +“Well, it is not easy to say that; some say she was, and others that +she was not. Barney Casey says she was very glad to escape him when he +became an outlaw.” + +“By the way, where is Barney? I haven't seen him since I came to look at +this nonsense.” + +“Just turn your eye to the farthest corner of the room, and you may see +him in his glory.” + +On looking in the prescribed direction, there, sure enough, was Barney +discovered making love hard and fast to a pretty girl, whom Woodward +remembered to have seen that morning in Mr. Goodwin's, and with whom +he (Barney) had become acquainted when the families were on terms of +intimacy. The girl sat smiling on his knee, whilst Barney who had a +glass of punch in his hand, kept applying it to her lips from time to +time, and pressing her so lovingly toward him, that she was obliged +occasionally to give him a pat upon the cheek, or to pull his whiskers. +Woodward's attention, however, was transferred once more to Grace +Davoren, from whom he could not keep his eyes--a fact which she soon +discovered, as was evident by a slight hauteur and affectation of manner +toward many of those with whom she had been previously on an equal and +familiar footing. + +“Charles,” said he, “I must have a dance with this beautiful girl; do +you think she will dance with me?” + +“I cannot tell,” replied his brother, “but you can ask her.” + +“By the way, where are my father and the rest? They have left the room.” + +“The landlord has got them a small apartment,” replied Charles, “where +they are now enjoying themselves. If you dance with Grace Davoren, +however, be on your good behavior, for if you take any unbecoming +liberties with her, you may repent it; don't imagine because you see +these humble girls allowing their sweethearts to kiss them in corners, +that either they or their friends will permit you to do so.” + +“That's as it may be managed, perhaps,” said Woodward, who immediately +approached Grace in imitation of what he had seen, and making her a low +bow, said, + +“I dance to you, Miss Davoren, if you will favor me.” + +She was then sitting, but immediately rose up, with a blushing but +gratified face, and replied, + +“I will, sir, but I'm not worthy to dance with a gentleman like you.” + +“You are worthy to dance with a prince,” he replied, as he led her to +their station, fronting the music. + +“Well, my pretty girl,” said he, “what do you wish?” + +“Your will, sir, is my pleasure.” + +“Very well. Piper,” said he, “play up 'Kiss my lady;'” which was +accordingly done, and the dance commenced. Woodward thought the most +popular thing he could do was to affect no superiority over the young +fellows present, but, on the contrary, to imitate their style and +manner of dancing as well as he could; and in this he acted with great +judgment. They felt flattered and gratified even at his awkward and +clumsy imitations of their steps, and received his efforts with much +laughter and cheering; nor was Grace herself insensible to the mirth +he occasioned. On he went, cutting and capering, until he had them in +convulsions; and when the dance was ended, he seized his partner in his +arms, swung her three times round, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips +with such good humor that he was highly applauded. He then ordered in +drink to treat her and her friends, which he distributed to them with +his own hand; and after contriving to gain a few minutes' private chat +with Grace, he amply rewarded the piper. He was now about to take +his leave and proceed with his brother, when two women, one about +thirty-five, and the other far advanced in years, both accosted him +almost at the same moment. + +“Your honor won't go,” said the less aged of the two, “until you get +your fortune tould.” + +“To be sure he won't, Caterine,” they all replied; “we'll engage the +gentleman will cross your hand wid silver, like his father before him, +his heart's not in the money.” + +“Never mind her, sir,” said the aged crone, “she's a schemer, and will +tell you nothing but what she knows will plaise you. Show me your hand, +sir, and I'll tell you the truth.” + +“Never mind the _calliagh_, sir, (old woman, by way of reproach;) she's +dotin', and hasn't remembered her own name these ten years.” + +“It doesn't matter,” said Woodward, addressing Caterine, “I shall hear +what you both have to say--but you first.” + +He accordingly crossed her hand with a piece of silver, after which she +looked closely into it--then upon his countenance, and said, + +“You have two things in your mind, and they'll both succeed.” + +“But, my good woman, any one might tell me as much.” + +“No,” she replied, with confidence; “examine your own heart and you'll +find the two things there that it is fixed upon; and whisper,” she +added, putting her lips to his ear, “I know what they are, and can help +you in both. When you want me, inquire for Caterine Collins. My uncle is +Sol Donnell, the herb doctor.” + +He smiled and nodded, but made no reply. + +“Now,” said he, “my old crone, come and let me hear what you have to say +for me;” and as he spoke another coin was dropped into her withered and +skinny hand. + +“Bring me a candle,” said she, in a voice that whistled with age, and if +one could judge by her hag-like and repulsive features, with a malignity +that was a habit of her life. After having inspected his palm with +the candle, she uttered three eldrich laughs, or rather screams, that +sounded through the room as if they were more than natural. + +“Ha, ha, ha!” she exclaimed; “look here; there's the line of life +stopped by a red instrument; that's not good; I see it, I feel it; your +life will be short and your death violent; ay, indeed, the purty +bonfire of your life, for all so bright as it burns, will be put out wid +blood--and that soon.” + +“You're a d--d old croaker,” said Woodward, “and take delight in +predicting evil. Here, my good woman,” he added, turning to the other, +“there's an additional half-crown for you, and I won't forget your +words.” + +He and Charles then joined their friends in the other room, and as it +was getting late they all resolved to stroll once more through the town, +in order to take a parting look at the bonfires, to wish the people +good-night, and to thank them for the kindness and alacrity with which +they got them up, and manifested their good feeling upon so short a +notice. The large fire was again blazing, having been recruited with +a fresh supply of materials. The crowd were looking on; many were +staggering about, uttering a feeble huzza, in a state of complete +intoxication, and the fool of the parish was attempting to dance a +hornpipe, when large, blob-like drops began to fall, as happens at the +commencement of a heavy shower. Lindsay put his hand to his face, on +which some few of them had fallen, and, on looking at his fingers, +perceived that they were spotted as if with blood! + +“Good God!” he exclaimed, “what is this? Am I bleeding?” + +They all stared at him, and then at each other, with dismay and horror; +for there, unquestionably, was the hideous and terrible fact before +them, and legible on every! face around them--it was raining blood! + +An awe, which we cannot describe, and a silence, deep as that of the +grave, followed this terrible prodigy. The silence did not last long, +however, for in a few minutes, during which the blood fell very thickly, +making their hands and visages appear as if they had been steeped +in gore--in a few moments, we say, the heavens, which had become one +black and dismal mass, opened, and from the chasm issued a red flash of +lightning, which was followed almost immediately by a roar of thunder, +so loud and terrific that the whole people became fearfully agitated +as they stood round the blaze. It was extremely difficult, indeed, for +ignorant persons to account for, or speculate upon, this strange and +frightful phenomenon. As they stood in fear and terror, with their faces +apparently bathed in blood, they seemed rather to resemble a group of +hideous murderers, standing as if about to be driven into the! flames of +perdition itself. To compare them to a tribe of red Indians surrounding +their war fires, would be but a faint and feeble simile when contrasted +with the terror which, notwithstanding the gory hue with which they +were covered from top to toe, might be read in their terrified eyes and +visages. After a few minutes, however, the alarm became more intense, +and put itself forth into words. The fearful intelligence now spread. +“It is raining blood! it is raining blood!” was shouted from every +mouth; those who were in the houses rushed out, and soon found that it +was true; for the red liquid was still descending, and in a few minutes +they soon were as red as the others. The flight home now became one of +panic; every house was crowded with strangers, who took refuge wherever +they could find shelter; and in the meantime the lightning was flashing +and the thunder pealing with stunning depth throughout the heavens. The +bonfires were soon deserted; for even those who were drunk and tipsy +had been aroused by the alarm, and the language in which it was uttered. +Nobody, in fact, was left at the great fire except those who composed +the dinner party, with the exception of the two clergymen, who fled and +disappeared along with the mob, urged, too, by the same motives. + +“This will not be believed,” said Lindsay; “it is, beyond all doubt +and scepticism, a prodigy from heaven, and must portend some fearful +calamity. May God in heaven protect us! But who is this?” + +As he spoke, a hideous old hag, bent over her staff, approached them; +but it did not appear that she was about to pay them any particular +attention. She was mumbling and cackling to herself when about to pass, +but was addressed by Lindsay. + +“Where are you going, you old hag? They say you are acquainted with more +than you ought to know. Can you account for this blood that's falling?” + +“Who are you that axes me?” she squeaked. + +“I'm Mr. Lindsay, the magistrate.” + +“Ay,” she screamed again, “it was for your son, Harry, na Suil Gloir, +(* Suil Gloir was an epithet bestowed on persons whose eyes were of +different colors) that this bonfire was made to-night. Well he knows +what I tould him, and let him think of it; but there will be more blood +than this, and that before long, I can tell you and him.” + +So saying, she hobbled on, mumbling and muttering to herself like a +witch rehearsing her incantations on her way to join their sabbath. They +now turned their steps homewards, but had not proceeded far, when the +rain came down as it might be supposed to have done in the deluge; the, +lightnings flashed, the thunder continued! to roar, and by the time they +reached Rathfillan House they were absolutely drenched to the skin. The +next morning, to the astonishment of the people, there was not visible +a trace or fragment of the bonfires; I every vestige of them had +disappeared; and the general impression now was, that there must have +been something evil and unhallowed connected with the individual for +whom they had been prepared. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. Shawn-na-Middogue + +--Shan-Dhinne-Dhuv, or The Black Spectre. + + +The next evening was calm and mild; the sun shone with a serene and +mellow light from the evening sky; the trees were green, and still; but +the music of the blackbird and the thrush came sweetly from their +leafy branches. Henry Woodward had been listening to a rather lengthy +discussion upon the subject of the blood-shower, which, indeed, was the +topic of much conversation and great wonder throughout the whole parish. +His father, a Protestant gentleman, and with some portion of +education, although not much, was, nevertheless, deeply imbued with +the superstitions which prevailed around him, as, in fact, were most of +those who existed in his day; the very air which he breathed was rife +with them; but what puzzled him and his family most was the difficulty +which they found in shaping the prodigy into significance. Why should +it take place, and upon such an occasion, they could not for their +lives imagine. The only persons in the family who seemed altogether +indifferent to it were Woodward and his mother, both of whom treated it +with ridicule and contempt. + +“It comes before some calamity,” observed Mr. Lindsay. + +“It comes before a fiddle-stick, Lindsay,” replied his wife. “Calamity! +yes; perhaps you may have a headache to-morrow, for which the world must +be prepared by a storm of thunder and lightning, and a shower of blood. +The head that reels over night with an excess of wine and punch will +ache in the morning without a prodigy to foretell it.” + +“Say what you will,” he replied, “I believe the devil had a hand in +it; and I tell you,” he added, laughing, “that if you be advised by me, +you'll begin to prepare yourself--'a stitch in time saves nine,' you +know--so look sharp, I say.” + +“This, Harry,” she said, addressing her son, “is the way your mother has +been treated all along; yes, by a brutal and coarse-minded husband, who +pays no attention to anything but his own gross and selfish enjoyments; +but, thank God, I have now some person to protect me.” + +“O, ho!” said her husband, “you are for a battle now. Harry, you don't +know her. If she lets loose that scurrilous tongue of hers I have +no chance; upon my soul, I'd encounter another half dozen of +thunder-storms, and as many showers of blood, sooner than come under it +for ten minutes; a West India hurricane is a zephyr to it.” + +“Ah, God help the unhappy woman that's blistered for life with an +ignorant sot!--such a woman is to be pitied.--and such a woman am I;--I, +you good-for-nothing drunken booby, who made you what you are.” + +“O, fie! mamma,” said Maria, “this is too bad to papa, who, you know, +seldom replies to you at all.” + +“Miss Lindsay, I shall suffer none of your impertinence,” said her +mother; “leave the room, madam, this moment--how dare you? but I am not +surprised at it;--leave the room, I say.” + +The poor, amiable girl, who was all fearfulness and affection, quietly +left the room as she was desired, and her father, who saw that his +worthy wife was brimful of a coming squall, put on his hat, and after +having given one of his usual sardonic looks, left the apartment also. + +“Mother,” said her son Charles, “I must protest against the +unjustifiable violence of temper with which you treat my father. You +know he was only jesting in what he said to you this moment.” + +“Let him carry his jests else were, Mr. Charles,” she replied, “he +shan't indulge in them at my expense; nor will I have you abet him in +them as you always do--yes, sir, and laugh at them in my face. All this, +however, is very natural; as the old cock crows the young one learns. +As for Maria, if she makes as dutiful a wife as she does a daughter, her +husband may thank God for getting his full share of evil in this life.” + +“I protest to heaven, Harry,” said Charles, addressing his brother, “if +ever there was a meek, sweet-tempered girl living, Maria is. You do not +yet know her, but you will, of course, have an opportunity of judging +for yourself.” + +“You perceive, Harry,” said his mother, addressing him in turn, “you +perceive how they are banded against me; in fact, they are joined with +their father in a conspiracy to destroy my peace and happiness. This is +the feeling that prevails against me in the house at large, for which I +may thank my husband and children--I don't include you, Harry. There +is not a servant in our establishment but could poison me, and probably +would, too, were it not for fear of the gallows.” + +Woodward listened to this strange scene with amazement, but was prudent +enough to take no part in it whatsoever. On the contrary, he got his hat +and proceeded out to take a stroll, as the evening was so fine, and the +aspect of the country was so delightful. + +“Harry,” said his brother, “if you're for a walk I'll go with you.” + +“Not at present, Charley,” said he, “I am in a thoughtful mood, and +generally prefer a lonely stroll on such a beautiful evening as this.” + +He accordingly went out, and bent his I steps by a long, rude green +lane, which extended upwards of half a mile across a rich! country, +undulating with fields and meadows. This was terminated by a clump of, +hawthorn trees, then white and fragrant with their lovely blossoms, +which lay in rich profusion on the ground. Contiguous to this was a +small but delightful green glen, from the side of which issued one of +those beautiful spring wells for which the country is so celebrated. +Over a verdant little hill, which concealed this glen and the well we +mention, from a few humble houses, or rather a decenter kind of cabins, +was visible a beaten pathway by which the inhabitants of this small +hamlet came for their water. Upon this, shaded as he was by the +trees, he steadily kept his eye for a considerable time, as if in the +expectation of some person who had made an appointment to meet him. Half +an hour had nearly elapsed--the shades of evening were now beginning +to fall, and he had just come to the resolution of retracing his steps, +with a curse of disappointment on his lips, when, on taking another, +and what he intended to be a last glance at the pathway in question, +he espied the individual for whom he waited. This was no other than the +young beauty of the neighborhood--Grace Davoren. She was tripping along +with a light and merry step, lilting an Irish air of a very lively +character, to which she could scarcely prevent herself from dancing, so +elastic and buoyant were her spirits. On coming to the brow of the glen +she paused a moment and cast her eye searchingly around her, but seemed +after the scrutiny to hesitate about proceeding farther. + +Woodward immediately showed himself, and after beckoning to her, +proceeded toward the well. She still paused, however, as if irresolute; +but after one or two significant gestures on his part, she descended +with a slow and apparently a timid step, and in a couple of minutes +stood beside the well. The immediate purport of their conversation +is not essential to this narrative; but, indeed, we presume that our +readers may give a very good guess at it without any assistance from +us. The beautiful girl was young, and credulous, and innocent, as +might naturally be inferred from the confusion of her manner, and the +tremulous tones of her voice, which, indeed, were seductive and full of +natural melody. Her heart palpitated until its beatings might be +heard, and she trembled with that kind of terror which is composed of +apprehension and pleasure. That a gentleman--one of the quality--could +condescend to feel any interest in a humble girl like her, was what she +could scarcely have dreamed; but when he told her of her beauty, the +natural elegance and symmetry of her figure, and added that he loved her +better than any girl, either high or low, he had ever seen, she believed +that his words were true, and her brain became almost giddy with wonder +and delight. Then she considered what a triumph it was over all her +female acquaintances, who, if they knew it, would certainly envy +her even far more than they did already. After about half an hour's +conversation the darkness set in, and she expressed an apprehension +lest some of her family should come in quest of her--a circumstance, she +said, which might be dangerous to them both. He then prevailed on her +to promise another meeting, which at length she did; but on his taking +leave of her she asked him by which way he intended to go home. + +“I came by the old green path,” said he, “but intend to turn down the +glen into the common road.” + +“O, don't go that way,” said she; “if you do, you'll have to pass the +haunted house, ay, and maybe, might meet the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_.” + +“What is that,” said he. + +“O, Lord save us, sir,” said she, “did you never hear of the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv?_ A spirit, sir, that appears about the haunted house +in the shape of a black ould man, and they say that nobody lives long +afther seein' him three times.” + +“Yes; but did he ever take any person's life?” + +“They say so, sir.” + +“When? How long ago?” + +“Indeed, I can't tell that, sir; but sure every one says it.” + +“Well, what every one says must be true,” he replied, smiling. “I, +however, am not afraid of him, as I never go unarmed; and if I happen to +meet him, trust me I will know what mettle he's made of before we part, +or whether he belongs to this world or the other.” + +He then went down the glen, by the bottom of which the road went; and at +a lonely place in a dark angle of it this far-famed spirit was said to +appear. + +This vain, but simple girl, the pride of her honest parents and all her +simple relations and friends, took up her pitcher and proceeded with an +elated heart by the pathway house. We say her heart was elated at +the notion of having engaged the affections of a handsome, young, and +elegant gentleman, but at the same time she felt a secret sense of +error, if not of guilt, in having given him a clandestine meeting, and +kept an appointment which she knew her parents and brothers would have +heard with indignation and shame. She was confident, however, in her own +strength, and resolved in her mind that Woodward's attachment for her +never should terminate either in her disgrace or “ruin.” There were, +however, many foolish and pernicious ballads sung about that period +at the hearths of the peasantry, in which some lord or squire of high +degree was represented to have fallen in love with some beautiful girl +of humble life, whom he married in spite of his proud relations, and +after having made her a lady of rank, and dressed her in silks and +satins, gold rings and jewels, brought her home to his castle, where +they lived in grandeur and happiness for the remainder of their lives. +The simple-minded girl began to imagine that some such agreeable destiny +might be reserved for herself; and thus endeavored, by the deceitful +sophistry of a credulous heart, and proud of her beauty, to palliate her +conduct amidst the accusations of her own conscience, which told her she +was acting wrong. + +She had now got about half way home, when she saw an individual approach +her at a rapid pace; and as the moon had just risen, his figure was +distinctly before her, and she immediately felt a strong impression +of terror and alarm. The individual in question was young, tall, and +muscular; his person had in it every symptom of extraordinary activity +and vigor. His features, however, were not at all such as could be +termed handsome; so far from that, they were rude and stern, but not +without a wild and disagreeable dignity. His eyes were at all times +fierce and fiery, and gave unequivocal indications of a fierce and fiery +spirit. He wore a pair of rude pantaloons that fitted closely to his +finely made limbs, a short jacket or Wyliecoat that also fitted closely +to his body, over which he wore the usual cloak of that day, which was +bound about his middle with a belt and buckle, in which was stuck a +middogue, or, as it ought to be written, _meadoige_, and pronounced +_maddogay_. He wore a kind of cap or _barrad_, which, as well as his +cloak, could, by being turned inside out, instantly change his whole +appearance, and mislead his pursuers--for he was the outlaw. Such was +the startling individual who now approached her, and at whose fierce +aspect she trembled--not less from her knowledge of the natural violence +of his character than from a consciousness of her interview with +Woodward. + +“Well, Granua (Grace),” said he, quickly and with some vehemence, “where +have you been?” + +“At the well,” she replied; “have you eyes in your head? Don't you see +my pitcher?” + +“I do; but what kept you there so long? and why is your voice tremblin', +as if you wor afeard, or did something wrong? Why is your face pale, +too?--it's not often so.” + +“The Lord save us, Shawn,” replied Grace, attempting to treat those +pointed interrogatories with a jocular spirit, “how can you expect me to +answer such a catechize as you're puttin' to me at wanst.” + +“Answer me, in the mane time,” he replied; “I'll have no doubling, +Granua.” + +“Has anything vexed you, Shawn?” + +“_Chorp an diaoul!_ tell me why you staid so long at the well”--and as +he spoke his eyes flashed with resentment and suspicion. + +“I didn't stay long at it.” + +“I say you did. What kept you?” + +“Why, bekaise I didn't hurry myself, but took my time. I was often +longer.” + +“You were spakin' to some one at the well.” + +“Ah, thin, Shawn, who would I be spakin' to?” + +“Maybe I know--I believe I do--but I want now to know whether you're a +liar, as I suspect you to be, or whether you are honest enough to tell +the truth.” + +“Do you suspect me, then?” + +“I do suspect you; or rather I don't--bekaise I know the truth. Answer +me--who were you spakin' with?” + +“Troth,” said she, “I was lookin' at your sweetheart in the well,” + meaning her own shadow, “and was only asking her how she did.” + +“You danced with _Harry-na-Suil Balor_ last night?” + +“I did; because the gentleman axed me--and why would I refuse him?” + +“You whispered in a corner with him?” + +“I did not,” she replied; “how could I when the room was so throng?” + +“Ay, betther in a throng room than a thin one; ay, and you promised to +meet him at the well to-night; and you kept your word.” + +A woman's courage and determination to persist in falsehood are never +so decided and deliberate as when she feels that the suspicion expressed +against her is true. She then gets into heroics and attempts to turn the +tables upon her opponent, especially when she knows, as Miss Davoren did +on this occasion, that he has nothing but suspicion to support him. She +knew that her lover had been at the bonfire, and that his friends must +have seen her dance with Woodward; and this she did not attempt to deny, +because she could not; but as for their tryst at the well, she felt +satisfied, from her knowledge of his jealous and violent character, that +if he had been aware of it, it would not have been by seeking the fact +through the medium of his threats and her fears that he would have +proceeded. Had he seen Woodward, for instance, and herself holding a +secret meeting in such a place and at such an hour, she concluded justly +that the _middogue_ or dagger, for the use of which he had been already +so celebrated, would have been brought into requisition against either +one or both. + +“I'll talk no more to you,” she replied, with a flushed face; “for even +if I tould you the truth, you wouldn't believe me. I did meet him, then; +are you satisfied now?” + +This admission was an able stroke of policy on her part, as the reader +will soon perceive. + +“O,” he exclaimed, with a bitter, or, rather, a furious expression of +face, “_dar manim_, if you had, you wouldn't dare to confess as much. +But listen to me; if I ever hear or know, to my own satisfaction, that +you meet him, or keep his company, or put yourself in his power, +I'll send six inches of this “--and he pulled out the glittering +weapon--“into your heart and his; so now be warned and avoid him, and +don't bring down my vengeance on you both.” + +“I don't see what right you have to bring me over the coals about any +one. My father was forcin' me to marry you; but I now tell you to your +teeth, that I never had the slightest intention of it. No! I wouldn't +take the wealth of the barony, and be the wife of sich a savage +murdherer. No man wid blood upon his hands and upon his sowl, as you +have--a public robber, a murdherer, an outlaw--will ever be my husband. +What right have you to tell me who I'm to spake to, or who I'm not to +spake to?” + +“Ah,” he replied, “that wasn't your language to me not long ago.” + +“But you were a different boy then from what you are now. If you had +kept your name free from disgrace and blood, I might have loved you; but +I cannot love a man with such crimes to answer for as you have.” + +“You accuse me of shedding blood,” he replied; “that is false. I have +never shed blood nor taken life; but, on the contrary, did all in my +power to prevent those who have placed me at their head from doin' so. +Yet, when they did it in my absence, and against my orders, the blame +and guilt is charged upon me because I am their leader. As for anything +else I have done, I do not look upon it as a crime; let it rest upon the +oppression that drove me and others to the wild lives we lead. We are +forced to live now the best way we can, and that you know; but as to +this gentleman, you mustn't spake to him at any rate,” he proceeded; +“why should you? What 'ud make a man so high in life, and so far above +you as he is, strive to become acquainted with you, unless to bring +about your ruin to gratify his own bad passions? Think of it, and bring +it home to your heart. You have too many examples before your eyes, +young as you are, of silly girls that allow themselves to be made fools +of, and desaved and ruined by such scoundrels as this. Look at that +unfortunate girl in the mountains there--Nannie Morrissey; look at her +father hanged only for takin' God's just revenge, as he had a right to +do, on the villain that brought destruction upon her and his innocent +family, and black shame upon their name that never had a spot upon it +before. After these words you may now act as you like; but remember that +you have got _Shawn-na-Middogue's_ warning, and you ought to know what +that is.” + +He then started off in the same direction which Woodward had taken, and +Grace, having looked after him with considerable indignation on her own +part and considerable apprehension on behalf of Woodward, took up her +pitcher and proceeded home. + +She now felt herself much disturbed, and experienced that state of mind +which is often occasioned by the enunciation of that which is known +to be truth, but which, at the same time, is productive of pain to the +conscience, especially when that conscience begins to abandon the field +and fly from its duty. + +Woodward, as he had intended, preferred the open and common road home, +although it was much longer, rather than return by the old green +lane, which was rugged and uneven, and full of deep ruts, dangerous +inequalities, and stumps of old trees, all of which rendered it not only +a disagreeable, but a dangerous, path by night. Having got out upon +the highway, which here, and until he reached near home, was, indeed, +solemn-looking and lonely, not a habitation except the haunted house +being visible for upwards of two miles, he proceeded on his way, +thinking of his interview with Grace Davoren. The country on each side +of him was nearly a desert; a gray ruin, some of whose standing and +isolated fragments assumed, to the excited imagination of the terrified +peasants as they passed it by night, the appearance of supernatural +beings, stood to the left, in the centre of an antiquated church-yard, +in which there had not been a corpse buried for nearly half a century--a +circumstance which always invests a graveyard with a more fearful +character. As Woodward gazed at these still and lonely relics of the +dead, upon which the faint rays of the moon gleamed with a spectral and +melancholy light, he could not help feeling that the sight itself, and +the associations connected with it, were calculated to fill weak minds +with strong feelings of supernatural terror. His, however, was not a +mind accessible to any such impressions; but at the same time he could +make allowance for them among those who had seldom any other notions to +guide them on such subjects than those of superstition and ignorance. + +The haunted house, which was not yet in sight, he did not remember, nor +was he acquainted with its history, with the exception of Grace's +slight allusion to it. At length he came to a part of the road which was +overhung, or rather altogether covered with long beech trees, whose huge +arms met and intertwined with each other across it, filling the arch +they made with a solemn darkness even in the noon of day. At night, +however, the obscurity was black and palpable; and such upon this +occasion was its awful solemnity and stillness, and the sense of +insecurity occasioned by the almost supernatural gloom about him, that +Woodward could not avoid the idea that it afforded no bad conception +of the entrance to the world of darkness and of spirits. He had not +proceeded far, however, under this dismal canopy, when an incident +occurred which tested his courage severely. As he went along he imagined +that he heard the sound of human footsteps near him. This, to be sure, +gave him at first no trouble on the score of anything supernatural. The +country, however, was, as we have already intimated, very much infested +with outlaws and robbers, and although Woodward was well armed, as he +had truly said, and was no coward besides, yet it was upon this view +of the matter that he experienced anything like apprehension. He +accordingly paused, in order to ascertain whether the footsteps he heard +might not have been the echo of his own. When his steps ceased, so +also did the others; and when he advanced again so did they. He coughed +aloud, but there was no echo; he shouted out “Is there any one there?” + but still there was a dead stillness. At length he said again, “Whoever +you may be, and especially if your designs be evil and unlawful, you had +better beware; I am well armed, and both able and determined to defend +myself; if money is your object, pass on, for I have none about me.” + +Again there was the silence, as there was the darkness of the grave. He +now resumed his former pace, and the noise of footsteps, evidently and +distinctly different from his own, were once more heard near him. Those +that accompanied him fell upon his ear with a light, but strange and +chilling sound, that filled him with surprise, and something like awe. +In fact, he had never heard anything similar to it before. It was very +strange, he thought, for the sounds, though light, were yet as distinct +and well-defined as his own. He still held a pistol in each hand, and as +he had no means of unravelling this mystery so long as he was inwrapped +in such Cimmerian gloom, he resolved to accelerate his pace and get into +the light of the moon as soon as he could. He accordingly did so; but +the footsteps, although they fell not now so quickly as his own, still +seemed to maintain the same distance from him as before. This certainly +puzzled him; and he was attempting, if possible, to solve this new +difficulty, when he found himself emerging from the darkness, and in +a few moments standing in the light of the moon. He immediately looked +about him, but except the usual inanimate objects of nature, he could +see nothing. Whatever it is, thought he, or, rather, whoever it is, he +has thought proper to remain undiscovered in the darkness. I shall now +bid him good-night, and proceed on my way home. He accordingly moved +on once more, when, to his utter astonishment, he heard the footsteps +again, precisely within the same distance of him as before. + +“Tut,” said he, “I now perceive what the matter with me is. This is a +mere hallucination, occasioned by a disordered state of the nerves; and +as he spoke he returned his pistols into his breast pockets, where +he usually wore them, and once more resumed his journey. There +was, however, something in the sound of the footsteps--something so +hollow--so cold, as it were, and so unearthly, that he could not throw +off the unaccountable impression which it made upon him, infidel and +sceptic as he was upon all supernatural intimations and appearances. At +length, he proceeded, or rather they proceeded, onward until he arrived +within sight of what he supposed to be the haunted house. He paused +a few moments, and was not now so insensible to its lonely and dismal +aspect. It was a two-storied house, and nothing could surpass the +spectral appearance of the moon's light as it fell with its pale and +death-like lustre upon the windows. He stood contemplating it for +some time, when, all at once, he perceived, walking about ten yards in +advance of him, the shape of a man dressed in black from top to toe. It +was not within the scope of human fortitude to avoid being startled by +such a sudden and incomprehensible apparition. Woodward was startled; +but he soon recovered himself, and after the first shock felt rather +satisfied that he had some visible object with which he could make the +experiment he projected, viz., to ascertain the nature, whether mortal +or otherwise, of the being before him. With this purpose in view, he +walked very quickly after him, and as the other did not seem to quicken +his pace into a corresponding speed, he took it for granted that +he would soon overtake him. In this, however, he was, much to his +astonishment, mistaken. His own walk was quick and rapid, whilst that of +this incomprehensible figure was slow and solemn, and yet he could not +lessen the distance between them a single inch. + +“Stop, sir,” said Woodward, “whoever or whatever you are--stop, I wish +to speak with you; be you mortal or spiritual, I fear you not--only +stop.” + +The being before him, however, walked on at the same slow and solemn +pace, but still persisted in maintaining his distance. Woodward was +resolute, fearless--a sceptic, an infidel, a materialist--but here was a +walking proposition in his presence which he could not solve, and which, +up to that point, at least, had set all his theories at defiance. His +blood rose--he became annoyed at the strange silence of the being before +him, but more still at the mysterious and tardy pace with which it +seemed to precede and escape him. + +[Illustration: PAGE 652-- I will follow it until morning] + +“I will follow it until morning,” he said to himself, “or else I shall +develop this startling enigma.” + +At this moment his mysterious fellow-traveller, after having advanced as +if there had not been such an individual as Woodward in existence, now +stood; he was directly opposite the haunted house, and turning round, +faced the tantalized and bewildered mortal. The latter looked on him; +his countenance was the countenance of the dead--of the sheeted dead, +stretched out in the bloodless pallor which lies upon the face of +vanished life--of existence that is no more, at least in flesh and +blood. Woodward approached him--for the thing had stood, as we have +said, and permitted, him to come within a few yards from him. His eyes +were cold and glassy, and apparently without speculation, like those +of a dead man open; yet, notwithstanding this, Woodward felt that they +looked at him, if not into him. + +“Speak,” said he, “speak; who or what are you?” + +He received no reply; but in a few seconds the apparition, if it were +such, put his hand into his bosom, and, pulling out a dagger, which +gleamed with a faint and visionary light, he directed it as if to his +(Woodward's) heart. Three times he did this, in an attitude more of +warning than of anger, when, at length, he turned and approached the +haunted house, at the door of which he disappeared. + +Woodward, as the reader must have perceived, was a strong-minded, +fearless man, and examined the awful features of this inscrutable being +closely. + +“This, then,” thought he, “is the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or the Black +Spectre; but, be it what it may, I am strongly of opinion that it +was present at the bonfire last night, and as I am well armed, I will +unquestionably pursue it into the house. Nay, what is more, I +suspect that it is in some way or I other connected with the outlaw +_Shawn-na-Middogue_, who it was, they say, made that amazing leap over +the aforesaid bonfire in my own presence.” + +On that very account, however, he reflected that such an intrusion might +be attended with more danger than that to be apprehended from a ghost. +He consequently paused for some time before he could decide on following +up such a perilous resolution. While he thus stood deliberating upon +the prudence of this daring exploit, he heard a variety of noises, and +knockings, and rollings, as if of empty barrels, and rattling of chains, +all going on inside, whilst the house itself appeared to be dark and +still, without smoke from the chimneys, or light in the windows, or any +other symptom of being inhabited, unless by those who were producing the +wild and extraordinary noises he then heard. + +“If I do not see this out,” said he, “my account of it will go to add +another page to the great volume of superstition. I am armed, not a whit +afraid, and I will see it out, if human enterprise can effect it.” + +He immediately entered the door, which he found, somewhat to his +surprise, was only laid to, and, after listening for a few moments, +resolved to examine the premises closely. In deference to the reader, +whose nerves may not be so strong as those of Henry Woodward, and who +consequently may entertain a very decided objection to enter a haunted +house, especially one in such a lonely and remote situation, we will +only say that he remained in it for at least an hour and a half; at +the expiration of which time he left it, walked home in a silent and +meditative mood, spoke little to his family, who were a good deal +surprised at his abstracted manner, and, after sipping a tumbler of +punch with his step-father, went rather gloomily to bed. + +The next morning at breakfast he looked a good deal paler than they had +yet seen him, and for some time his contribution to the family dialogue +was rather scanty. + +“Harry,” said his mother, “what is the matter with you? You are silent, +and look pale. Are you unwell?” + +“No, ma'am,” he replied, “I cannot say that I am. But, by the way, +have you not a haunted house in the neighborhood, and is there not an +apparition called the Black Man, or the Black Spectre, seen occasionally +about the premises?” + +“So it is said,” replied Lindsay, “but none of this family has ever seen +it, although I believe it has undoubtedly been seen by many persons in +the neighborhood.” + +“What is supposed to have been the cause of its appearance?” asked +Harry. + +“Faith, Harry,” replied his brother, “I fear there is nobody here +can give you that information. To speak for myself, I never heard its +appearance accounted for at all. Perhaps Barney Casey knows. Do you, +father?” + +“Not I,” replied his father; “but as you say, Charley, we had better try +Barney. Call him up.” + +“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Lindsay, sharply and disdainfully, “it was the +Black Spectre who produced the shower of blood last night?” + +“Faith, it's not unlikely,” replied her husband, “if he be, as the +people think, connected with the devil.” + +In a couple of minutes Barney entered to know what was wanted. + +“Barney,” said his master, “can you inform us who or what the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_ is, or why he appears in this neighborhood? Damn the +fellow; he has that house of mine on my hands this many a long year, for +I cannot get it set. I've had priests and parsons to lay him, and for +some time we thought the country was free of him; but it was all to no +purpose; he was still sure to return, and no earthly habitation should +serve him but that unlucky house of mine. It is very odd that he never +began to appear until after my second marriage.” + +“Sir,” replied Barney, “I heard something about it; but I'm not clear +on it. To tell you the truth, there's two or three accounts of him; but +anyhow, sir, you're in luck for the right one; for if livin' man can +give it to you, Bandy Brack, the peddler, is the man. He's now at his +breakfast in the kitchen; but I'll have him up.” + +“Not in the parlor,” said his mistress; “a strolling knave like him. +Who ordered him his breakfast in the kitchen without my knowledge?” she +asked. “The moment I can find out the person that dared to do so, that +moment they shall leave my family. Must I keep an open house for every +strolling vagabond in the country?” + +“If you choose to turn me out,” replied her husband, “you may try your +hand at it. It was I ordered the poor man his breakfast; and, what is +more, I desire you instantly to hold your peace.” + +As he spoke, she saw that one of his determined looks settled upon his +countenance--a pretty certain symptom that she had better be guided by +his advice. + +“Come, Barney,” said he, “throw up that window and send the poor man +here, until he tells us what he knows about this affair.” + +The window was accordingly thrown open, and in a few minutes Bandy Brack +made his appearance outside, and, on being interrogated on the subject +in question, took off his hat, and was about to commence his narrative, +when Lindsay said, + +“Put on your hat, Bandy; the sun's too hot to be uncovered.” + +“That's more of it,” said his wife; “a fine way to make yourself +respected, Lindsay.” + +“I love to be respected,” he replied sternly, “and to deserve respect: +but I have no desire to incur the hatred of the poor by oppression and +want of charity, like some of my female acquaintances.” + +“Plase your honor,” said Bandy, “all that I know about the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or the Black Spectre, as the larned call him, won't +require many words to tell you. It's not generally known what I'm goin' +to say now. The haunted house, as your honor, maybe, remimbers, was +an inn--a carman's inn chiefly--and one night, it seems, there came a +stranger to stop in it. He was dressed in black, and when he thought it +time to go to bed he called the landlord, Antony McMurt, and placed in +his hands a big purse o' goold to keep for him till he should start at +daybreak, as he intended, the next morning. Antony-- + +“Ay,” said Lindsay, interrupting him, “that accounts for the nature of +the villain's death. I remember him well, Bandy, although I was only +a boy at the time; go on--he was always a dishonest scoundrel it was +said--proceed.” + +“Well it seems, Antony, sir, mistook him for a Protestant parson; and +as he had a hankerin' afther the goold, he opened a gusset in the man's +throat that same night, when the unsuspectin' traveller was sound in +that sleep that he never woke from in this world. When the deed was done +Antony stripped him of his clothes, and in doing so discovered a silver +crucifix upon his breast, and a bravery (breviary) under his head, by +which he found that he had murdhered a priest of his own religion in +mistake. They say he stabbed him in the jigler vein wid a _middoge_. At +all events, the body disappeared, and there never was any inquiry made +about it--a good proof that the unfortunate man was a stranger. Well and +good, your honor--in the coorse of a short time, it seems, the murdhered +priest began to appear to him, and haunted him almost every night, until +the unfortunate Antony began to get out of his rason, and, it is said, +that when he appeared to him he always pointed the _middoge_ at him, +just as if he wished to put it into his heart. Antony then, widout +tellin' his own saicret, began to tell everybody that he was doomed to +die a bloody death; in short, he became unsettled--got fairly beside +himself, and afther mopin' about for some months in ordher to avoid the +bloody death the priest threatened him wid, he went and hanged himself +in the very room where he killed the unfortunate priest before.” + +“I remember when he hanged himself, very well,” observed Lindsay, “but +d--n the syllable of the robbery and murder of the priest or any body +else ever I heard of till the present moment, although there was an +inquest held over himself. The man got low-spirited and depressed, +because his business failed him, or, rather, because he didn't attend +to it; and in one of these moods hanged himself; but by all accounts, +Bandy, if he hadn't done the deed for himself the hangman would have +done it for him. He was said, I think, to have been connected with some +of the outlaws, and to have been a bad boy altogether. I think it is now +near fifty years ago since he hanged himself.” + +“'Tis said, sir, that this account comes from one of his own relations; +but there's another account, sir, of the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_ that I don't +believe a word of.” + +“Another--what is that, Bandy?” + +“O, bedad, sir,” replied Bandy, “it's more than I could venture to tell +you here.” + +“Come, come--out with it.” + +Mrs. Lindsay went over with an inflamed face, and having ordered him +to go about his business, slapped down the window with great violence, +giving poor Bandy a look of wrath and intimidation that sealed his +lips upon the subject of the other tradition he alluded to. He was, +consequently, glad to escape from the threatening storm which he +saw brewing in her countenance, and, consequently, made a very hasty +retreat. Barney, who met him in the yard returning to fetch his pack +from the kitchen, noticed his perturbation, and asked him what was the +matter. + +“May the Lord protect me from that woman's eye!” replied the pedler, “if +you'd 'a' seen the look she gave me when she thought I was goin' to tell +them the true story of the Shan-dhinne-dhuv.” + +“And why should she put a sword in her eye against you for that, Bandy?” + asked the other. + +Bandy looked cautiously about him, and said in a whisper: + +“Because it's connected with her family, and follows it.” + +He then proceeded to the kitchen, and having secured his pack, he made +as rapid a disappearance as possible from about the premises. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. A Council of Two + +--Visit to Beech Grove.--The Herbalist + + +Woodward now amused himself by walking and riding about the country +and viewing its scenery, most of which he had forgotten during his long +absence from home. It was not at all singular in that dark state of +popular superstition and ignorance, that the shower of blood should, +somehow or another, be associated with him and his detested mother. Of +course, the association was vague, and the people knew not how to apply +it to their circumstances. As they believed, however, that Mrs. Lindsay +possessed the power of overlooking cattle, which was considered an evil +gift, and in some mysterious manner connected with the evil spirit, and +as they remembered--for superstition, like guilt, always possesses a +good memory--that even in his young days, when little more than a child, +her son Harry was remarkable for having eyes of a different color, from +which circumstance he was even then called _Harry na Suil Gloir_, they +naturally inferred that his appearance in the country boded nothing +good; that, of course, he had the Evil Eye, as every one whose eyes +differed, as his did, had; and that the thunder and lightning, the +rain which drowned the bonfires, but, above all, the blood-shower, were +indications that the mother and son were to be feared and avoided as +much as possible, especially the latter. Others denied that the +devil had anything to do with the shower of blood, or the storm which +extinguished the fires, and stoutly maintained that it was God himself +who had sent them to warn the country against having any intercourse +that could possibly be avoided, with them. Then there was the Black +Spectre that was said to follow her family; and did not every one know +that when it appeared three times to any person, it was a certain proof +that that person's coffin might be purchased? We all know how rapidly +such opinions and colloquies spread, and we need scarcely say that in +the course of a fortnight after the night of the bonfires all these +matters had been discussed over half the barony. Some, in fact, were +for loading him with the heavy burden of his mother's unpopularity; +but others, more generous, were for waiting until the people had an +opportunity of seeing how he might turn out--whether he would follow in +his mother's footsteps, or be guided by the benevolent principles of his +step-father and the rest of the family. Owing to these circumstances, +need we say, that there was an unusual interest, almost an excitement, +felt about him, which nothing could repress. His brother Charles was +as well-beloved and as popular as his father, but, then, he excited no +particular interest, because he was not suspected to possess the Evil +Eye, nor to have any particular connection with the devil. + +In this case matters stood, when one day Woodward, having dressed +himself with particular care, ordered his horse, saying that he would +ride over to Beech Grove and pay a visit to the Goodwins. There were +none in the room at the time but Charles and his mother. The former +started, and seemed uneasy at this intelligence; and his mother, having +considered for a time, said: “Charles, I wish to speak to Harry.” + Charles took the hint, and left the mother and son to the following +dialogue:-- + +“Harry,” said she, “you spoke very warmly of that cunning serpent who +defrauded you of your inheritance, and all of us out of our right. May +I ask for what purpose you wish to cultivate an intimacy with such a +scheming and dishonest crew as that?” + +“Faith, mother, to tell you the truth, you don't detest them, nor feel +the loss of the property more than I do; but the truth is, that the game +I wish to play with them will be a winning one, if I can induce them +to hold the cards. I wish to get the property, and as I feel that that +can't be done without marrying their milk-and-curd of a daughter, why, +it is my intention to marry her accordingly.” + +“Then you don't marry a wife to be happy with her?” + +“In one sense not I--in another I do; I shall make myself happy with her +property.” + +“Indeed, Harry, to tell you the truth, there is very little happiness in +married life, and they are only fools that expect it. You see how I am +treated by Lindsay and my own children.” + +“Well, but you provoke them--why disturb yourself with them? Why not +pass through life as quietly as you can? Imitate Lindsay.” + +“What! make a sot of myself--become a fool, as he is?” + +“Then, why did you marry him?” + +“Because I was the fool then, but I have suffered for it. Why, he +manages this property as if it wasn't mine--as if I didn't bring it to +him. Think of a man who is silly enough to forgive a tenant his gale +of rent, provided he makes a poor mouth, and says he is not able to pay +it.” + +“But I see no harm in that either; if the man is not able to pay, how +can he? What does Lindsay do but make a virtue of necessity. He cannot +skin a flint, can he?” + +“That's an ugly comparison,” she replied, “and I can't conceive why +you make it to me. I am afraid, Harry, you have suffered yourself to be +prejudiced against the only friend--the only true friend, you have in +the house. I can tell you, that although they keep fair faces to you, +you are not liked here.” + +“Very well; if I find that to be true, they will lose more than they'll +gain by it.” + +“They have been striving to secure your influence against me. I know it +by your language.” + +“In the devil's name, how can you know it by my language, mother?” + +“You talked about skinning a flint; now, you had that from them +with reference to me. It was only the other day that an ill-tongued +house-maid of mine, after I had paid her her wages, and 'stopped' for +the articles she injured on me, turned round, and called me a skinflint; +they have made it a common nickname on me. I'd have torn her eyes out +only for Lindsay, who had the assurance to tell me that if he had not +interfered I'd have had the worst of it--that I'd come off second best, +and such slang; yes, and then added afterwards, that he was sorry he +interfered. That's the kind of a husband he is, and that's the life +I lead. Now, this property is mine, and I can leave it to any one I +please; he hasn't even a life interest in it.” + +“O,” exclaimed the son, in surprise, “is that the case?” + +“It is,” she replied, “and yet you see how I am treated.” + +“I was not aware of that, my dear mother,” responded worthy Harry. “That +alters the case entirely. Why, Lindsay, in these circumstances, ought to +put his hands under your feet; so ought they all I think. Well, my dear +mother, of one thing I can assure you, no matter how they may treat you, +calculate firmly upon my support and protection; make yourself sure +of that. But, now, about Miss Milk-and-curds--what do you think of my +project?” + +“I have been frequently turning it over in my mind, Harry, since the +morning you praised her so violently, and I think, as you cannot get the +property without the girl, you must only take her with it. The notion of +its going into the hands of strangers would drive me mad.” + +“Well, then, we understand each other; I have your sanction for the +courtship.” + +“You have; but I tell you again, I loathe her as I do poison. I never +can forgive her the art with which she wheedled that jotter-headed old +sinner, your uncle, out of twelve hundred a year. Unless it returns to +the family, may my bitter malediction fall upon her and it.” + +“Well, never mind, my dear mother, leave her to me--I shall have the +girl and the property--but by hook or crook, the property. I shall ride +over there, now, and it will not be my fault, if I don't tip both her +and them the saccharine.” + +“By the way, though, Harry, now that I think of it, I'm afraid you'll +have opposition.” + +“Opposition! How is that?” + +“It is said there is a distant relation of theirs, a gentleman named +O'Connor, a Ferdora O'Connor, I think, who, it is supposed, is likely +to be successful there; but, by the way, are you aware that they are +Catholics?” + +“As to that, my dear mother, I don't care a fig for her religion; my +religion is her property, or rather will be so when I get it. The other +matter, however, is a thing I must look to--I mean the rivalry; but on +that, too, we shall put our heads together, and try what can be done. I +am not very timid; and the proverb says, you know, a faint heart never +won a fair lady.” + +Our readers may perceive, from the spirit of the above conversation, +that the son was worthy of the mother, and the mother of the son. The +latter, however, had, at least, some command over his temper, and a +great deal of dexterity and penetration besides; whilst the mother, +though violent, was clumsy in her resentments, and transparent in her +motives. Short as Woodward's residence in the family was, he saw at +a glance that the abuse she heaped upon her husband and children was +nothing more nor less than deliberate falsehood. This, however, to him +was a matter of perfect indifference. He was no great advocate of truth +himself, whenever he found that his interests or his passions could be +more effectually promoted by falsehood; although he did not disdain even +truth whenever it equally served his purpose. In such a case it gave him +a reputation for candor under which he could, with more safety, avail +himself of his disingenuity and prevarication. He knew, as we said, that +his mother's description of the family contained not one atom of truth; +and yet he was too dastardly and cunning to defend them against her +calumny. The great basis of his character, in fact, was a selfishness, +which kept him perpetually indifferent to anything that was good or +generous in itself, or outside the circle of his own interests, beyond +which he never passed. Now, nothing, on the other hand, could be more +adversative to this, than the conduct, temper, and principles of his +brother and sister. Charles was an amiable, manly, and generous young +fellow, who, with both spirit and independence, was, as a natural +consequence, loved and respected by all who knew him; and as for his +sweet and affectionate sister, Maria, there was not living a girl more +capable of winning attachment, nor more worthy of it when attained; and +severely, indeed, was the patience of this admirable brother and sister +tried, by the diabolical temper of their violent and savage mother. As +for Harry, he had come to the resolution, now that he understood the +position of the property, to cultivate his mother's disposition upon +such a principle of conduct as would not compromise him with either +party. As to their feuds he was perfectly indifferent to them; but now +his great object was, to study how to promote his own interests in his +own way. + +Having reached Beech Grove, he found that unassuming family at home, +as they usually were; for, indeed, all their principal enjoyments lay +within the quiet range of domestic life. Old Goodwin himself saw him +through the parlor window as he approached, and, with ready and sincere +kindness, met him in the hall. + +“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Woodward,” said he. “Allow me to conduct +you to the drawing-room, where you will meet Mrs. Goodwin, Alice, and a +particular friend of ours. I cannot myself stop long with you, because +I am engaged on particular business; but you will not miss an old fellow +like me when you have better company. I hope my old friends are all +well. Step in, sir. Here is Mr. Woodward, ladies; Mr. Woodward, this +gentleman is a friend of ours, Mr. Ferdora O'Connor; Ferdora, this is +Mr. Woodward; and now I must leave you to entertain each other; but I +shall return, Mr. Woodward, before you go, unless you are in a great +harry. Bridget, see that luncheon is ready; but you must lay it in the +front parlor, because I have these tenants about me in the dining-room, +as it is so much larger.” + +“I have already given orders for that,” replied his wife. He then +hurried out and left them, evidently much gratified by Woodward's visit. +O'Connor and the latter having scanned each other by a glance or two, +bowed with that extreme air of politeness which is only another name for +a want of cordiality. O'Connor was rather a plain-looking young fellow, +as to his person and general appearance; but his Milesian face was +handsome, and his eye clear and candid, with a dash of determination +and fire in it. Very different, indeed, was it from the eye that was +scrutinizing him at that moment, with such keenness and penetration. +There are such things as antipathies; otherwise why should those two +individuals entertain, almost in a moment's time, such a secret and +unaccountable disrelish towards each other? Woodward did not love Alice, +so that the feeling could not proceed from jealousy; and we will so far +throw aside mystery as to say here, that neither did O'Connor; and, +we may add still further, that poor, innocent, unassuming Alice was +attached to neither of them. + +“I hope your brother is well, sir,” said O'Connor, anxious to break the +ice, and try the stuff Woodward was made of. “I have not seen him for +some time.” + +“O! then, you are acquaintances?” said Woodward. + +“We are more, sir,” replied O'Connor, “we are friends.” + +“I hope you are all well,” interrupted kind-hearted Mrs. Goodwin. + +“Quite well, my dear madam,” he replied. Then turning to O'Connor: “To +be a friend to my brother, sir,” he said, “next to finding you a friend +and favorite in this family, is the warmest recommendation to me. My +long absence from home prevented me from knowing his value until now; +but now that! I do know him, I say it, perhaps, with too much of the +partiality of a brother, I think that any man may feel proud of his +friendship; and I say so with the less hesitation, because I am sure +he would select no man for his friend who was not worthy of it;” and he +bowed courteously as he spoke. + +“Faith, sir,” replied O'Connor, “you have hit it; I for one am proud +of it; but, upon my conscience, he wouldn't be his father's son if he +wasn't what he is.” + +Alice was sewing some embroidery, and seemed to take no notice, if one +could judge by her downcast locks, of what they said. At length she +said, with a smile: + +“As you, Ferdora, have inquired for your favorite, I don't see why I +should not inquire after mine; how is your sister, Mr. Woodward?” + +“Indeed, she's the picture of health, Miss Goodwin; but I will not”--he +added, with a smile to balance her own--“I will not be answerable for +the health of her heart.” + +Alice gave a low laugh, that had the slightest tincture of malice in it, +and glanced at O'Connor, who began to tap his boot with his riding whip. + +“She is a good girl as ever lived,” said Mrs. Goodwin, “and I hope will +never have a heartache that may harm her.” + +“Heaven knows, madam,” replied Woodward, “it is time only that will tell +that. Love is a strange and sometimes rather a painful malady.” + +“Of course you speak from your own experience, Mr. Woodward,” replied +Alice. + +“Then you have had the complaint, sir,” said O'Connor, laughing. “I +wonder is it like small-pox or measles?” + +“How is that, sir?” said Woodward, smiling. + +“Why, that if you've had it once you'll never have it a second time.” + +“Yes, but if I should be ill of it now?” and he glanced at Alice, who +blushed. + +“Why, in that case,” replied O'Connor, “it's in bed you ought to be; no +man with an epidemic on him should be permitted to go abroad among his +majesty's liege subjects.” + +“Yes, Ferdora,” said Alice, “but I don't think Mr. Woodward's complaint +is catching.” + +“God forbid that the gentleman should die of it, though,” replied +Ferdora, “for that would be a serious loss to the ladies.” + +“You exaggerate that calamity, sir,” replied Woodward, with the +slightest imaginable sneer, “and forget that if I die you survive me.” + +“Well, certainly, there is consolation in that,” said O'Connor, +“especially for the ladies, as I said; isn't there, Alley?” + +“Certainly,” replied Alice; “in making love, Ferdora, you have the +prowess of ten men.” + +“Do you speak from experience, now, Miss Goodwin?” asked Woodward, +rather dryly. + +“O! no,” replied Alice, “I have only his own word for it.” + +“Only his own word. Miss Goodwin! Do you imply by that, that his own +word requires corroboration?” + +Alice blushed again, and felt confused. + +“I assure you, Mr. Woodward,” said O'Connor, “that when my word requires +corroboration, I always corroborate it myself.” + +“But, according to Miss Goodwin's account of it, sir, that's not likely +to add much to its authenticity.” + +“Well, Mr. Woodward,” said O'Connor, with the greatest suavity of +manner, “I'll tell you my method under such circumstances; whenever I +meet a gentleman that doubts my word, I always make him eat his onion. + +“There's nothing new or wonderful in that,” replied the other; “it has +been my own practice during life.” + +“What? to eat your own words!” exclaimed O'Connor, purposely mistaking +him; “very windy feeding, faith. Upon my honor and conscience, in that +case, your complaint must be nothing else but the colic, and not love at +all. Try peppermint wather, Mr. Woodward.” + +Alice saw at once, but could not account for the fact, that the +worthy gentlemen were cutting at each other, and the timid girl became +insensibly alarmed at the unaccountable sharpness of their brief +encounter. She looked with an anxious countenance, first at one, and +then at the other, but scarcely knew what to say. Woodward, however, who +was better acquainted with the usages of society, and the deference due +to the presence of women, than the brusque, but somewhat fiery Milesian, +now said, with a smile and a bow to that gentleman: + +“Sir, I submit; I am vanquished. If you are as successful in love as you +are in banter, I should not wish to enter the list against you. + +“Faith, sir,” replied O'Connor, with a poor-humored laugh, “if your +sword is as sharp as your wit, you'd be an ugly customer to meet in a +quarrel.” + +O'Connor, who had been there for some time, now rose to take his leave, +at which Alice felt rather satisfied. Indeed, she could not avoid +observing that, whatever the cause of it might be, there seemed to exist +some secret feeling of dislike between them, which occasioned her no +inconsiderable apprehension. O'Connor she knew was kind-hearted and +generous, but, at the same time, as quick as gunpowder in taking and +resenting an insult. On the other hand, she certainly felt much regret +at being subjected to the presence of Woodward, against whom she +entertained, as the reader knows, a strong feeling that amounted +absolutely to aversion. She could not, however, think of treating him +with anything bordering on disrespect, especially in her own house, and +she, consequently, was about to say something merely calculated to pass +the time. In this, however, she was anticipated by Woodward, who, as he +had his suspicions of O'Connor, resolved to sound her on the subject. + +“That seems an agreeable young fellow,” said he; “somewhat free and easy +in his deportment.” + +“Take care, Mr. Woodward,” said her mother, “say nothing harsh against +Ferdora, if you wish to keep on good terms with Alley. He's the +white-headed boy with her.” + +“I am not surprised at that, madam,” he replied, “possessed as he is of +such a rare and fortunate quality.” + +“Pray, what is that, Mr. Woodward?” asked Alice, timidly. + +“Why, the faculty of making love with the power of ten men,” he replied. + +“You must be a very serious man,” she replied. + +“Serious, Miss Goodwin! Why do you think so?” + +“I hope you are not in the habit of receiving a jest as a matter of +fact.” + +“Not,” he replied, “if I could satisfy myself that there was no fact in +the jest; but, indeed, in this world, Miss Goodwin, it is very difficult +to distinguish jest from earnest.” + +“I am a bad reasoner, Mr. Woodward,” she replied. + +“But, perhaps, Miss Goodwin, Mr. O'Connor would say that you make up in +feeling what you want in logic.” + +“I hope, sir,” replied Alice, with some spirit--for she felt hurt at his +last observation--“that I will never feel on any subject until I have +reason as well as inclination to support me.” + +“Ah,” said he, “I fear that if you once possess the inclination you +will soon supply the reason. But, by the way, talking of your friend and +favorite, Mr. O'Connor, I must say I like him very much, and I am, not +surprised that you do.” + +“I do, indeed,” she replied; “I know of nobody I like better than +honest, frank, and generous Ferdora.” + +“Well, Miss Goodwin, I assure you he shall be a favorite of mine for +your sake.” + +“Indeed, Mr. Woodward, if you knew him, he would become one for his +own.” + +“Have you known him long, may I ask, Miss Goodwin?” + +“O dear, yes,” said Mrs. Goodwin, who now, finding this a fair opening +in the conversation, resolved to have her share of it--“O dear! yes; +Alley and he know each other ever since her childhood; he's some three +or four years older than she is, to be sure, but that makes little +difference.” + +“And, I suppose, Mrs. Goodwin, their intimacy--perhaps I may say +attachment--has the sanction of their respective families?” + +“God bless you, sir, to be sure it has--are they not distantly related?” + +“That, indeed, is a very usual proceeding among families,” observed +Woodward; “the boy and girl are thrown together, and desired to look +upon each other as destined to become husband and wife; they accordingly +do so, fall in love, are married, and soon find themselves--miserable; +in fact, these matches seldom turn out well.” + +“But there is no risk of that here,” replied Alice. + +“I sincerely hope not, Miss Goodwin. In your case, unless the husband +was a fool, or a madman, or a villain, there must be happiness. Of +course you will be happy with him; need I say,” and here he sighed, +“that he at least ought to be so with you?” + +“Upon my word, Mr. Woodward,” replied Alice, smiling, “you are a much +cleverer man than I presume your own modesty ever permitted you to +suspect.” + +“I don't understand you,” he replied, with a look of embarrassment. + +“Why,” she proceeded, “here have you, in a few minutes, made up a match +between two persons who never were intended to be married at all; you +have got the sanction of two families to a union which neither of +them even for a moment contemplated. Dear me, sir, may not a lady and +gentleman become acquainted without necessarily falling in love?” + +“Ah, but, in your case, my dear Miss Goodwin, it would be +difficult--impossible I should say--to remain indifferent, if the +gentleman had either taste or sentiment; however, I assure you I am +sincerely glad to find that I have been mistaken.” + +“God bless me, Mr. Woodward,” said Mrs. Goodwin, “did you think they +were sweethearts?” + +“Upon my honor, madam, I did--and I was very sorry for it.” + +“Mr. Woodward,” replied Alice, “don't mistake me; I am inaccessible to +flattery.” + +“I am delighted to hear it,” said he, “because I know that for that +reason you are not and will not be insensible to truth.” + +“Unless when it borrows the garb of flattery, and thus causes itself to +be suspected.” + +“In that case,” said Woodward, “nothing but good sense, Miss Goodwin, +can draw the distinction between them--and now I know that you are +possessed of that.” + +“I hope so, sir,” she replied, “and that I will ever continue to observe +that distinction. Mamma, I want more thread,” she said: “where can I get +it?” + +“Up stairs, dear, in my work-box.” + +She then bowed slightly to Woodward and went up to find her thread, but +in fact from a wish to put an end to a conversation that she felt to be +exceedingly disagreeable. At this moment old Goodwin came in. + +“You will excuse me, I trust, Mr. Woodward,” said he, “I was down in the +dining-room receiving rents for------.” He paused, for, on reflection, +he felt that this was a disagreeable topic to allude to; the fact +being that he acted as his daughter's agent, and I had been on that and +the preceding day receiving her rents. “Martha,” said he, “what! about +luncheon? You'll take luncheon with us, Mr. Woodward?” + +Woodward bowed, and Mrs. Goodwin was about to leave the room, when he +said: + +“Perhaps, Mrs. Goodwin, you'd be good enough to remain for a few +minutes.” Mrs. Goodwin sat down, and he proceeded: “I trust that my +arrival home will, under Providence, be the means of reconciling and +reuniting two families who never should have been at variance. Not +but that I admit, my dear friends,--if you will allow me to call +you so,--that the melancholy event of my poor uncle's death, and the +unexpected disposition of so large a property, were calculated to try +the patience of worldly-minded people--and who is not so in a more or +less I degree?” + +“I don't think any of your family is,” replied Goodwin, bluntly, “with +one exception.” + +“O! yes, my mother,” replied Woodward, “and I grant it; at least she was +so, and acted upon worldly principles; but I think you will admit, at +least as Christians you must, that the hour of change and regret may +come to every human heart when its errors, and its selfishness, if you +will, have been clearly and mildly pointed out. I do not attribute the +change that has happily taken place in my dear mother to myself, but to +a higher power; although I must admit, as I do with all humility, that +I wrought earnestly, in season and out of season, since my return, to +bring it about; and, thank heaven, I have succeeded. I come this day +as a messenger of peace, to state that she is willing that the families +should be reconciled, and a happier and more lasting union effected +between them.” + +“I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Woodward,” said Goodwin, much moved; +“God knows I am. Blessed be the peace-maker, and you are he; an easy +conscience and a light heart must be your reward.” + +“They must,” added his wife, wiping her eyes; “they must and they will.” + +“Alas!” proceeded Woodward, “how far from Gospel purity is every human +motive when it comes to be tried by the Word! I will not conceal from +you the state of my heart, nor deny that in accomplishing this thing it +was influenced by a certain selfish feeling on my part; in one sense +a disinterested selfishness I admit, but in another a selfishness that +involves my own happiness. However, I will say no more on that subject +at present. It would scarcely be delicate until the reconciliation is +fully accomplished; then, indeed, perhaps I may endeavor, with fear and +trembling, to make myself understood. Only until then, I beg of you to +think well of me, and permit me to consider myself as not unworthy of a +humble place in your affections.” + +Old Goodwin shook him warmly by the hand, and his wife once more had +recourse to her pocket-handkerchief. “God bless you, Mr. Woodward!” + he exclaimed, “God bless you, I now see your worth, and know it; you +already have our good-will and affections, and, what is more, we feel +that you deserve them.” + +“I wish, my dear sir,” said the other, “that Miss Goodwin understood me +as well as you and her respected mother.” + +“She does, Mr. Woodward,” replied her father; “she does, and she will +too.” + +“I tremble, however,” said Woodward, with a deep sigh; “but I will leave +my fate in your hands, or, I should rather say in the hands of Heaven.” + +Lunch was then announced, and they went down to the front parlor, +where it was laid out. On entering the room Woodward was a good deal +disappointed to find that Miss Goodwin was not there. + +“Will not Miss Goodwin join us?” he asked. + +“Certainly,” said her father; “Martha, where is she?” + +“You know, my dear, she seldom lunches,” replied her mother. + +“Well, but she will now,” said Goodwin; “it is not every day we have Mr. +Woodward; let her be sent for. John, find out Miss Goodwin, and say we +wish her to join us at luncheon.” + +John in a few moments returned to say that she had a slight headache, +and could not have the pleasure of coming down. + +“O, I am very sorry to hear she is unwell,” said Woodward, with an +appearance of disappointment and chagrin, which he did not wish to +conceal; or, to speak the truth, which, in a great measure, he assumed. + +After lunch his horse was ordered, and he set out on his way to +Rathfillan, meditating upon his visit, and the rather indifferent +reception he had got from Alice. + +Miss Goodwin, though timid and nervous, was, nevertheless, in many +things, a girl of spirit, and possessed a great deal of natural wit and +penetration. On that day Woodward exerted himself to the utmost, with +a hope of making a favorable impression upon her. He calculated a good +deal upon her isolated position and necessary ignorance of life and the +world, and in doing so, he calculated, as thousands of self-sufficient +libertines, in their estimate of women, have done both before and since. +He did not know that there is an intuitive spirit in the female heart +which often enables it to discover the true character of the opposite +sex; and to discriminate between the real and the assumed with almost +infallible accuracy. But, independently of this, there was in Woodward's +manner a hardness of outline, and in his conversation an unconscious +absence of all reality and truth, together with a cold, studied +formality, dry, sharp, and presumptuous, that required no extraordinary +penetration to discover; for the worst of it was, that he made himself +disagreeably felt, and excited those powers of scrutiny and analysis +that are so peculiar to the generality of the other sex. In fact, he +sought his way home in anything but an agreeable mood. He thought to +have met Alice an ignorant country girl, whom he might play upon; but he +found himself completely mistaken, because, fortunately for herself, he +had taken her upon one of her strong points. As it was, however, whilst +he could not help admiring the pertinence of her replies, neither could +he help experiencing something of a bitter feeling against her, because +she indulged in them at his own expense; whilst against O'Connor, who +bantered him with such spirit and success, and absolutely turned +him into ridicule in her presence, he almost entertained a personal +resentment. His only hope now was in her parents, who seemed as anxious +to entertain his proposals with favor as Alice was to reject them with +disdain. As for Alice herself, her opinion of him is a matter with which +the reader is already acquainted. + +Our hero was about half way home when he overtook a thin, lank old man, +who was a rather important character in the eyes of the ignorant people +at the period of which we write. He was tall, and so bare of flesh, that +when asleep he might pass for the skeleton of a corpse. His eyes were +red, cunning, and sinister-looking; his lips thin, and from under the +upper one projected a single tooth, long and yellow as saffron. His +face was of unusual length, and his parchment cheeks formed two inward +curves, occasioned by the want of his back teeth. His breeches were open +at the knees; his polar legs were without stockings; but his old brogues +were foddered, as it is called, with a wisp of straw, to keep his feet +warm. His arms were long, even in proportion to his body, and his bony +fingers resembled claws rather than anything! else we can now remember. +They (the claws): were black as ebony, and resembled in length and +sharpness those of a cat when she is stretching herself after rising +from the! hearth. He wore an old _barrad_ of the day, the greasy top of +which fell down upon the collar of his old cloak, and over his shoulder +was a bag which, from its appearance, must have contained something not +very weighty, as he walked on without seeming to travel as a man who +carried a burden. He had a huge staff in his right hand, the left having +a hold of his bag. Woodward at first mistook him for a mendicant, but +upon looking at him more closely, he perceived nothing of that watchful +and whining cant for alms which marks the character of the professional +beggar. The old skeleton walked on, apparently indifferent and +independent, and never once put himself into the usual posture +of entreaty. This, and the originality of his appearance, excited +Woodward's curiosity, and he resolved to speak to him. + +“Well, my good old man, what may you be carrying in the bag?” + +The man looked at him respectfully, and raising his hand and staff, +touched his barrad, and replied: + +“A few yarribs, your honor.” + +“Yarribs? What the deuce is that?” + +“Why, the yarribs that grow, sir--to cure the people when they are +sick.” + +“O, you mean herbs.” + +“I do, sir, and I gather them too for the potecars.” + +“O, then you are what they call a herbalist.” + +“I believe I am, sir, if you put that word against (to) a man that +gethers yarribs.” + +“Yes, that's what I mean. You sell them to the apothecaries, I suppose?” + +“I do a little, sir, but I use the most of them myself. Sorra much the +potecars knows about the use o' them; they kill more than they cure wid +'em, and calls them that understands what they're good for rogues and +quacks. May the Lord forgive them this day! _Amin, acheernah!_ (Amen, O +Lord!)” + +“And do you administer these herbs to the sick?” + +“I do, sir, to the sick of all kinds--man and baste. There's nothing +like them, sir, bekaise it was to cure diseases of all kinds that the +Lord, blessed be His name! _amin, acheernah!_ planted them in the earth +for the use of his cratures. Why, sir, will you listen to me now, and +mark my words? There never was a complaint that follied either man or +baste, brute or bird, but a yarrib grows that 'ud cure it if it was +known. When the head's hot wid faver, and the heart low wid care, the +yarrib is to be found that will cool the head and rise the heart.” + +“Don't you think, now,” said Woodward, imagining that he would catch +him, “that a glass of wine, or, what is better still, a good glass of +punch, would raise the heart better than all the herbs in the universe?” + +“Lord bless me!” he exclaimed, as if in soliloquy; “the ignorance of the +rich and wealthy, and of great people altogether, is unknown! Wine +and punch! And what, will you tell me, does wine and punch come from? +Doesn't the wine come from the grapes that grow in forrin parts--sich +as we have in our hot-houses--and doesn't the whiskey that you make your +punch of grow from the honest barley in our own fields? So much for your +knowledge of yarribs.” + +“Why, there you are right, my old friend. I forgot that.” + +“You forgot it? Tell the truth at once, and say you didn't know it. But +may be you did forget it, for troth he'd be a poor crature that didn't +know whiskey was made from barley.” + +He here turned his red satirical eye upon Woodward, with a glance that +was strongly indicative of contempt for his general information. + +“Well,” he proceeded, “the power of yarribs is wondherful,--if it was +known to many as it is to me.” + +“Why, from long practice, I suppose, you must be skilful in the +properties ol herbs?” + +“Well, indeed, you needn't only suppose it, but you may be sartin of it. +Have you a good appetite?” + +“A particularly good one, I assure you.” + +“Now, wouldn't you think it strange that I could give you a dose that +'ud keep you on half a male a day for the next three months.” + +“God forbid,” replied Woodward, who, among his other good qualities, was +an enormous trencherman,--“God forbid that ever such a dose should go +down my throat.” + +“Would you think, now,” he proceeded, with a sinister grin that sent his +yellow tusk half an inch out of his mouth, “that if a man was jealous +of his wife, or a wife of her husband, I couldn't give either o' them a +dose that 'ud cure them?” + +“Faith, I dare say you could,” replied Woodward; “a dose that would free +them from care of all sorts, as well as jealousy.” + +“I don't mane that,” said the skeleton; “ha, ha! you're a funny +gentleman, and maybe I--but no--I don't mane that; but widout injurin' a +hair in either o' their heads.” + +“I am not married,” said the other, “but I expect to be soon, and when +I am I will pay you well for the knowledge of that herb--for my wife, I +mean. Where do you live?” + +“In Rathfillan, sir. I'm a well-known man there, and for many a long +mile about it.” + +“You must be very useful to the country people hereabouts?” + +“Ay,” he exclaimed, “you mane to the poor, I suppose, and you're right; +but maybe I'm of sarvice to the rich, too. Many a face I save from--I +could save from shame, I mane--if I liked, and could get well ped for +it, too. Some young, extravagant people that have rich ould fathers do +be spakin' to me, too; but thin, you know, I have a sowl to be saved, +and am a religious man, I hope, and do my duty as sich, and that every +one that has a sowl to be saved, may! _Amin, acheernah!_ + +“I am glad to find that your sense of duty preserves you against such +strong temptations.” + +“Then, there's another set of men--these outlaws that do be robbin' rich +people's houses, and they, too, try to tempt me.” + +“Why should they tempt you?” + +“Bekaise the people, now knowin' that they're abroad, keep watch-dogs, +bloodhounds, and sich useful animals, that give the alarm at night, and +the robbers wishin', you see, to get them out of the way, do be temptin' +me about wishin' me to pison them.” + +“Of course you resist them?” + +“Well, I hope I do; but sometimes it's hard to get over them, especially +when they plant a _skean_ or a _middogue_ to one's navel, and swear +great oaths that they'll make a scabbard for it of my poor ould bulg +(belly)--I say, when the thieves do the business that way, it requires +a grate dale of the grace o' God to deny them. But what's any Chr'sthen +'idout the grace o' God? May we all have it! _Amin, acheernah!_” + +“Well, when I marry, as I will soon, I'll call upon you; I dare say my +wife will get jealous, for I love the ladies, if that's a fault.” + +Another grin was his first reply to this, after which he said: + +“Well, sir, if she does, come to me.” + +“Where in Rathfillan do you live?” + +“O, anybody will tell you; inquire for ould Sol Donnel, the yarrib man, +and you'll soon find me out.” + +“But 'suppose I shouldn't wish it to be known that I called on you?” + +“Eh?” said the old villain, giving him another significant grin that +once more projected the fang; “well, maybe you wouldn't. If you want +my sarvices then, come to the cottage that's built agin the church-yard +wall, on the north side; and if you don't wish to be seen, why you can +come about midnight, when every one's asleep.” + +“What's this you say your name is?” + +“Sol Donnel.” + +“What do you mean by Sol?” + +He turned up his red eyes in astonishment, and exclaimed: + +“Well, now, to think that, a larned man as you must be shouldn't know +what Sol means! Well, the ignorance of you great people is unknown. +Don't you know--but you don't--oughn't you know, then, that Sol means +Solomon, who was the wisest many and the biggest blaggard that ever +lived! Faith, if I had lived in his day he'd be a poor customer to me, +bekaise he had no shame in him; but indeed, the doin's that goes on now +in holes and corners among ourselves was no shame in his time. That's a +fine bay horse you ride; would you like to have him dappled? A dappled +bay, you know, is always a great beauty.” + +“And could you dapple him? + +“Ay, as sure as you ride him.” + +“Well, I'll think about it and let you know; there's some silver for +you, and good-by, honest Solomon.” + +Woodward then rode on, reflecting on the novel and extraordinary +character of this hypocritical old villain, in whose withered and +repulsive visage he could not discover a single trace of anything that +intimated the existence of sympathy with his kind. As to that, it was a +_tabula rasa_, blank of all feelings except those which characterize the +hyena and the fox. After he had left him, the old fellow gave a bitter +and derisive look after him. + +“There you go,” said he, “and well I knew you, although you didn't think +so. Weren't you pointed out to me the night o' the divil's bonfire, +that your mother, they say, got up for you; and didn't I see you since +spakin' to that skamin' blaggard, Caterine Collins, my niece, that takes +many a penny out o' my hands; and didn't I know that you couldn't be +talkin' to her about anything that was good. Troth, you're not your +mother's son or you'll be comin' to me as well as her. Bad luck to her! +she was near gettin' me into the stocks when I sowld her the dose of +oak bark for the sarvants, to draw in their stomachs and shorten +their feedin'. My faith, ould Lindsay 'ud have put me in them only for +bringin' shame upon his wife.” * + + * Some of our readers may imagine that in the enumeration of + the cures which old Sol professed to effect we have drawn + too largely upon their credulity, whereas there is scarcely + one of them that, is not practised, or attempted, in remote + and uneducated parts of Ireland, almost down to the present + day. We ourselves in early youth saw a man who professed, + and was believed to be able, to cure jealousy in either man + or woman by a potion; whilst charms for colics, toothaches, + taking motes out of the eye, and for producing love, were + common among the ignorant people within our own + recollection. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A Healing of the Breach. + +--A Proposal for Marriage Accepted. + + +On that evening, when the family were assembled at supper, Mrs. Lindsay, +who had had a previous consultation with her son Harry, thought proper +to introduce the subject of the projected marriage between him and Alice +Goodwin. + +“Harry has paid a visit to these neighbors of ours,” said she, “these +Goodwins, and I think, now that he has come home, it would be only +prudent on our part to renew the intimacy that was between us. Not that +I like, or ever will like, a bone in one of their bodies; but it's only +right that we should foil them at their own weapons, and try to get back +the property into the hands of one of the family at least, if we can, +and so prevent it from going to strangers. I am determined to pay them a +friendly visit tomorrow.” + +“A friendly visit!” exclaimed her husband, with an expression of +surprise and indignation on his countenance which he could not conceal; +“how can you say a friendly visit, after having just told us that you +neither like them, nor ever will like them? not that it was at all +necessary for you to assure us of that. It is, however, the hypocrisy of +the thing on your part that startle? and disgusts me.” + +“Call it prudence, if you please, Lindsay, or worldly wisdom, if you +like, after all the best kind of wisdom; and I only wish you had more of +it.” + +“That makes no difference in life,” replied her husband, calmly, but +severely; “as it is, you have enough, and more than enough for the whole +family.” + +“But has Harry any hopes of success with Alice Goodwin,” asked Charles, +“because everything depends on that?” + +“If he had not, you foolish boy, do you think I would be the first to +break the ice by going to pay them a visit? The girl, I dare say, will +make a very good wife, or if she does not, the property will not be a +pound less in value on that account; that's one comfort.” + +“And is it upon this hollow and treacherous principle that you are about +to pay them a friendly visit?” asked her husband, with ill-repressed +indignation. + +“Lindsay,” she replied, sharply, “I perceive you are rife for a +quarrel now; but I beg to tell you, sir, that I will neither seek your +approbation nor regard your authority. I must manage these people after +my own fashion.” + +“Harry,” said his step-father, turning abruptly, and with incredulous +surprise to him, “surely it is not possible that you are a party to such +a shameful imposture upon this excellent family?” + +His brother Charles fastened his eyes upon him as if he would read his +heart. + +“I am sorry, sir,” replied that gentleman, “that you should think it +necessary to apply the word imposture to any' proceeding of mine. You +ought to know my mother's outspoken way, and that her heart is kinder +than her language. The fact is, from the first moment I saw that +beautiful girl I felt a warm interest in her, and I feel that interest +increasing every day. I certainly am very anxious to secure her for her +own sake, whilst I candidly admit that I am not wholly indifferent to +the property. I am only a common man like others, and not above the +world and its influences--who can be that lives in it? My mother, +besides, will come to think better of Alice, and all of them, when she +shall be enabled to call Alice daughter; won't you, mother?” + +The mother, who knew by the sentiments which he had expressed to her +before on this subject, that he was now playing a game with the +family, did not consider it prudent to contradict him; she consequently +replied,-- + +“I don't know, Harry; I cannot get their trick about the property out +of my heart; but, perhaps, if I saw it once more where it ought to be, I +might change. That's all I can say at present.” + +“Well, come, Harry,” said Lindsay--adverting to what he had just +said--“I think you have spoken fairly enough; I do--it's candid; you are +not above this world; why should you be?--come, it is candid.” + +“I trust, sir, you will never find me un-candid, either on this or any +other subject.” + +“No; I don't think I shall, Harry. Well, be it so--setting your mother +out of the question,--proceed with equal candor in your courtship. I +trust you deserve her, and, if so, I hope you may get her.” + +“If he does not,” said Maria, “he will never get such a wife.” + +“By the way, Harry,” asked Charles, “has she given you an intimation of +anything like encouragement?” + +“Well, I rather think I am not exactly a fool, Charles, nor likely to +undertake an enterprise without some prospect of success. I hope you +deem me, at least, a candid man.” + +“Yes; but there is a class of persons who frequently form too high an +estimate of themselves, especially in their intercourse with women; and +who very often mistake civility for encouragement.” + +“Very true, Charles--exceedingly just and true; but I hope I am not one +of those either; my knowledge of life and the world will prevent me +from that, I trust.” + +“I hope,” continued Charles, “that if the girl is adverse to such a +connection she will not be harassed or annoyed about it.” + +“I hope, Charles, I have too much pride to press any proposal that may +be disagreeable to her; I rather think I have. But have you, Charles, +any reason to suppose that she should not like me?” + +“Why, from what you have already hinted, Harry, you ought to be the best +judge of that yourself.” + +“Well, I think so, too. I am not in the habit of walking blindfold into +any adventure, especially one so important as this. Trust to my address, +my dear fellow,” he added, with a confident smile, “and, believe me, you +shall soon see her your sister-in-law.” + +“And I shall be delighted at it, Harry,” said his sister; “so go on and +prosper. If you get her you will get a treasure, setting her property +out of the question.” + +“Her property!” ejaculated Mrs. Lindsay; “but no matter; we shall see. I +can speak sweetly enough when I wish.” + +“I wish to God you would try it oftener, then,” said her husband; “but +I trust that during this visit of yours you will not give way to your +precious temper and insult them at the outset. Don't tie a knot with +your tongue that you can't unravel with your teeth. Be quiet, now; +I didn't speak to raise the devil and draw on a tempest--only let us +have a glass of punch, till Charley and I drink success to Harry.” + +The next day Mrs. Lindsay ordered the car, and proceeded to pay her +intended visit to the Goodwins. She had arrived pretty near the house, +when two of Goodwin's men, who were driving his cows to a grazing field +on the other side of the road by which she was approaching, having +noticed and recognized her, immediately turned them back and drove them +into a paddock enclosed by trees, where they were completely out of her +sight. + +“Devil blow her, east and west!” said one of them. “What brings her +across us now that we have the cattle wid us? and doesn't all the world +know that she'd lave them sick and sore wid one glance of her unlucky +eye. I hope in God she didn't see them, the thief o' the devil that she +is.” + +“She can't see them now, the cratures,” replied the other; “and may the +devil knock the light out of her eyes at any rate,” he added, “for sure, +they say it's the light of hell that's in them.” + +“Well, when she goes there she'll be able to see her way, and sure +that'll be one comfort,” replied his companion; “but in the mane time, +if anything happens the cows--poor bastes--we'll know the rason of it.” + +“She must dale wid the devil,” said the other, “and I hope she'll be +burned for a witch yet; but whisht, here she comes, and may the devil +roast her on his toastin' iron the first time he wants a male!” + +“Troth, an' he'd find her tough feedin',” said his comrade; “and. +barrin' he has strong tusks, as I suppose he has, he'd find it no +every-day male wid him.” + +As they spoke, the object of their animadversion appeared, and turned +upon them, so naturally, a sinister and sharp look, that it seemed to +the men as if she had suspected the subject of their conversation. + +“You are Mr. Goodwin's laborers, are you not?” + +“We are, ma'am,” replied one of them, without, as usual, touching his +hat however. + +“You ill-mannered boor,” she said, “why do you not touch your hat to a +lady, when she condescends to speak to you?” + +“I always touch my hat to a lady, ma'am,” replied the man sharply. + +“Come here, you other man,” said she; “perhaps you are not such an +insolent ruffian as this? Can you tell me if Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin are at +home?” + +“Are you goin' there?” asked the man, making a low bow. + +“Yes, I am, my good man,” she replied. + +“Well, then, ma'am,” he added, bowing again, “you'll find that out +when you go to the house;” and he made her another bow to wind up the +information with all due politeness. + +“Barney,” said she to the servant, her face inflamed with rage, “drive +on. I only wish I had those ruffianly scoundrels to deal with; I would +teach them manners to their betters at all events; and you, sirra, why +did you not use your whip and chastise them?” + +“Faith, ma'am,” replied our friend Barney Casey, “it's aisier said than +done wid some of us. Why, ma'am, they're the two hardiest and best men +in the parish; however, here's Pugshy Ruah turnin' out o' the gate, and +she'll be able to tell you whether they are at home or not.” + +“O, that's the woman they say is unlucky,” observed his +mistress--“unlucky to meet, I mean; I have often heard of her; indeed, +it may be so, for I believe there are such persons; we shall speak to +her, however. My good woman,” she said, addressing Pugshy, “allow me to +ask, have you been at Mr. Goodwin's?” + +Now Pugshy had all the legitimate characteristics of an “unlucky” woman; +red-haired, had a game eye--that is to say, she squinted with one of +them; Pugshy wore a caubeen hat, like a man; had on neither shoe nor +stocking; her huge, brawny arms, uncovered almost to the shoulders, +were brown with freckles, as was her face; so that, altogether, she +would have made a bad substitute either for the Medicean Venus or the +Apollo Belvidere. + +“My good woman, allow me to ask if you have been at Mr. Goodwin's.” + +Pugshy, who knew her well, stood for a moment, and closing the eye with +which she did not squint, kept the game one fixed upon her very steadily +for half a minute, and as she wore the caubeen rather rakishly on one +side of her head, her whole figure and expression were something between +the frightful and the ludicrous. + +“Was I at Misther Goodwin's, is it? Lord love you, ma'am, (and ye need +it, _sotto voce_), an' maybe you'd give us a thrifle for the male's +mate; it's hard times wid us this weader.” + +“I have no change; I never bring change out with me.” + +“You're goin' to Mr. Goodwin's, ma'am?” + +“Yes; are he and Mrs. Goodwin at home, can you tell me?” + +“They are, ma'am, but you may as well go back again; you'll have no luck +this day.” + +“Why so?” + +“Why, bekaise you won't; didn't you meet me? Who ever has luck that +meets me? Nobody ought to know that betther than yourself, for, by all +accounts, you're tarred wid the same stick.” + +“Foolish woman,” replied Mrs. Lindsay, “how is it in your power to +prevent me?” + +“No matther,” replied the woman; “go an; but mark my words, you'll have +your journey for nuttin', whatever it is. Indeed, if I turned back three +steps wid you it might be otherwise, but you refused to cross my hand, +so you must take your luck,” and with a frightful glance from the eye +aforesaid, she passed on. + +As she drove up to Mr. Goodwin's residence she was met on the steps of +the hall-door by that kind-hearted gentleman and his wife, and received +with a feeling of gratification which the good people could not +disguise. + +“I suppose,” said Mrs. Lindsay, after they had got seated in the +drawing-room, “that you are surprised to see me here?” + +“We are delighted, say, Mrs. Lindsay,” replied Mr. Goodwin--“delighted. +Why should ill-will come between neighbors and friends without any just +cause on either side? That property--” + +“O, don't talk about that,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “I didn't come to +speak about it; let everything connected with it be forgotten; and +as proof that I wish it should be so, I came here to-day to renew the +intimacy that should subsist between us.” + +“And, indeed,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, “the interruption of that intimacy +distressed us very much--more, perhaps, Mrs. Lindsay, than you might +feel disposed to give us credit for.” + +“Well, my dear madam,” replied the other, “I am sure you will be glad +to hear that I have not only my own inclination, but the sanction and +wish of my whole family, in making this friendly visit, with the hope of +placing us all upon our former footing. But, to tell you the truth, this +might not have been so, were it not for the anxiety of my son Henry, who +has returned to us, and whom, I believe, you know.” + +“We have that pleasure,” replied Goodwin; “and from what we have seen of +him, we think you have a right to feel proud of such a son.” + +“So I do, indeed,” replied his mother; “he is a good and most amiable +young man, without either art or cunning, but truthful and honorable +in the highest degree. It is to him we shall all be indebted for this +reconciliation; or, perhaps, I might say,” she added, with a smile, “to +your own daughter Alice.” + +“Ah! poor Alice,” exclaimed her father; “none of us felt the +estrangement of the families with so much regret as she did.” + +“Indeed, Mrs. Lindsay,” added his wife, “I can bear witness to that; +many a bitter tear it occasioned the poor girl.” + +“I believe she is a most amiable creature,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “and +I believe,” she added with a smile, “that there is one particular young +gentleman of that opinion as well as myself.” + +We believe in our souls that the simplest woman in existence, or that +ever lived, becomes a deep and thorough diplomatist when engaged in +a conversation that involves in the remotest degree any matrimonial +speculation for a daughter. Now, Mrs. Goodwin knew as well as the reader +does, that Mrs. Lindsay made allusion to her son Harry, the new-comer; +but she felt that it was contrary to the spirit of such negotiations +to make a direct admission of that feeling; she, accordingly, was of +opinion that in order to bring Mrs. Lindsay directly to the point, and +to exonerate herself and her husband from ever having entertained the +question at all, her best plan was to misunderstand her, and seem to +proceed upon a false scent. + +“O, indeed, Mrs. Lindsay,” she replied, “I am not surprised at that; +Charles and Alice were always great favorites with each other.” + +“Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay; “Charles! What could induce you +to think of associating Charles and Alice? He is unworthy of such an +association.” + +“Bless me,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodwin in her turn; “why, I thought you +alluded to Charles.” + +“No,” said her neighbor, “I alluded to my eldest son, Harry, to whose +good offices in this matter both families are so much indebted. He is +worthy of any girl, and indeed few girls are worthy of him; but as for +Alice, you know what a favorite she was with me, and I trust now I shall +like her even better than ever.” + +“You are right, Mrs. Lindsay,” said Goodwin, “in saying that few women +are worthy of your eldest son; he is a most gentlemanly, and evidently +a most accomplished young man; his conversation at breakfast here the +morning after the storm was so remarkable, both for good sense and good +feeling, that I am not surprised at your friendly visit today, Mrs. +Lindsay. He was sent, I hope, to introduce a spirit of peace and concord +between us, and God forbid that we should repel it; on the contrary, +we hail his mediation with delight, and feel deeply indebted to him for +placing both families in their original position.” + +“I trust in a better position,” replied his adroit mother; “I trust in a +better position, Mr. Goodwin, and a still nearer and dearer connection. +It is better, however, to speak out; you know me of old, my dear +friends, and that I am blunt and straightforward--as the proverb has it, +'I think what I say, and I say what I think.' This visit, then, is made, +as I said, not only by my own wish, but at the express entreaty of my +son Harry, and the great delight of the whole family; there is therefore +no use in concealing the fact--he is deeply attached to your daughter, +Alice, and was from the first moment he saw her;--of course you now +understand my mission--which is, in fact, to make a proposal of marriage +in his name, and to entreat your favorable consideration of it, as well +as your influence in his behalf with Alice herself.” + +“Well, I declare, Mrs. Lindsay,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, (God forgive +her!) “you have taken us quite by surprise--you have indeed;--dear +me--I'm quite agitated; but he is, indeed, a fine young man--a perfect +gentleman in his manners, and if he be as good as he looks--for +marriage, God help us, tries us all--” + +“I hope it never tried you much, Martha,” replied her husband, smiling. + +“No, my dear, I don't say so. Still, when the happiness of one's child +is concerned--and such a child as Alice--” + +“But consider, Mrs. Goodwin,” replied the ambassadress, who, in +fact, was not far from an explosion at what she considered a piece of +contemptible vacillation on the part of her neighbor--“consider, Mrs. +Goodwin,” said she, “that the happiness of my son is concerned.” + +“I know it is,” she replied; “but speak to her father, Mrs. Lindsay--he, +as such, is the proper person--O, dear me.” + +“Well, Mr. Goodwin--you have heard what I have said?” + +“I have, madam,” said he; “but thank God I am not so nervous as my good +wife here. I like your son, Harry, very much, from what I have seen +of him--and, to be plain with you, I really see no objection to such a +match. On the contrary, it will promote peace and good-will between +us; and, I have no doubt, will prove a happy event to the parties most +concerned.” + +“O, there is not a doubt of it,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodwin, now chiming in +with her husband; “no, there can be no doubt of it. O, they will be very +happy together, and that will be so delightful. My darling Alice!”--and +here she became pathetic, and shed tears copiously--“yes,” she added, +“we will lose you, my darling, and a lonely house we will have after +you, for I suppose they will live in the late Mr. Hamilton's residence, +on their own property.” + +This allusion to the arrangements contemplated in the event of the +marriage, redeemed, to a certain degree, the simple-hearted Mrs. Goodwin +from the strongest possible contempt on the part of a woman who was +never known to shed a tear upon any earthly subject. + +“Well, then,” proceeded Mrs. Lindsay, “I am to understand that this +proposal on the behalf of my son is accepted?” + +“So far as I and Mrs. Goodwin are concerned,” replied Goodwin, “you are, +indeed, Mrs. Lindsay, and so far all is smooth and easy; but, on the +other hand, there is Alice--she, you know, is to be consulted.” + +“O! as for poor Alice,” said her mother, “there will be no difficulty +with her; whatever I and her father wish her to do, if it be to please +us, that she will do.” + +“I trust,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “she has no previous attachment; for that +would be unfortunate for herself, poor girl.” + +“She an attachment!” exclaimed her mother; “no, the poor, timid creature +never thought of such a thing.” + +“It is difficult for parents to know that,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “but +where is she?” + +“She's gone out,” replied her mother, “to take a pleasant jaunt somewhere +with a young friend of ours, a Mr. O'Connor; but, indeed, I'm glad she +is not here, for if she was, we could not, you know, discuss this matter +in her presence.” + +“That is very true,” observed Mrs. Lindsay, dryly; “but perhaps she +doesn't regret her absence. As it is, I think you ought to impress upon +her that, in the article of marriage, a young and inexperienced girl +like her ought to have no will but that of her parents, who are best +qualified, from their experience and knowledge of life to form and +direct her principles.” + +“I do not think,” said her father, “that there is anything to be +apprehended on her part. She is the most unselfish and disinterested +girl that ever existed, and sooner than give her mother or me a pang, I +am sure she would make any sacrifice; but at the same time,” he added, +“if her own happiness were involved in the matter, I should certainly +accept no such sacrifice at her hands.” + +“As to that, Mr. Goodwin,” she replied, “I hope we need calculate upon +nothing on her part but a willing consent and obedience. At all events, +it is but natural that they should be pretty frequently in each other's +society, and that my son should have an opportunity of inspiring her +with good will towards him, if not a still warmer feeling. The matter +being now understood, of course, that is and will be his exclusive +privilege.” + +“Your observations, my dear madam, are but reasonable and natural,” + replied Goodwin. “Why, indeed, should it be otherwise, considering their +contemplated relation to each other? Of course, we shall be delighted +to see him here as often as he chooses to come, and so, I am sure, will +Alice.” + +They then separated upon the most cordial terms; and Mrs. Lindsay, +having mounted her vehicle, proceeded on her way home. She was, however, +far from satisfied at the success of her interview with the Goodwins. So +far as the consent of her father and mother went, all was, to be sure, +quite as she could have wished it; but then, as to Alice herself, there +might exist an insurmountable difficulty. She did not at all relish the +fact of that young lady's taking her amusement with Mr. O'Connor, who +she knew was of a handsome person and independent circumstances, and +very likely to become a formidable rival to her son. As matters stood, +however, she resolved to conceal her apprehensions on this point, and to +urge Harry to secure, if possible, the property, which both she herself +and he had solely in view. As for the girl, each of them looked on her +as a cipher in the transaction, whose only value was rated by the broad +acres which they could not secure without taking her along with them. + +The family were dispersed when she returned home, and she, consequently, +reserved the account of her mission until she should meet them in the +evening. At length the hour came, and she lost no time in opening +the matter at full length, suppressing, at the same time, her own +apprehensions of Alice's consent, and her dread of the rivalry on the +part of O'Connor. + +“Well,” said she, “I have seen these people; I have called upon them, as +you all know; and, as I said, I have seen them.” + +“To very little purpose, I am afraid,” said her husband; “I don't like +your commencement of the report.” + +“I suppose not,” she replied; “but, thank God, it is neither your liking +nor disliking that we regard, Lindsay. I have seen them, Harry; and I am +glad to say that they are civil people.” + +“Is it only now you found that out?” asked her husband; “why, they never +were anything else, Jenny.” + +“Well, really,” said she, “I shall be forced to ask you to leave the +room if you proceed at this rate. Children, will you protect me from the +interruption and the studied insults of this man?” + +“Father,” said Charles, “for Heaven's sake will you allow her to state +the result of her visit? We are all very anxious to hear it; none more +so than I.” + +“Please except your elder brother,” said Harry, laughing, “whose +interest you know, Charley, is most concerned.” + +“Well, perhaps so,” said Charles; “of course, Harry--but proceed, +mother, we shan't interrupt you.” + +“O, go on,” said his mother, “go on; discuss the matter among you, I can +wait; don't hesitate to interrupt me; your father there has set you that +gentlemanly example.” + +“It must surely be good when it comes,” said Harry,with a smile; “but do +proceed, my dear mother, and never mind these queer folk; go on at once, +and let us know all: we--that is, myself--are prepared for the worst; do +proceed, mother.” + +“Am I at liberty to speak?” said she, and she looked at them with a +glance that expressed a very fierce interrogatory. They all nodded, and +she resumed: + +“Well, I have seen these people, I say; I have made a proposal of +marriage between Harry and Alice, and that proposal is--” + +She paused, and looked around her with an air of triumph; but whether +that look communicated the triumph of success, or that of her inveterate +enmity and contempt for them ever since the death of old Hamilton, +was as great a secret to them as the Bononian enigma. There was a dead +silence, much to her mortification, for she would have given a great +deal that her husband had interrupted her just then, and taken her upon +the wrong tack. + +“Well,” she proceeded, “do you all wish to hear it?” + +Lindsay put his forefinger on his lips, and nodded to all the rest to do +the same. + +“Ah, Lindsay,” she exclaimed, “you are an ill-minded man; but it matters +not so far as you are concerned--in three words, Harry, the proposal is +accepted; yes, accepted, and with gratitude and thanksgiving.” + +“And you had no quarrel?” said Lindsay, with astonishment; “nor you +didn't let out on them? Well, well!” + +“Children, I am addressing myself to you, and especially to Harry here, +who is most interested; no, I see nothing to prevent us from having back +the property and the curds-and-whey along with it.” + +“Faith, and the curds-and-whey are the best part of it after all,” said +Lindsay; “but, in the meantime, you might be a little more particular, +and give us a touch of your own eloquence and ability in bringing it +about.” + +“What did Alice herself say, mother?” asked Charles; “was she a party to +the consent? because, if she was, your triumph, or rather Harry's here, +is complete.” + +“It is complete,” replied his mother, having recourse to a dishonest +evasion; “the girl and her parents have but one opinion. Indeed, I +always did the poor thing the credit to believe that she never was +capable of entertaining an opinion of her own, and it now turns out a +very fortunate thing for Harry that it is so; but of course he has made +an impression upon her.” + +“As to that, mamma,” said Maria, “I don't know--he may, or he may not; +but of this I am satisfied, that Alice Goodwin is a girl who can form +an opinion for herself, and that, whatever that opinion be, she will +neither change or abandon it upon slight grounds. I know her well, but +if she has consented to marry Harry she will marry him, and that is all +that is to be said about it.” + +“I thought she would,” said Harry; “I told you, Charley, that I didn't +think I was a fool--didn't I?” + +“I know you did, Harry,” replied his brother; “but I don't know how--it +strikes me that I would rather have any other man's opinion on that +subject than your own; however, time will tell.” + +“It will tell, of course; and if it proves me a fool, I will give +you leave to clap the fool's cap on me for life. And now that we +have advanced so far and so well, I may go and take one of my evening +strolls, in order to meditate on my approaching happiness.” And he did +so. + +The family were not at all surprised at this, even although the period +of his walks frequently extended into a protracted hour of the night. +Not so the servants, who wondered why Master Harry should walk so much +abroad and remain out so late at night, especially considering the +unsettled and alarming state of the country, in consequence of the +outrages and robberies which were of such frequent occurrence. This, +it is true, was startling enough to these simple people; but that which +filled them not only with astonishment, but with something like awe, +was the indifference with which he was known to traverse haunted places +alone and unaccompanied, when the whole country around, except thieves +and robbers, witches, and evil spirits, were sound asleep. “What,” they +asked each other, “could he mean by it?” + +“Barney Casey, you that knows a great deal for an unlarned man, tell +us what you think of it,” said the cook; “isn't it the world's wondher, +that a man that's out at such hours doesn't see somethin'? There's Lanty +Bawn, and sure they say he saw the _white woman_ beyant the end of the +long _boreen_ on Thursday night last, the Lord save us; eh, Barney?” + +Barney immediately assumed the oracle. + +“He did,” said he; “and what is still more fearful, it's said there was +a black man along wid her. They say that Lanty seen them both, and that +the black man had his arm about the white woman's waist, and was kissin' +her at full trot.” + +The cook crossed herself, and the whole kitchen turned up its eyes at +this diabolical piece of courtship. + +“Musha, the Lord be about us in the manetime; but bad luck to the ould +boy, (a black man is always considered the devil, or the ould boy, +as they call him,) wasn't it a daisant taste he had, to go to kiss a +ghost?” + +“Why,” replied Barney with a grin, “I suppose the ould chap is hard set +on that point; who the devil else would kiss him, barrin' some she ghost +or other? Some luckless ould maid, I'll go bail, that gather a beard +while she was here, and the devil now is kissin' it off to get seein' +what kind of a face she has. Well, all I can say,” he proceeded, “is, +that I wish him luck of his employment, for in troth it's an honorable +one and he has a right to be proud of it.” + +“Well, well,” said the housemaid, “it's a wondher how any one can walk +by themselves at night; wasn't it near the well at the foot of the long +hill that goes up to where the Davorens live that they were seen?” + +“It was,” replied Barney; “at laste they say so.” + +“And didn't yourself tell me,” she proceeded, “that that same lonesome +boreen is a common walk at night wid Master Harry?” + +“And so it is, Nanse,” replied Barney: “but as for Misther Harry, I +believe it's party well known, that by night or by day he may walk where +he likes.” + +“Father of heaven!” they exclaimed in a low, earnest voice; “but why, +Barney?” they asked in a condensed whisper. + +“Why! Why is he called _Harry na Suil Balor_ for? Can you tell me that?” + +“Why, bekaise his two eyes isn't one color.” + +“And why aren't they one color? Can you tell me that?” + +“O, the sorra step farther I can go in that question.” + +“No,” said Barney, full of importance, “I thought not, and what is more, +I didn't expect it from you. His mother could tell, though. It's in her +family, and there's worse than that in her family.” + +“Troth, by all accounts,” observed the girl, “there never was anything +good in her family. But, Barney, achora, will you tell us, if you know, +what's the rason of it?” + +“If I know?” said Barney, rather offended; “maybe I don't know, and +maybe I do, if it came to that. Any body, then, that has two eyes of +different colors always has the Evil Eye, or the _Suil Balor_, and has +the power of overlookin'; and, between ourselves, Masther Harry has it. +The misthress herself can only overlook cattle, bekaise both her eyes is +of the one color; but Masther Harry could overlook either man or woman +if he wished. And how do you think that comes?” + +“The Lord knows,” replied the cook, crossing herself; “from no good, at +any rate. Troth, I'll get a gospel and a scapular, for, to tell you the +truth, I observed that Masther Harry gave me a look the other day that +made my flesh creep, by rason that he thought the mutton was overdone.” + +“O, you needn't be afeard,” replied Barney; “he can overlook or not, as +he plaises; if he does not wish to do so, you're safe enough; but when +any one like him that has the power wishes to do it, they could wither +you by degrees off o' the airth.” + +“God be about us! But, Barney, you didn't tell us how it comes, for all +that.” + +“It comes from the fairies. Doesn't every one know that the fairies +themselves has the power of overlookin' both cattle and Christians?” + +“That's true enough,” she replied; “every one, indeed, knows that. Sure, +my aunt had a child that died o' the fairies.” + +“Yes, but Masther Harry can see them.” + +“What! is it the fairies?” + +“Ay, the fairies, but only wid one eye, that piercin' black one of his. +No, no; as I said before, he may walk where he likes, both by night and +by day; he's safe from everything of the kind; even a ghost daren't lay +a finger on him; and as the devil and the fairies are connected, he's +safe from him, too, in this world at laste; but the Lord pity him when +he goes to the next; for there he'll suffer _lalty_.” + +The truth is, that in those days of witchcraft and apparitions of all +kinds, and even in the present, among the ignorant and uneducated of the +lower classes, any female seen at night in a lonely place, and supposed +to be a spirit, was termed a white woman, no matter what the color +of her dress may have been, provided it was not black. The same +superstition held good when anything in the shape of a man happened to +appear under similar circumstances. Terror, and the force of an excited +imagination, instantly transformed it into a black man, and that black +man, of course, was the devil himself. In the case before us, however, +our readers, we have no doubt, can give a better guess at the nature +of the black man and white woman in question than either the cook, the +housemaid, or even Barney himself. + +It was late that night when Harry came in. The servants, with whose +terrors and superstitions Casey had taken such liberties, now looked +upon him as something awful, and, as might be naturally expected, felt a +dreadful curiosity with respect to him and his movements. They lay +awake on the night in question, with the express purpose of satisfying +themselves as to the hour of his return, and as that was between twelve +and one, they laid it down as a certain fact that there was something +“not light,” and beyond the common in his remaining out so late. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. Chase of the White Hare. + +“Hark, forward, forward; holla ho!” + + +The next morning our friend Harry appeared at the breakfast table rather +paler than usual, and in one of his most abstracted moods; for it may be +said here that the frequent occurrence of such moods had not escaped the +observation of his family, especially of his step-father, in whose good +grace, it so happened, that he was not improving. One cause of this +was his supercilious, or, rather, his contemptuous manner towards his +admirable and affectionate brother. He refused to associate with him +in his sports or diversions; refused him his confidence, and seldom +addressed him, except in that tone of banter which always implies an +offensive impression of inferiority and want of respect towards the +object of it. After breakfast the next morning, his father said to +Charles, when the other members of the family had all left the room,-- + +“Charley, there is something behind that gloom of Harry's which I don't +like. Indeed, altogether, he has not improved upon me since his return, +and you are aware that I knew nothing of him before. I cannot conceive +his object in returning home just now, and, it seems, with no intention +of going back. His uncle was the kindest of men to him, and intended to +provide for him handsomely. It is not for nothing he would leave such an +uncle, and it is not for nothing that such an uncle would part with him, +unless there was a screw loose somewhere. I don't wish to press him into +an explanation; but he has not offered any, and refuses, of course, to +place any confidence in me.” + +“My dear father,” replied the generous brother, “I fear you judge him +too harshly. As for these fits of gloom, they may be constitutional; +you know my mother has them, and won't speak to one of us sometimes +for whole days together. It is possible that some quarrel or +misunderstanding may have taken place between him and his uncle; but +how do you know that his silence on the subject does not proceed from +delicacy towards that relative?” + +“Well, it may be so; and it is a very kind and generous interpretation +which you give of it, Charley. Let that part of the subject pass, then; +but, again, regarding this marriage. The principle upon which he and +his mother are proceeding is selfish, heartless, and perfidious in the +highest degree; and d---- me if I think it would be honorable in me to +stand by and see such a villainous game played against so excellent a +family--against so lovely and so admirable a girl as Alice Goodwin. It +is a union between the kite and the dove, Charley, and it would be base +and cowardly in me to see such a union accomplished.” + +“Father,” said Charles, “in this matter will you be guided by me? +If Alice herself is a consenting party to the match, you have, in my +opinion, no right to interfere, at least with her affections. If she +marries him without stress or compulsion, she does it deliberately, and +she shapes her own course and her own fate. In the meantime I advise +you to hold back for the present, and wait until her own sentiments are +distinctly understood. That can be effected by a private interview with +yourself, which you can easily obtain. Let us not be severe on Harry. I +rather think he is pressed forward in the matter by my mother, for the +sake of the property If his uncle has discarded him, it is not, surely, +unreasonable that a young man like him, without a profession or +any fixed purpose in life, should wish to secure a wife--and such a +wife--who will bring back to him the very property which was originally +destined for himself in the first instance. Wait, then, at all events, +until Alice's conduct in the matter is known. If there be unjustifiable +force and pressure upon her, act; if not, I think, sir, that, with every +respect, your interference would be an unjustifiable intrusion.” + +“Very well, Charley; I believe you are right; I will be guided by you +for the present; I won't interfere; but in the meantime I shall have an +eye to their proceedings. I don't think the Goodwins at all mercenary or +selfish, but it is quite possible that they may look upon Harry as the +heir of his uncle's wealth; and, after all, Charley, nature is nature; +that may influence them even unconsciously, and yet I am not in a +condition to undeceive them.” + +“Father,” said Charles, “all I would suggest is, as I said before, a +little patience for the present; wait a while until we learn how Alice +herself will act. I am sorry to say that I perceived what I believe to +be an equivocation on the part of my mother in her allusion to Alice. I +think it will be found by and by that her personal consent has not been +given; and, what is more, that she was not present at all during +their conversation on the subject. If she was, however, and became a +consenting party to the proposal, then I say now, as I said before, you +have no right to interfere in the business.” + +“What keeps him out so late at night? I mean occasionally. He is out two +or three nights every week until twelve or one o'clock. Now, you +know, in the present state of the country, that it is not safe. +_Shawn-na-Middogue_ and such scoundrels are abroad, and they might put a +bullet through him some night or other. + +“He is not at all afraid on that score,” replied Charles; “he never goes +out in the evening without a case of pistols freshly loaded.” + +“Well, but it, is wrong to subject himself to danger. Where is he gone +now?” + +“He and Barney Casey have gone out to course; I think they went up +towards the mountains.” + +Such was the fact. Harry was quite enamoured of sport, and, finding +dogs, guns, and fishing-rods ready to his hand, he became a regular +sportsman--a pursuit in which he found Barney a very able and +intelligent assistant, inasmuch as he knew the country, and every spot +where game of every description was to be had. They had traversed a +considerable portion of rough mountain land, and killed two or three +hares, when the heat of the day became so excessive that they considered +it time to rest and take refreshments. + +“The sun, Masther Harry, is d---- hot,” said Barney; “and now that ould +Bet Harramount hasn't been in it for many a long year, we may as well +go to that desolate cabin there above, and shelter ourselves from the +hate--not that I'd undhertake to go there by myself; but now that you +are wid me I don't care if I take a peep into the inside of it, out of +curiosity.” + +“Why,” said Woodward, “what about that cabin?” + +“I'll tell you that, sir, when we get into it. It's consarnin' coorsin' +too; but nobody ever lived in it since she left it.” + +“Since who left it?” + +“Never mind, sir; I'll tell you all about it by and by.” + +It was certainly a most desolate and miserable hut, and had such an +air of loneliness and desertion about it as was calculated to awaken +reflections every whit as deep and melancholy as the contemplation of +a very palace in ruins, especially to those who, like Barney, knew the +history of its last inhabitant. It was far up in the mountains, and not +within miles of another human habitation. Its loneliness and desolation +alone would not have made it so peculiarly striking and impressive +had it been inhabited; but its want of smoke--its still and lifeless +appearance--the silence and the solitude around it--the absence of +all symptoms of human life--its significant aspect of destitution and +poverty, even at the best--all contributed to awaken in the mind that +dreamy reflection that would induce the spectator to think that, apart +from the strife and bustle of life, it might have existed there for a +thousand years. Humble and contemptible in appearance as it was, yet +there, as it stood--smokeless, alone, and desolate, as we have said, +with no exponent of existence about it--no bird singing, no animal +moving, as a token of contiguous life, no tree waving in the breeze, no +shrub, even, stirring, but all still as the grave--there, we say, as +it stood, afar and apart from the general uproar of the world, and +apparently gray with long antiquity, it was a solemn and a melancholy +homily upon human life in all its aspects, from the cabin to the palace, +and from the palace to the grave. Now, its position and appearance might +suggest to a thinking and romantic mind all the reflections to which v& +have alluded, without any additional accessories; but when the reader is +informed that it was supposed to be the abode of crime, the rendezvous +of evil spirits, the theatre of unholy incantations, and the temporary +abode of the Great Tempter--and when all these facts are taken in +connection with its desolate character, he will surely admit that it was +calculated to impress the mind of all those who knew the history of its +antecedents with awe and dread. + +“I have never been in it,” said Barney, “and I don't think there's a man +or woman in the next three parishes that would enter it alone, even by +daylight; but now that you are wid me, I have a terrible curiosity to +see it inside.” + +A curse was thought to hang over it, but that curse, as it happened, was +its preservation in the undilapidated state in which it stood. + +On entering it, which Barney did not do without previously crossing +himself, they were surprised to find it precisely in the same situation +in which it had been abandoned. There were one small pot, two stools, an +earthen pitcher, a few wooden trenchers lying upon a shelf, an old dusty +salt-bag, an ash stick, broken in the middle, and doubled down so as to +form a tongs; and gathered up in a corner was a truss of straw, covered +with a rug and a thin old blanket, which had constituted a wretched +substitute for a bed. That, however, which alarmed Barney most, was an +old broomstick with a stump of worn broom attached to the end of it, as +it stood in an opposite corner. This constituted the whole furniture of +the hut. + +“Now, Barney,” said Harry, after they had examined it, “out with the +brandy and water and the slices of ham, till we refresh ourselves in the +first place, and after that I will hear your history of this magnificent +mansion.” + +“O, it isn't the mansion, sir,” he replied, “but the woman that lived in +it that I have to spake about. God guard us! There in that corner is the +very broomstick she used to ride through the air upon!” + +“Never mind that now, but ransack that immense shooting-pocket, and +produce its contents.” + +They accordingly sat down, each upon one of the stools, and helped +themselves to bread and ham, together with some tolerably copious +draughts of brandy and water which they had mixed before leaving +home. Woodward, perceiving Barney's anxiety to deliver himself of his +narrative, made him take an additional draught by way of encouragement +to proceed, which, having very willingly finished the bumper offered +him, he did as follows: + +“Well, Masther Harry, in the first place, do you believe in the Bible?” + +“In the Bible!--ahem--why--yes--certainly, Barney; do you suppose I'm +not a Christian?” + +“God forbid,” replied Barney; “well, the Bible itself isn't thruer than +what I'm goin' to tell you--sure all the world for ten miles round knows +it.” + +“Well, but, Barney, I would rather you would let me know it in the first +place.” + +“So I will, sir. Well, then, there was a witch-woman, by name one Bet +Harramount, and on the surface of God's earth, blessed be his name! +there was nothin' undher a bonnet and petticoats so ugly. She was pitted +wid the small-pox to that degree that you might hide half a peck of +marrowfat paise (peas) in her face widout their being noticed; then the +sanies (seams) that ran across it were five-foot raspers, every one of +them. She had one of the purtiest gooseberry eyes in Europe; and only +for the squint in the other, it would have been the ornament of her +comely face entirely; but as it was, no human bein' was ever able to +decide between them. She had two buck teeth in the front of her mouth +that nobody could help admirin'; and, indeed, altogether I don't wondher +that the devil fell in consate wid her, for, by all accounts, they +say he carries a sweet tooth himself for comely ould women like Bet +Harramount. Give the tasty ould chap a wrinkle any day before a dimple, +when he promotes them to be witches, as he did her. Sure he was seen +kissin' a ghost the other night near Crukanesker well, where the +Davorens get their wather from. O, thin, bedad, but Grace Davoren is a +beauty all out; and maybe 'tis herself doesn't know it.” + +“Go on with your story,” said Woodward, rather dryly; “proceed.” + +“Well, sir, there is Bet Harramount's face for you, and the rest of her +figure wasn't sich as to disgrace it. She was half bent wid age, wore +an ould black bonnet, an ould red cloak, and walked wid a staff that was +bent at the top, as it seems every witch must do. Where she came from +nobody could ever tell, for she was a black stranger in this part of the +country. At all events, she lived in the town below, but how she lived +nobody could tell either. Everything about her was a riddle; no wondher, +considherin' she hardly was ever known to spake to any one, from the +lark to the lamb. At length she began to be subjected by many sensible +people to be something not right; which you know, sir, was only natural. +Peter O'Figgins, that was cracked--but then it was only wid dhrink and +larnin'--said it; and Katty McTrollop, Lord Bilberry's henwife, was of +the same opinion, and from them and others the thing grew and spread +until it became right well known that she was nothin' else than a witch, +and that the big wart on her neck was nothin' more nor less than the +mark the devil had set upon her, to suckle his babies by. From this out, +them that had Christian hearts and loved their religion trated the thief +as she desarved to be trated. She was hissed and hooted, thank God, +wherever she showed her face; but still nobody had courage to lay a hand +upon her by rason of her blasphaimin' and cursin', which, they say, used +to make the hair stand like wattles upon the heads of them that heard +her.” + +“Had she not a black cat?” asked Woodward; “surely, she ought to have had +a familiar.” + +“No,” replied Barney; “the cat she had was a white cat, and the mainin' +of its color will appear to you by and by; at any rate, out came the +truth. You have heard of the Black Spectre--the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv?_” + +“I have,” replied the other; “proceed.” + +“Well, sir, as I said, the truth came out at last; in the coorse of +a short time she was watched at night, and seen goin' to the haunted +house, where the Spectre lives.” + +“Did she walk there, or fly upon her broomstick?” asked Woodward, +gravely. + +“I believe she walked, sir,” replied Barney; “but afther that every eye +was upon her, and many a time she was seen goin' to the haunted house +when she thought no eye was upon her. Afther this, of coorse, she +disappeared, for, to tell you the truth, the town became too hot +for her; and, indeed, this is not surprisin'. Two or three of the +neighborin' women miscarried, and several people lost their cattle after +she came to the town; and to make a long story short, just as it was +made up to throw her into the parson's pond, she disappeared, as I said, +exactly as if she had known their intention: and becoorse she did.” + +“And did they ever find out where she went to?” + +“Have patience, sir, for patience, they say, is a virtue. About a month +afterwards some of the townspeople came up to the mountains here, to +hunt hares, just as we did. Several of them before this had seen a +white hare near the very spot we're sittin' in, but sorra dog of any +description, either hound, greyhound, or lurcher could blow wind in her +tail; even a pair of the Irish bloodhounds were brought, and when they +came on her, she flew from them like the wind, I and laughed at them, +becoorse. Well, sir, the whole country was in a terrible state of alarm +about the white hare, for every one knew, of coorse, that she was a +witch; and as the cows began, here and there, to fail in their milk, +why, it was a clear case that she sucked them in ordher to supply some +imp of the devil that sucked herself. At that time there was a priest +in this parish, a very pious man by name Father McFeen; and as he liked, +now and then, to have a dish of hare soup, he kept a famous greyhound, +called Koolawn, that was never said to miss a hare by any chance. As I +said, some of the townspeople came up here to have a hunt, and as they +wished, above all things, to bring the priest's greyhound and the white +hare together, they asked the loan of him from his reverence, telling +him, at the same time, what they wanted him for. Father McFeen was very +proud of his dog, and good right he had, and tould them they should have +him with pleasure. + +“'But, as he's goin' to try his speed against a witch,' said he, 'I'll +venture to say that you'll have as pretty a run as ever was seen on the +hills.' + +“Well, sir, at all events, off they set to the mountains; and sure +enough, they weren't long there when they had the best of sport, but no +white hare came in their way. Koolawn, however, was kept in the slip the +whole day, in the hope of their startin' her, for they didn't wish to +have him tired if they should come across her. At last, it was gettin' +late, and when they were just on the point of givin' her up, and, goin' +home, begad she started, and before you'd say Jack Kobinson, Koolawn +and she were at it. Sich a chase, they say, was never seen. They flew at +sich a rate that the people could hardly keep their eyes upon them. The +hare went like the wind; but, begad, it was not every evening she had +sich a dog as famous Koolawn at her scut. He turned her, and turned her, +and every one thought he had her above a dozen of times, but still she +turned, and was off from him again. At this rate they went on for long +enough, until both began to fail, and to appear nearly run down. At +length the gallaut Koolawn had her; she gave a squeal that was heard, +they say, for miles. He had her, I say, hard and fast by the hip, but +it was only for a moment; how she escaped; from him nobody knows; but it +was thought that he wasn't able, from want of breath, to keep his hoult. +To make a long story short, she got off from him, turned up towards the; +cabin we're sittin' in, Koolawn, game as ever, still close to her; at +last she got in, and as the dog was about to spring in afther her, he +found the door shut in his face. There now was the proof of it; but +wait till you hear what's comin'. The men all ran up here and opened +the door, for there was only a latch upon it, and if the hare was in +existence, surely they'd find her now. Well, they closed the door at +wanst for fraid she'd escape them; but afther sarchin' to no purpose, +what do you think they found? No hare, at any rate, but ould Bet +Harramount pantin' in the straw there, and covered wid a rug, for she +hadn't time to get on the blanket--just as if the life was lavin' +her. The sweat, savin' your presence, was pourin' from her; and upon +examinin' her more closely, which they did, they found the marks of the +dog's teeth in one of her ould hips, which was freshly bleedin'. They +were now satisfied, I think, and--” + +“But why did they not seize and carry her before a magistrate?” + +“Aisy, Masther Harry; the white cat, all this time, was sittin' at the +fireside there, lookin' on very quietly, when the thought struck the men +that they'd set the dogs upon it, and so they did, or rather, so they +tried to do, but the minute the cat was pointed out to them, they +dropped their ears and tails, and made out o' the house, and all the +art o' man couldn't get them to come in again. When the men looked at it +agin it was four times the size it had been at the beginin', and, what +was still more frightful, it was gettin' bigger and bigger, and fiercer +and fiercer lookin', every minute. Begad, the men seein' this took to +their heels for the present, wid an intention of comin' the next momin', +wid the priest and the magisthrate, and a strong force to seize upon +her, and have her tried and convicted, in ordher that she might be +burned.” + +“And did they come?” + +“They did; but of all the storms that ever fell from the heavens, none +o' them could aquil the one that come on that night. Thundher, and wind, +and lightnin', and hail, and rain, were all at work together, and every +one knew at wanst that the devil was riz for somethin'. Well, I'm near +the end of it. The next mornin' the priest and the magisthrate, and a +large body of people from all quarthers, came to make a prisoner of her; +but, indeed, wherever she might be herself, they didn't expect to find +this light, flimsy hut standin', nor stick nor stone of it together +afther such a storm. What was their surprise, then, to see wid their own +eyes that not a straw on the roof of it was disturbed any more than if +it had been the calmest night that ever came on the earth!” + +“But about the witch herself?” + +“She was gone; neither hilt nor hair of her was there; nor from that day +to this was she ever seen by mortal. It's not hard to guess, however, +what became of her. Every one knows that the devil carried her and her +imp off in the tempest, either to some safer place, or else to give her +a warm corner below stairs.” + +“Why, Barney, it must be an awful little house, this.” + +“You may say that, sir; there's not a man, woman, or child in the barony +would come into it by themselves. Every one keeps from it; the very +rapparees, and robbers of every description, would take the shelter of +a cleft or cave rather than come into it. Here it is, then, as you see, +just as she and the devil and his imp left it; no one has laid a hand on +it since, nor ever will.” + +“But why was it not pulled down and levelled at the time?” + +“Why, Masther Harry? Dear me, I wondher you ask that. Do you think the +people would be mad enough to bring down her vengeance upon themselves +or their property, or maybe upon both? and for that matther she may be +alive yet.” + +“Well, then, if she is,” replied Woodward, “here goes to set her at +defiance;” and as he spoke he tossed bed, straw, rug, blanket, and every +miserable article of furniture that the house contained, out at the +door. + +Barney's hair stood erect upon his head, and he looked aghast. + +“Well, Masther Harry,” said he, “I'm but a poor man, and I wouldn't take +the wealth of the parish and do that. Come away, sir; let us lave it; as +I tould you, they say there's a curse upon it, and upon every one that +makes or meddles wid it. Some people say it's to stand there till the +day of judgment.” + +Having now refreshed themselves, they left Bet Harramont's cabin, with +all its awful associations, behind them, and resumed their sport, which +they continued until evening, when, having killed as many hares as +they could readily carry, they took a short cut home through the lower +fields. By this way they came upon a long, green hill, covered in some +places with short furze, and commanding a full view of the haunted +house, which lay some four or five hundred yards below them, with its +back door lying, as usual, open. + +“Let us beat these furze,” said Woodward, “and have one run more, if we +can, before getting home; it is just the place for a hare.” + +“With all my heart,” replied Barney; “another will complete the half +dozen.” + +They accordingly commenced searching the cover, which they did to no +purpose, and were upon the point of giving up all hope of I success, +when, from the centre of a low, broad clump of furze, out starts a hare, +as white almost as snow. Barney for a moment was struck dumb; but at +length exerting his voice, for he was some distance from Woodward, he +shouted out-- + +“O, for goodness' sake, hould in the dogs, Masther Harry!” + +It was too late, however; the gallant, animals, though fatigued by their +previous exertions, immediately gave noble chase, and by far the most +beautiful and interesting course they had had that day took place upon +the broad, clear plain that stretched before them. It was, indeed, +to the eye of a sportsman, one of intense and surpassing interest--an +interest which, even to Woodward, who only laughed at Barney's story +of the witch, was, nevertheless, deepened tenfold by the coincidence +between the two circumstances. The swift and mettlesome dogs pushed her +hard, and succeeded in turning her several times, when it was observed +that she made a point to manage her running so as to approximate to +the haunted house--a fact which was not unobserved by Barney, who now, +having joined Woodward, exclaimed-- + +“Mark it, Masther Harry, mark my words, she's alive still, and will be +wid the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_ in spite o' them! Bravo, Sambo! Well done, +Snail; ay, Snail, indeed--hillo! by the sweets o' rosin they have +her--no, no--but it was a beautiful turn, though; and poor Snail, so +tired afther his day's work. Now, Masther Harry, thunder and turf! how +beautiful Sambo takes her up. Bravo, Sambo! stretch out, my darlin' that +you are!--O, blood, Masther Harry, isn't that beautiful? See how they go +neck and neck wid their two noses not six inches from her scut; and dang +my buttons but, witch or no witch, she's a thorough bit o' game, too. +Come, Bet, don't be asleep, my ould lady; move along, my darlin'--do +you feel the breath of your sweetheart at your bottom? Take to your +broomstick; you want it.” + +As he uttered these words the hare turned,--indeed it was time for +her--and both dogs shot forward, by the impetus of their flight, so far +beyond the point of her turn, that she started off towards the haunted +house. She had little time to spare, however, for they were once more +gaining on her; but still she approached the house, the dogs nearing her +fast. She approached the house, we say; she entered the open door, the +dogs within a few yards of her, when, almost in an instant, they came to +a standstill, looked into it, but did not enter; and when whistled back +to where Woodward and Barney stood, they looked in Barney's eye, not +only panting and exhausted, as indeed they were, but terrified also. + +“Well, Masther Harry,” said he, assuming the air of a man who spoke with +authority, “what do you think of that?” + +“I think you are right,” replied Woodward; assuming on his part, for +reasons which will be subsequently understood, an impression of sudden +conviction. “I think you are right, Barney, and that the Black Spectre +and the witch are acquaintances.” + +“Try her wid a silver bullet,” said Barney; “there is nothing else for +it. No dog can kill her--that's a clear case; but souple as she is, a +silver bullet is the only messenger that can overtake her. Bad luck +to her, the thief! sure, if she'd turn to God and repint, it isn't +codgerin' wid sich company she'd be, and often in danger, besides, of +havin' a greyhound's nose at her flank. I hope you're satisfied, Masther +Harry?” + +“Perfectly, Barney; there can be no doubt about it now. As for my part, +I know not what temptation could induce me to enter that haunted house. +I see that I was on dangerous ground when I defied the witch in the hut; +but I shall take care to be more cautious in future.” + +They then bent their steps homewards, each sufficiently fatigued and +exhausted after the sports of the day to require both food and rest. +Woodward went early to bed, but Barney, who was better accustomed to +exercise, having dined heartily in the kitchen, could not, for the +soul of him, contain within his own bosom the awful and supernatural +adventure which had just occurred. He assumed, as before, a very solemn +and oracular air; spoke little, however, but that little was deeply +abstracted and mysterious. It was evident to the whole kitchen that +he was brimful of something, and that that something was of more than +ordinary importance. + +“Well, Barney, had you and Masther Harry a pleasant day's sport? I see +you have brought home five hares,” said the cook. + +“Hum!” groaned Barney; “but no matther; it's a quare world, Mrs. Malony, +and there's strange things in it. Heaven bless me! Heaven bless me, and +Heaven bless us all, if it comes to that! Masther Harry said he'd send +me down a couple o' glasses of------O, here comes Biddy wid them; that's +a girl, Bid--divil sich a kitchen-maid in Europe!” + +Biddy handed him a decanter with about half a pint of stout whiskey in +it, a portion of which passed into a goblet, was diluted with water, and +drunk off, after which he smacked his lips, but with a melancholy air, +and then, looking solemnly and meditatively into the fire, relapsed into +silence. + +“Did you meet any fairies on your way?” asked Nanse, the housemaid. For +about half a minute Barney did not reply; but at length, looking about +him, he started-- + +“Eh? What's that? Who spoke to me?” + +“Who spoke to you?” replied Nanse. “Why, I think you're beside yoursel'--I +did.” + +“What did you say, Nanse? I am beside myself.” + +There was now a sudden cessation in all the culinary operations, a +general pause, and a rapid congregating around Barney, who still sat +looking solemnly into the fire. + +“Why, Barney, there's something strange over you,” said the cook. +“Heaven help the poor boy; sure, it's a shame to be tormentin' him this +way; but in the name of goodness, Barney, and as you have a sowl to be +saved, will you tell us all? Stand back, Nanse, and don't be torturin' +the poor lad this way, as I said.” + +“Biddy,” said Barney, his mind still wandering, and his eyes still fixed +on the fire--“Biddy, darlin', will you hand me that de-canther agin; I +find I'm not aquil to it. Heaven presarve us! Heaven presarve us! that's +it; now hand me the wather, like an angel out of heaven, as you are, +Bid. Ah, glory be to goodness, but that's refreshin', especially afther +sich a day--sich a day! O saints above, look down upon us poor sinners, +one and all, men and women, wid pity and compassion this night! Here; +I'm very wake; let me get to bed; is there any pump wather in the +kitchen?” + +To describe the pitch to which he had them wound up would be utterly +impossible. He sat in the cook's arm-chair, leaning a little back, +his feet placed upon the fender, and his eyes, as before, immovably, +painfully, and abstractedly fixed upon the embers. He was now the centre +of a circle, for they were all crowded about him, wrapped up to the +highest possible pitch of curiosity. + +“We were talkin' about Masther Harry,” said he, “the other night, and I +think I tould you something about him; it's like a dhrame to me that I +did.” + +“You did, indeed, Barney,” said the cook, coaxingly, “and I hope that +what you tould us wasn't true.” + +“Aye, but about to-day, Barney; somthin' has happened to-day that's +troublin' you.” + +“Who is it said that?” said he, his eyes now closed, as if he were +wrapped up in some distressing mystery. “Was it you, Nanse? It's like +your voice, achora.” + +Now, the reader must know that a deadly jealousy lay between Nanse and +the cook, _quoad_ honest Barney, who, being aware of the fact, kept +the hopes and fears of each in such an exact state of equilibrium, +that neither of them could, for the life of her, claim the slightest +advantage over the other. The droll varlet had an appetite like a shark, +and a strong relish for drink besides, and what between precious +tidbits from the cook and borrowing small sums for liquor from Nanse, he +contrived to play them off one against the other with great tact. + +“I think,” said he, his eyes still closed, “that that is Nanse's voice; +is it, acushla?” + +“It is, Barney, achora,” replied Nanse; “but there's something wrong wid +you.” + +“I wish to goodness, Nanse, you'd let the boy alone,” said the cook; +“when he chooses to spake, he'll spake to them that can undherstand +him.” + +“O, jaminy stars! that's you, I suppose; ha, ha, ha.” + +“Keep silence,” said Barney, “and listen. Nanse, you are right in one +sinse, and the cook's right in another; you're both right, but at +the present spakin' you're both wrong. Listen--you all know the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv?_” + +“Know him! The Lord stand between us and him,” replied Nanse; “I hope in +God we'll never either know or see him.” + +“You know,” proceeded Barney, “that he keeps' the haunted house, and +appears in the neighborhood of it?” + +“Yes, we know that, achora,” replied the cook, sweetly. + +“Well, you can't forget Bet Harramount, the witch, that lived for some +time in Rathfillan? She that was hunted in the shape of a white hare by +pious Father McFeen's famous greyhound, Koolawn.” + +“Doesn't all the world know it, Barney, avillish?” said Nanse. + +“Divil the word she'll let out o' the poor boy's lips,” said the cook, +with a fair portion of venom. Nanse made no reply, but laughed with +a certain description of confidence, as she glanced sneeringly at the +cook, who, to say the truth, turned her eyes with a fiery and impulsive +look towards the ladle. + +“Well,” proceeded Barney, “you all know that the divil took her and her +imp, the white cat, away on the night of the great storm that took place +then?” + +“We do! Sure we have heard it a thousand times.” + +“Very well--I want to show you that Bet Harramount, the white witch, +and the Black Speacthre are sweethearts, and are leadin' a bad life +together.” + +“Heavenly father! Saints above! Blessed Mother!” were ejaculated by the +whole kitchen. Barney, in fact, was progressing with great effect. + +“O, yez needn't be surprised,” he continued, “for it was well known +that they had many private meetin's while Bet was livin' in Rathfillan. +But it was thought the devil had taken her away from the priest and +magisthrate on the night o' the storm, and so he did; and he best knew +why. Listen, I say--Masther Harry and I went out this day to coorse +hares; we went far up into the mountains, and never pulled bridle till +we came to the cabin where the witch lived, the same that Koolawn +chased her into in the shape of a white hare, after taking a bite out +of her--out of the part next her scut. Well, we sat down in the cursed +cabin, much against my wishes, but he would rest nowhere else--mark +that--so while we were helpin' ourselves to the ham and brandy, I up and +tould him the history of Bet Harramount from a to izzard. 'Well,' said +he, 'to show you how little I care about her, and that I set her at +defiance, I'll toss every atom of her beggarly furniture out of the +door;' and so he did--but by dad I thought he done it in a jokin' way, +as much as to say, I can take the liberty where another can't. I knew, +becoorse, he was wrong; but that makes no maxim--I'll go on wid my +story. On our way home we came to the green fields that lie on this side +of the haunted house; a portion of it, on a risin' ground, is covered +with furz. Now listen--when we came to it he stood; 'Barney,' says he, +'there's a hare here; give me the dogs, Sambo and Snail; they'll have +sich a hunt as they never had yet, and never will have agin.' + +“He then closed his eyes, raised his left foot, and dhrew it back +three times in the divil's name, pronounced some words that I couldn't +understand, and then said to me, 'Now, Barney, go down to that withered +furze, and as you go, always keep your left foot foremost; cough three +times, then kick the furze with your left foot, and maybe you'll see an +old friend o' yours.' + +“Well, I did so, and troth I thought there was somethin' over me when I +did it; but--what 'ud you think?--out starts a white hare, and off went +Sambo and Snail after her, full butt. I have seen many a hard run, but +the likes o' that I never seen. If they turned her wanst they turned her +more than a dozen times; but where do you think she escaped to at last?” + +“The Lord knows, Barney; where?” + +“As heaven's above us, into the haunted house; and if the dogs were to +get a thousand guineas apiece, one of them couldn't be forced into it +afther her. They ran with their noses on her very scut, widin five or +six yards of it, and when she went into it they stood stock still, and +neither man nor sword could get them to go farther. But what do you +think Masther Harry said afther he had seen all this? 'Barney,' said he, +'I'm detarmined to spend a night in the haunted house before I'm much +ouldher; only keep that to yourself, and don't make a blowing horn of it +through the parish.' And what he said to me, I say to you--never breathe +a syllable of it to man or mortal. It'll be worse for you if you do. And +now, do you remember what Lanty Malony saw the other night? The +black man kissin' the white woman. Is it clear to yez now? The +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_--_the Black Specthre_--kissin' Bet Harramount, the +white woman. There it is; and now you have it as clear as a, b, c.” + +Barney then retired to his bed, leaving the denizens of the kitchen in a +state which the reader may very well understand. + + + + +CHAPTER X. True Love Defeated. + + +Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin, in the absence of their daughter, held a very +agreeable conversation on the subject of Mrs. Lindsay's visit. Neither +Goodwin nor his wife was in the slightest degree selfish, yet, somehow, +there crept into their hearts a certain portion of selfishness, which +could be traced only to the affection which they felt for Alice. They +calculated that Henry Woodward, having been reared and educated by +his uncle, would be amply provided for by that wealthy gentleman--who, +besides, was childless. This consideration became a strong element in +their deliberations and discussions upon the projected match, and +they accordingly resolved to win over Alice's consent to it as soon as +possible. From the obedience of her disposition, and the natural pliancy +of her character with the opinions of others, they concluded the matter +as arranged and certain. They forgot, however, that Alice, though +a feeble thinker on matters of superstition and others of a minor +importance, could sometimes exercise a will of her own, but very seldom, +if ever, when opposed to theirs. They knew her love and affection +for them, and that she was capable of making any sacrifice that +might contribute to their happiness. They had, however, observed of +late--indeed for a considerable time past--that she appeared to be in +low spirits, moved about as if there was a pressure of some description +in her mind; and when they asked her if she were at ease--which they +often did--she only replied by a smile, and asked them in return why she +should be otherwise. With this reply they were satisfied, for they knew +that upon the general occurrences of life she was almost a mere child, +and that, although her health was good, her constitution was naturally +delicate, and liable to be affected by many things indifferent in +themselves, which girls of a stronger mind and constitution would +neither perceive nor feel. The summing up of all was that they +apprehended no obstruction to the proposed union from any objection on +her part, as soon as she should be made acquainted with their wishes. + +In the course of that very evening they introduced the subject to +her, with that natural confidence which resulted from their foregone +conclusions upon it. + +“Alley,” said her mother, “I hope you're in good spirits this evening.” + +“Indifferent enough, mamma; my spirits, you know, are not naturally +good.” + +“And why should they not?” said her mother; “what on earth have you to +trouble you?” + +“O, mamma,” she exclaimed, “you don't know how often I miss my +sister;--at night I think I see her, and she looks pale and melancholy, +and full of sorrow--just as she did when she felt that her hope of life +was gone forever. O, how willingly--how joyfully--would I return her +fortune, and if I had ten times as much of my own, along with it, if it +could only bring her back to me again!” + +“Well, you know, my darling, that can't be done; but cheer up; I have +good news for you--news that I am sure will delight you.” + +“But I don't stand in need of any good news, mamma.” + +This simple reply proved an unexpected capsize to her mother, who knew +not how to proceed; but, in the moment of her embarrassment, looked to +her husband for assistance. + +“My dear Alice,” said her father, “the fact is this--you have achieved a +conquest, and there has been a proposal of marriage made for you.” + +Alice instantly suspected the individual from whom the proposal came, +and turned pale as death. + +“That does not cheer my spirits, then, papa.” + +“That may be, my dear Alice,” replied her father; “but, in the opinion +of your mother and me, it ought.” + +“From what quarter has it come, papa, may I ask? I am living very lonely +and retired here, you know.” + +“The proposal, then, my dear child, has come from Henry Woodward, this +day; and what will surprise you more, through his mother, too--who has +been of late such an inveterate enemy to our family. So far as I have +seen of Henry himself, he is everything I could wish for a son-in-law.” + +“But you have seen very little of him, papa.” + +“What I have seen of him has pleased me very much, Alice.” + +“How strange,” said she musingly, “that father and daughter should draw +such different conclusions from the same premises. The very thought of +that young man sinks the heart within me. I beg, once for all, that you +will never mention his name to me on this subject, and in this light, +again. It is not that I hate him--I trust I hate nobody--but I feel an +antipathy against him; and what is more, I feel a kind of terror when I +even think of him; and an oppression, for which I cannot account, whilst +I am in his society.” + +“This is very strange, Alice,” replied her father; “and, I am afraid, +rather foolish, too. There is nothing in his face, person, manner, or +conversation that, in my opinion, is not calculated to attract any young +woman in his own rank of life--at least, I think so.” + +“Well, but the poor child,” said her mother, “knows nothing about +love--how could she? Sure, my dear Alley, true love never begins until +after marriage. You don't know what a dislike I had to your father, +there, whilst our friends on both sides were making up the courtship. +They literally dragged me into it.” + +“Yes, Alley,” added her father, smiling, “and they literally dragged +me into it; and yet, when we came together, Alice, there never was a +happier couple in existence.” + +Alice could not help smiling, but the smile soon passed away. “That may +be all very true,” she replied, “but in the meantime, you must not press +me on this subject. Don't entertain it for a moment. I shall never marry +this man. Put an end to it--see his mother, and inform her, without loss +of time, of the unalterable determination I have made. Do not palter +with them, father---do not, mother; and above all things, don't attempt +to sacrifice the happiness of your only daughter. I could make any +sacrifice for your happiness but this; and if, in obedience to your +wishes, I made it, I can tell you that I would soon be with my sister. +You both know that I am not strong, and that I am incapable of severe +struggles. Don't, then, harass me upon this matter.” + +She here burst into tears, and for a few minutes wept bitterly. + +“We must give it up,” said her father, looking at Mrs. Goodwin.” + +“No such thing,” replied his wife; “think of our own case, and how happy +we have been in spite of ourselves.” + +“Ay, but we were neither of us fools, Martha; at least you were not, or +you would never have suffered yourself to be persuaded into matrimony, +as you did at last. There was, it is true, an affected frown upon your +brow; but then, again, there was a very sly smile under it. As for me, +I would have escaped the match if I could; but no matter, it was all for +the best, although neither of us anticipated as much. Alice, my child, +think of what we have said to you; reflect upon it. Our object is to +make you happy; our experience of life is much greater than yours. Don't +reply to us now; we will give you a reasonable time to think of it. +Consider that you will add to your mother's happiness and mine by +consenting to such an unobjectionable match. This young man will, of +course, inherit his uncle's property; he will elevate you in life; he is +handsome, accomplished, and evidently knows the world, and you can look +up to him as a husband of whom you will have a just right to feel proud. +Allow the young man to visit you; study him as closely as you may; but +above all things do not cherish an unfounded antipathy against him or +any one.” + +Several interviews took place afterwards between Alice and Henry +Woodward; and after each interview her parents sought her opinion +of him, and desired to know whether she was beginning to think more +favorably of him than she had hitherto done. Still, however, came the +same reply. Every interview only increased her repugnance to the match, +and her antipathy to the man. At length she consented to allow him one +last interview--the last, she asserted, which she would ever afford him +on the subject, and he accordingly presented himself to know her +final determination. Not that from what came out from their former +conversations he had any grounds, as a reasonable man, to expect a +change of opinion on her part; but as the property was his object, he +resolved to leave nothing undone to overcome her prejudice against him +if he could. They were, accordingly, left in the drawing-room to discuss +the matter as best they might, but with a hope on the part of her +parents that, knowing, as she did, how earnestly their hearts were fixed +upon her marriage with him, she might, if only for their sakes, renounce +her foolish antipathy, ard be prevailed upon, by his ardor and his +eloquence, to consent at last. + +“Well, Miss Goodwin,” said he, when they were left together, “this I +understand, and what is more, I fear, is to be my day of doom. Heaven +grant that it may be a favorable one, for I am badly prepared to see my +hopes blasted, and my affection for you spurned! My happiness, my dear +Miss Goodwin--my happiness for life depends upon the result of this +interview. I know--but I should not say so--for in this instance I must +be guided by hearsay--well, I know from hearsay that your heart is kind +and affectionate. Now I believe this; for who can look upon your face +and doubt it? Believing this, then, how can you, when you know that +the happiness of a man who loves you beyond the power of language to +express, is at stake, depends upon your will--how can you, I say, refuse +to make that individual--who appreciated all your virtues, as I +do--who feels the influence of your extraordinary beauty, as I do--who +contemplates your future happiness as the great object of his life, as I +do--how can you, I say, refuse to make that man happy?” + +“Mr. Woodward,” she said, “I will not reply to your arguments; I +simply wish to ask you, Are you a gentleman?--in other words, a man of +integrity and principle?” + +“Do you doubt me, Miss Goodwin?” he inquired, as if he felt somewhat +hurt. + +“It is very difficult, Mr. Woodward,” she replied, “to know the heart; +I request, however, a direct and a serious answer, for I can assure you +that I am about to place the deepest possible confidence in your faith +and honor.” + +“O,” he exclaimed, “that is sufficient; in such a case I feel bound to +respect your confidence as sacred; do not hesitate to confide in me. Let +me perish a thousand times sooner than abuse such a trust. Speak out, +Miss Goodwin.” + +“It is necessary that I should,” she replied, “both for your sake and my +own. Know, then, that my heart is not at my own disposal; it is engaged +to another.” + +“I can only listen, Miss Goodwin--I can only listen--but--but--excuse +me--proceed.” + +“My heart, as I said, is engaged to another--and that other is your +brother Charles.” + +Woodward fixed his eyes upon her face--already scarlet with blushes, and +when she ventured to raise hers upon him, she beheld a countenance sunk +apparently in the deepest sorrow. + +“Alas! Miss Goodwin,” he replied, “you have filled my heart with a +double grief. I could resign you--of course it would and must be with +the most inexpressible anguish--but to resign you to such a--. O!” + he proceeded, shaking his head sorrowfully, “you know not in what a +position of torture you place me. You said you believed me to be a +gentleman; so I trust--I feel--I am, and what is more, a brother, and +an affectionate brother, if I--O, my God, what am I to do? How, knowing +what I know of that unfortunate young man, could I ever have expected +this? In the meantime I thank you for your confidence, Miss Goodwin; I +hope it was God himself who inspired you to place it in me, and that +it may be the means of your salvation from--but perhaps I am saying +too much; he is my brother; excuse me, I am not just now cool and calm +enough to say what I would wish, and what you, poor child, neither know +nor suspect, and perhaps I shall never mention it; but you must give me +time. Of course, under the circumstances you have mentioned, I resign +all hopes of my own happiness with you; but, so help me Heaven, if I +shall resign all hopes of yours. I cannot now speak at further length; +I am too much surprised, too much agitated, too much shocked at what I +have heard; but I shall see you, if you will allow me, to-morrow; and as +I cannot become your husband, perhaps I may become your guardian angel. +Allow me to see you to-morrow. You have taken me so completely by +surprise that I. am quite incapable of speaking on this subject, as +perhaps--but I know not yet--I must become more cool, and reflect deeply +upon what my conduct ought to be. Alas! my dear Miss Goodwin, little you +suspect how completely your happiness and misery are in my power. Will +you permit me to see you to-morrow?” + +“Certainly, sir,” replied Alice, “since it seems that you have something +of more than ordinary importance to communicate to me--something, which, +I suppose, I ought to know. I shall see you.” + +He then took his leave with an air of deep melancholy and sorrow, and +left poor Alice in a state of anxiety very difficult to be described. +Her mind became filled with a sudden and unusual alarm; she trembled +like an aspen leaf; and when her mother came to ask her the result of +the interview, she found her pale as death and in tears. + +“Why, Alley, my child,” said she, “what is the matter? Why do you look +so much alarmed, and why are you in tears? Has the man been rude or +offensive to you?” + +“No, mamma, he has not; but--but--I am to see him again to-morrow, +and until then, mamma, do not ask me anything upon the subject of our +interview to-day.” + +Her mother felt rather gratified at this. There was, then, to be another +interview, and that was a proof that Woodward had not been finally +discarded. So far, matters did not seem so disheartening as she had +anticipated. She looked upon Alice's agitation, and the tears she had +been shedding, as the result of the constraint which she had put upon +her inclination in giving him, she hoped, a favorable reception; and +with this impression she went to communicate what she conceived to be +the good intelligence to her husband. + +Alice, until the next interview took place, passed a wretched time +of it. As the reader knows, she was constitutionally timid and easily +alarmed, and she consequently anticipated, something very distressing +in the disclosures which Woodward was about to make. That there was +something uncommon and painful in connection with Charles Lindsay to +be mentioned, was quite evident from Woodward's language and his +unaccountable agitation. He was evidently in earnest; and, from the +suddenness with which the confession of her attachment to his brother +came upon him, it was impossible, she concluded, that he could have +had time to concoct the hints which he threw out. Could she have been +mistaken in Charles? And yet, why not? Had he not, as it were, abandoned +her ever since the occurrence of the family feud? and why should he have +done so unless there had been some reason for it? It was quite clear, +she thought, that, whatever revelation Woodward was about to make +concerning him, it was one which would occasion himself great pain +as his brother, and that nothing but the necessity of saving her from +unhappiness could force him to speak out. In fact, her mind was in a +tumult; she felt quite nervous--tremulous--afraid of some disclosure +that might destroy her hopes and her happiness, and make her wretched +for life. + +On the next day Woodward made his appearance and found Alice by herself +in the drawing-room, as when he left her the day before. His countenance +seemed the very exponent of suffering and misery. + +“Miss Goodwin,” said he, “I have passed a period of the deepest anxiety +since I saw you last. You may, indeed, read what I have suffered, and +am suffering, in my face, for unfortunately it is a tell-tale upon my +heart; but I cannot help that, nor should I wish it to be otherwise. +Believe me, however, that it is not for myself that I suffer, but for +you, and the prospects of your future happiness. You must look upon my +conduct now as perfectly disinterested, for I have no hope. What, then, +should that conduct be in me as a generous man, which I trust I am, but +to promote your happiness as far as I can? and on that I am determined. +You say you love my brother; are you certain that your affection is +reciprocated?” + +“I believe your brother certainly did love me,” she replied, with a +tremor in her voice, which she could not prevent, + +“Just so, my dear Miss Goodwin; that is well expressed--did love you; +perhaps it may have been so; possessing anything like a heart, I don't +see how it could have been otherwise.” + +“I will thank you, Mr. Woodward, to state what you have to say with +as little circumlocution and ambiguity as possible. Take me out of +suspense, and let me know the worst. Do not, I entreat you, keep me in +a state of uncertainty. Although I have acknowledged my love for your +brother, in order to relieve myself from your addresses, which I could +not encourage, still I am not without the pride of a woman who respects +herself.” + +“I am aware of that; but before I proceed, allow me to ask, in order +that I may see my way the clearer, to what length did the expression of +my brother's affection go?” + +“It went so far,” she replied, blushing, “as an avowal of mutual +attachment; indeed, it might be called an engagement; but ever since the +death of his cousin, and the estrangement of our families, he seems to +have forgotten me. It is very strange; when I was a portionless girl he +was ardent and tender, but, ever since this unfortunate property came +into my hands, he seems to have joined in the hard and unjust feeling of +his family against me. I have certainly met him since at parties, and on +other occasions, but we met almost as strangers; he was not the Charles +Lindsay whom I had known when I was comparatively a poor girl; he +appeared to shrink from me. In the meantime, as I have already confessed +to you, he has my heart; and, so long as he has, I cannot encourage the +addresses of any other man.” + +Woodward paused, and looked upon her with well-feigned admiration and +sorrow. + +“The man is blind,” he at length said, “not only to the fascinations of +your person and character, but to his own interests. What is he in point +of property? Nothing. He has no rich uncle at his back to establish him +in life upon a scale, almost, of magnificence. Why, it is since you came +into this property that he ought to have urged his suit with greater +earnestness. I am speaking now like a man of the world, Miss Goodwin; +and I am certain that he would have done so but for one fact, of which I +am aware: he has got into a low intrigue with a peasant's daughter, +who possesses an influence over him such as I have never witnessed. She +certainly is very beautiful, it is said; but of that I cannot speak, as +I have not yet seen her; but I am afraid, Miss Goodwin, from all I hear, +that a very little time will disclose her calamity and his guilt. You +will now understand what I felt yesterday when you made me acquainted +with your pure and virtuous attachment to such a man; what shall I say,” + he added, rising, and walking indignantly through the room, “to such a +profligate?” + +“Mr. Woodward,” replied Alice, “I can scarcely believe that; you must +have been imposed on by some enemy of his. Depend upon it you are. +I think I know Charles well--too well to deem him capable of such +profligacy; I will not believe it.” + +“I don't wish you, my dear Miss Goodwin, to believe it; I only wish you +to suspend your opinion until time shall convince you. I considered it +my duty to mention the fact, and after that to leave you to the exercise +of your own judgment.” + +“I will not believe it,” replied Alice, “because I place his +estrangement to a higher and nobler motive, and one more in accordance +with his honorable and generous character. I do believe, Mr. Woodward, +that his apparent coldness to me, of late, proceeds from delicacy, and +a disinterestedness that is honorable to him; at least I will interpret +his conduct in this light until I am perfectly convinced that he is the +profligate you describe him. I do not impute, in the disclosure you have +made, ungenerous motives to you; because, if you attempted to displace +my affections from your brother by groundless slander or deliberate +falsehood, you would be a monster, and as such I would look upon you, +and will, if it appears that you are maligning him for selfish +purposes of your own. I will now tell you to what I impute his apparent +estrangement; I impute it to honor, sir--to an honorable pride. He +knows now that I am rich; at least comparatively so, and that he is +comparatively poor; he hesitates to renew our relations with each +other lest I might suspect him of mingling a selfish principle with his +affection. That is the conduct of a man of honor; and until the facts +you hint at come out broadly, and to public proof, as such I shall +continue to consider him. But, Mr. Woodward, I shall not rest here; I +shall see him, and give him that to which his previous affection and +honorable conduct have entitled him at my hands--that is, an opportunity +of making an explanation to myself. But, at all events, I assure you of +this fact, that, if I do not marry him, I shall never marry another.” + +“Great God!” exclaimed Woodward, “what a jewel he has lost. Well, Miss +Goodwin, I have nothing further to say; if I am wrong, time will convict +me. I have mentioned these matters to you, not on my own account but +yours. I have no hope of your affection; and if there were any living +man, except myself, to whom I should wish to see you united, it would +be my brother Charles--that is, if I thought he was worthy of you. All +I ask of you, however, is to wait a little; remain calm and quiet, +and time will tell you which of us feels the deepest interest in your +happiness. In the meantime, aware of your attachment to him, as I am, +I beg you will no longer consider me in any other light than that of a +sincere friend. To seduce innocence, indeed--but I will not dwell upon +it; the love of woman, they say, is generous and forgiving; I hope yours +will be so. But, Miss Goodwin, as I can approach you no longer in +the character of a lover, I trust I may be permitted the privilege of +visiting the family as a friend and acquaintance. Now that your decision +against me is known, it will be contrary to the wishes of our folks at +home; especially of my mother, whose temper, as I suppose you are aware, +is none of the coolest; you will allow me, then, to visit you, but no +longer as claimant for your hand.” + +“I shall always be happy to see you, Mr. Woodward, but upon that +condition.” + +After he had token his leave, her parents, anxious to hear the result, +came up to the drawing-room, where they found her in a kind of a +reverie, from which their appearance startled her. + +“Well, Alley,” said her mother, smiling, “is everything concluded +between you?” + +“Yes, mamma,” replied Alice, “everything is concluded, and finally, +too.” + +“Did he name the day?” said her father, smiling gravely. + +Alice stared at him; then recollecting herself, she replied-- + +“I thought I told you both that this was a man I could never think +of marrying. I don't understand him; he is either very candid or very +hypocritical; and I feel it painful, and, besides, unnecessary in me to +take the trouble of balancing the character of a person who loses ground +in my opinion on every occasion I see him. Of course, I have discarded +him, and I know very well that his mother will cast fire and sword +between us as she did before; but to do Mr. Woodward justice, he +proposes to stand aloof from her resentments, and wishes to visit us as +usual.” + +“Then it's all over between you and him?” said her mother. + +“It is; and I never gave you reason to anticipate any other result, +mamma.” + +“No, indeed,” said her father, “you never did, Alice; but still I think +it is generous in him to separate himself from the resentments of that +woman, and as a friend we will be always glad to see him.” + +“I know not how it is,” replied Alice; “but I felt that the expression +of his eye, during our last interview, oppressed me excessively; it was +never off me. There was a killing--a malignant influence in it, that +thrilled through me with pain; but, perhaps, I can account for that. +As it is, he has asked leave to visit us as usual, and to stand, with +respect to me, in the light of a friend only. So far as I am concerned, +papa, I could not refuse him a common privilege of civility; but, +to tell you both the truth, I shall always meet him not only with +reluctance, but with something almost amounting to fear.” + +Woodward, now that he had learned his fate, and was aware that his +brother stood between him and his expectations, experienced a feeling of +vengeance against him and Alice, which he neither could, nor attempted +to, restrain. The rage of his mother, too, when she heard that the +latter had rejected him, and avowed her attachment to Charles, went +beyond all bounds. Her son, however, who possessed a greater restraint +upon his feelings, and was master of more profound hypocrisy and +cunning, requested her to conceal the attachment of Alice to his +brother, as a matter not to be disclosed on any account. + +“Leave me to my resources,” said he, “and it will go hard or I will +so manage Charles as to disentangle him from the consequences of her +influence over him. But the families, mother, must not be for the +present permitted to visit again. On the contrary, it is better for our +purposes that they should not see each other as formerly, nor resume +their intimacy. If you suffer your passions to overcome you, even in our +own family, the consequence is that you prevent us both from playing our +game as we ought, and as we shall do. Leave Charles to me; I shall make +O'Connor of use, too; but above all things do not breathe a syllable to +any one of them of my having been thrown off. I think, as it is, I have +damped her ardor for him a little, and if she had not been obstinate and +foolishly romantic, I would have extinguished it completely. As it is, +I told her to leave the truth of what I mentioned to her respecting him, +to time, and if she does I shall rest satisfied. Will you now be guided +by me, my dear mother?” + +“I will endeavor to do so,” she replied; “but it will be a terrible +restraint upon me, and I scarcely know how I shall be able to keep +myself calm. I will try, however; the object is worth it. You know if +she dies without issue the property reverts to you.” + +“Yes, mother, the object is worth much more than the paltry sacrifice +I ask of you. Keep yourself quiet, then, and we will accomplish our +purposes yet. I shall set instruments to work who will ripen our +projects, and, I trust, ultimately accomplish them.” + +“Why, what instruments do you intend to use?” + +“I know the girl's disposition and character well. I have learned much +concerning her from Casey, who is often there as a suitor for the fair +hand of her favorite maid. Casey, however, is a man in whom I can place +no confidence; he is too much attached to the rest of the family, and +does not at all relish me. I will make him an unconscious agent of mine, +notwithstanding. In the meantime, let nothing appear in your manner that +might induce them to suspect the present position of affairs between us. +They may come to know it soon enough, and then it will be our business +to act with greater energy and decision.” + +And so it was arranged between this precious mother and son. + +Woodward who was quick in the conception of his projects, had them +all laid even then; and in order to work them out with due effect, he +resolved to pay a visit to our friend, Sol Donnel, the herb doctor. +This hypocritical old villain was uncle to Caterine Collins, the +fortune-teller, who had prognosticated to him such agreeable tiding's on +the night of the bonfire. She, too, was to be made useful, and, so far +as money could do it, faithful to his designs--diabolical as they were. +He accordingly went one night, about the hour mentioned by Donnel, +to the cabin of that worthy man; and knocking gently at the door, was +replied to in a peevish voice, like that of an individual who had been +interrupted in the performance of some act of piety and devotion. + +“Who is there?” said the voice inside. + +“A friend,” replied Woodward, in a low, cautious tone; “a friend, who +wishes to speak to you.” + +“I can't spake to you to-night,” replied Sol; “you're disturbin' me at +my prayers.” + +“But I wish to speak to you on particular business.” + +“What business? Let me finish my padereens and go to bed like a vile +sinner, as I am--God help me. Who are you?” + +“I don't intend to tell you that just now, Solomon; do you wish me to +shout it out to you, in order that the whole neighborhood may hear it? I +have private business with you.” + +“Well,” replied the other, “I think, by your voice and language, you're +not a common man, and, although it's against my rule to open at this time +o' night to any one, still I'll let you in--and sure I must only say my +prayers aftherwards. In the manetime it's a sin for you or any one to +disturb me at them; if you knew what the value of one sinful sowl is in +the sight of God, you wouldn't do it--no, indeed. Wait till I light a +candle.” + +He accordingly lighted a candle, and in the course of a few minutes +admitted Woodward to his herbarium. When the latter entered, he looked +about him with a curiosity not unnatural under the circumstances. His +first sensation, however, was one that affected his olfactory nerves +very strongly. A combination of smells, struggling with each other, as +it were, for predominance, almost overpowered him. The good and the bad, +the pleasant and the oppressive, were here mingled up in one sickening +exhalation--for the disagreeable prevailed. The whole cabin was hung +about with bunches of herbs, some dry and withered, others fresh and +green, giving evidence that they had been only newly gathered. A number +of bottles of all descriptions stood on wooden shelves, but without +labels, for the old sinner's long practice and great practical memory +enabled him to know the contents of every bottle with as much accuracy +as if they had been labelled in capitals. + +“How the devil can you live and sleep in such a suffocating compound of +vile smells as this?” asked Woodward. + +The old man glanced at him keenly, and replied,-- + +“Practice makes masther, sir--I'm used to them; I feel no smell but +a good smell; and I sleep sound enough, barrin' when I wake o' one +purpose, to think of and repent o' my sins, and of the ungrateful world +that is about me; people that don't thank me for doin' them good--God +forgive them! _amin acheernah!_” + +“Why, now,” replied Woodward, “if I had a friend of mine that was +unwell--observe me, a friend of mine--that stood between me and my +own interests, and that I was kind and charitable enough to forget any +ill-will against him, and wished to recover him from his illness through +the means of your skill and herbs, could you not assist me in such a +good and Christian work?” + +The old fellow gave him a shrewd look and piercing glance, but +immediately replied-- + +“Why, to be sure, I could; what else is the business of my whole life +but to cure my fellow-cratures of their complaints?” + +“Yes; I believe you are very fortunate in that way; however, for the +present, I don't require your aid, but it is very likely I shall soon. +There is a friend of mine in poor health, and if he doesn't otherwise +recover, I shall probably apply to you; but, then, the party I speak of +has such a prejudice against quacks of all sorts, that I fear we must +substitute one of your draughts, in a private way, for that of the +regular doctor. That, however, is not what I came to speak to you about. +Is not Caterine Collins, the fortune-teller a niece of yours?” + +“She is, sir.” + +“Where and when could I see her?--but mark me, I don't wish to be seen +speaking to her in public.” + +“Why not?--what's to prevent you from chattin' wid her in an aisy +pleasant way in the streets; nobody will obsarve any thing then, or +think it strange that a gentleman should have a funny piece o' discoorse +wid a fortune-teller.” + +“I don't know that; observations might be made afterwards.” + +“But what can she do for you that I can't? She's a bad graft to have +anything to do wid, and I wouldn't recommend you to put much trust in +her.” + +“Why so?” + +“Why, she's nothin' else than a schemer.” + +Little did old Solomon suspect that he was raising her very highly in +the estimation of his visitor by falling foul of her in this manner. + +“At all events,” said Woodward, “I wish to see her; and, as I said, I +came for the express purpose of asking you where and when I could see +her--privately, I mean.” + +“That's what I can't tell you at the present spakin',” replied +Solomon. “She has no fixed place of livin', but is here to-day and +away to-morrow. God help you, she has travelled over the whole kingdom +tellin' fortunes. Sometimes she's a dummy, and spakes to them by +signs--sometimes a gypsy--sometimes she's this and sometimes she's +that, but not often the same thing long; she's of as many colors as the +rainbow. But if you do wish to see her, there's a chance that you may +to-morrow. A conjurer has come to town, and he's to open to-morrow, for +both town and country, and she'll surely be here, for that's taking the +bit out of her mouth.” + +“A conjurer!” + +“Yes, he was here before some time ago, about the night of that bonfire +that was put out by the shower o' blood, but somehow he disappeared from +the place, and he's now come back.” + +“A conjurer--well, I shall see the conjurer myself to-morrow; but can +you give me no more accurate information with respect to your niece?” + +“Sarra syllable--as I tould you, she's never two nights in the same +place; but, if I should see her, I'll let her know your wishes; and what +might I say, sir, that you wanted her to do for you?” + +“That's none of your affair, most sagacious Solomon--I wish to speak +with her myself, and privately, too; and if you see her, tell her to +meet me here to-morrow night about this hour.” + +“I'll do so; but God forgive you for disturbin' me in my devotions, as +you did. It's not often I'd give them up for any one; but sure out of +regard for the proprietor o' the town I'd do that, and more for you.” + +“Here,” replied Woodward, putting some silver into his hand, “let that +console you; and tell your niece when you see her that I am a good +paymaster; and, if I should stand in need of your skill, you shall find +me so, too. Good-night, and may your prayers be powerful, as I know they +come from a Christian heart, honest Solomon.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. A Conjurer's Levee. + + +We cannot form at this distance of time any adequate notion of the +influence which a conjurer of those days exercised over the minds and +feelings of the ignorant. It was necessary that he should be, or be +supposed at least to be, well versed in judicial astrology, the use of +medicine, and consequently able to cast a nativity, or cure any earthly +complaint. There is scarcely any grade or species of superstition that +is not associated with or founded upon fear. The conjurer, consequently, +was both feared and respected; and his character appeared in different +phases to the people--each phase adapted to the corresponding character +of those with whom he had to deal. The educated of those days, with but +few exceptions, believed in astrology, and the possibility of developing +the future fate and fortunes of an individual, whenever the hour of his +birth and the name of the star or planet under which he was born could +be ascertained. The more ignorant class, however, generally associated +the character of the conjurer with that of the necromancer or magician, +and consequently attributed his predictions to demoniacal influence. +Neither were they much mistaken, for they only judged of these impostors +as they found them. In nineteen cases out of twenty, the character of +the low astrologer, the necromancer, and the quack was associated, and +the influence of the stars and the aid of the devil were both considered +as giving assurance of supernatural knowledge to the same individual. +This unaccountable anxiety to see, as it were, the volume of futurity +unrolled, so far as it discloses individual fate, has characterized +mankind ever since the world began; and hence, even in the present +day, the same anxiety among the ignorant to run after spae-women, +fortunetellers, and gypsies, in order to have their fortunes told +through the means of their adroit predictions. + +On the following morning the whole town of Rathfillan was in a state of +excitement by the rumor that a conjurer had arrived, for the purpose not +only of telling all their future fates and fortunes, but of discovering +all those who had been guilty of theft, and the places where the stolen +property was to be found. This may seem a bold stroke; but when we +consider the materials upon which the sagacious conjurer had to work, we +need not feel surprised at his frequent success. + +The conjurer in question had taken up his residence in the best inn +which the little town of Rathfillan afforded. Immediately after his +arrival he engaged the beadle, with bell in hand, to proclaim his +presence in the town, and the purport of his visit to that part of the +country. This was done through the medium of printed handbills, which +that officer read and distributed through the crowds who attended him. +The bill in question was as follows: + +“To the inhabitants of Rathfillan and the adjacent neighborhood, the +following important communications are made:-- + +“Her Zander Vanderpluckem, the celebrated German conjurer, astrologist, +and doctor, who has had the honor of predicting the deaths of three +kings, five queens, twenty-one princesses, and seven princes, all of +royal blood, and in the best possible state of health at the time the +predictions were made, and to all of whom he had himself the honor +of being medical attendant and state physician, begs to announce his +arrival in this town. He is the seventh son of the great and renowned +conjurer, Herr Zander Vanderhoaxem, who made the stars tremble, and the +devil sweat himself to powder in a fit of repentance. His influence over +the stars and heavenly bodies is tremendous, and it is a well-known fact +throughout the universe that he has them in such a complete state of +terror and subjection, that a single comet dare not wag his tail unless +by his permission. He travels up and down the milky way one night in +every month, to see that the dairies of the sky are all right, and that +that celebrated path be properly lighted; brings down a pail of the milk +with him, which he churns into butyrus, an unguent so efficacious that +it cures all maladies under the sun, and many that never existed. It +can be had at five shillings a spoonful. He can make Ursa Major, or +the Great Bear, dance without a leader, and has taught Pisces, or the +Fishes, to live out of water--a prodigy never known or heard of before +since the creation of _terra firma_. Such is the power of the great and +celebrated Her Vanderpluckem over the stars and planets. But now to come +nearer home: he cures all patients of all complaints. No person asking +his assistance need ever be sick, unless when they happen to be unwell. +His insight into futurity is such that, whenever he looks far into it, +he is obliged to shut his eyes. He can tell fortunes, discover hidden +wealth to any amount, and create such love between sweethearts as will +be sure to end in matrimony. He is complete master of the fairies, +and has the whole generation of them under his thumb; and he generally +travels with the king of the fairies in his left pocket closed up in a +snuffbox. He interprets dreams and visions, and is never mistaken; can +foretell whether a child unborn will be a boy or a girl, and can also +inform the parents whether it will be brought to the bench or the +gallows. He can also foretell backwards, and disclose to the individual +anything that shall happen to him or her for the last seven years. His +philters, concocted upon the profound science of alchemistic philosophy, +have been sought for by persons of the highest distinction, who have +always found them to produce the very effects for which they were +intended, to wit, mutual affection between the parties, uniformly ending +in matrimony and happiness. Devils expelled, ghosts and spirits laid on +the shortest notice, and at the most moderate terms. Also, recipes to +farmers for good weather or rain, according as they may be wanted. + +“(Signed,) Her Zander VANDERPLUCKEM,” + +“The Greatest Conjurer, Astrologer, and Doctor in the world.” + +To describe the effect that this bill, which, by the way, was posted +against every dead wall in the town, had upon the people, would be +impossible. The inn in which he stopped was, in a short time, crowded +with applicants, either for relief or information, according as their +ills or wishes came under the respective heads of his advertisement. The +room he occupied was upstairs, and he had a door that led into a smaller +one, or kind of closet, at the end of it; here sat an old-looking man, +dressed in a black coat, black breeches, and black stockings; the very +picture of the mysterious individual who had appeared and disappeared so +suddenly at the bonfire. He had on a full-bottomed wig, and a long white +beard, depending from the lower part of his face, swept his reverend +breast. A large book lay open before him, on the pages of which were +inscribed cabalistic characters and strange figures. He only admitted +those who wished to consult him, singly; for on no occasion did he ever +permit two persons at a time to approach him. All the paraphernalia of +astrology were exposed upon the same table, at one end of which he sat +in an arm-chair, awaiting the commencement of operations. At length +a good-looking country-woman, of about forty-five years, made her +appearance, and, after a low courtesy, was solemnly motioned to take a +seat. + +“Well, Mrs. Houlaghan,” said he, “how do you do?” + +The poor woman got as pale as death. “Heavenly Father,” thought she, +“how does it happen that he comes to know my name!” + +“Mrs. Houlaghan, what can I do for you? not that I need ask, for I could +give a very good guess at it;” and this he added with a very sage and +solemn visage, precisely as if he knew the whole circumstances. + +“Why, your honor,” she replied--“but, blessed Father, how did you come +to know my name?” + +“That's a question,” he replied, solemnly, “which you ought not to ask +me. It is enough that you see I know it. How is your husband, Frank, and +how is your daughter, Mary? She's complaining of late--is she not?” + +This private knowledge of the family completely overwhelmed her, and she +felt unable to speak for some time. + +“Do not be in a hurry, Mrs. Honlaghan,” said he, mildly; “reflect upon +what you are about to say, and take your time.” + +“It's a ghost, your reverence,” she replied--“a ghost that haunts the +house.” + +“Very well, Mrs. Houlaghan; the fee for laying a ghost is five +shillings; I will trouble you for that sum; we conjurers have no power +until we get money from the party concerned, and then we can work with +effect.” + +The simple woman, in the agitation of the moment, handed him the amount +of his demand, and then collected herself to hear the response, and the +means of laying the ghost. + +“Well, now,” said he, “tell me all about this ghost, Mrs. Houlaghan. How +long has it been troubling the family?” + +“Why, then, ever since Frank lost the use of his sight, now goin' upon +five months.” + +“When does it appear?” + +“Why, generally afther twelve at night; and what makes it more strange +is, that poor Mary's more afeard o' me than she is of the ghost. She +says it appears to her in her bedroom every night; but she knows I'm so +timersome that she keeps her door always locked for fraid I'd see it, +poor child.” + +“Does it terrify her?” + +“Not a bit; she says it does her no harm on earth, and that it's great +company for her when she can't sleep.” + +“Has Mary many sweethearts?” + +“She has two: one o' them rather ould, but wealthy and well to do; her +father and myself, wishin' to see her well settled, are doin' all we can +to get her consent to marry him.” + +“Who's the other?” + +“One Brine Oge M'Gaveran, a good-lookin' vagabone, no doubt, but not +worth a copper.” + +“Is she fond of him?” + +“Troth, to tell you the truth, I'm afeard she is; he has been often seen +about the house in the evenin's.” + +“Well, Mrs. Houlaghan, I will tell you how to lay this ghost.” + +“God bless you, sir; poor Mary, although she purtends that the ghost is +good company for her, is lookin' pale and very quare somehow.” + +“Well, then, here is the receipt for laying the ghost: Marry her as soon +as you possibly can to Brine Oge M'Gaveran--do that and the ghost will +never appear again; but if you refuse to do it--I may lay that ghost of +course--but another ghost, as like it as an egg is to an egg, will +haunt your house until she is married to Brine Oge. You have wealth +yourselves, and you can make Brine and her comfortable if you wish. +She is your only child”--(“Blessed Father, think of him knowin' +this!”)--“and as you are well to do in the world, it's both a sin and a +scandal for you to urge a pretty young girl of nineteen to marry an +old miserly runt of fifty. You know now how to lay the ghost, Mrs. +Houlaghan--and that is what I can do for you; but if you do not marry +her to Brine Oge, as I said, another ghost will certainly contrive to +haunt you. You may now withdraw.” + +A farmer, with a very shrewd and comic expression of countenance, next +made his appearance, and taking his hat off and laying it on the floor +with his staff across it, took his seat, as he had been motioned to do, +upon the chair which Mrs. Houlaghan had just vacated. + +“Well, my friend,” said the conjurer, “what's troubling you?” + +“A crock o' butther, your honor.” + +“How is that? explain yourself.” + +“Why, sir, a crock o' butther that was stolen from me; and I'm tould for +a sartinty that you can discover the thief o' the world that stole it.” + +“And so I can. Do you suspect anybody?” + +“Troth, sir, I can't say--for I live in a very honest neighborhood. +The only two thieves that were in it--Charley Folliott and George +Austin--were hanged not long ago, and I don't know anybody else in the +country side that would stale it.” + +“What family have you?” + +“Three sons, sir.” + +“How many daughters?” + +“One, sir--but she's only a _girsha_” (a little girl). + +“I suppose your sons are very good children to you?” + +“Betther never broke bread, sir--all but the youngest.” + +“What age is he?” + +“About nineteen, sir, or goin' an twenty; but he's a, heart-scald to me +and the family--although he's his mother's pet; the divil can't stand +him for dress--and, moreover, he's given to liquor and card-playin', and +is altogether goin' to the bad. Widin the last two or three days he has +bought himself a new hat, a new pair o' brogues, and a pair o' span-new +breeches--and, upon my conscience, it wasn't from me or mine he got the +money to buy them.” + +The conjurer looked solemnly into his book for some minutes, and then +raising his head, fastened his cold, glassy, glittering eyes on the +farmer with a glance that filled him with awe. + +“I have found it out,” said he; “there are two parties to the +theft--your wife and your youngest son. Go to the hucksters of the town, +and ask them if they will buy any more butter like the last of yours +that they bought, and, depend on it, you will find out the truth.” + +“Then you think, sir, it was my wife and son between them that stole the +butter?” + +“Not a doubt of it, and if you tell them that I said so, they will +confess it. You owe me five shillings.” + +The farmer put his hand in his pocket, and placing the money before +him, left the room, satisfied that there was no earthly subject, past, +present, or to come, with which the learned conjurer was not acquainted. + +The next individual that came before him was a very pretty buxom +widow, who, having made the venerable conjurer a courtesy, sat down and +immediately burst into tears. + +“What is the matter with you, madam?” asked the astrologer, rather +surprised at this unaccountable exhibition of the pathetic. + +“O, sir, I lost, about fifteen months ago, one of the best husbands that +ever broke the world's bread.” + +Here came another effusion, accompanied with a very distracted blow of +the nose. + +“That must have been very distressing to you, madam; he must have been +extremely fond of such a very pretty wife.” + +“O sir, he doted alive upon me, as I did upon him--poor, darling old +Paul.” + +“Ah, he was old, was he?” + +“Yes, sir, and left me very rich.” + +“But what do you wish me to do for you?” + +“Why, sir, he was very fond of money; was, in fact, a--a--kind of miser +in his way. My father and mother forced me to marry the dear old man, +and I did so to please them; but at the same time he was very kind in +his manner to me--indeed, so kind that he allowed me a shilling a month +for pocket money.” + +“Well, but what is your object in coming to me?” + +“Why, sir, to ask your opinion on a case of great difficulty.” + +“Very well, madam; you shall have the best opinion in the known world +upon the subject--that is, as soon as I hear it. Speak out without +hesitation, and conceal nothing.” + +“Why, sir, the poor dear man before his death--ah, that ever my darling +old Paul should have been taken away from me!--the poor dear man, +before his death--ahem--before his death--O, ah,”--here came another +effusion--“began to--to--to--get jealous of me with a young man in the +neighborhood that--that--I was fond of before I married my dear old +Paul.” + +“Was the young man in question handsome?” + +“Indeed, sir, he was, and is, very handsome--and the impudent minxes of +the parish are throwing their caps at him in dozens.” + +“But still you are keeping me in the dark.” + +“Well, sir, I will tell you my difficulty. When poor dear old Paul was +dying, he called me to the bed-side one day, and says to me: 'Biddy,' +says he, 'I'm going to die--and you know I am wealthy; but, in the +meantime, I won't leave you sixpence.' 'It's not the loss of your +money I am thinking of, my darling Paul,' says I, 'but the loss of +yourself”--and I kissed him, and cried. 'You didn' often kiss me that +way before,' said he--' and I know what you're kissing me for now.' +'No,' I said, 'I did not; because I had no notion then of losing you, my +own darling Paul--you don't know how I loved you all along, Paul,' said +I; 'kiss me again, jewel.' 'Now,' said he,' I'm not going to leave you +sixpence, and I'll tell you why--I saw young Charley Mulvany, that you +were courting before I married you--I saw him, I say, through the windy +there, kiss you, with my own eyes, when you thought I was asleep--and +you put your arms about his neck and hugged him,' said he. I must be +particular, sir, in order that you may understand the difficulty I'm +in.” + +“Proceed, madam,” said the conjurer. “If I were young I certainly would +envy Charley Mulvany--but proceed.” + +“Well, sir, I replied to him: 'Paul, dear,' said I, 'that was a kiss of +friendship--and the reason of it was, that poor Charley was near crying +when he heard that you were going to die and to leave me so lonely.' +'Well,' said he, 'that may be--many a thing may be that's not +likely--and that may be one of them. Go and get a prayer-book, and come +back here.' Well, sir, I got a book and I went back. 'Now,' said he, +'if you swear by the contents of that book that you will never put a +ring on man after my death, I'll leave you my property.' 'Ah, God pardon +you, Paul, darling,' said I, 'for supposing that I'd ever dream of +marrying again'--and I couldn't help kissing him once more and crying +over him when I heard what he said. 'Now,' said he, 'kiss the book, and +swear that you'll never put a ring on man after my death, and I'll leave +you every shilling I'm worth.' God knows it was a trying scene to a +loving heart like mine--so I swore that I'd never put a ring on man +after his death--and then he altered his will and left me the property +on those conditions.” + +“Proceed, madam,” said the conjurer; “I am still in the dark as to the +object of your visit.” + +“Why, sir, it is to know--ahem--O, poor old Paul. God forgive me! it was +to know, sir, O--” + +“Don't cry, madam, don't cry.” + +“It was to know, sir, if I could ever think of--of--you must know, sir, +we had no family, and I would not wish that the property should die with +me; to know if--if you think I could venture to marry again?” + +“This,” replied the conjurer, “is a matter of unusual importance and +difficulty. In the first place you must hand me a guinea--that is my fee +for cases of this kind.” + +The money was immediately paid, and the conjurer proceeded: “I said it +was a case of great difficulty, and so it is, but--” + +“I forgot to mention, sir, that when I went out to get the prayer-book, +I found Charley Mulvany in the next room, and he said he had one in his +pocket; so that the truth, sir, is, I--I took the oath upon a book +of ballads. Now,” she proceeded, “I have strong reasons for marrying +Charley Mulvany; and I wish to know if I can do so without losing the +property.” + +“Make your mind easy on that point,” replied the conjurer; “you swore +never to put a ring on man, but you did not swear that a man would never +put a ring on you. Go home,” he continued, “and if you be advised by me, +you will marry Charley Mulvany without loss of time.” + +A man rather advanced in years next came in, and taking his seat, wiped +his face and gave a deep groan. + +“Well, my friend,” said the conjurer, “in what way can I serve you?” + +“God knows it's hard to tell that,” he replied--“but I'm troubled.” + +“What troubles you?” + +“It's a quare world, sir, altogether.” + +“There are many strange things in it certainly.” + +“That's truth, sir; but the saison's favorable, thank God, and there's +every prospect of a fine spring for puttin' down the crops.” + +“You are a farmer, then; but why should you feel troubled about what you +call a fine season for putting down the crops?” + +The man moved uneasily upon his chair, and seemed at a loss how to +proceed; the conjurer looked at him, and waited for a little that he +might allow him sufficient time to disclose his difficulties. + +“There are a great many troubles in this life, sir, especially in +married families.” + +“There is no doubt of that, my friend,” replied the conjurer. + +“No, sir, there is not. I am not aisy in my mind, somehow.” + +“Hundreds of thousands are so, as well as you,” replied the other. “I +would be glad to see the man who has not something to trouble him; but +will you allow me to ask you what it is that troubles you?” + +“I took her, sir, widout a shift to her back, and a betther husband +never breathed the breath of life than I have been to her;” and then he +paused, and pulling out his handkerchief, shed bitter tears. “I would +love her still, if I could, sir; but, then, the thing's impossible.” + +“O, yes,” said the conjurer; “I see you are jealous of her; but will you +state upon what grounds?” + +“Well, sir, I think I have good grounds for it.” + +“What description of a woman is your wife, and what age is she?” + +“Why, sir, she's about my own age. She was once handsome enough--indeed, +very handsome when I married her.” + +“Was the marriage a cordial one between you and her?” + +“Why, sir, she was dotin' upon me, as I was upon her?” + +“Have you had a family?” + +“A fine family, sir, of sons and daughters.” + +“And how long is it since you began to suspect her?” + +“Why, sir, I--I--well, no matther about that; she was always a good wife +and a good mother, until--” Here he paused, and again wiped his eyes. + +“Until what?” + +“Why, sir, until Billy Fulton, the fiddler, came across her.” + +“Well, and what did Billy Fulton do?” + +“He ran away wid my ould woman, sir.” + +“What age is Billy Fulton?” + +“About my own age, sir; but by no means so stout a man; he's a dancin' +masther, too, sir; and barrin' his pumps and white cotton stockin's, +I don't know what she could see in him; he's a poor light crature, and +walks as if he had a hump on his hip, for he always carries his fiddle +undher his skirt. Ay, and what's more, sir, our daughter, Nancy, is gone +off wid him.” + +“The devil she is. Why, did the old dancing-master run off with both of +them? How long is it since this elopement took place?” + +“Only three days, sir.” + +“And you wish me to assist you?” + +“If you can, sir; and I ought to tell you that the vagabone's son is +gone off wid them too.” + +“O, O,” said the conjurer, “that makes the matter worse.” + +“No, it doesn't, sir, for what makes the matter worse is, that they took +away a hundred and thirty pounds of my money along wid 'em.” + +“Then you wish to know what I can do for you in this business?” + +“I do, sir, i' you plaise.” + +“Were you ever jealous of your wife before?” + +“No, not exactly jealous, sir, but a little suspicious or so; I didn't +think it safe to let her out much; I thought it no harm to keep my eye +on her.” + +“Now,” said the conjurer, “is it not notorious that you are the most +jealous--by the way, give me five shillings; I can make no further +communications till I am paid; there--thank you--now, is it not +notorious that you are one of the most jealous old scoundrels in the +whole country?” + +“No, sir, barrin' a little wholesome suspicion.” + +“Well, sir, go home about your business. Your daughter and the dancing +master's son have made a runaway match of it, and your wife, to protect +the character of her daughter, has gone with them. You are a miser, too. +Go home now; I have nothing more to say to you, except that you have +been yourself a profligate. Look at that book, sir; there it is; the +stars have told me so.” + +“You have got my five shillings, sir; but say what you like, all +the wather in the ocean wouldn't wash her clear of the ould +dancin'-masther.” + +In the course of a few minutes a beautiful peasant girl entered the +room, her face mantled with blushes, and took her seat on the chair as +the others had done, and remained for some time silent, and apparently +panting with agitation. + +“What is your name, my pretty girl?” asked the conjurer. + +“Grace Davoren,” replied the girl. + +“And what do you wish to know from me, Miss Davoren?” + +“O, don't call me miss, sir; I'm but a poor girl.” + +The conjurer looked into his book for a few minutes, and then, raising +his head, and fixing his eyes upon her, replied-- + +“Yes, I will call you miss, because I have looked into your fate, and I +see that there is great good fortune before you.” + +The young creature blushed again and smiled with something like +confidence, but seemed rather at a loss what to say, or how to proceed. + +“From your extraordinary beauty you must have a great many admirers, +Miss Davoren.” + +“But only two, sir, that gives me any trouble--one of them is a--” + +The conjurer raised his hand as an intimation to her to stop, and after +poring once more over the book for some time, proceeded:-- + +“Yes--one of them is Shawn-na-Middogue; but he's an outlaw--and that +courtship is at an end now.” + +“Wid me, it is, sir; but not wid him. The sogers and autorities is out +for him and others; but still he keeps watchin' me as close as he can.” + +“Well, wait till I look into the book of fate again--yes--yes--here +is--a gentleman over head and ears in love with you.” + +Poor Grace blushed, then became quite pale. “But, sir,” said she, “will +the gentleman marry me?” + +“To be sure he will marry you; but he cannot for some time.” + +“But will he save me from disgrace and shame, sir?” she asked, with a +death-like face. + +“Don't make your mind uneasy on that point;--but wait a moment till I +find out his name in the great book of fatality;--yes, I see--his name +is Woodward. Don't, however, make your mind uneasy; he will take care of +you.” + +“My mind is very uneasy, sir, and I wish I had never seen him. But I +don't know what could make him fall in love wid a poor simple girl like +me.” + +This was said in the coquettish consciousness of the beauty which she +knew she possessed, and it was accompanied, too, by a slight smile of +self-complacency. + +“Do you think I could become a lady, sir?” + +“A lady! why, what is to prevent you? You are a lady already. You want +nothing but silks and satins, jewels and gold rings, to make you a +perfect lady.” + +“And he has promised all these to me,” she replied. + +“Yes; but there is one thing you ought to do for your own sake and +his--and that is to betray Shaivn-na-Middogue, if you can; because if +you do not, neither your own life, nor that of your lover, Mr. Woodward, +will be safe.” + +“I couldn't do that, sir,” replied the girl, “it would be treacherous; +and sooner than do so, I'd just as soon he would kill me at wanst--still +I would do a great deal to save Mr. Woodward. But will Mr. Woodward +marry me, sir? because he said he would--in the coorse of some time.” + +“And if he said so don't be uneasy; he is a gentleman, and a gentleman, +you know, always keeps his word. Don't be alarmed, my pretty girl--your +lover will provide for you.” + +“Am I to pay you anything, sir?” she asked, rising. + +“No, my dear, I will take no money from you; but if you wish to save +Mr. Woodward from danger, you will enable the soldiers to, arrest +Shawn-na-Middogue. Even you, yourself, are not safe so long as he is at +large.” + +She then took her leave in silence. + +It is not to be supposed that among the crowd that was assembled around +the inn door there were not a number of waggish characters, who felt +strongly inclined to have, if possible, a hearty laugh at the great +conjurer. No matter what state of society may exist, or what state of +feeling may prevail, there will always be found a class of persons who +are exceptions to the general rule. Whilst the people were chatting +in wonder and admiration, not without awe and fear, concerning the +extraordinary knowledge and power of the conjurer, a character peculiar +to all times and all ages made his appearance, and soon joined them. +This was one of those circulating, unsettled vagabonds, whom, like +scum, society, whether agitated or not, is always sure to throw on the +surface. The comical miscreant no sooner made his appearance than, like +Liston, when coming on the stage, he was greeted with a general roar of +laughter. + +“So,” said he, “you have a conjurer above. But wait a while; by the +powdhers o' delf Rantin' Rody's the boy will try his mettle. If he can +look farther than his nose, I'm the lad will find it out. If he doesn't +say I'll be hanged, he knows nothing about his business. I have myself +half-a-dozen hangmen engaged to let me down aisy; it's a death I've a +great fancy for, and, plaise God, I'm workin' honestly to desarve it. +Which of you has a cow to steal? for, by the sweets o' rosin, I'm low in +cash, and want a thrifle to support nather; for nather, my boys, must be +supported, and it was never my intintion to die for want o' my vittles; +aitin' and drinkin' is not very pleasant to most people, I know, but I +was born wid a fancy for both.” + +“Rantin' Rody, in airnest, will you go up and have your fortune tould?” + +“But wait,” he proceeded; “wait, I say,--wait,--I have it.” And as he +said so he went at the top of his speed down the street, and disappeared +in Sol Donnel's cabin. + +“By this and by that,” said one of them, “Rtn'tin' Rody will take spunk +out of him, if it's in him.” + +“I think he had better have notin' to do wid him,” said an old woman, +“for fraid he'd rise the devil--Lord guard us! Sure it's the same man +that was in this very town the night he was _riz_ before, and that the +bonfire for Suil Balor (the eye of Balor, or the Evil Eye) Woodward was +drowned by a shower of blood. Troth I wouldn't be in the same Woodward's +coat for the wealth o' the world. As for Rantin' Rody, let him take care +of himself. It's never safe to sport wid edged tools, and he'll be apt +to find it so, if he attempts to put his tricks upon the conjurer.” + +In the meantime, while that gentleman was seated above stairs, a female, +tall, slim, and considerably advanced in years, entered the room and +took her seat. Her face was thin, and red in complexion, especially +about the point of a rather long nose, where the color appeared to be +considerably deeper in hue. + +“Sir,” said she, in a sharp tone of voice, “I'm told you can tell +fortunes.” + +“Certainly, madam,” he replied, you have been correctly informed.” + +“You won't be offended, then, if I wish to ask you a question or two. +It's not about myself, but a sister of mine, who is--ahem--what the +censorious world is pleased to call an old maid.” + +“Why did your sister not come herself?” he asked; “I cannot predict +anything unless the individual is before me; I must have him or her, as +the case may be, under my eye.” + +“Bless me, sir! I didn't know that; but as I am now here--could you tell +me anything about myself?” + +“I could tell you many things,” replied the conjurer, who read old maid +in every line of her face--“many things not very pleasant for you to +reflect upon.” + +“O, but I don't wish to hear anything unpleasant,” said she; “tell me +something that's agreeable.” + +“In the first place, I cannot do so,” he replied; “I must be guided +by truth. You have, for instance, been guilty of great cruelty; and +although you are but a young woman, in the very bloom of life--” + +Here the lady bowed to him, and simpered--her thin, red nose twisted +into a gracious curl, as thanking him for his politeness. + +“In the very prime of life, madam--yet you have much to be accountable +for, in consequence of your very heartless cruelty to the male sex--you +see, madam, and you feel too, that I speak truth.” + +The lady put the spectre of an old fan up to her withered visage, and +pretended to enact a blush of admission. + +“Well, sir,” she replied, “I--I--I cannot say but that--indeed I have +been charged with--not that it--cruelty--I mean--was ever in my heart; +but you must admit, sir, that--that--in fact--where too many press, upon +a person, it is the more difficult choose.” + +“Unquestionably; but you should have, made a judicious selection--and +that was because you were in no hurry--and indeed you need not be; you +have plenty of time before you. Still, there is much blame attached to +you--you have defrauded society of its rights. Why, now, you might have +been the proud mother of a son or daughter at least five years old by +this time, if it had not been for your own obduracy--excuse me.” + +Up went the skeleton fan again with a wonderfully modest if not an +offended simper at the notion of such an insinuation; but, said she +in her heart, this is the most gentlemanly conjurer that ever told a +fortune; quite a delightful old gentleman; he is really charming; I wish +I had met him twenty years ago.” + +“Well, sir,” she replied, “I see there is no use in denying--especially +to you, who seem to know everything--the truth of the facts you have +stated. There was one gentleman in particular whom I rejected--that +is, conditionally--rather harshly; and do you know, he took the +scarlet-fever soon afterwards and died of a broken-heart.” + +“Go on, madam,” said he; “make a clean breast of it--so shall you enable +me to compare the future with the past, and state your coming fortunes +more distinctly.” + +“Another gentleman, sir--a country squire--owes, I fear, his death to my +severity; he was a hard drinker, but I gave him a month to reform--which +sentence he took so much to heart that he broke his neck in a fox-chase +from mere despair. A third individual--a very handsome young man--of +whom I must confess I was a little jealous about his flirting with +another young lady--felt such remorse that he absolutely ran away with +and married her. I know, of course, I am accountable for all these +calamities; but it cannot be helped now--my conscience must bear it.” + +“You should not look back upon these things with too much remorse,” + replied the conjurer; “forget them--bear a more relenting heart; make +some man happy, and marry. Have you no person at present in your eye +with whom you could share your charms and your fortune?” + +“O, sir, you are complimentary.” + +“Not at all, madam; speak to me candidly, as you perceive I do to you.” + +“Well, then,” she replied, “there is a young gentleman with whom +I should wish to enter into a--a domestic--that is--a matrimonial +connection.” + +“Pray what age is he?” + +“Indeed, he is but young, scarce nineteen; but then he is very wild, and +I--I--have--indeed I am of too kind a heart, sir. I have supplied his +extravagance--for so I must call it--poor boy--but cannot exactly +get him to accept a legitimate right over me--I fear he is attached +elsewhere--but you know he is young, sir, and. not come to his ripe +judgment yet. I read your handbill, sir; and if you could furnish me +with a--something--ahem--that might enable me to gain, or rather to +restore his affections--for I think he was fond of me some few months +ago--I would not grudge whatever the payment might be.” + +“You mean a philter?” + +“I believe that is what it is called, sir.” + +“Well, madam, you shall be supplied with a philter that never fails, on +the payment ol twenty-one shillings. This, philter, madam, will not only +make him fond of you before marriage, but will secure his affections +during life, increasing them day by day, so that every month of your +lives will be a delicious honeymoon. There is another bottle at the same +price; it may not, indeed, be necessary for you, but I can assure you +that it has made many families happy where there had been previously +but little prospect of happiness; the price is the same--twenty-one +shillings.” + +Up went the spectral fan again, and out came the forty-two shillings, +and, with a formal courtesy, the venerable old maid walked away with the +two bottles of aqua pura in her pocket. + +Now came the test for the conjurer's knowledge--the sharp and unexpected +trial of his skill and sagacity. After the old maid had taken her leave, +possessed of the two bottles, a middle-aged, large-sized woman walked +in, and, after making a low courtesy, sat down as she had been desired. +The conjurer glanced keenly at her, and something like a smile might be +seen to settle upon his features; it was so slight, however, that the +good woman did not notice it. + +“Pray, what's the object of your visit to me, may I ask?” + +“My husband, sir--he runn'd away from me, sure.” + +“Small blame to him,” replied the conjurer. “If I had such a wife I +would not remain a single hour in her company.” + +“And is that the tratement you give a heart-broken and desarted crature +like me?” + +“Come, what made him run away from you?” + +“In regard, sir, of a dislike he took to me.” + +“That was a proof that the man had some taste.” + +“Ay, but why hadn't he that taste afore he married me?” + +“It was very well that he had it afterwards--better late than never.” + +“I want you to tell me where he is.” + +“What family have you?” + +“Seven small childre that's now fatherless, I may say.” + +“What kind of a man was your husband?” + +“Why, indeed, as handsome a vagabone as you'd see in a day's +travellin'.” + +“Mention his name; I can tell you nothing till I hear it.” + +“He's called Rantin' Rody, the thief, and a great schamer he is among +the girls.” + +“Ranting Rody--let me see,” and here he looked very solemnly into his +book--“yes; I see--a halter. My good woman, you had better not inquire +after him; he was born to be hanged.” + +“But when will that happen, sir?” + +“Your fate and his are so closely united, that, whenever he swings, you +will swing. You will both hang together from the same gallows; so that, +in point of fact, you need not give yourself much trouble about the time +of his suspension, because I see it written here in the book of fate, +that the same hangman who swings you off, will swing him off at the same +moment. You'll 'lie lovingly together; and when he puts his tongue out +at those who will attend his execution, so will you; and when he dances +his last jig in their presence, so will you. Are you now satisfied?” + +“Troth, and I'm very fond o' the vagabone, although he's the worst +friend I ever had. But you won't tell me where he is? and I know why, +because, with all your pretended knowledge, the devil a know you know.” + +“Are you sure of that?” + +“Ay, cocksure.” + +“Then I can tell you that he is sitting on the chair there, opposite me. +Go about your business, Rody, and rant elsewhere; you may impose upon +others, but not upon a man that can penetrate the secrets of human life +as I can. Go now; there is a white wand in the corner,--my conjuring +rod,--and if I only touched you with it, I could leave you a cripple and +beggar for life. Go, I say, and tell Caterine Collins how much she and +you gained by this attempt at disgracing me.” + +Rody, for it was he, was thunderstruck at this discovery, and, springing +to his feet, disappeared. + +“Well, Rody,” said the crowd, “how did you manage? Did he know you?” + +Rody was as white in the face as a sheet. “Let me alone,” he replied; +“the conjurer above is the devil, and nothin' else. I must get a glass +o' whiskey; I'm near faintin'; I'm as wake as a child; my strength's +gone The man, or the devil, or whatsomever he is, knows everything, and, +what is worse, he tould me I am to be hanged in earnest.” + +“Faith, Rody, that required no great knowledge on his part; there's not +a man here but could have tould you the same thing, and there's none of +us a conjurer.” + +Rody, however, immediately left them to discuss the matter among +themselves, and went, thoroughly crestfallen, to give an account of his +mission to Caterine Collins, who had employed him, and to reassume his +own clothes, which, indeed, were by no means fresh from the tailor. + +The last individual whose interview with the conjurer we shall notice +was no other than Harry Woodward, our hero. On entering he took his +seat, and looked familiarly at the conjurer. + +“Well,” said he, “there was no recognition?” + +“How could there?” replied the other; “you know the thing's impossible; +even without my beard, nobody in the town or about it knows my face, +and to those who see me in character, they have other things to think of +than the perusal of my features.” + +“The girl was with you?” + +“She yes, and I feel that, unless we can get Shawn-na-Middogue taken off +by some means or other, your life will not, cannot, be safe.” + +“She won't betray him, then? But I need not ask, for I have pressed her +upon that matter before.” + +“She is very right in not doing so,” replied the conjurer; “because, if +she did, the consequence would be destruction to herself and her family. +In addition to this, however, I don't think it's in her power to betray +him. He never sleeps more than one night in the same place; and since +her recent conduct to him--I mean since her intimacy with you--he would +place no confidence in her.” + +“He certainly is not aware of our intimacy.” + +“Of course he is not; you would soon know it to your cost if he were. +The place of your rendezvous is somewhat too near civilization for him; +you should, however, change it; never meet twice in the same place, if +you can.” + +“You are reaping a tolerably good harvest here, I suppose. Do they ever +place you in a difficulty?” + +“Difficulty! God help you; there is not an individual among them, or +throughout the whole parish, with whose persons, circumstances, and +characters I am not acquainted; but even if it were not so, I could make +them give me unconsciously the very information they want--returned to +them, of course, in a new shape. I make them state the facts, and I draw +the inferences; nothing is easier; it is a trick that every impostor is +master of. How do you proceed with Miss Goodwin?” + +“That matter is hopeless by fair means--she's in love with that d----d +brother of mine.” + +“No chance of the property, then?” + +“Not as affairs stand at present; we must, however, maintain our +intimacy; if so, I won't despair yet.” + +“But what do you intend to do? If she marries your brother the property +goes to him--and you may go whistle.” + +“I don't give it up, though--I bear a brain still, I think; but the +truth is, I have not completed my plan of operations. What I am to do, I +know not yet exactly. If I could break off the match between her and my +brother, she might probably, through the influence of her parents +and other causes, he persuaded into a reluctant marriage with Harry +Woodward; time, however, will tell, and I must only work my way through +the difficulty as well as I can. I will now leave you, and I don't think +I shall be able to see you again for a week to come.” + +“Before you go let me ask if you know a vagabond called Ranting Rody, +who goes about through the country living no one knows how?” + +“No, I do not know him; what is he?” + +“He's nothing except a paramour of Caterine Collins's, who, you know, +is a rival of ours; nobody here knows anything about him, whilst he, it +appears, knows every one and everything.” + +“He would make a good conjurer,” replied Woodward, smiling. + +“If the fellow could be depended on,” replied the other, “he might +be useful; in fact, I am of opinion that if he wished he could trace +_Shawn-na-Middogue's_ haunts. The scoundrel attempted just now to impose +upon me in the dress of a woman, and, were it not that I knew him so +well, he might have got my beard stripped from my face, and my bones +broken besides; but I feel confident that if any one could trace and +secure the outlaw, he could--I mean with proper assistance. Think of +this.” + +“I shall find him out,” replied Woodward, “and sound him, at all events, +and I think through Caterine Collins I may possibly secure him; but we +must be cautious. Good-by; I wish you success!” + +After which he passed through the crowd, exclaiming, + +“A wonderful man--an astonishing man--and a fearful man; that is if he +be a man, which I very much doubt.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. Fortune-telling + + +Ever since the night of the bonfire Woodward's character became +involved more or less in a mystery that was peculiar to the time and +the superstitions of the period. That he possessed, the Evil Eye was +whispered about; and what was still more strange, it was not his wish +that such rumors should be suppressed. They had not yet, however, +reached either Alice Goodwin or her parents. In the meantime the +feelings of the two families were once more suspended in a kind of +neutral opposition, each awaiting the other to make the first advance. +Poor Alice, however, appeared rather declining in health and spirits, +for, notwithstanding her firm and generous defence of Charles Lindsay, +his brother, to a certain extent, succeeded in shaking her confidence +in his attachment. Her parents; frequently asked her the cause of her +apparent melancholy, but she only gave them evasive replies, and stated +that she had not felt herself very well since Henry Woodward's last +interview with her. + +They now urged her to take exercise--against which, indeed, she always +had a constitutional repugnance--and not to sit so much in her own room +as she did; and in order to comply with their wishes in this respect, +she forced herself to walk a couple of hours each day in the lawn, where +she generally read a book, for the purpose, if possible, of overcoming +her habitual melancholy. It was upon one of these occasions that she saw +the fortune-teller, Caterine Collins, approach her, and as her spirits +were unusually depressed for the moment, she felt no inclination to +enter into any conversation with her. Naturally courteous, however, and +reluctant to give offence, she allowed the woman to advance, especially +as she could perceive from the earnestness of her manner that she was +anxious to speak with her. + +“Well, Caterine,” said she, “I hope you are not coming to tell my +fortune to-day; I am not in spirits to hear much of the future, be +it good or bad. Will you not go up to the house? They will give you +something to eat.” + +“Thank you, Miss Alice, I will go up by and by; but in the manetime, +what fortune could any one tell you but good fortune? There's nothin' +else before you; and if there is, I'm come to put you on your guard +against it, as I will, plaise goodness. I heard what I'm goin' to +mention to you on good autority, and, as I know it's true, I think +it's but right you should know of it, too.” Alice immediately became +agitated; but mingled with that agitation was a natural wish--perhaps +it might be a pardonable curiosity, under the circumstances--to hear +how what the woman had to disclose could affect herself. Being nervous, +restless, and depressed, she was just in the very frame of mind to +receive such an impression as might be deeply prejudicial to the ease of +her heart--perhaps her happiness, and consequently her health. + +“What is it that you think I should know, Caterine?” + +Caterine, who looked about her furtively, as if to satisfy herself that +there was no one present but themselves, said,-- + +“Now, Miss Goodwin, everything depends on whether you'll answer me one +question truly, and you needn't be afeard to spake the truth to me.” + +“Is it concerning myself?” + +“It is, Miss Goodwin, and another, too, but principally yourself.” + +“But what right have you, Caterine, to question me upon my own affairs?” + +“No right, miss; but I wish to prevent you from, harm.” + +“I thank you for your good wishes, Caterine; but what is it you would +say?” + +“Is it true, Miss Alice, that you and Mr. Woodward are coortin'?” + +“It is not, Caterine,” replied Alice, uttering the disavowal with a good +deal of earnestness; “there is no truth whatsoever in it; nothing can +be more false and groundless--I wonder how such a rumor could have got +abroad; it certainly could not proceed from Mr. Woodward.” + +“It did not, indeed, Miss Alice; but it did from his brother, who, it +seems, is very fond of him, and said he was glad of it; but indeed, +miss, it delights my heart to hear that there is no truth in it. Mr. +Woodward, God save us! is no fit husband for any Christian! woman.” + +“Why so?” asked Alice, laboring under, some vague sense of alarm. + +“Why, Heavenly Father! Miss Alice, sure it's well known he has the Evil +Eye; it's in the family upon his mother's side.” + +“My God!” exclaimed Alice, who became instantly as pale as death, “if +that be true, Caterine, it's shocking.” + +“True,” replied Caterine; “did you never I observe his eyes?” + +“Not particularly.” + +“Did you remark that they're of different colors? that one of them is as +black as the devil's, and the other a gray?” + +“I never observed that,” replied Alice, who really never had. + +“Yes, and I could tell you more than that about him,” proceeded +Caterine; “they say he's connected wid what's not good. Sure, when they +got up a bonfire for him, doesn't all the world know that it was put out +by a shower of blood; and that's a proof that he's a favorite wid the +devil and the fairies.” + +“I believe,” replied Alice, “that there is no doubt whatsoever about the +shower of blood; but I should not consider that fact as proof that he is +a favorite with either the devil or the fairies.” + +“Ay, but you don't know, miss, that this is the way they have of showin' +it. Then, ever since he has come to the country, Bet Harramount, the +witch, in the shape of a white hare, is come back to the neighborhood, +and the _Shawn-dhinne-dhuv_ is now seen about the Haunted House, oftener +than he ever was. It's well known that the white hare plays about Mr. +Woodward like a dog, and that she goes into the Haunted House, too, +every night.” + +“And what brought you to tell me all this, Caterine?” asked Alice. + +“Why, miss, to put you on your guard; afraid you might get married to a +man that, maybe, has sould himself to the devil. It's well known by his +father's sarvints that he's out two or three nights in the week, and +nobody can tell where he goes.” + +“Are the servants your authority for that?” + +“Indeed they are; Barney Casey knows a great deal about him. Now, Miss +Alice, you're on your guard; have nothing to do wid him as a sweetheart; +but above all things don't fall out wid him, bekaise, if you did, as +sure as I stand here he'd wither you off o' the earth. And above all +things again watch his eyes; I mane the black one, but don't seem to do +so; and now good-by, miss; I've done my duty to you.” + +“But about his brother, Caterine? He has not the Evil Eye, I hope?” + +“Ah, miss, I could tell you something about him, too. They're a bad +graft, these Lindsays; there's Mr. Charles, and it's whispered he's +goin' to make a fool of himself and disgrace his family.” + +“How is that, Caterine?” + +“I don't know rightly; I didn't hear the particulars; but I'll be on the +watch, and when I can I'll let you know it.” + +“Take no such trouble, Caterine,” said Alice; “I assure you I feel no +personal interest whatsoever in any of the family except Miss Lindsay. +Leave me, Caterine, leave me; I must finish my book; but I thank you +for your good wishes. Go up, and say I desired them to give you your +dinner.” + +Alice soon felt herself obliged to follow; and it was, indeed, with some +difficulty she was able to reach the house. Her heart got deadly sick; +an extraordinary weakness came over her; she became alarmed, frightened, +distressed; her knees tottered under her, and she felt on reaching +the hall-door as if she were about to faint. Her imagination became +disturbed; a heavy, depressing gloom descended upon her, and darkened +her flexible and unresisting spirit, as if it were the forebodings of +some terrible calamity. + +The diabolical wretch who had just left her took care to perform her +base and heartless task with double effect. It was not merely the +information she had communicated concerning Woodward that affected her +so deeply, although she felt, as it were, in the Inmost recesses of her +soul, that it was true, but that which went at the moment with greater +agony to her heart was the allusion to Charles Lindsay, and the +corroboration it afforded to the truth of the charge which Woodward had +brought, with so much apparent reluctance, against him--the charge of +having neglected and abandoned her for another, and that other a person +of low birth, who, by relinquishing her virtue, had contrived to gain +such an artful and selfish ascendancy over him. How could she doubt +it? Here was a woman ignorant of the communication Woodward had made to +her,--ignorant of the vows that had passed between them,--who had heard +of his falsehood and profligacy, and who never would have alluded to +them had she not been questioned. So far, then, Woodward, she felt, +stood without blame with respect to his brother. And how could she +suspect Caterine to have been the agent of that gentleman, when she knew +now that her object in seeking an interview with herself was to put her +on her guard against him? The case was clear, and, to her, dreadful +as it was clear. She felt herself now, however, in that mood which no +sympathy can alleviate or remove. She experienced no wish to communicate +her distress to any one, but resolved to preserve the secret in her +own bosom. Here, then, was she left to suffer the weight of a twofold +affliction--the dread of Woodward, with which Caterine's intelligence +had filled her heart, feeble, and timid, and credulous as it was upon +any subject of a superstitious tendency--and the still deeper distress +which weighed her down in consequence of Charles Lindsay's treachery and +dishonor. Alas! poor Alice's heart was not one for struggles, +nurtured and bred up, as she had been, in the very wildest spirit of +superstition, in all its degrading ramifications. There was something +in the imagination and constitution of the poor girl which generated and +cherished the superstitions which prevailed in her day. She could not +throw them off her mind, but dwelt upon them with a kind of fearful +pleasure which we can understand from those which operated upon our +own fancies in our youth. These prepare the mind for the reception of a +thousand fictions concerning ghosts, witches, fairies, apparitions, and +a long catalogue of nonsense, equally disgusting and repugnant to reason +and common-sense. It is not surprising, then, that poor Alice's mind on +that night was filled with phantasms of the most feverish and excited +description. As far as she could, however, she concealed her agitation +from her parents, but not so successfully as to prevent them from +perceiving that she was laboring under some extraordinary and +unaccountable depression. This unfortunately was too true. On that night +she experienced a series of such wild and frightful visions as, when she +was startled out of them, made her dread to go again to sleep. The white +hare, the Black Spectre, but, above all, the fearful expression her +alarmed fancy had felt in Woodward's eye, which was riveted upon her, +she thought, with a baleful and demoniacal glance, that pierced and +prostrated her spirit with its malignant and supernatural power; all +these terrible images, with fifty other incoherent chimeras, flitted +before the wretched girl's imagination during her feverish slumbers. +Towards morning she sank into a somewhat calmer state of rest, but still +with occasional and flitting glimpses of the same horrors. + +So far the master-spirit had set, at least, a portion of his machinery +in motion, in order to work out his purposes; but we shall find that his +designs became deeper and blacker as he proceeded in his course. + +In a few days Alice became somewhat relieved from the influence of these +tumultuous and spectral phantasms which had run riot in her terrified +fancy; and this was principally owing to the circumstance of her having +prevailed upon one of the maid-servants, a girl named Bessy Mangan, +Barney Casey's sweetheart, to sleep privately in her room. The attack +had reduced and enfeebled her very much, but still she was slightly +improved and somewhat relieved in her spirits. The shock, and the +nervous paroxysm that accompanied it, had nearly passed away, and she +was now anxious, for the sake of her health, to take as much exercise +as she could. Still--still--the two leading thoughts would recur +to her--that of Charles's treachery, and the terrible gift of curse +possessed by his brother Henry; and once more her heart would sink to +the uttermost depths of distress and terror. The supernatural, however, +in the course of a little time, prevailed, as it was only reasonable +to suppose it would in such a temperament as hers; and as her mind +proceeded to struggle with the two impressions, she felt that her dread +of Woodward was gradually gaining upon and absorbing the other. Her +fear of him, consequently, was deadly; that terrible and malignant +eye--notwithstanding its dark brilliancy and awful beauty, alas! too, +significant of its power--was constantly before her imagination, gazing +upon her with a fixed, determined, and mysterious look, accompanied by +a smile of triumph, which deepened its satanity, if we may be allowed to +coin a word, at every glance. It was not mere antipathy she felt for him +now, but dread and horror. How, then, was she to act? She had pledged +herself to receive his visits upon one condition, and to permit him +to continue a friendly intimacy altogether apart from love. How, then, +could she violate her word, or treat him with rudeness, who had always +not only treated her with courtesy, but expressed an interest in her +happiness which she had every reason to believe sincere? Thus was the +poor girl entangled with difficulties on every side without possessing +any means of releasing herself from them. + +In a few days after this she was sitting in the drawing-room when +Woodward unexpectedly entered it, and saluted her with great apparent +good feeling and politeness. The surprise caused her to become as pale +as death; she felt her very limbs relax with weakness, and her breath +for a few moments taken away from her; she looked upon him with an +expression of alarm and fear which she could not conceal, and it was +with some difficulty that she was at length enabled to speak. + +“You will excuse me, sir,” she said, “for not rising; I am very nervous, +and have not been at all well for the last week or upwards.” + +“Indeed, Miss Goodwin, I am very sorry to hear this; I trust it is only +a mere passing indisposition; I think the complaint is general, for my +sister has also been ailing much the same way for the last few days. +Don't be alarmed, Miss Goodwin, it is nothing, and won't signify. You +should mingle more in society; you keep too much alone.” + +“But I do not relish society; I never mingle in it that I don't feel +exhausted and depressed.” + +“That certainly makes a serious difference; in such a case, then, I +imagine society would do you more harm than good. I should not have +intruded on you had not your mother requested me to come up and try to +raise your spirits--a pleasure which I would gladly enjoy if I could.” + +“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Woodward,” she replied; “I hope a short +time will remove this unusual depression, and I must only have a little +patience.” + +“Just so, Miss Goodwin; a little time, as you say, will restore you to +yourself.” + +Now all this was very courteous and kind of Mr. Woodward, and might have +raised her spirits were it not for the eye. From the moment he entered +the apartment that dreaded instrument of his power was fixed upon her +with a look so concentrated, piercing, and intense, that it gave a +character of abstraction to all he said. In other words, she felt as +if his language proceeded out of his lips unconsciously, and that some +mysterious purport of his heart emanated from his eye. It appeared to +her that he was thinking of something secret connected with herself, to +which his words bore no reference whatsoever. She neither knew what to +do nor what to say under this terrible and permeating gaze; it was in +vain she turned away her eyes; she knew--she felt--that his was upon +her--that it was drinking up her strength--that, in fact, the evil +influence was; mingling with and debilitating her frame, and operating +upon all her faculties. There was still, however, a worse symptom, and +one which gave that gaze a significance that appalled her--this was +the smile of triumph which she had seen playing coldly but triumphantly +about his lips in her dreams. That smile was the feather to the arrow +that pierced her, and that was piercing her at that moment--it was the +cold but glittering glance of the rattlesnake, when breaking down by the +poison of his eyes the power of resistance in his devoted victim. + +“Mr. Woodward,” said she, after a long pause, “I am unable to bear an +interview--have the goodness to withdraw, and when you go down-stairs +send my mother up. Excuse me, sir; but you must perceive how very ill I +have got within a few minutes.” + +“I regret it exceedingly, Miss Goodwin. I had something to mention to +you respecting that unfortunate brother of mine; but you are not now in +a condition to hear anything unpleasant and distressing; and, indeed, +it is better, I think, now that I observe your state of health, that you +should not even wish to hear it.” + +“I never do wish to hear it, sir; but have the goodness to leave me.” + +“I trust my next visit will find you better. Good-by, Miss Goodwin! I +shall send your mother up.” + +[Illustration: PAGE 697-- One long, dark, inexplicable gaze] + +He withdrew very much after the etiquette of a subject leaving a crowned +head--that is, nearly backwards; but when he came to the door he paused +a moment, turning upon her one long, dark, inexplicable gaze, whilst +the muscles of his hard, stony mouth were drawn back with a smile +that contained in its expression a spirit that might be considered +complacent, but which Alice interpreted as derisive and diabolical. + +“Mamma,” said she, when her mother joined her, “I am ill, and I know not +what to do.” + +“I know you are not well, my love,” replied her mother, “but I hope +you're not worse; how do you feel?” + +“Quite feeble, utterly without strength, and dreadfully depressed and +alarmed.” + +“Alarmed, Alley! Why, what could alarm you? Does not Mr. Woodward always +conduct himself as a gentleman?” + +“He does, ma'am; but, nevertheless, I never wish to see him again.” + +“Why, dear me! Alice, is it reasonable that you should give way to such +a prejudice against that gentleman? Indeed I believe you absolutely hate +him.” + +“It is not personal hatred, mother; it is fear and terror. I do not, +as I said, hate the man personally, because I must say that he never +deserved such a feeling at my hands, but, in the meantime, the sight of +him sickens me almost to death. I am not aware that he is or ever was +immoral, or guilty of any act that ought to expose him to hatred; but, +notwithstanding that, my impression, when conversing with him, is, that +I am in the presence of an evil spirit, or of a man who is possessed of +one. Mamma, he must be excluded the house, and forbidden to visit here +again, otherwise my health will be destroyed, and my very life placed +in danger.” + +“My dear Alice, that is all very strange,” replied her mother, +now considerably alarmed at her language, but still more so at her +appearance; “why, God bless me, child! now that I look at you, you +certainly do seem to be in an extraordinary state. You are the color of +death, and then you are all trembling! Why is this, I ask again?” + +“The presence of that man,” she replied, in a faint voice; “his presence +simply and solely. That is what has left me as you see me.” + +“Well, Alice, it is very odd and very strange, and it seems as if there +was some mystery in it. I will, however, talk to your father about it, +and we will hear what he shall say. In the meantime, raise your spirits, +and don't be so easily alarmed. You are naturally nervous and timid, and +this is merely a poor, cowardly conceit that has got into your head; but +your own good sense will soon show you the folly of yielding to a mere +fancy. Amuse yourself on the spinet, and play some brisk music that will +cheer your spirits; it is nothing but the spleen.” + +Woodward, in the meantime, having effected his object, and satisfied +himself of his power over Alice, pursued his way home in high spirits. +To his utter astonishment, however, he found the family in an uproar, +the cause of which we will explain. His mother, whose temper neither she +herself nor any other human being, unless her husband, when provoked +too far, could keep under anything like decent restraint, had got into a +passion, while he, Woodward, was making his visit; and while in a blaze +of resentment against the Goodwins she disclosed the secret of +his rejection by Alice, and dwelt with bitter indignation upon the +attachment she had avowed for Charles--a secret which Henry had most +dishonorably intrusted to her, but which, as the reader sees, she had +neither temper nor principle to keep. + +On entering the house he found his; mother and step-father at high feud. +The I brows of the latter were knit, as was always the case when he +found himself bent upon mischief. He was calm, however, which was +another bad sign, for in him the old adage was completely reversed, +“After a storm comes a calm,” whilst in his case it uniformly preceded +it. + +Woodward looked about him with amazement; his step-father was standing +with his back to the parlor fire, holding the skirts of his coat divided +behind, whilst his wife stood opposite to him, her naturally red face +still naming more deeply with a tornado of indignation. + +“And you dare to tell me that you'll consent to Charles's marriage with +her?” + +“Yes, my dear, I dare to tell you so. You have no objection that she +should marry your son Harry there. You forgot or dissembled your scorn +and resentment against her, when you thought you could make a catch of +her property: a very candid and disinterested proceeding on your part, +Well, what's the consequence? That's all knocked up; the girl won't have +him, because she is attached to his brother, and because his brother is +attached to her. Now that is just as it ought to be, and, please God, +we'll have them married. And I now I take the liberty of asking you both +to the wedding.” + +“Lindsay, you're an offensive old dog, sir.” + +“I might retort the compliment by changing the sex, my dear,” he +replied, laughing! and nodding at her, with a face, from the nose down, +rather benevolent than otherwise, but still the knit was between the +brows. + +“Lindsay, you're an unmanly villain, and a coward to boot, or you +wouldn't use such language to a woman.” + +“Not to a woman; but I'm sometimes forced to do so to a termagant.” + +“What's the cause of all this?” inquired Woodward; “upon my honor, the +language I hear is very surprising, as coming from a justice of quorum +and his lady. Fie! fie! I am ashamed of you both. In what did it +originate?” + +“Why, the fact is, Harry, she has told us that Alice Goodwin, in the +most decided manner, has rejected your addresses, and confided to you an +avowal of her attachment to Charles here. Now, when I heard this, I felt +highly delighted at it, and said we should have them married, and so +we shall. Then your mother, in flaming indignation at this, enacted +Vesuvius in a blaze, and there she stands ready for another eruption.” + +“I wish you were in the bottom of Vesuvius, Lindsay; but you shall not +have your way, notwithstanding.” + +“So I am, my dear, every day in my life. I have a little volcano of my +own here, under the very roof with me; and I tell that volcano that I +will have my own way in this matter, and that this marriage must take +place if Alice is willing; and I'm sure she is, the dear girl.” + +“Sir,” said Woodward, addressing his step-father calmly, “I feel a good +deal surprised that a thinking man, of a naturalise late temper as you +are,--” + +“Yes, Harry, I am so.” + +“Of such a sedate temper as you are, should not recollect the +possibility of my mother, who sometimes takes up impressions hastily, if +not erroneously--as the calmest of us too frequently do--of my mother, +I say, considerably mistaking and unconsciously misrepresenting the +circumstances I mentioned to her.” + +“But why did you mention them exclusively to her?” asked Charles; “I +cannot see your object in concealing them from the rest of the family, +especially from those who were most interested in the knowledge of +them.” + +“Simply because I had nothing actually decisive to mention. I +principally confined myself to my own inferences, which unfortunately +my mother, with her eager habit of snatching at conclusions, in this +instance, mistook for facts. I shall satisfy you, Charles, of this, and +of other matters besides; but we will require time.” + +“I assure you, Harry, that if your mother does not keep her temper +within some reasonable bounds, either she or I shall leave the +house--and I am not likely to be the man to do so.” + +“This house is mine, Lindsay, and the property is mine--both in my own +right; and you and your family may leave it as soon as you like.” + +“But you forget that I have property enough to support myself and them +independently of you.” + +“Wherever you go, my dear papa,” said Maria, bursting into tears, “I +will accompany you. I admit it is a painful determination for a daughter +to be forced to make against her own mother; but it is one I should have +died sooner than come to if she had ever treated me as a daughter.” + +Her good-natured and affectionate father took her in his arms and kissed +her. + +“My own darling Maria,” said he, “I could forgive your mother all her +domestic violence and outrage had she acted with the affection of a +mother towards you. She has a heart only for one individual, and that is +her son Harry, there.” + +“As for me,” said Charles, “wherever my father goes, I, too, my dear +Maria, will accompany him.” + +“You hear that, Harry,” said Mrs. Lindsay; “you see now they are in a +league--in a conspiracy against your happiness and mine;--but think of +their selfishness and cunning--it is the girl's property they want.” + +“Perish the property,” exclaimed Charles indignantly. “I will now +mention a fact which I have hitherto never breathed--Alice Goodwin and I +were, I may say, betrothed before ever she dreamed of possessing it; and +if I held back since that time, I did so from the principles of a man +of honor, lest she might imagine that I renewed our intimacy, after the +alienation of the families, from mercenary motives.” + +“You're a fine fellow, Charley,” said his father; “you're a fine fellow, +and you deserve her and her property, if it was ten times what it is.” + +“Don't you be disheartened, Harry,” said his mother; “I have a better +wife in my eye for you--a wife that will bring you connection, and that +is Lord Bilberry's niece.” + +“Yes,” said her husband, ironically, “a man with fifty thousand acres +of mountain. Faith, Harry, you will be a happy man, and may feed on +bilberries all your life; but upon little else, unless you can pick the +spare bones of an old maid who has run herself into an asthma in the +unsuccessful sport of husband-hunting.” + +“She will inherit her uncle's property, Lindsay.” + +“Yes, she will inherit the heather and the bilberries. But go in God's +name; work out that project; there is nobody here disposed to hinder +you. Only I hope you will ask us to the wedding.” + +“Mother,” said Woodward, affectionately taking her hand and giving it a +significant squeeze; “mother, you must excuse me for what I am about +to say”--another squeeze, and a glance which was very well +understood--“upon my honor, mother, I must give my verdict for the +present”--another squeeze--“against you. You--must be kinder to Charles +and Maria, and you must not treat my father with such disrespect and +harshness. I wish to become a mediator and pacificator in the family. As +for myself, I care not about property; I wish to marry the girl I love. +I am not, I trust, a selfish man--God forbid I should; but for the +present”--another squeeze--“let me entreat you all to forget this little +breeze; urge nothing, precipitate nothing; a little time, perhaps, if +we have patience to wait, may restore us all, and everything else we are +quarrelling about, to peace and happiness. Charles, I wish to have some +conversation with you.” + +“Harry,” said Lindsay, “I am glad you have spoken as you did; your words +do you credit, and your conduct is manly and honorable.” + +“I do believe, indeed,” said his unsuspecting brother, “that the best +thing we could all do would be to put ourselves under his guidance; as +for my part I am perfectly willing to do so, Harry. After hearing the +good sense you have just uttered, I think you are entitled to every +confidence from us all.” + +“You overrate my abilities, Charles; but not, I hope, the goodness of an +affectionate heart that loves you all. Charles, come with me for a few +minutes; and, mother, do you also expect a private lecture from me by +and by.” + +“Well,” said the mother, “I suppose I must. If I were only spoken to +kindly I could feel as kindly; however, let there be an end to this +quarrel as the boy says, and I, as well as Charles, shall be guided by +his advice.” + +“Now, Charles,” said he, when they had gone to another room, “you know +what kind! of a woman my mother is; and the truth is, until matters get +settled, we will have occasion for a good, deal of patience with her; +let us, therefore, exercise it. Like most hot-tempered women, she has +a bad memory, and wrests the purport of words too frequently to a wrong +meaning. In the account she gave you of what occurred between Alice +Goodwin and me, she entirely did.” + +“But what did occur between Alice Goodwin and you, Harry?” + +“A very few words will tell it. She admitted that there certainly has +been an attachment between you and her, but--that--that--I will +not exactly repeat her words, although I don't say they were meant +offensively; but it amounted, to this, that she now filled a different +position in the eyes of the world; that she would rather the matter +were not renewed; that if her mind had changed, she had good reason for +justifying the change; and when I, finding that I had no chance myself, +began to plead for you, she hinted to me that, in consequence of the +feud that had taken place between the families, and the slanders that my +mother had cast upon her honor and principles, she was resolved to +have no further connection whatsoever with any one of the blood; her +affections were not now her own.” + +“Alas, Harry!” said Charles, “how few can bear the effects of unexpected +prosperity. When she and I were both comparatively poor, she was all +affection; but now that she has become an heiress, see what a change +there is! Well, Harry, if she can be faithless and selfish, I can be +both resolute and proud. She shall have no further trouble from me on +that subject; only I must say, I don't envy her her conscience.” + +“Don't be rash, Charles---we should judge of her charitably and +generously; I don't think myself she is so much to blame. O'Connor +Fardour, or Farther, or whatever you call him--” + +“O, Ferdora!” + +“Yes, Ferdora; that fellow is at the bottom of it all; he has plied her +well during the estrangement, and to some purpose. I never visit them +that I don't find him alone with her. He is, besides, both frank and +handsome, with a good deal of dash and insinuation in his address and +manner, and, besides, a good property, I am told. But, in the meantime, +I have a favor to ask of you; that is, if you think you can place +confidence in me.” + +“Every confidence, my dear Harry,” said Charles, clasping his hand +warmly; “every confidence. As I said before, you shall be my guide and +adviser.” + +“Thank you, Charles. I may make mistakes, but I shall do all for the +best. Well, then, will you leave O'Connor to me? If you do, I shall not +promise much, because I am not master of future events; but this is all +I ask of you--yes, there is one thing more--to hold aloof from her and +her family for a time.” + +“After what you have told me, Harry, that is an unnecessary request now; +but as for O'Connor, I think he ought to be left to myself.” + +“And so he shall in due time; but I must place him in a proper position +for you first--a thing which you could not do now, nor even attempt to +do, without meanness. Are you, then, satisfied to leave this matter in +my hands, and to remain quiet until I shall bid you act?” + +“Perfectly, Harry, perfectly; I shall be guided by you in everything.” + +“Well, now, Charley, we will have a double triumph soon, I hope. All +is not lost that's in danger. The poor girl is surrounded by a clique. +Priests have interfered. Her parents, you know, are Catholics; so, you +know, is O'Connor. Poor Alice, you know, too, is anything but adamant. +And now I will say no more; but in requital for what I have said, go +and send our patient mild mamma, to me. I really must endeavor to try +something with her, in order to save us all from this kind of life she +is leading us.” + +When his mother entered he assumed the superior and man of authority; +his countenance exhibited something unpleasant, and in a decisive and +rather authoritative tone he said,-- + +“Mother, will you be pleased to take a seat?” + +“You are angry with me, Harry--I know you are; but I could not restrain +my feelings, nor keep your secret, when I thought of their insolence in +requiting you--you, to whom the property would and ought to have come--” + +“Pray, ma'am, take a seat.” + +She sat down--anxious, but already subdued, as was evident by her +manner. + +“I,” proceeded her son, “to whom the property would and ought to have +come--and I to whom it will come--” + +“But are you sure of that?” + +“Not, I am afraid, while I have such a mother as you are--a woman in +whom I can place no confidence with safety. Why did you betray me to +this silly family?” + +“Because, as I said before, I could not help it; my temper got the +better of me.” + +“Ay, and I fear it will always get the better of you. I could now give +you very agreeable information as to that property and the piece of +curds that possesses it; but then, as I said, there is no placing any +confidence in a woman of your temper.” + +“If the property is concerned, Harry, you may depend your life on me. So +help me, God, if ever I will betray you again.” + +“Well, that's a solemn asseveration, and I will depend on it; but if +you betray me to this family the property is lost to us and our heirs +forever.” + +“Do not fear me; I have taken the oath.” + +“Well, then, listen; if you could understand Latin, I would give you a +quotation from a line of Virgil-- + + '_Haeret lateri lethhalis arundo_.' + +The girl's doomed--subdued--overcome; I am in the process of killing +her.” + +“Of killing her! My God, how? not by violence, surely--that, you know, +would not be safe.” + +“I know that; no--not by violence, but by the power of this dark eye +that you see in my head.” + +“Heavenly Father! then you possess it?” + +“I do; and if I were never to see her again I don't think she could +recover; she will merely wither away very gently, and in due time will +disappear without issue--and then, whose is the property?” + +“As to that, you know there can be no doubt about it; there is the +will--the stupid; will, by which she got it.” + +“I shall see her again, however--nay, in spite of them I shall see +her time after time, and shall give her the Evil Eye, until the; scene +closes--until I attend her funeral.” + +“My mind is somewhat at ease,” replied his mother; “because I was +alarmed lest you should have had recourse to any process that might have +brought you within the operation of the law.” + +“Make your mind easy on that point, my dear mother. No law compels a man +to close his eyes; a cat, you know, may look on a king; but of one thing +you may be certain--she dies--the victim is mine.” + +“One thing is certain,” replied his mother, “that if she and Charles +should marry, you are ousted from the property.” + +“Don't trouble yourself about such a contingency; I have taken steps +which I think will prevent that. I speak in a double sense; but if I +find, after all, that they are likely to fail, I shall take others still +more decisive.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. Woodward is Discarded from Mr. Goodwin's Family + +--Other Particulars of Importance. + + +The reader sees that Harry Woodward, having ascertained the mutual +affection which subsisted between his brother and Alice, resorted to +such measures as were likely to place obstructions in the way of their +meeting, which neither of them was likely to remove. He felt, now, +satisfied that Charles, in consequence of the malignant fabrications +which he himself had palmed upon him for truth, would, most assuredly, +make no further attempt to renew their former intimacy. When Alice, too, +stated to him, that if she married not Charles, whether he proved worthy +of her or otherwise, she would never marry another, he felt that she was +unconsciously advancing the diabolical plans which he was projecting and +attempting to carry into effect. If she died without marriage or without +issue, the property, at her death, according to his uncle's will, +reverted, as we have said, to himself. His object, therefore, was to +expedite her demise with as little delay as possible, in order that he +might become master of the patrimony. With this generous principle for +his guide, he made it a point to visit the Goodwins, and to see Alice +as often as was compatible with the ordinary usages of society. Had +Caterine Collins not put the unsuspecting and timid girl on her guard +against the influence of the Evil Eye, as possessed by Woodward, for +whom she acted as agent in the business, that poor girl would not have +felt anything like what this diabolical piece of information occasioned +her to experience. From the moment she heard it her active imagination +took the alarm. An unaccountable terror seized upon her; she felt as if +some dark doom was impending over her. It was in a peculiar degree the +age of superstition; and the terrible influence of the Evil Eye was +one not only of the commonest, but the most formidable of them all. The +dark, significant, but sinister gaze of Harry Woodward was, she thought, +forever upon her. She could not withdraw her imagination from it. It +haunted her; it was fixed upon her, accompanied by a dreadful smile of +apparent courtesy, but of a malignity which she felt as if it penetrated +her whole being, both corporeal and mental. She hurried to bed at night +with a hope that sleep might exclude the frightful vision which followed +her; but, alas! even sleep was no security to her against its terrors. +It was now that in her distempered dreams imagination ran riot. She fled +from him, or attempted to fly, but feared that she had not strength for +the effort; he followed her, she thought, and when she covered her face +with her hands in order to avoid the sight of him, she felt him seizing +her by the wrists, and removing her arms in order that he might pour the +malignant influence of that terrible eye into her very heart. From these +scenes she generally awoke with a shriek, when her maid, Sarah Sullivan, +who of late slept in the same room with her, was obliged to come to her +assistance, and soothe and sustain her as well as she could. She then +lay for hours in such a state of terror and agitation as cannot be +described, until near morning, WHen she generally fell into something +like sound sleep. In fact, her waking moments were easy when compared +with the persecution which the spirit of that man inflicted on her +during her broken and restless slumbers. The dreadful eye, as it rested +upon her, seemed as if its powerful but killing expression proceeded +from the heart and spirit of some demon who sought to wither her by +slow degrees out of life; and she felt that he was succeeding in his +murderous and merciless object. It is not to be wondered at, then, +that she dreaded the state of sleep more than any other condition of +existence in which she could find herself. As night, and the hour of +retiring to what ought to have been a refreshing rest returned, her +alarms also returned with tenfold terror; and such was her apprehension +of those fiend-like and nocturnal visits, that she entreated Sarah +Sullivan to sleep with and awaken her the moment she heard her groan or +shriek. Our readers may perceive that the innocent girl's tenure of life +could not be a long one under such strange and unexampled sufferings. + +The state of her health now occasioned her parents to feel the most +serious alarm. She herself disclosed to them the fearful intelligence +which had been communicated to her in such a friendly spirit by Caterine +Collins, to wit, that Harry Woodward possessed the terrible power of the +Evil Eye, and that she felt he was attempting to kill her by it; adding, +that from the state of her mind and health she feared he had succeeded, +and that certainly, if he were permitted to continue his visits, she +knew that she could not long survive. + +“I remember well,” said her father, “that when he was a boy of about six +or seven he was called, by way of nickname, _Harry na Suil Glair_; and, +indeed, the common report always has been that his mother possesses the +evil eye against cattle, when she wishes to injure any neighbor that +doesn't treat her with what she thinks to be proper and becoming +respect. If her son Harry has the accursed gift it comes from her blood; +they say there is some old story connected with her family that accounts +for it, but, as I never heard it, I don't know what it is.” + +“I agree with you,” said his wife; “if he has it at all, he may thank +her for it. There is, I fear, some bad principle in her; for surely +the fierceness and overbearing spirit of her pride, and the malignant +calumnies of her foul and scandalous tongue, can proceed from nothing +that's good.” + +“Well, Martha,” observed her husband, “if the devilish and unaccountable +hatred which she bears her fellow-creatures is violent, she has the +satisfaction of knowing--and well she knows it--that it is returned to +her with compound interest; I question if the devil himself is detested +with such a venomous feeling as she is. Her own husband and children +cannot like a bone in her skin.” + +“And yet,” replied Alice, “you would have made this woman my +mother-in-law! Do you think it was from any regard to us that she came +here to propose a marriage between her son and me? No, indeed, dear +papa, it was for the purpose of securing the property, which her brother +left me, for him who would otherwise have inherited it. And do you +imagine for a moment that Harry Woodward himself ever felt one emotion +of personal affection for me? If you do you are quite mistaken. I +knew and felt all along--even while he was assuming the part of the +lover--that he actually hated, not only me, but every one of the family. +His object was the property, and so was that of his mother; but I +absolve all the other members of the family from any knowledge of, or +participation in, their schemes. As it is, if you wish to see yourselves +childless you will allow his, visits, or, if not, you will never permit +his presence under this roof again. I fear, however, that it is now +too late--you see that I am already on the brink of the grave, in +consequence of the evil influence which the dreadful villain has gained +over me, and, indeed,” she added, bursting into tears, “I have, at this +moment, no hopes of recovery. My strength, both bodily and mental, is +gone--I am as weak as an infant, and I see nothing before me but an +early grave. I have also other sorrows, but even to you I will not +disclose them--perhaps on my bed of death I may.” + +The last words were scarcely uttered when she fainted. Her parents were +dreadfully alarmed--in a moment both were in tears, but they immediately +summoned assistance. Sarah Sullivan made her appearance, attended by +others of the servants; the usual remedies were applied, and in the +course of about ten or twelve minutes she recovered, and was weeping in +a paroxysm bordering on despair when Harry Woodward entered the room. +This was too much for the unfortunate girl. It seemed like setting the +seal of death to her fate. She caught a glimpse of him. There was the +malignant, but derisive look--one which he meant to be courteous, but +which the bitter feeling within him overshadowed with the gloomy triumph +of an evil spirit. She placed her hands over her eyes, gave one loud +shriek, and immediately fell into strong convulsions. + +“Good heavens!” exclaimed Woodward, “what is the matter with Miss +Goodwin? I am sincerely sorry to see this. Is not her health good?” + +“Pray, sir,” replied her father, “how did you come to obtrude yourself +here at such a moment of domestic distress?” + +“Why, my dear sir,” replied Woodward, “of course you must know that I +was ignorant of all this. The hall-door was open, as it generally is, so +was the door of this room, and I came in accordingly, as I have been in +the habit of doing, to pay my respects to the family.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Goodwin, “the hall-door is generally open, but it shall +not be so in future. Come out of the room, Mr. Woodward; your presence +is not required here.” + +“O, certainly,” replied Woodward, “I feel that; and I assure you I +would not by any means have intruded had I known that Miss Goodwin was +unwell.” + +“She is unwell,” responded her father; “very unwell; unwell unto death, +I fear. And now, Mr. Woodward,” he proceeded, when they had reached the +hall, “I beg to state peremptorily and decidedly that all intimacy and +intercourse between you and our family must cease from this hour. You +visit here no more.” + +“This is very strange language, Mr. Goodwin,” replied the other, “and +I think, as between two gentlemen, I am entitled to an explanation. I +received the permission of yourself, your lady, and your daughter to +visit here. I am not conscious of having done anything unbecoming a +gentleman, that could or ought to deprive me of a privilege which I +looked upon as an honor.” + +“Well, then,” replied her father, “look into your own conscience, and +perhaps you will find the necessary explanation there. I am master of my +own house and my own motions, and now I beg you instantly to withdraw, +and to consider this your last visit here.” + +“May I not be permitted to call to-morrow to inquire after Miss +Goodwin's health?” + +“Assuredly not.” + +“Nor to send a messenger?” + +“By no means; and now, sir, withdraw; I must go in to my daughter, till +I see what can be done for her, or whether anything can or not.” + +Harry Woodward looked upon him steadily for a time, and the old man felt +as if his very strength was becoming relaxed; a sense of faintness and +terror came over him, and, as Woodward took his departure in silence, +the father of Alice began to abandon all hopes of her recovery. He +himself felt the effects of the mysterious gaze which Woodward had +fastened on him, and entered the room, conscious of the fatal power of +the Evil Eye. + +Fit after fit succeeded each other for the space of, at least, an hour +and a half, after which they ceased, but left her in such a state of +weakness and terror that she might be said, at that moment, to hover +between life and death. She was carried in her distracted father's +arms to bed, and after they had composed her as well as they could, her +father said,-- + +“My darling child, you may now summon strength and courage; that man, +that bad man, will never come under this roof again. I have finally +settled the point, and you have nothing further now, nor anything worse, +to dread from him. I have given the villain his _nunc dimittis_ once and +forever, and you will never see him more.” + +“But I fear, papa,” she replied, feebly, “that, as I said before, it is +now too late. I feel that he has killed me. I know not how I will +pass this night. I dread the hours of sleep above all conditions of my +unhappy existence. O, no wonder that the entrance of that man-demon to +our house should be heralded by the storms and hurricanes of heaven, and +that the terrible fury of the elements, as indicative of the Almighty's +anger, should mark his introduction to our family. Then the prodigy +which took place when the bonfires were lighted to welcome his accursed +return--the shower of blood! O, may God support me, and, above all +things, banish him from my dreams! Still, I feel some relief by the +knowledge that he is not to come here again. Yes, I feel that it +relieves me; but, alas! I fear that even the consciousness of that +cannot prevent the awful impression that I think I am near death.” + +“No, darling,” replied her mother, “don't allow that thought to gain +upon you. We'll get a fairy-man or a fairy-woman, because they know the +best remedies against everything of that kind, when a common leech or +chirurgeon can do nothing.” + +“No,” replied her father, “I will allow nothing of the kind under this +roof. It's not a safe thing to have dealings with such people. We know +that the Church forbids it. Perhaps it's a witch we might stumble +on; and would it not be a frightful thing to see one of those who are +leagued with the devil bringing their unconsecrated breaths about us +this week, as it were, and, perhaps, burned the next? No, we will have +a regular physician, who has his own character, as such, to look to and +support by his honesty and skill, but none of those withered classes of +hell that are a curse to the country.” + +“Very well,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, “have your own way in it. I dare say +you are right.” + +“O, don't bring any fairy-women or fairy-men about me,” said Alice. “The +very sight of them would take away the little life I have left.” + +In the meantime Harry Woodward, who had a variety of plans and projects +to elaborate, found himself, as every villain of his kind generally +does, encompassed by doubt and apprehension of their failure. The reader +will understand the condition of his heart and feelings when he advances +further in this narrative. Old Lindsay, who was of a manly and generous +disposition, felt considerable surprise that all intimacy should have +been discontinued between his son Charles and Alice Goodwin. As for +the property which she now possessed, he never once thought of it in +connection with their former affection for each other. He certainly +appreciated the magnanimity and disinterestedness of his son in ceasing +to urge his claims after she had become possessed of such a fortune; and +it struck him that something must have been wrong, or some evil agency +at work, which prevented the Goodwins from reestablishing their former +intimacy with Charles whilst they seemed to court that of his brother. +Here was something strange, and he could not understand it. One. +morning, when they were all seated at breakfast, he spoke as follows:-- + +“I can't,” he said, “comprehend the conduct of the Goodwins. Their +daughter, if we are to judge from appearances, has discarded her +accepted lover, poor Charles, here. Now, this doesn't look well. There +seems to be something capricious, perhaps selfish, in it. Still, knowing +the goodness of their hearts, as I do, I cannot but feel that there +is something like a mystery in it. I had set my heart upon a marriage +between Charles and Alice before ever she came into the property +bequeathed to her. In this I was not selfish certainly. I looked only to +their happiness. Yes, and my mind is still set upon this marriage, and +it shall go hard with me or I will accomplish it.” + +“Father,” said Charles, “if you regard or respect me, I entreat of you +to abandon any such project. Ferdora O'Connor is now the favorite there. +He is rich and I am poor; no, the only favor I ask is that you will +never more allude to the subject in my hearing.” + +“But I will allude to it, and I will demand an explanation besides,” + replied Lindsay. + +“Father,” observed Harry, “I trust that no member of this family is +capable of an act of unparalleled meanness. I, myself, pleaded my +brother's cause with that heartless and deceitful girl in language which +could not be mistaken. And what was the consequence? Because I ventured +to do so I have been forbidden to visit there again. They told me, +without either preface or apology, that they will have no further +intercourse with our family. Ferdora O'Connor is the chosen man.” + +“It is false,” said his sister, her eyes sparkling with indignation as +she spoke; “it is abominably false; and, father, you are right; seek +an explanation from the Goodwins. I feel certain that there are evil +spirits at work.” + +“I shall, my dear girl,” replied her father; “it is only an act of +justice to them. And if the matter be at all practicable, I shall have +Charles and her married still.” + +“Why not think of Harry?” said his wife; “as the person originally +destined to receive the property, he has the strongest claim.” + +“You are talking now in the selfish and accursed principles of the +world,” replied Lindsay. “Charles has the claim of her early affection, +and I shall urge it.” + +“Very well,” said his wife; “if you succeed in bringing about a marriage +between her and Charles, I will punish both you and him severely.” + +“As how, madam?” asked her husband. + +“Are you aware of one fact, Lindsay?” + +“I am aware of one melancholy fact,” he replied, sarcastically. + +“And, pray, what is it?” she inquired. + +“Faith,” he replied, “that I am your husband.” + +“O, yes--just so--that is the way I am treated, children; you see it +and you hear it. But, now, listen to me; you know, Lindsay, that the +property I brought you, as your unfortunate wife, was property in my own +right; you know, too, that by our marriage settlement that property was +settled on me, with the right of devising it to any of my children whom +I may select for that purpose. Now, I tell you, that if you press this +marriage between Charles and Alice Goodwin, I shall take this property +into my own hands, shall make my will in favor of Harry, and you and +your children may seek a shelter where you can find one.” + +“Me and my children! Why, I believe you think you have no children but +Harry here. Well, you may do as you like with your property; I am not so +poor but I and my children can live upon my own. This house and place, +I grant you, are yours, and, as for myself, I am willing to leave it +to-day; a life of exclusion and solitude will be better than that which +I lead with you.” + +“Papa,” said Maria, throwing her arms about his neck and bursting into +tears, “when you go I shall go; and wherever you may go to, I shall +accompany you.” + +“Father,” said Charles, in a choking voice, and grasping his hand as he +spoke, “if you leave this house you shall not go alone. Neither I nor +Maria shall separate ourselves from you. We will have enough to live on +with comfort and decency.” + +“Mother,” said Harry, rising up and approaching her with a face of +significant severity; “mother, you have forced me to say--and heaven +knows the pain with which I say it--that I am ashamed of you. Why will +you use language that is calculated to alienate from me the affections +of a brother and sister whom I love with so much tenderness? I trust +you understand me when I tell you now that I identify myself with their +feelings and objects, and that no sordid expectation of your property +shall ever induce me to take up your quarrel or separate myself from +them. Dispose of your property as you wish; I for one shall not earn it +by sacrificing the best affections of the heart, nor by becoming a slave +to such a violent and indefensible temper as yours. As for me, I shall +not stand in need of your property--I will have enough of my own.” + +They looked closely at each other; but that look was sufficient. The +cunning mother thoroughly understood the freemason glance of his eye, +and exclaimed,-- + +“Well, I see I am abandoned by all my children; but I will endeavor to +bear it. I now leave you to yourselves--to meditate and put in practice +whatever plot you please against my happiness. Indeed, I know what a +consolation my death would be to you all.” + +She then withdrew, in accordance with the significant look which Harry +gave towards the door. + +“Harry,” said Lindsay, holding out his hand, “you are not the son of my +blood, but I declare to heaven I love you as well as if you were. +Your conduct is noble and generous; ay, and as a natural consequence, +disinterested; there is no base and selfish principle in you, my dear +boy; and I honor and love you as if I were your father in reality.” + +“Harry,” said Maria, kissing him, “I repeat and feel all that dear papa +has said.” + +“And so do I,” exclaimed Charles, “and if I ever entertained any other +feeling, I fling it to the winds.” + +“You all overrate me,” said Harry; “but, perhaps, if you were aware of +my private remonstrances with my mother upon her unfortunate principles +and temper, you would give me more credit even than you do. My object is +to produce peace and harmony between you, and if I can succeed in that +I shall feel satisfied, let my mother's property go where it may. Of +course, you must now be aware that I separate myself from her and her +projects, and identify myself, as I said, with you all. Still, there is +one request I have to make of you, father, my dear father, for well I +may call you so; and it is that you will not, as an independent man and +a gentleman, attempt to urge this marriage, on which you seem to have +set your heart, between Charles and Goodwin's daughter. You are not +aware of what I know upon this subject. She and Ferdora O'Connor are +about to be married; but I will not mention what I could mention until +after that ceremony shall have taken place.” + +“Well,” said his sister, “you appear to speak very sincerely, Harry, but +I know and feel that there is some mistake somewhere.” + +“Harry,” said Lindsay, “from what has occurred this morning, I shall be +guided by you. I will not press this marriage, neither shall I stoop to +seek an explanation.” + +“Thank you, sir,” replied Harry. “I advise you as I do because I would +not wish to see our whole family insulted in your person.” + +Maria and her brother Charles looked at each other, and seemed to +labor under a strange and somewhat mysterious feeling. The confidence, +however, with which Harry spoke evidently depressed them, and, as they +entertained not the slightest suspicion of his treachery, they left the +apartment each with a heavy heart. + +Harry, from this time forward, associated more with his brother than he +had done, and seemed to take him more into his confidence. He asked him +out in all his sporting expeditions; and proposed that they should each +procure a shooting dress of the same color and materials, which was +accordingly done; and so strongly did they resemble each other, when +dressed in them, that in an uncertain light, or at a distance, it was +nearly impossible to distinguish the one from the other. In fact, the +brothers were now inseparable, Harry's object being to keep Charles as +much under his eye and control as possible, from an apprehension that, +on cool reflection, he might take it into his head to satisfy himself +by a personal interview with Alice Goodwin as to the incomprehensible +change which had estranged her affection from him. + +Still, although the affection of those brothers seemed to increase, the +conduct of Harry was full of mystery. That the confidence he placed +in Charles was slight and partial admitted of no doubt. He was in the +habit, for instance, of going out after the family had gone to bed, as +we have mentioned before; and it was past all doubt that he had been +frequently seen accompanied, in his midnight rambles, by what was known +in the neighborhood as the Black Spectre, or, by the common people, as +the _Shan-dhinne-dhue_, or the dark old man. These facts invested +his character, which, in spite of all his plausibility of manner, was +unpopular, with something of great dread, as involving on his part some +unholy association with the evil and supernatural. This was peculiarly +the age of superstition and of a belief in the connection of both men +and women with diabolical agencies; for such was the creed of the day. + +One evening, about this time, Caterine Collins was on her way home to +Rathfillan, I when, on crossing a piece of bleak moor adjacent to the +town, a powerful young fellow, dressed in the truis, cloak, and barrad +of the period, started up from a clump of furze bushes, and addressed +her as follows:-- + +“Caterine,” said he, “are you in a hurry?” + +“Not particularly,” she replied; “but in God's name, Shawn, what brings +you here? Are you mad? or what tempts you to come within the jaws of the +law that are gaping for you as their appointed victim? Don't you know +you are an outlaw?” + +“I will answer your first question first,” he replied. “What tempted me +to come here? Vengeance--deep and deadly vengeance. Vengeance upon the +villain who has ruined Grace Davoren. I had intended to take her life +first; but I am an Irishman, and will not visit upon the head of +the innocent girl, whom this incarnate devil has tempted beyond her +strength, the crime for which he is accountable.” + +“Well, indeed, Shawn, it would be only serving him right; but, in the +meantime, you had better be on your guard; it is said that he fears +neither God nor devil, and always goes well armed; so be cautious, and +if you take him at all, it must be by treachery.” + +“No,” said the outlaw, indignantly, “I'll never take him or any man by +treachery. I know I am an outlaw; but it was the merciless laws of the +country, and their injustice to me and mine, that made me so; I resisted +them openly and like a man; but, bad as I am supposed to be, I will +never stain either my name or my conscience by an act of cowardly +treachery. I will meet this dark villain face to face, and take my +revenge as a brave man ought. You say he goes well armed, and that is a +proof that he feels his own guilt; yes, he goes well armed, you say; so +do I, and it will not be the treacherous murderer that he will meet, but +the open foe.” + +“Well,” replied Caterine, “that is just like you, Shawn; and it is no +wonder that the women were fond of you.” + +“Yes,” said he, “but the girl that was dearer to me a thousand times +than my own life has proved faithless, because there is a stain upon my +name--a stain, but no crime, Caterine; a stain made by the law, but no +crime. Had her heart been loyal and true, she would have loved me ten +times more in consequence of my very disgrace--if disgrace I ought to +call it; but instead of that--but wait--O, the villain! Well, I shall +meet him, I trust, before long, and then, Caterine, ah, then!” + +“Well, Shawn, if she has desalted you, I know one that loves you better +than ever she did, and that would never desart you, as Grace Davoren has +done.” + +“Ah, Caterine,” replied the outlaw, sorrowfully, “I am past that now; +my heart is broke--I could never love another. What proof of truth or +affection could any other woman give me after the treachery of her who +once said she loved me so well? She said, indeed, some time ago, that it +was her father forced her to do it, but that was after she had seen him, +for well I know she often told me a different story before the night +of the bonfire and the shower of blood. Well, Caterine, that shower of +blood was not sent for nothing. It came as the prophecy of his fate, +which, if I have life, will be a bloody one.” + +“Shawn,” replied Caterine, as if she had not paid much attention to his +words, “Shawn, dear Shawn, there is one woman who would give her life +for your love.” + +“Ah,” said Shawn, “it's aisily said, at all events--aisily said; but who +is it Caterine?” + +“She is now speaking to you,” she returned. “Shawn, you cannot but +know that I have long loved you; and I now tell you that I love you +still--ay, and a thousand times more than ever Grace Davoren did.” + +“You!” said Shawn, recoiling with indignation; “is it you, a spy, a +fortune-teller, a go-between, and, if all be true, a witch; you, +whose life and character would make a modest woman blush to hear them +mentioned? Why, the curse of heaven upon you! how dare you think of +proposing such a subject to me? Do you think because I'm marked by the +laws that my heart has lost anything of its honesty and manhood? Begone, +you hardened and unholy vagabond, and leave my sight.” + +“Is that your language, Shawn?” + +“It is; and what other language could any man with but a single spark of +honesty and respect for himself use toward you? Begone, I say.” + +“Yes, I will begone; but perhaps you may live to rue your words: that is +all.” + +“And, perhaps, so may you,” he replied. “Leave my sight. You are a +disgrace to the name of woman.” + +She turned upon her heel, and on the instant bent her steps towards +Rathfillan House. + +“Shawn-na-Middogue,” she said as she went along, “you talk about +revenge, but wait till you know what the revenge of an insulted woman +is. It is not an aisy thing to know your haunts; but I'll set them upon +your trail that will find you out if you were to hide yourself in the +bowels of the earth, for the words you used to me this night. _Dar +manim_, I will never rest either night or day until I see you swing from +a gibbet.” + +Instead of proceeding to the little town of Rathfillan, she changed her +mind and turned her steps to Rathfillan House, the residence, as our +readers are aware, of the generous and kind-hearted Mr. Lindsay. + +On arriving there she met our old acquaintance, Barney Casey, on the way +from the kitchen to the stable. Observing that she was approaching the +hall-door with the evident purpose of knocking, and feeling satisfied +that her business could be with none of the family except Harry, he +resolved to have some conversation with her, in order, if possible, +to get a glimpse of its purport. Not, indeed, that he entertained any +expectation of such a result, because he knew the craft and secrecy of +the woman he had to deal with; but, at all events, he thought that he +might still glean something significant even by her equivocations, if +not by her very silence. He accordingly turned, over and met her. + +“Well, Caterine, won't this be a fine night when the moon and stars +comes out to show you the road home again afther you manage the affair +you're bent on?” + +“Why, what am I bent on?” she replied, sharply. + +“Why, to build a church to-night, wid the assistance of Mr. Harry +Woodward.” + +“Talk with respect of your masther's stepson,” she replied, indignantly. + +“And my sweet misthress's son,” returned Barney, significantly. +“Why, Caterine, I hope you won't lift me till I fall. What did I say +disrespectful of him? Faith, I only know that the wondher is how such +a devil's scald could have so good and kind-hearted a son,” he added, +disentangling himself from her suspicions, knowing perfectly well, as +he did, that any unfavorable expression he might utter against that +vindictive gentleman would most assuredly be communicated to him with +comments much stronger than the text. This would only throw him out of +Harry's confidence, and deprive him of those opportunities of probably +learning, from their casual conversation, some tendency of his +mysterious movements, especially at night; for that he was enveloped in +mystery--was a fact of which he felt no doubt whatsoever. He accordingly +resolved to cancel the consequences even of the equivocal allusion to +him which he had made, and which he saw at a glance that Caterine's keen +suspicions had interpreted into a bad sense. + +“So you see, Katty,” he proceeded, “agra-machree that you wor, don't +lift me, as I said, till I fall; but what harm is it to be fond of a +spree wid a purty girl? Sure it's a good man's case; but I'll tell you +more; you must know the misthress's wig took fire this mornin', and she +was within an inch of havin' the house in flames. Ah, it's she that blew +a regular breeze, threatened to make the masther and the other two take +to their travels from about the house and place, and settle the same +house and place upon Mr. Harry.” + +“Well, Barney,” said Caterine, deeply interested, “what was the upshot?” + +“Why, that Masther Harry--long life to him--parted company wid her on +the spot; said he would take part wid the masther and the other two, and +tould her to her teeth that he did not care a damn about the property, +and that she might leave it as a legacy to ould Nick, who, he said, +desarved it better at her hands than he did.” + +“Well, well,” replied Caterine, “I never thought he was such a fool +as all that comes to. Devil's cure to him, if she laves it to some one +else! that's my compassion for him.” + +“Well, but, Caterine, what's the news? When will the sky fall, you that +knows so much about futurity?” + +“The news is anything but good, Barney. The sky will fall some Sunday +in the middle of next week, and then for the lark-catching. But tell me, +Barney, is Mr. Harry within? because, if he is, I'd thank you to let him +know that I wish to see him. I have a bit of favor to ask of him about +my uncle Solomon's cabin; the masther's threatnin' to pull it down.” + +Now, Barney knew the assertion to be a lie, because it was only a day or +two previous to the conversation that he had heard Mr. Lindsay express +his intention of building the old herbalist a new one. He kept his +knowledge of this to himself, however. + +“And so you want him to change the masther's mind upon the subject. +Faith and you're just in luck after this mornin's skirmish--skirmish! +no bedad, but a field day itself; the masther could refuse him nothing. +Will I say what you want him for?” + +“You may or you may not; but, on second thoughts, I think it will be +enough to say simply that I wish to spake to him particularly.” + +“Very well, Caterine,” replied Barney, “I'll tell him so.” + +In a few minutes Harry joined her on the lawn, where she awaited him, +and the following dialogue took place between them: + +“Well, Caterine, Casey tells me that you have something particular to +say to me.” + +“And very particular indeed, it is, Mr. Harry.” + +“Well, then, the sooner we have it the better; pray, what is it?” + +“I'm afeard, Mr. Woodward, that unless you have some good body's +blessin' about you, your life isn't worth a week's purchase.” + +“Some good body's blessing!” he replied ironically; “well, never mind +that, but let me know the danger, if danger there be; at all events, I +am well prepared for it.” + +“The danger then is this--and terrible it is--that born devil, +Shawn-na-Middogue, has got hold of what's goin' on between you and Grace +Davoren.” + +“Between me and Grace Davoren!” he exclaimed, in a voice of well-feigned +astonishment. “You mean my brother Charles. Why, Caterine, that +soft-hearted and softheaded idiot, for I can call him nothing else, has +made himself a perfect fool about her, and what is worst of all, I am +afraid he will break his engagement with Miss Goodwin, and marry this +wench. Me! why, except that he sent me once or twice to meet her, and +apologize for his not being able to keep his appointment with her, I +know nothing whatsoever of the unfortunate girl, unless that, like a +fool, as she is, it seems to me that she is as fond of him as he, the +fool, on the other hand, is of her. As for my part, I shall deliver his +messages to her no more--and, indeed, it was wrong of me ever to do so.” + +The moon had now risen, and Caterine, on looking keenly and +incredulously into his face, read nothing there but an expression of +apparent sincerity and sorrow for the indiscretion and folly of his +brother. + +“Well,” she proceeded, “in spite of all you tell me I say that it does +not make your danger the less. It is not your brother but yourself +that he suspects, and whether right or wrong, it is upon you that his +vengeance will fall.” + +“Well, but, Caterine,” he replied, “could you not see Shawn-na-Middogue, +and remedy that?” + +“How, sir?” she replied. + +“Why, by telling him the truth,” said the far-sighted villain, “that it +is my brother, and not I, that was the intriguer with her.” + +“Is that generous towards your brother, Mr. Woodward? No, sir; sooner +than bring the vengeance of such a person as Shawn upon him, I would +have the tongue cut out of my mouth, or the right arm off my body.” + +“And I, Caterine,” he answered, retrieving himself an well as he could; +“yes, I deserve to have my tongue cut out, and my right arm chopped off, +for what I have said. O, no; if there be danger let me run the risk, +and not poor, good, kind-hearted Charles, who is certainly infatuated +by this girl. He is to meet her to-morrow night at nine o'clock, in the +little clump of alders below the well, but I shall go in his place--that +is, if I can prevail upon him to allow me--and endeavor once for all +to put an end to this business: mark that I said, if he will allow me, +although I scarcely think he will. Now, good-night, and many thanks for +your good wishes towards myself and him. Accept of this, and good-night +again.” As he spoke he placed some money in her unreluctant hand, and +returned on his way home. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. Shawn-na-Middogue Stabs Charles Lindsay + +Shawn-na-Middogue Stabs Charles Lindsay in Mistake for his Brother + + +Shawn-na-Middogue, though uneducated, was a young man of no common +intellect. That he had been selected to head the outlaws, or rapparees, +of that day, was a sufficient proof of this. After parting from Caterine +Collins, on whom the severity of his language fell with such bitterness, +he began to reflect that he had acted with great indiscretion, to say +the least of it. He knew that if there was a woman in the barony who, if +she determined on it, could trace him to his most secret haunts, she was +that woman. He saw, too, that after she had left him, evidently in +deep indignation, she turned her steps towards Rathfillan House, most +probably with an intention of communicating to Harry Woodward the strong +determinations of vengeance which he had expressed against him. Here, +then, by want of temper and common policy, had he created two formidable +enemies against himself. This, he felt, was an oversight for which he +could scarcely forgive himself. He resolved, if possible, to repair the +error he had committed, and, with this object in view, he hung about the +place until her return should afford him an opportunity of making such +an explanation as might soothe her into good humor and a more friendly +feeling towards him. Nay, he even determined to promise her marriage, in +order to disarm her resentment and avert the danger which, he knew, +was to be apprehended from it. He accordingly stationed himself in the +shelter of a ditch, along which he knew she must pass on her way home. +He had not long, however, to wait. In the course of half an hour he saw +her approach, and as she was passing him he said in a low, confidential +voice,-- + +“Caterine!” + +“Who is that?” she asked, but without exhibiting any symptoms of alarm. + +“It's me,” he replied, “Shawn.” + +“Well,” she replied, “and what is that to me whether it's you or not?” + +“I have thought over our discourse a while ago, and I'm sorry for what +I've said;--will you let me see you a part of the way home?” + +“I can't prevent you from comin',” she replied, “if you're disposed to +come--the way is as free to you as to me.” + +They then proceeded together, and our readers must gather from the +incidents which are to follow what the result was of Shawn's policy +in his conversation with her on the way. It is enough to say that they +parted on the best and most affectionate terms, and that a certain +smack, very delicious to the lips of Caterine, was heard before Shawn +bade her good-night. + +Barney Casey, who suspected there was something in the wind, in +consequence of the secret interview which took place between Caterine +Collins and Harry, conscious as he felt that it was for no good purpose, +watched that worthy gentleman's face with keen but quiet observation, in +the hope of being able to draw some inference from its expression. +This, however, was a vain task. The face was impassable, inscrutable; no +symptom of agitation, alarm, or concealed satisfaction could be read in +it, or anything else, in short, but the ordinary expression of the most +perfect indifference. Barney knew his man, however, and felt aware, from +former observations, of the power which Woodward possessed of disguising +his face whenever he wished, even under the influence of the strongest +emotions. Accordingly, notwithstanding all this indifference of manner, +he felt that it was for no common purpose Caterine Collins sought an +interview with him, and with this impression on his mind he resolved to +watch his motions closely. + +The next day Harry and Charles went out to course, accompanied by Barney +himself, who, by the way, observed that the former made a point to bring +a case of pistols and a dagger with him, which he concealed so as +that they might not be seen. This discovery was the result of Barney's +vigilance and suspicions, for when Harry was prepared to follow his +brother, who went to put the dogs in leash, he said: + +“Barney, go and assist Mr. Charles, and I will join you both on the +lawn.” + +Barney accordingly left the room and closed the door after him; but +instead of proceeding, as directed, to join Charles, he deliberately put +his eye to the key-hole, and saw Harry secrete the pistols and dagger +about his person. Each, also, brought his gun at the suggestion of +Harry, who said, that although they went out merely to course, yet it +was not improbable that they might get a random shot at the grouse or +partridge as they went along. Upon all these matters Barney made his +comments, although he said nothing upon the subject even to Charles, +from whom he scarcely ever concealed a secret. That Harry was brave and +intrepid even to rashness he knew; but why he should arm himself with +such secrecy and caution occasioned him much conjecture. His intrigue +with Grace Davoren was beginning to be suspected. _Shawn-na-Middoque_ +might have heard of it. Caterine Collins was one of Woodward's +agents--at least it was supposed from their frequent interviews that +she was, to a certain degree, in his confidence; might not her request, +then, to see him on the preceding night proceed from an anxiety, on +her part, to warn him against some danger to be apprehended from that +fearful freebooter? This was well and correctly reasoned on the part of +Barney, and, with those impressions fixed upon his mind, he accompanied +the two brothers on the sporting expedition of the day. + +We shall not dwell upon their success, which was even better than they +had expected. Nothing, however, occurred to render either pistols or +dagger necessary; but Barney observed that, on their return home, Harry +made it a point to come by the well where he and Grace Davoren were in +the habit of meeting, and, having taken his brother aside, he pointed +to the little dark clump of alders, which skirted a small grove, and, +having whispered something to him which he could not hear, they passed +on by the old, broken boreen, which we have described, and reached +home loaded with game, but without any particular adventure. Barney's +vigilance, however, was still awake, and he made up his mind to +ascertain, if possible, why Harry had armed himself, for as yet he had +nothing but suspicion on which to rest. He knew that whenever he went +out at night or in the evening he always went armed; and this was only +natural, for the country was in a dangerous and disturbed state, owing, +as the report went, to the outrages against property which were said to +have been committed by Shawn-na-Middogue and his rapparees. During his +sporting excursions in the open day, however, he never knew him to go +armed in this manner before, because, on such occasions he had always +seen his pistols and dagger hanging against the wall, where he usually +kept them. On this occasion, however, Woodward went like a man who felt +apprehensive of some premeditated violence on the part of an enemy. +Judging, therefore, from what he had seen, as well as from what he +conjectured, Barney, as we said, resolved to watch him closely. + +In the meantime, the state of poor Alice Goodwin's health was +deplorable. The dreadful image of Harry Woodward, or, rather, the +frightful power of his Satanic spirit, fastened upon her morbid and +diseased imagination with such force, that no effort of her reason could +shake it off. That dreadful eye was perpetually upon her and before her, +both asleep and awake, and, lest she might have any one point on which +to rest for comfort, the idea of Charles Lindsay attachment to Grace +Davoren would come over her, only to supersede one misery by +introducing another. In this wretched state she was when the calamitous +circumstances, which we are about to relate, took place. + +Barney Casey was a good deal engaged that evening, for indeed he was a +general servant in his master's family, and was expected to put a hand +to, and superintend, everything. He was, therefore, out of the way for +a time, having gone to Rathfillan on a message for his mistress, whom he +cursed in his heart for having sent him. He lost little time, however, +in discharging it, and was just on his return when he saw Harry Woodward +entering the old boreen we have described; and, as the night was rather +dark, he resolved to ascertain--although he truly suspected--the +object of this nocturnal adventure. He accordingly dogged him at a safe +distance, and, in accordance with his suspicions, he found that Woodward +directed his steps to the clump of alders which he had, on their return +that day, pointed out to his brother. Here he (Barney) ensconced himself +in a close thicket, in order to watch the event. Woodward had not been +many minutes there when Grace Davoren joined him. She seemed startled, +and surprised, and disappointed, as Casey could perceive by her manner, +or rather by the tones of her voice; but, whatever the cause of her +disappointment may have been, there was little time left for either +remonstrances or explanation on the part of her lover. Whilst addressing +her, a young and powerful man bounded forward, and, brandishing a +long dagger--the dreaded middogue--plunged it into his body, and her +companion fell with a groan. The act was rapid as lightning, and the +moment the work of blood and vengeance had been accomplished, the young +fellow bounded away again with the same speed observable in the rapidity +of his approach. Grace's screams and shrieks were loud and fearful. + +“Murdherin' villain of hell,” she shouted after Shawn--for it was +he--“you have killed the wrong man--you have murdered the innocent This +is his brother.” + +Barney was at her side in a moment. + +“Heavenly Father!” he exclaimed, shocked and astounded by her words, +“what means this? Is it Mr. Charles?” + +“O, yes,” she replied, not conscious that in the alarm and terror of the +moment she had betrayed herself, or rather her paramour--“innocent Mr. +Charles I'm afeard is murdhered by that revengeful villain; and now, +Barney, what is to be done, and how will we get assistance to bring him +home? But, cheerna above! what will become of me!” + +“Mr. Charles,” said Barney, “is it possible that it is you that is +here?” + +“I am here, Barney,” he replied, with difficulty, “and, I fear, mortally +wounded.” + +“God forbid!” replied his humble but faithful friend--“I hope it is not +so bad as you think.” + +“Take this handkerchief,” said Charles, “tie it about my breast, and try +and stop the blood. I feel myself getting weak.” + +This Barney proceeded to do, in which operation we shall leave him, +assisted by the unfortunate girl who was indirectly the means of +bringing this dreadful calamity upon him. + +Shaivn-na-Middogue. was not out of the reach of hearing when Grace +shouted after him, having paused to ascertain, if possible, whether he +had done his work effectually. That Harry Woodward was Grace's paramour, +he knew; and that Charles was innocent of that guilt, he also knew. +All that Caterine Collins had told him on the preceding night went for +nothing, because he felt that Woodward had coined those falsehoods +with a view to screen himself from his (Shawn's) vengeance. But in the +meantime Grace's words, uttered in the extremity of her terror, assured +him that there had been some mistake, and that one brother might +have come to explain and apologize for the absence of the other. He +consequently crept back within hearing of their conversation, and +ascertained with regret the mistake he had committed. Shawn, at night, +seldom went unattended by several of his gang, and on this occasion +he was accompanied by about a dozen of them. His murderous mistake +occasioned him to feel deep sorrow, for he was perfectly well acquainted +with the amiable and generous character which Charles bore amongst +his father's tenantry. His life had been, not only inoffensive, but +benevolent; whilst that of his brother--short as was the time since +his return to Rathfillan House--was marked by a very licentious +profligacy,--a profligacy which he attempted in vain to conceal. Whilst +Grace Davoren and Casey were attempting to staunch the blood which +issued from the wound, four men, despatched by Shawn for the purpose, +came, as if alarmed by Grace's shrieks, to the scene of the tragedy, +and, after having inquired as to the cause of its occurrence, precisely +as if they had been ignorant of it, they proposed that the only thing +to be done, so as to give him a chance for life, was to carry him +home without a moment's delay. He was accordingly raised upon their +shoulders, and, with more sympathy than could be expected from such men, +was borne to his father's house in apparently a dying state. + +It is unnecessary to attempt any description of the alarm which his +appearance there created. His father and Maria were distracted; even his +mother manifested tokens of unusual sorrow, for after all she was his +mother; and nothing, indeed, could surpass the sorrow of the whole +family. The servants were all in tears, and nothing but sobs and +wailings could be heard throughout the house. Harry Woodward himself +put his handkerchief to his eyes, and seemed to feel a deep but +subdued sorrow. Medical aid was immediately sent for, but such was his +precarious condition that no opinion could be formed as to his ultimate +recover+y. + +The next morning the town of Rathfillan, and indeed the parish at large, +were in a state of agitation, and tumult, and sorrow, as soon as the +melancholy catastrophe had become known. The neighbors and tenants +flocked in multitudes to learn the particulars, and ascertain his state. +About eleven o'clock Harry mounted his horse, and, in defiance of the +interdict that had been laid upon him, proceeded at a rapid pace to Mr. +Goodwin's house, in order to disclose--with what object the reader may +conjecture--the melancholy event which had happened. He found Goodwin, +his wife, and Sarah Sullivan in the parlor, which he had scarcely +entered when Mr. Goodwin got up, and, approaching him in a state of +great alarm and excitement, exclaimed,-- + +“Good Heavens, Mr. Woodward! can this dreadful intelligence which we +have heard be true?” + +“O, you have heard it, then,” replied Woodward. “Alas! yes, it is too +true, and my unfortunate brother lies with life barely in him, but +without the slightest hope of recovery. As for myself I am in a state of +absolute distraction; and were it not that I possess the consciousness +of having done everything in my power as a friend and brother to +withdraw him from this unfortunate intrigue, I think I should become +fairly crazed. Miss Goodwin has for some time past been aware of my deep +anxiety upon this very subject, because I deemed it a solemn duty on my +part to let her know that ha had degraded himself by this low attachment +to such a girl, and was consequently utterly unworthy of her affection. +I could not see the innocence and purity imposed upon, nor her generous +confidence placed on an unworthy object. This, however, is not a time +to deal harshly by him. He will not be long with us, and is entitled +to nothing but our forbearance and sympathy. Poor fellow! he has paid a +heavy and a fatal penalty for his crime. Alas, my brother! cut down in +the very prime of life, when there was still time enough for reformation +and repentance! O, it is too much!” + +He turned towards the window, and, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, +did the pathetic with a very good grace. + +“But,” said Mrs. Goodwin, “what were the exact circumstances under which +the deplorable act of vengeance was committed?” + +“Alas! the usual thing, Mrs. Goodwin,” replied Harry, attempting to +clear his throat; “they met last night between nine and ten o'clock, +in a clump of alders, near the well from which the inhabitants of the +adjoining hamlet fetch their water. The outlaw, Shawn-na-Middogue, +a rejected lover of the girl's, stung with jealousy and vengeance, +surprised them, and stabbed my unfortunate brother, I fear, to death.” + +“And do you think there is no hope?” she added, with tears in her eyes; +“O, if he had only time for repentance!” + +“Alas! madam, the medical man who has seen him scarcely holds out any +hope; but, as you say, if he had time even to repent, there would be +much consolation in that.” + +“Well,” observed Goodwin, his eyes moist with tears, “after this day, +I shall never place confidence in man. I did imagine that if ever +there was an individual whose heart was the source of honor, truth, +generosity, disinterestedness, and affection, your brother Charles was +that man. I am confounded, amazed--and the whole thing appears to me +like a dream; at all events, thank God, our daughter has had a narrow +escape of him.” + +“Pray, by the way, how is Miss Goodwin?” asked. Harry; “I hope she is +recovering.” + +“So far from that,” replied her father, “she is sinking fast; in truth +we entertain but little hopes of her.” + +“On the occasion of my last visit here you forbade me your house, Mr. +Goodwin,” said Woodward; “but perhaps, now that you are aware of +the steps I have taken to detach your daughter's affections from an +individual whom I knew at the time to be unworthy of them, you may be +prevailed on to rescind that stern and painful decree.” + +Goodwin, who was kind-hearted and placable, seemed rather perplexed, and +looked towards his wife, as if to be guided by her decision. + +“Well, indeed,” she replied, “I don't exactly know; perhaps we will +think of it.” + +“No,” replied Sarah Sullivan, who was toasting a thin slice of bread for +Alice's breakfast. “No; if you allow this man to come about the place, +as God is to judge me, you will both have a hand in your daughter's +death. If the devils from hell were to visit here, she might bear it; +but at the present moment one look from that man would kill her.” + +This remonstrance decided them. + +“No, Mr. Woodward,” said Goodwin, “the truth is, my daughter entertains +a strong prejudice against you--in fact, a terror of you--and under +these circumstances, and considering, besides, her state of health, we +could not think of permitting your visits, at least,” he added, “until +that prejudice be removed and her health restored--if it ever shall be. +We owe you no ill-will, sir; but under the circumstances we cannot, for +the present, at least, allow you to visit us.” + +“Well,” replied Woodward, “perhaps--and I sincerely trust--her health +will be restored, and her prejudices against me removed, and when better +times come about I shall look with anxiety to the privilege of renewing +my intimacy with you all.” + +“Perhaps so,” returned Mr. Goodwin, “and then we shall receive your +visits with pleasure.” + +Woodward then shook hands with him and his wife, and wished them a good +morning. + +On his way home worthy Suil Balor began to entertain reflections upon +his prospects in life that he felt to be rather agreeable. Here was his +brother, whom he had kindly sent to apologize to Grace Davoren for +the impossibility from illness of his meeting her according to their +previous arrangement; yes, we say he feigned illness on that evening, +and prevailed on the unsuspecting young man to go in his stead, in +order, as he said, to give her the necessary explanations for his +absence. Charles undertook this mission the more willingly, as it was +his firm intention to remonstrate with the girl on the impropriety of +her conduct, in continuing a secret and guilty intrigue, which must end +only in her own shame and ruin. But when Harry deputed him upon such a +message he anticipated the very event which had occurred, or, rather, +a more fatal one still, for, despite his hopes of Alice Goodwin's ill +state of health, he entertained strong apprehensions that his stepfather +might, by some accidental piece of intelligence, be restored to his +original impressions on the relative position in which she and Charles +stood. An interview between Mr. Lindsay and her might cancel all he had +done; and if every obstruction which he had endeavored to place between +their union were removed, her health might recover, their marriage take +place, and then what became of his chance for the property? It is +true he had managed his plans and speculations with great ability. +Substituting Charles, like a villain as he was, in his own affair with +Grace Davoren, he contrived to corroborate the falsehood by the tragic +incident of the preceding night. Now, if this would not satisfy Alice +of the truth of his own falsehood, nothing could. That Charles was +the _intrigant_ must be clear and palpable from what had happened, and +accordingly, after taking a serious review of his own iniquity, he felt, +as we said, peculiarly gratified with his prospects. Still, it cannot be +denied that an occasional shadow, not proceeding from any consciousness +of guilt, but from an apprehension of disappointment, would cast its +deep gloom across his spirit. With such terrible states of feeling the +machinations of guilt, no matter how successful its progress may be, +are from time to time attended; and even in his case the torments of the +damned were little short of what he suffered, from a dread of failure, +and its natural consequences--an exposure which would bar him out of +society. Still, his earnest expectation was that the intelligence of +the fate of her lover would, considering her feeble state of health, +effectually accomplish his wishes, and with this consoling reflection he +rode home. + +His great anxiety now was, his alarm lest his brother should recover. +On reaching Rathfillan House he proceeded to his bedroom, where he found +his sister watching. + +“My dear Maria,” said he, in a low and most affectionate voice, “is he +better?” + +“I hope so,” she replied, in a voice equally low; “this is the first +sleep he has got, and I hope it will remove the fever.” + +“Well, I will not stop,” said he, “but do you watch him carefully, +Maria, and see that he is not disturbed.” + +“O, indeed, Harry, you may rest assured that I shall do so. Poor, dear +Charles, what would become of us all if we lost him--and Alice Goodwin, +too--O, she would die. Now, go, dear Harry, and leave him to me.” + +Harry left the room apparently in profound sorrow, and, on going into +the parlor, met Barney Casey in the hall. + +“Barney,” said he, “come into the parlor for a moment. My father is out, +and my mother is upstairs. I want to know how this affair happened +last night, and how it occurred that you were present at it. It's a bad +business, Barney.” + +“Devil a worser,” replied Barney, “especially for poor Mr. Charles. +I was fortunately goin' down on my _kalie_ to the family of poor +disconsolate Granua (Grace), when, on passing the clump of alders, I +heard screams and shouts to no end. I ran to the spot I heard the skirls +comin' from, and there I found Mr. Charles, lyin' as if dead, and Grace +Davoren with her hands clasped like a mad woman over him. The strange +men then joined us, and carried him home, and that's all I know about +it.” + +“But, can you understand it, Barney? As for me, I cannot. Did Grace say +nothing during her alarm?” + +“Divil a syllable,” replied Barney, lying without remorse; “she was +so thunderstruck with what happened that she could do nothing nor say +anything but cry out and scream for the bare life of her. They say she +has disappeared from her family, and that nobody knows where she has +gone to. I was at her father's to-day, and I know they are searchin' the +country for her. It is thought she has made away with herself.” + +“Poor Charles,” exclaimed his brother, “what an unfortunate business it +has turned out on both sides! I thought he was attached to Miss Goodwin; +but it would appear now that he was deceiving her all along.” + +“Well, Mr. Harry,” replied Barney, dryly, or rather with some severity, +“you see what the upshot is; treachery, they say, seldom prospers in +the long run, although it may for a while. God forgive them that makes a +practice of it. As for Master Charles, I couldn't have dreamt of such a +thing.” + +“Nor I, Barney. I know not what to say. It perplexes me, from whatever +point I look at it. At all events, I hope he may recover, and if he +does, I trust he will consider what has happened as a warning, and act +upon better principles. May God forgive him!” + +And so ended their dialogue, little, indeed, to the satisfaction +of Harry, whom Barney left in complete ignorance of the significant +exclamations by which Grace Davoren, in the alarm of the moment, had +betrayed her own guilt, by stating that Shawn-na-Middogue had stabbed +the wrong man. + +Sarah Sullivan--poor, thoughtless, but affectionate girl--on repairing +with the thin toast to her mistress's bedroom, felt so brimful of the +disaster which had befallen Charles, that---now believing in his guilt, +as she did, and with a hope of effectually alienating Alice's affections +from him--she lost not a moment in communicating the melancholy +intelligence to her. + +“O, Miss Alice!” she exclaimed, “have you heard what has happened? O, +the false fend treacherous villain! Who would believe it? To lave +a beautiful lady like you, and take up with sich a vulgar vagabone! +However, he has suffered for it. _Shawn-na-Middogue_ did for him.” + +“What do you mean, Sarah?” said her mistress, much alarmed by such a +startling-preface; “explain yourself. I do not understand, you.” + +“But you soon will, miss. Shawn-na-Middogue found Mr. Charles Lindsay +and Grace Davoren together last night, and has stabbed him to death; +life's only in him; and that's the gentleman that pretended to love you. +Devil's cure to the villain!” + +She paused. The expression of her mistress's face was awful. A pallor +more frightful than that of death, because it was associated with life, +overspread her countenance. Her eyes became dim and dull; her features +in a moment were collapsed, and resembled those of some individual +struck by paralysis--they were altogether without meaning. She clasped +and unclasped her hands, like one under the influence of strong +hysterical agony; she laid herself back in bed, where she had been +sitting up expecting her coffee, her eyes closed, for she had not +physical strength even to keep them open, and with considerable +difficulty she said, in a low and scarcely audible voice,--“My mother!” + +Poor Sarah felt and saw the mischief she had done, and, with streaming +eyes and loud sobbings, lost not a moment in summoning Mrs. Goodwin. +In truth she feared that her mistress lay dying before her, and was +immediately tortured with the remorseful impression that the thoughtless +and indiscreet communication she had made was the cause of her death. +It is unnecessary to describe the terror and alarm of her mother, nor +of her father, when he saw her lying as it were between life +and dissolution. The physician was immediately sent for, but, +notwithstanding all his remedies, until the end of the second day, there +appeared no change in her. Towards the close of that day an improvement +was perceptible; she was able to speak and take some nourishment, but +it was observed that she never once made the slightest allusion to the +disaster which had befallen Charles Lindsay. She sank into a habitual +silence, and, unless when forced to ask for some of those usual +attentions which her illness required, she never ventured to indulge in +conversation on any subject whatsoever. One thing, however, struck Sarah +Sullivan, which was, that in all her startings, both asleep and awake, +and in all her unconscious ejaculations, that which appeared to press +upon her most was the unceasing horror of the Evil Eye. The name of +Charles Lindsay never escaped her, even in the feverish agitation of her +dreams, nor in those exclamations of terror and alarm which she uttered. + +“O, save me!--save me from his eye--he is killing me! Yes, Woodward is a +devil--he is killing me--save me--save me!” + +Well had the villain done his work; and how his web of iniquity was +woven out we shall see. + +On leaving Barney, that worthy gentleman sought his mother, and thus +addressed her:-- + +“Mother,” said he, apparently much moved, “this is a melancholy, and I +trust in heaven it may not turn out a fatal, business. I'm afraid poor +Charles's case is hopeless.” + +“O, may God forbid, poor boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay; “for, although he +always joined his father against me, still he was in other respects most +obliging to every one, and inoffensive to all.” + +“I know that, and I am sorry that this jade--and she is a handsome jade, +they say--should have gained such a cursed influence over him. That, +however, is not the question. We must think of nothing now but his +recovery. The strictest attention ought to be paid to him; and as it has +occurred to me that there is no female under this roof who understands +the management of a sick bed, we ought, under these circumstances, to +provide a nurse for him.” + +“Well, indeed, that is true enough, Harry, and it is very kind and +considerate of you to think of it; but who will we get? The women here +are very ignorant and stupid.” + +“I have been making inquiries,” he replied, “and I am told there is a +woman in Rathfillan, named Collins, niece to a religious herbalist or +herb doctor, who possesses much experience in that way. It is just such +a woman we want.” + +“Well, then, let her come; do you go and engage her; but see that she +will not extort dishonest terms from you, because there is nothing but +fraud and knavery among these wretches.” + +Harry lost little time in seeming the services of Caterine Collins, who +was that very day established as nurse-tender in Charles Lindsay's sick +room. + +Alice's illness was now such as left little expectation of her recovery. +She was stated, and with good reason, to be in a condition absolutely +hopeless; and nothing could exceed the regret and sorrow which were felt +for the benevolent and gentle girl. We say benevolent, because, since +her accession to her newly-acquired property, her charities to the poor +and distressed were bountiful and generous, almost beyond belief; and +even during her illness she constituted her father as the agent--and +a willing one he was--of her beneficence. In fact, the sorrow for her +approaching death was deep and general, and the sympathy felt for her +parents such as rarely occurs in life. + +Of course it is unnecessary to say that these tidings of her hopeless +illness did not reach the Lindsays. On the second morning after Harry's +visit he asked for a private interview with his mother, which was +accorded to him. + +“Mother,” said he, “you must pay the Goodwins another visit--a visit, +mark you, of sympathy and condolence. You forget all the unpleasant +circumstances that have occurred between the families. You forget +everything but your anxiety for the recovery of poor, dear Alice.” + +“But,” replied his mother, “I do not wish to go. Why should I go to +express a sympathy which I do not feel? Her death is only a judicial +punishment on them for having inveigled your silly old uncle to leave +them the property which would have otherwise come to you as the natural +heir.” + +“Mother,” said her dutiful son, “you have a nose, and beyond that nose +you never yet have been able to look with anything like perspicuity. If +you don't visit them, your good-natured noodle of a husband will, and +perhaps the result of that visit may cut us out of the property forever. +At breakfast this morning you will propose the visit, which, mark +you, is to be made in the name and on behalf of all the family. You, +consequently, being the deputation on this occasion, both your husband +and Maria will not feel themselves called upon to see them. You can, +besides, say that her state of health precludes her from seeing any one +out of her own family, and thus all risk of an explanation will be +avoided. It is best to make everything safe; but that she can't live I +know, because I feel that my power and influence are upon her, and that +the force of this Evil Eye of mine has killed her. I told you this +before, I think.” + +“Even so,” said his mother; “it is only what I have said, a judicial +punishment for their villany. Villany, Harry, never prospers.” + +“Egad, my dear mother,” he replied, “I know of nothing so prosperous: +look through life and you will see the villain thrive upon his fraud and +iniquity, where the honest man--the man of integrity, who binds himself +by all the principles of what are called honor and morality--is elbowed +out of prosperity by the knave, the swindler, and the hypocrite. O, no, +my dear mother, the two worst passports to independence and success in +life are truth and honesty.” + +“Well, Harry, I am a bad logician, and will not dispute it with you; but +I am far from well, and I don't think I shall be able to visit them for +two or three davs at least.” + +“But, in the meantime, express your intention to do so--on behalf of +the family, mark; assume your right as the proprietor of this place, +and as its representative, and then your visit will be considered as the +visit of the whole family. In the meantime, mark me, the girl is dead. I +have accomplished that gratifying event, so that, after all, your visit +will be a mere matter of form. When you reach their house you will +probably find it the house of death.” + +“And then,” replied his mother, “the twelve hundred a year is yours for +life, and the property of your children after you. Thank God!” + +That morning at breakfast she expressed her determination to visit the +Goodwins, making it, she said, a visit from the family in general; such +a visit, she added, as might be proper on their (the Lindsays) part, +but yet such an act of neighborhood that, while it manifested sufficient +respect for them, would preclude all hopes of any future intercourse +between them. + +Mr. Lindsay did not relish this much; but as he had no particular wish, +in consequence of Charles's illness, to oppose her motives in making the +visit, he said she might manage it as she wished--he would not raise a +fresh breeze about it. He only felt that he was sincerely, sorry for the +loss which the Goodwins were about to experience. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. The Banshee.--Disappearance of Grace Davoren. + + +In the meantime it was certainly an unquestionable fact that Grace +Davoren had disappeared, and not even a trace of her could be found. The +unfortunate girl, alarmed at the tragic incident of that woful night, +and impressed with a belief that Charles Lindsay had been murdered by +Shawn-na-Middogue, had betaken herself to some place of concealment +which no search on behalf of her friends could discover. In fact, +her disappearance was involved in a mystery as deep as the alarm and +distress it occasioned. But what astonished the public most was the fact +that Charles, whose whole life had been untainted by a single act of +impropriety, much less of profligacy, should have been discovered in +such a heartless and unprincipled intrigue with the daughter of one of +his father's tenants, an innocent girl, who, as such, was entitled to +protection rather than injury at his hands. + +Whilst this tumult was abroad, and the country was in an unusual state +of alarm and agitation, Harry Woodward took, matters very quietly. That +he seemed to feel deeply for the uncertain and dangerous state of his +brother, who lay suspended, as it were, between life and death, was +evident to every individual of his family. He frequently took Caterine +Collins's place, attended him personally, with singular kindness and +affection, gave him his drinks and decoctions with his own hand; and, +when the surgeon came to make his daily visit, the anxiety he evinced +in ascertaining whether there was any chance of his recovery was most +affectionate and exemplary. Still, as usual, he was out at night; but +the mystery of his whereabouts, while absent, could never be penetrated. +On those occasions he always went armed--a fact which he never attempted +to conceal. On one of these nights it so happened that Barney Casey was +called upon to attend at the wake of a relation, and, as his master's +family were apprised of this circumstance, they did not of course expect +him home until a late hour. He left the wake, however, earlier than he +had proposed to do, for he found it a rather dull affair, and was on +his way home when, to his astonishment, or rather to his horror, he saw +Harry Woodward--also on his way home--in close conversation with +the supernatural being so well known by description as the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_; or Black Spectre. Now, Barney was half cowardly and +half brave--that is to say, had he lived in an enlightened age he would +have felt little terror of supernatural appearances; but at the period +of our story such was the predominance of a belief in ghosts, fairies, +evil spirits, and witches, that he should have been either less or more +than man could he have shaken off the prevailing superstitions, and the +gross credulity of the times in which he lived. As it was, he knew not +what to think. He remembered the character which had been whispered +abroad about Harry Woodward, and of his intercourse with supernatural +beings--he was known to possess the Evil Eye; and it was generally +understood that those who happened to be endowed with that accursed gift +were aided in the exercises of it by the powers of darkness and of evil. +What, then, was he to do? There probably was an opportunity of solving +the mystery which hung around the midnight motions of Woodward. If there +was a spirit before him, there was also a human being, in living flesh +and blood--an acquaintance, too--an individual whom he personally knew, +ready to sustain him, and afford, if necessary, that protection which, +under such peculiar circumstances, one fellow-creature has a right to +expect from another. Now Barney's way home led him necessarily--and a +painful necessity it was--near the Haunted House; and he observed that +the place where they stood, for they had ceased walking, was about fifty +yards above that much dreaded mansion. He resolved, however, to make +the plunge and advance, but deemed it only good manners to give some +intimation of his approach. He was now within about twenty yards from +them, and made an attempt at a comic song, which, however, quivered off +into as dismal and cowardly a ditty as ever proceeded from human lips. +Harry and the Spectre, both startled by the voice, turned round +to observe his approach, when, to his utter consternation, the +Shan-dhinne-dhuv sank, as it were, into the earth and disappeared. The +hair rose upon Barney's head, and when Woodward called out: + +“Who comes there?” + +He could scarcely summon voice enough to reply: + +“It's me, sir,” said he; “Barney Casey.” + +“Come on, Barney,” said Woodward, “come on quickly;” and he had scarcely +spoken when Barney joined him. + +“Barney,” said he, “I am in a state of great terror. I have felt ever +since I passed that Haunted House as if there was an evil spirit in my +company. The feeling was dreadful, and I am very weak in consequence of +it. Give me you arm.” + +“But did you see nothing, sir?” said Barney; “didn't it become visible +to you?” + +“No,” replied the other; “but I felt as if I was in the presence of a +supernatural being, and an evil one, too.” + +“God protect us, Mr. Harry! then, if you didn't see it I did.” + +“You did!” replied the other, startled; “and pray what was it like?” + +“Why, a black ould man, sir; and, by all accounts that ever I could hear +of it, it was nothing else than the Shan-dhinne-dhuv. For God's sake +let us come home, sir, for this, if all they say be true, is unholy and +cursed ground we're standin' on.” + +“And where did it disappear?” asked Woodward, leading him by a circuit +from the spot where it had vanished. + +“Just over there, sir,” replied Barney, pointing to the place. “But, +in God's name, let us make for home as fast as we can. I'll think every +minute an hour till we get safe undher our own roof.” + +“Barney,” said Woodward, solemnly, “I have a request to make of you, and +it is this--the common report is, that the spirit in question follows +our family--I mean by my mother's side. Now I beg, as you expect my +good will and countenance, that, for my sake, and out of respect for the +family in general, you will never breathe a syllable of what you have +seen this night. It could answer no earthly purpose, and would only +send abroad idle and unpleasant rumors throughout the country. Will you +promise this?” + +“Of course I promise it,” replied Barney; “what object could I gain by +repeatin' it?” + +“None whatsoever. Well, then, be silent on the subject, and let us reach +home as soon as we can.” + +It would be difficult to describe honest Barney's feelings as they went +along. He imagined that he felt Harry's arm tremble within his, and when +he thought of the reports concerning the evil spirit, and its +connection with Mrs. Lindsay's family, his sensations were anything +but comfortable. He tossed and tumbled that night for hours in his +bed before he was able to sleep, and when he did sleep the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_ rendered his dreams feverish and frightful. + +Precisely at this period, before Mrs. Lindsay had recovered from her +indisposition, and could pay her intended visit to the Goodwins, a +circumstance occurred which suggested to Harry Woodward one of the most +remorseless and Satanic schemes that ever was concocted in the heart of +man. He was in the habit occasionally of going down to the kitchen to +indulge in a smoke and a piece of banter with the servants. One evening, +whilst thus amusing himself, the conversation turned upon the prevailing +superstitions of the day. Ghosts, witches, wizards; astrologers, +fairies, leprechauns, and all that could be termed supernatural, or even +related to or aided by it, were discussed at considerable length, +and with every variety of feeling. Amongst the rest the Banshee was +mentioned--a spirit of whose peculiar office and character Woodward, +in consequence of his long absence from the country, was completely +ignorant. + +“The Banshee!” he exclaimed; “what kind of a spirit is that? I have +never heard of it.” + +“Why, sir,” replied Barney, who was present, “the Banshee--the Lord +prevent us from hearin' her--is always the forerunner of death. She +attends only certain families--principally the ould Milesians, and +mostly Catholics, too; although, I believe, it's well known that she +sometimes attends Protestants whose families have been Catholics or +Milesians, until the last of the name disappears. So that, afther all, +it seems she's not over-scrupulous about religion.” + +“But what do you mean by attending families?” asked Woodward; “what +description of attendance or service does she render them?” + +“Indeed, Mr. Harry,” replied Barney, “anything but an agreeable +attendance. By goxty, I believe every family she follows would be very +glad to dispense with her attendance if they could.” + +“But that is not answering my question, Casey.” + +“Why, sir,” proceeded Barney, “I'll answer it. Whenever the family that +she follows is about to have a death in it, she comes a little time +before the death tikes place, sits either undher the windy of the sick +bed or somewhere near the house, and wails and cries there as if her +very heart would break. They say she generally names the name of the +party that is to die; but there is no case known of the sick person ever +recoverin' afther she has given the warnin' of death.” + +“It is a strange and wild superstition,” observed Woodward. + +“But a very true one, sir,” replied the cook; “every one knows that a +Banshee follows the Goodwin family.” + +“What! the Goodwins of Beech Grove?” said Harry. + +“Yes, sir,” returned the cook; “they lost six children, and not one of +them ever died that she did not give the warnin'.” + +“If poor Miss Alice heard it,” observed Barney, “and she in the state +she's in, she wouldn't live twenty-four hours afther it.” + +“According to what you say,” observed Woodward, “that is, if it follows +the family, of course it will give the warning in her case also.” + +“May God forbid,” ejaculated the cook, “for it's herself, the darlin' +girl, that 'ud be the bitther loss to the poor and destitute.” + +This kind ejaculation was fervently echoed by all her fellow-servants; +and Harry, having finished his pipe, went to see how his brother's +wound was progressing. He found him asleep, and Caterine Collins seated +knitting a stocking at his bedside. He beckoned her to the lobby, where, +in a low, guarded voice, the following conversation took place between +them: + +“Caterine, have you not a niece that sings well? Barney Casey mentioned +her to me as possessing a fine voice.” + +“As sweet a voice, sir, as ever came from a woman's lips; but the poor +thing is delicate and sickly, and I'm afeard not long for this world.” + +“Could she imitate a Banshee, do you think?” + +“If ever woman could, she could. There's not her aquil at the keene, or +Irish cry, livin'; she's the only one can bate myself at it.” + +“Well, Caterine, if you get her to go to Mr. Goodwin's to-morrow night +and imitate the cry of the Banshee, I will reward her and you liberally +for it. You are already well aware of my generosity.” + +“Indeed I am, Mr. Woodward; but if either you or I could insure her the +wealth of Europe, we couldn't prevail on her to go by herself at +night. Except by moonlight she wouldn't venture to cross the street of +Rathfillan. As to her, you may put that out of the question. She's very +handy, however, about a sick bed, and I might contrive, undher some +excuse or other, to get her to take my place for a day or so. But here's +your father. We will talk about it again.” + +She then returned to the sick room, and Harry met Mr. Lindsay on the +stairs going up to inquire after Charles. + +“Don't go up, sir,” said he; “the poor fellow, thank God, is asleep, and +the less noise about him the better.” + +Both then returned to the parlor. + +About eleven o'clock the next night Sarah Sullivan was sitting by +the bedside of her mistress, who was then, fortunately for herself, +enjoying, what was very rare with her, an undisturbed sleep after the +terror and agitation of the day, when a low, but earnest and sorrowful +wailing was heard, immediately, she thought, under the window. It rose +and fell alternately, and at the close of every division of the cry +it pronounced the name of Alice Goodwin in tones of the most pathetic +lamentation and woe. The natural heat and warmth seemed to depart out of +the poor girl's body; she felt like an icicle, and the cold perspiration +ran in torrents from her face. + +“My darling misthress,” thought she, “it's all over with you at last. +There is the sign--the Banshee--and it is well for yourself that you +don't hear it, because it would be the death of you at once. However, if +I committed one mistake about Misther Charles's misfortune, I will not +commit another. You shall never hear of this from me.” + +The cry was then heard more distant and indistinct, but still loaded +with the same mournful expression of death and sorrow; but in a little +time it died away in the distance, and was then heard no more. + +Sarah, though she had judiciously resolved to keep this awful intimation +a secret from Miss Goodwin, considered it her duty to disclose it to her +parents. We shall not dwell, however, upon the scene which occurred on +the occasion. A belief in the existence and office of the Banshee +was, at the period of which we write, almost universally held by the +peasantry, and even about half a century ago it was one of the strongest +dogmas of popular superstition. After the grief of the parents had +somewhat subsided at this dreadful intelligence, Mr. Goodwin asked Sarah +Sullivan if his daughter had heard the wail of this prophetic spirit of +death; and on her answering in the negative, he enjoined, her never to +breathe a syllable of the circumstance to her; but she told him she had +come to that conclusion herself, as she felt certain, she said, that the +knowledge of it would occasion her mistress's almost immediate death. + +“At all events,” said her master; “by the doctor's advice we shall leave +this place tomorrow morning; he says if she has any chance it will be +in a change of air, of society, and of scenery. Everything here has +associations and recollections that are painful, and even horrible to +her. If she is capable of bearing an easy journey we shall set out for +the Spa of Ballyspellan, in the county of Kilkenny. He thinks the waters +of that famous spring may prove beneficial to her. If the Banshee, then, +is anxious to fulfil its mission it must follow us. They say it always +pays three visits, but as yet it has paid us only one.” + +Mrs. Lindsay had now recovered from her slight indisposition, and +resolved to pay the last formal visit to the Goodwins,--a visit which +was to close all future intercourse between the families; and our +readers are not ignorant of her motives for this, nor how completely and +willingly she was the agent of her son Harry's designs. She went in all +her pomp, dressed in satins and brocades, and attended by Barney Casey +in full livery. Her own old family carriage had been swept of its dust +and cobwebs, and put into requisition on this important occasion. At +length they reached Beech Grove, and knocked at the door, which was +opened by our old Mend, Tom Kennedy. + +“My good man,” she asked, “are the family at home?” + +“No, ma'am.” + +“What! not at home, and Miss Goodwin so ill?--dying, I am told. Perhaps, +in consequence of her health, they do not wish to see strangers. Go and +say that Mrs. Lindsay, of Rathnllan House, is here.” + +“Ma'am, they are not at home; they have left Beech Grove for some time.” + +“Left Beech Grove!” she exclaimed; “and pray where are they gone to? I +thought Miss Goodwin was not able to be removed.” + +“It was do or die with her,” replied Tom. “The doctor said there was but +one last chance--change of air, and absence from dangerous neighbors.” + +“But you did not tell me where they are gone to.” + +“I did not, ma'am, and for the best reason in life--because I don't +know.” + +“You don't know! Why, is it possible they made a secret of such a +matter?” + +“Quite possible, ma'am, and to the back o' that they swore every one of +us upon the seven gospels never to tell any individual, man or woman, +where they went to.” + +“But did they not tell yourselves?” + +“Devil a syllable, ma'am.” + +“And why, then, did they swear you to secrecy?” + +“Why, of course, ma'am, to make us keep the secret.” + +“But why swear you, I ask again, to keep a secret which you did not +know?” + +“Why, ma'am, because they knew that in that case there was little danger +of our committin' parjury; and because every saicret which one does not +know is sure to be kept.” + +She looked keenly at him, and added, “I'm inclined to think, sirrah, +that you are impertinent.” + +“Very likely, ma'am,” replied Tom, with great gravity. “I've a strong +notion of that myself. My father before me was impertinent, and his last +dying words to me were, 'Tom, I lay it as a last injunction upon you +to keep up the principles of our family, and always to show nothing but +impertinence to those who don't deserve respect.'” + +With a face scarlet from indignation she immediately ordered her +carriage home, but before it had arrived there the intelligence from +another source had reached the family, together with the fact that the +Banshee had been heard by Mr. Goodwin's servants under Miss Alice's +window. Such, indeed, was the fact; and the report of the circumstance +had spread through half the parish before the hour of noon next day. + +The removal of Alice sank heavily upon the heart of Harry Woodward; it +seemed to him as if she had gone out of his grasp, and from under the +influence of his eye, for, by whatever means he might accomplish it, +he was resolved to keep the deadly power of that eye upon her. He had +calculated upon the voice and prophetic wail of the Banshee as +being fatal in her then state of health; or was it this ominous and +supernatural foreboding of her dissolution that caused them to fly from +the place? He reasoned, as the reader may perceive, upon the principle +of the Banshee being, according to the superstitious notions entertained +of her, a real supernatural visitant, and not the unscrupulous and +diabolical imitation of her by Catherine Collins. Still he thought it +barely possible that the change of air and the waters of the celebrated +spring might recover her, notwithstanding all his inhuman anticipations. +His brother, also, according to the surgeon's last report, afforded +hopes of convalescence. A kind of terror came over him that his plans +might fail, because he felt almost certain that if Alice and his brother +both recovered, Mr. Lindsay might, or rather would, mount his old hobby, +and insist on having them married, in the teeth of all opposition on +the part of either himself or his mother. This was a gloomy prospect for +him, and one which he could not contemplate without falling back upon +still darker schemes. + +After the night on which Barney Casey had seen him and the Black Spectre +together we need scarcely say that he watched Barney closely, nor that +Barney watched him with as keen a vigilance. Whatever Woodward may have +actually felt upon the subject of the apparition, Barney was certainly +undecided as to its reality; or if there existed any bias at all, it was +in favor of that reality. Why did Woodward's arm tremble, and why did +the man, who was supposed ignorant of fear, exhibit so much terror and +agitation on the occasion? Still, on the other hand, there appeared to +be a conversation, as it were, between them, and a familiarity of manner +considerably at variance with Woodward's version of the circumstances. +Be this as it might, he felt it to be a subject on which he could, by no +process of reasoning, come to anything like a definite conclusion. + +Woodward now determined to consult his mother as to the plan of their +future operations. The absence of Alice, and the possible chance of her +recovery, rendered it necessary that some new series of projects should +be adopted; but although several had occurred to him, he had not yet +come to a definite resolution respecting the selection he would make. +With this view he and his conscientious mother closeted themselves in +her room, and discussed the state of affairs in the following dialogue: + +“Mother,” said he, “this escape of Miss Curds-and-whey is an untoward +business. What, after all, if she should recover?” + +“Recover!” exclaimed the lady; “why, did you not assure me that such an +event was impossible--that you were killing her, and that she must die?” + +“So I still think; but so long as the notion of her recovery exists, +even only as a dream, so certainly ought we to provide against such a +calamity.” + +“Ah! Harry,” she exclaimed, “you may well term it a calamity, for such +indeed it would be to you.” + +“Well, but what do you think ought to be done, my dear mother? I +am anxious to have both your advice and opinion upon our future +proceedings. Suppose change of air--the waters of that damned brimstone +spring, and above all things, the confidence she will derive from the +consciousness that she is removed from me and out of my reach--suppose, +I say, that all these circumstances should produce a beneficial effect +upon her, then how do I stand?” + +“Why, with very little hope of the property,” she replied; “and then +what tenacity of life she has! Why, there are very few girls who would +not have been dead long ago, if they had gone through half what she has +suffered. Well, you wish to ask me how I would advise you to act?” + +“Of course I do.” + +“Well, then, you have heard the old proverb: It is good to have two +strings to one's bow. We shall set all consideration of her aside for a +time, and turn our attention to another object.” + +“What or who is that, mother?” + +“You remember I mentioned some time ago the names of a neighboring +nobleman and his niece, who lives with him. The man I allude to as Lord +Bilberry, but is now Earl of Cockletown. He was raised to this rank for +some services he rendered the government against the tories, who had +been devastating the country, and also against some turbulent papists +who were supposed to have privately encouraged them in their outrages +against Protestant life and property. He was a daring and intrepid man +when in his prime of life, and appeared to seek danger for its own sake. +He is now an old man, although a young peer, and was always considered +eccentric, which he is to the present day. Some people look upon him as +a fool, and others as a knave; but in balancing his claims to each, it +has never yet been determined on which side the scale would sink. He +is the proprietor of a little fishing village on the coast, and on this +account he assumed the title of Cockletown; and when he built himself a +mansion, as they term it, he would have it called by no other name than +that of Cockle Hall. It is true he laughs at the thing himself, and +considers it a good joke.” + +“And so it is,” replied her son; “but what about the lady, his niece?” + +“Why, she is a rather interesting person.” + +“Ahem! person!” + +“Yes, about thirty-four or so; but she will inherit his property.” + +“And have you any notion of what that may amount to?” asked her +calculating son. + +“I could not exactly say,” she replied; “but I believe it is handsome. +A great deal of it is mountain, but they say there are large portions of +it capable of being reclaimed.” + +“But how can the estate go to her?” + +“Simply because there is no other heir,” replied his mother; “they are +the last of the family. It is not entailed.” + +“Thirty-four!” ruminated Woodward. “Well, I have seen very fine girls at +thirty-four; but in personal appearance and manner what is she like?” + +“Why, perhaps a critical eye might not call her handsome; but the +general opinion on that point is in her favor. Her manners are +agreeable, so are her features; but it is said that she is fastidious +in her lovers, and has rejected many. It is true most of them were +fortune-hunters, and deserved no better success.” + +“But what do you call me, mother?” + +“Surely not a fortune-hunter, Harry. Is not there your granduncle's +large property who is a bachelor, and you are his favorite.” + +“But don't you know, mother, that, as respects my granduncle, I have +confided that secret to you already?” + +“I know no such thing, you fool,” she replied, looking at him with +an expression in her odious eyes which could not be described; “I am +altogether ignorant of that fact; but is there not the twelve hundred +per annum which reverts to you on the demise of that dying girl?” + +“True, my dear mother, true; you are right, I am a fool. Of course I +never told you the secret of my disinheritance by the old scoundrel.” + +“Ah, Harry, I fear you played your cards badly there. You knew he was +religious, and yet you should become a seducer; but why make free with +his money?” + +“Why? Why, because he kept me upon the tight curb; but, as these matters +are known only to ourselves, I see you are right. I am still to be +considered his favorite--his heir--and am here only on, a visit.” + +“Well, but, Harry, he must have dealt liberally with you on your +departure from him?” + +“He! Don't you know I was obliged to fly?--to take French leave, I +assure you. I reached Rathfillan House with not more than twenty pounds +in my pocket.” + +“But how does it happen that you always appear to have plenty of money?” + +“My dear mother, there is a secret there; but it is one which even you +shall not know,--or come, you shall know it. Did you ever hear of a +certain supernatural being which follows your family, which supernatural +being is known by the name of the Black Spectre, or some such +denomination which I cannot remember?” + +“I don't wish to hear it named,” replied his mother, deeply agitated. +“It resembles the Banshee, and never appears to any one of our family +except as a precursor of his death by violence.” + +Woodward started for a moment, and could not avoid being struck at the +coincidence of the same mission having been assigned to the two spirits, +and he reflected, with an impression that was anything but agreeable, +upon his damnable suggestion of having had recourse to the vile agency +of Caterine Collins in enacting the said Banshee, for the purpose of +giving the last fatal blow to the almost dying Alice Goodwin. He felt, +and he had reason to feel, that there was a mystery about the Black +Spectre, which, for the life of him, he could not fathom. He was, +however, a firm and resolute man, and after a moment or two's thought he +declined to make any further disclosure on the subject, but reverted to +the general topic of their conversation. + +“Well, mother,” said he, “after all, your speculation may not be a bad +one; but pray, what is the lady's name?” + +“Riddle--Miss Riddle. She is of the Clan-Riddle family, a close relation +to the Nethersides of Middle town.” + +“And a devilish enigmatical name it is,” replied her son, “as is that of +all her connections.” + +“Yes, but they were always close and prudent people, who kept their +opinions to themselves, and wrought their way in the world with great +success, and without giving offence to any party. If you marry her, +Harry, I would advise you to enter public life, recommend yourself to +the powers that be, and, my word for it, you stand a great chance of +having the title of Cockletown revived in your person.” + +“Well, although the title is a ridiculous one, I should have no +objection to it, notwithstanding; but there will certainly arise some +difficulty when we come to the marriage settlements. There will be sharp +lawyers there, whom we cannot impose upon; and you know, mother, I am +without any ostensible property.” + +“Yes, but we can calculate upon the death of cunning Alice, who, by her +undue and flagitious influence over your uncle, left you so.” + +“Ay, but such a calculation would never do either with her uncle or the +lawyers. I think we have nothing to fall back upon, mother, but your own +property. If you settle that upon me everything will go right.” + +“And leave myself depending upon Lindsay? No, no,” replied this selfish +and penurious woman; “never, Harry--never, never; you must wait until I +die for that. But I can tell you what we can do; let us enter upon the +negotiation--let us say for the time being that you have twelve hundred +a-year, and, while the business is proceeding, what is there to prevent +you from going to recruit your health at Balleyspellan, and kill out +Alice Goodwin there, as well as if she remained at home? By this plan, +before the negotiations are closed, you will be able to meet Miss Riddle +with twelve hundred a-year at your back. Alice Goodwin! O, how I hate +and detest her--ay, as I do hell!” + +“The plan,” replied her son, “is an excellent one. We will commence +operations with Lord Cockletown and Miss Riddle, in the first place; and +having opened negotiations, as you say, I shall become unwell, and go +for a short time to try what efficacy the waters of Ballyspellan may +have on my health--or rather on my fortunes.” + +“We shall visit them to-morrow,” said the mother. + +“So be it,” replied the son; and to this resolution they came, which +closed the above interesting dialogue between them. We say interesting, +for if it has not been such to the reader, it was so at least to +themselves. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. A House of Sorrow. + +--After which follows a Courting Scene. + + +The deep sorrow and desolation of spirit introduced by the profligate +destroyer into the humble abode of peace and innocence is an awful thing +to contemplate. In our chapter headed “The Wake of a Murderer” we +have attempted to give a picture of it. The age, indeed, was one of +licentiousness and profligacy. The reigning monarch, Charles the Second, +of infamous memory, had set the iniquitous example to his subjects, and +surrounded his court by an aristocratic crew, who had scarcely anything +to recommend them but their imitation of his vices, and this was +always a passport to his favor, whilst virtue, morality, and honor were +excluded with contempt and derision. In fact, the corrupt atmosphere +of his court carried its contagion throughout the empire, until the +seduction of female innocence became the fashion of the day, and no man +could consider himself entitled to a becoming position in society who +had not distinguished himself by half a dozen criminal intrigues either +with the wives or daughters of his acquaintances. When we contemplate +for a moment the contrast between the abandoned court of that royal +profligate, and that under which we have the happiness to live--the +one, a sty of infamy, licentiousness, and corruption; the other, a well, +undented of purity, virtue, and honor, to whose clear mind unadulterated +waters nothing equivocal, or even questionable, dares to approach, +much less the base or the tainted--we say that, on instituting this +comparison and contrast, the secret of that love and affectionate +veneration which we bear to our pure and highminded Queen, and the pride +which we feel in the noble example which she and her Royal Consort have +set us, requires no illustration whatsoever. The affection and gratitude +of her people are only the meed due to her virtues and to his. We need +not apologize to our readers for this striking contrast. The period and +the subject of our narrative, as well as the melancholy scene to which +we are about to introduce the reader, rendered it an impossibility to +avoid it. + +We now proceed to the humble homestead of Torley Davoren; a homestead +which we have already described as the humble abode of peace and +happiness. Barney Casey, who felt anxious to know from the parents of +Grace Davoren whether any trace or tidings of her had been heard of, +went to pay the heart-broken family a visit for that purpose. + +On entering, he found the father seated at his humble hearth, unshaven, +and altogether a man careless and negligent of his appearance. He sat +with his hands clasped before him, and his heavy eyes fixed on the +embers of the peat fire which smouldered on the hearth. The mother +was at her distaff, and so were the other two females--to wit, her +grandmother and Grace's sister. But the mother! gracious heaven, what a +spirit of distress and misery breathed from those hopeless and agonizing +features! There was not only natural sorrow there, occasioned by the +disappearance of her daughter, but the shame which resulted from +her fall and her infamy; and though last not least, the terrible +apprehension that the hapless girl had rushed by suicidal means into the +presence of an offended God, “unanointed, unaneled,” with all her sins +upon her head. Her clothes were hanging from the branches of a large +burdock* against the wall, and from time to time the father cast +his eyes upon them with a look in which might be read the hollow but +terrible expression of despair. + + * The branches of the burdock, when it is cut, trimmed, and + seasoned, are used by the humble classes to hang their + clothes upon. They grow upwards towards the top of the + stalk, and, in consequence of this, are capable of + sustaining the heaviest garment. + +Honest Barney felt his heart deeply moved by all this, and, sooth +to say, his natural cheerfulness and lightness of spirit completely +abandoned him at the contemplation of the awful anguish which pressed +them down. There is nothing which makes such a coward of the heart as +the influence of such a scene. He felt that he stood within a circle +of misery, and that it was a solemn and serious task even to enter into +conversation with them. But, as he had come to make friendly inquiries +about the unfortunate girl, he forced himself to break this pitiable but +terrible silence of despair. + +“I know,” said he, with a diffident and melancholy spirit, “that it is +painful to you all to make the inquiries that I wish to make; but still +let me ask you if you have got any account of her?” + +The mother's heart had been bursting-pent up as it were--and this +allusion to her withdrew the floodgates of its sorrow; she spread out +her arms, and fising up approached her husband, and throwing them about +his neck, exclaimed, in tones of the most penetrating grief,-- + +“O, Torley, Torley, my husband, was she not our dearest and our best?” + +The husband embraced her with a flood of tears. + +“She was,” said he, “she was.” But immediately looking upon her sister +Dora, he said, “Dora, come here--bring Dora to me,” and his wife went +over and brought her to him. + +“O, Dora dear,” said he, “I love you. But, darling, I never loved you as +I loved her.” + +“But was I ever jealous of that, father?” replied Dora, with tears. +“Didn't we all love her? and did any one of you love her more than +myself? Wasn't she the pride of the whole family? But I didn't care +about her disgrace, father, if we had her back with us. She might +repent; and if she did, every one would forgive their favorite--for sure +she was every one's favorite; and above all, God would forgive her.” + +“I loved her as the core of my heart,” said the grandmother; “but +you spoiled her yourselves, and indulged her too much in dress and +everything she wished for. Had you given her less of her own way, and +kept her more from dances and merry-makings, it might be better for +yourselves and her today; still, I grant you, it was hard to do it--for +who, mavrone, could refuse her anything? O! God sees my heart how I pity +you, her father, and you, too, her mother, above all. But, Torley, dear, +if we only had her--if we only had her back again safe with us--then +what darling Dora says might be true, and her repentance would wash +away her shame--for every one loved her, so that they wouldn't judge her +harshly.” + +“I can bear witness to that,” said Barney; as it is, every one pities +her, and but very few blame her. It is all set down to her innocence and +want of experience, ay, and her youthful years. No; if you could only +find her, the shame in regard of what I've said would not be laid +heavily upon her by the people.” + +“O,” exclaimed her father, starting up, “O, Granua, Granua, my heart's +life! where are you from us? Was not your voice the music of our hearth? +Did not your light laugh keep it cheerful and happy? But where are you +now? O, will no one bring me back my daughter? Where is my child? she +that was the light--the breakin' of the summer mornin' amongst us! But +wait; they say the villain is recoverin' that destroyed her--well--he +may recover from the blow of Shawn-na-Middogue, but he will get a blow +from me that he won't recover from. I will imitate Morrissy--and will +welcome his fate.” + +“Aisy, Torley,” said Casey; “hould in a little. You are spakin' now of +Masther Charles?” + +“I am, the villain! warn't they found together?” + +“I have one question to ask you,” proceeded Barney, “and it is +this--when did you see or spake with Shawn-na-Middogue?” + +“Not since that unfortunate night.” + +“Well, all I can tell you is this--that Masther Charles had as much to +do with the ruin of your daughter as the king of Jerusalem. Take my +word for that. He is not the stuff that such a villain is made of, but I +suspect who is.” + +“And who do you suspect, Barney?” + +“I say I only suspect; but, so long as it is only suspicion, I will +mention no names. It wouldn't be right; and for that reason I will wait +until I have betther information. But, after all,” he proceeded, “maybe +nothing wrong has happened.” + +The mother shook her head: “I know to the contrairy,” she replied, +“and intended on that very night to bring her to an account about her +appearance, but I never had the opportunity.” + +The father here wrung his hands, and his groans were dreadful. + +“Could you see Shawn-na-Middogue?” asked Barney. + +“No,” replied Davoren; “he, too, has disappeared; and although he is +hunted like a bag-fox, nobody can find either hilt or hair of him.” + +“Might it not be possible that she is with him?” he asked again. + +“No, Barney,” replied her mother, “we know Shawn too well for that. He +knows how we loved her, and what we would suffer by her absence. Shawn, +though driven to be an outlaw, has a kind heart, and would never allow +us to suffer what we are sufferin' on her account. O, no! we know Shawn +too well for that.” + +“Well,” replied Barney, meditatively, “there's one thing I'm inclined to +think: that whoever was the means of bringing shame and disgrace upon +poor Granua will get a touch of his middogue that won't fail as the +first did. Shawn now knows his man, and, with the help of God, I hope +he won't miss his next blow. I must now go; and before I do, let me tell +you that, as I said before, Masther Charles is as innocent of the shame +brought upon poor Granua as the king of Jerusalem.” + +There is a feeling of deep but silent sorrow which weighs down the +spirit after the death of some beloved individual who is taken away from +among the family circle. It broods upon, and casts a shadow of the most +profound gloom over the bereaved heart; but let a person who knew the +deceased, and is capable of feeling a sincere and friendly sympathy for +the survivors, enter into this circle of sorrow; let him or her dwell +upon the memory of the departed; then that silent and pent-up grief +bursts out, and the clamor of lamentation is loud and vehement. It was +so upon this occasion. When Barney rose to take his departure, a low +murmur of grief assailed his ears; it gradually became more loud; it +increased; it burst into irrepressible violence--they wept aloud; they +flew to her clothes, which hung, as we said, motionless upon the stalk +of burdock against the wall; they kissed them over and over again; and +it was not until Barney, now deeply affected, succeeded in moderating +their sorrow, that these strong and impassioned paroxysms were checked +and subdued into something like reasonable grief. Having consoled and +pacified them as far as it was in his power, he then took his departure +under a feeling of deep regret that no account of the unfortunate girl +had been obtained. + +The next day Mrs. Lindsay and Harry prepared to pay the important visit. +As before, the old family carriage was furbished up, and the lady once +more enveloped in her brocades and satins. Harry, too, made it a point +to appear in his best and most becoming habiliments; and, truth to tell, +an exceedingly handsome and well-made young fellow he was. The dress +of the day displayed his manly and well-proportioned limbs to the best +advantage, whilst his silver-hilted sword, in addition to the general +richness of his costume, gave him the manner and appearance of an +accomplished cavalier. Barney's livery was also put a second time into +requisition, and the coachman's cocked hat was freshly crimped for the +occasion. + +“Is it true, mother?” inquired Harry, as they went along, “that this old +noodle has built his residence as much after the shape of a cockle-shell +as was possible to be accomplished?” + +“Perfectly true, as you will see,” she replied. + +“But what could put such a ridiculous absurdity into his head?” + +“Because he thought of the name before the house was built, and he +got it built simply to suit the name. 'There is no use,' said he, 'in +calling it Cockle Hall unless it resembles a cockle;' and, indeed, when +you see it, you will admit the resemblance.” + +“Egad,” said her son, “I never dreamed that fate was likely to cramp me +in a cockleshell. I dare say there is a touch of sublimity about it. The +associations are in favor of it.” + +“No,” replied his mother, “but it has plenty of comfort and convenience +about, it. The plan was his own, and he contrived to make it, +notwithstanding its ludicrous shape, one of the most agreeable +residences in the country. He is a blunt humorist, who drinks a good +deal, and instead of feeling offence at his manner, which is rather +rough, you will please him best by answering him exactly in his own +spirit.” + +“I am glad you gave me this hint,” said her son; “I like that sort of +thing, and it will go hard if I don't give him as good as he brings.” + +“In that case,” replied the mother, “the chances will be ten to one in +your favor. Seem, above all things, to like his manner, because the old +fool is vain of it, and nothing gratifies him so much.” + +“But about the niece? What is the cue there, mother?” + +“The cue of a gentleman, Harry--of a well-bred and respectful gentleman. +You may humor the old fellow to the top of his bent; but when you become +the gentleman with her, she will not misinterpret your manner with +her uncle, but will look upon the transition as a mark of deference to +herself. And now you have your instructions: be careful and act upon +them. Miss Riddle is a girl of sense, and, they say, of feeling; and it +is on this account, I believe, that she is so critical in scrutinizing +the conduct and intellect of her lovers. So there is my last hint.” + +“Many thanks, my dear mother; it will, I think, be my own fault if +I fail with either uncle or niece, supported as I shall be by your +eloquent advocacy.” + +On arriving at Cockle Hall, Harry, on looking out of the carriage +window, took it for granted that his mother had been absolutely +bantering him. “Cockle Hall!” he exclaimed: “why, curse the hall I see +here, good, bad, or indifferent. What did you mean, mother? Were you +only jesting?” + +“Keep quiet,” she replied, “and above all things don't seem surprised +at the appearance of the place. Look precisely as if you had been in it +ever since it was built.” + +The appearance of Cockle Hall was, indeed, as his mother had very +properly informed him, ludicrous in the extreme. It was built on a +surface hollowed out of a high bank, or elevation, with which the roof +of it was on a level. It was, of course, circular and flat, and the roof +drooped, or slanted off towards the rear, precisely in imitation of a +cockle-shell. There was, however, a complete _deceptio visus_ in it. To +the eye, in consequence of the peculiarity of its position, it appeared +to be very low, which, in point of fact, was not exactly the case, +for it consisted of two stories, and had comfortable and extensive +apartments”. There was a paved space wide enough for two carriages to +pass each other, which separated it from the embankment that surrounded +it. Altogether, when taken in connection with the original idea of its +construction, it was a difficult thing to look at it without mirth. On +entering the drawing-room, which Harry did alone--for his mother, +having seen Miss Riddle in the parlor, entered it in order to have a +preliminary chat with her--her son found a person inside dressed in a +pair of red plush breeches, white stockings a good deal soiled, a yellow +long-flapped waistcoat, and a wig, with a cue to it which extended down +the whole length of his back,--evidently a servant in dirty lively. +There was something _degagee_ and rather impudent in his manner and +appearance, which Harry considered as in good keeping with all he had +heard of this eccentric nobleman. Like master like man, thought he. + +“Well,” said the servant, looking hardly at him, “what do you want?” + +“You be cursed,” replied Harry; “don't be impertinent; do you think I'm +about to disclose my business to you, you despicable menial? Why don't +you get your stockings washed? But if you wish to know what I want, I +want your master.” + +The butler, footman, or whatever he might hive been, fixed a keen look +upon him, accompanied by a grin of derision that made the visitor's +gorge rise a good deal. + +“My master,” said the other, “is not under this roof. What do you think +of that?” + +“You mean the old cockle is not in his shell, then,” replied Harry. + +“Come,” said the other, with a chuckle of enjoyment, “curse me, but +that's good. Who are you?--what are you? You are in good feathers--only +give an account of yourself.” + +Harry was a keen observer, but was considerably aided by what he had +heard from his mother. The rich rings, however, which he saw sparkling +on the fingers of what he had conceived to be the butler or footman, +at once satisfied him that he was then addressing the worthy nobleman +himself. In the meantime, having made this discovery, he resolved to act +the farce out. + +“Why should I give an account of myself to you, you cursed old sot?--you +drink, sirrah: I can read it in your face.” + +“I say, give an account of yourself; what's your business here?” + +“Come, then,” replied Harry, “as you appear to be a comical old +scoundrel, I don't care, for the joke's sake, if I do. I am coming to +court Miss Riddle, ridiculous old Cockletown's niece.” + +“Why are you coming to court her?” + +“Because I understand she will have a good fortune after old Cockle +takes his departure.” + +“Eh, confound me, but that's odd; why, you are a devilish queer fellow. +Did you ever see Lord Cockletown?” + +“Not I,” replied Harry; “nor I don't care a curse whether I do or not, +provided I had his niece secure.” + +“Did you ever see the niece?” + +“Don't annoy me, sirrah. No, I didn't; neither do I care if I never did, +provided I secure old Cockle's money and property. If it could be so +managed, I would prefer being married to her in the dark.” + +The old peer walked two or three times through the room in a kind of +good-humored perplexity, raising his wig and scratching his head +under it, and surveying Woodward from time to time with a serio-comic +expression. + +“Of course you are a profligate, for that is the order of the day?” + +“Why, of course I am,” replied Harry. + +“Any intrigues--eh?” + +“Indeed,” replied the other, pulling a long face, “I am ashamed to +answer you on that subject. Intrigues! I regret to say only half a dozen +yet, but my prospects in that direction are good.” + +“Have you fought? Did you ever commit murder?” + +“It can scarcely be called by that name. It was in tavern brawls; one +was a rascally cockleman, and the other a rascally oyster-man.” + +“How did you manage the oysterman with a knife, eh?” + +“No, sirrah; with my sword I did him open.” + +“Have you any expectation of being hanged?” + +“Why, according to the life I have led, I think there is every +probability that I may reach that honorable position.” + +The old peer could bear this no longer. He burst out into a loud laugh, +which lasted upwards of two minutes. + +“Faith,” said Harry, “if you had such a prospect before you, I don't +think you would consider it such a laughing matter.” + +“Curse you, sir, do you know who I am?” + +“Curse yourself, sir,” replied the other, “no, I don't; how should I, +when I never saw you before?” + +“Sir, I am Lord Cockletown.” + +“And, sir, I am Harry Woodward, son--favorite son--to, Mrs. Lindsay of +Rathfillan House.” + +“What! are you a son of that old fagot?” + +“Her favorite son, as I said; that old fagot, sir, is my mother.” + +“Ay, but who was your father?” asked his lordship, with a grin, “for +that's the rub.” + +“That is the rub,” said Woodward, laughing; “how the devil can I tell?” + +“Good again,” said his lordship; “confound me but you are a queer one. I +tell you what, I like you.” + +“I don't care a curse whether you do or not, provided your niece does.” + +“Are you the fellow that has been abroad, and returned home lately?” + +“I am the very fellow,” replied Woodward, with a ludicrous and +good-humored emphasis upon the word fellow. + +“There was a bonfire made for you on your return?” + +“There was, my lord.” + +“And there fell a shower of blood upon that occasion?” + +“Not a doubt of it, my lord.” + +“Well, you are a strange fellow altogether. I have not for a long time +met a man so much after my own heart.” + +“That is because our dispositions resemble each other. If I had the +chance of a peerage, I would be as original as your lord-ship in the +selection of my title; but I trust I shall be gratified in that, too; +because, if I marry your niece, I will enter into public life, make +myself not only a useful, but a famous man, and, of course, the title of +Cockletown will be revived in my person, and will not perish with you. +No, my lord, should I marry your niece, your title shall descend with +your blood, and there is something to console you.” + +“Come,” said the old peer, “shake hands. Have you a capacity for public +business?” + +“I was born for it, my lord. I feel that fact; besides, I have a +generous ambition to distinguish myself.” + +“Well,” said the peer, “we will talk all that over in a few days. But +don't you admit that I am an eccentric old fellow?” + +“And doesn't your lordship admit that I am an eccentric young fellow?” + +“Ay, but, harkee, Mr. Woodward,” said the peer, “I always sleep with one +eye open.” + +“And I,” replied Harry, “sleep with both eyes open.” + +“Come, confound me, that beats me, you must get on in life, and I will +consider your pretensions to my niece.” + +At this moment his mother and Miss Riddle entered the drawing-room, +which, notwithstanding the comical shape of the mansion, was spacious, +and admirably furnished. Miss Riddle's Christian name was Thomasina; but +her eccentric uncle never called her by any other appellation than Tom, +and occasionally Tommy. + +“Mrs. Lindsay, uncle,” said the girl, introducing her. + +“Eh? Mrs. Lindsay! O! how do you do, Mrs. Lindsay? How is that +unfortunate devil, your husband?” + +Now Mrs. Lindsay was one of those women who, whenever there was a +selfish object in view, could not only suppress her feelings, but +exhibit a class of them in direct opposition to those she actually felt. + +“Why unfortunate, my lord?” she asked, smiling. + +“Why, because I am told he plays second fiddle at home, and a devilish +deal out of tune too, in general. You play first, ma'am; but they +say, notwithstanding, that there's a plentiful lack of harmony in your +concerts.” + +“All,” she replied, “your lordship must still have your joke, I +perceive; but, at all events, I am glad to see you in such spirits.” + +“Well, you may thank your son for that. I say, Tom,” he added, +addressing his niece, “he's a devilish good fellow; a queer chap, and +I like him. Woodward, this is Tom Riddle, my niece. This scamp, Tom, +is that woman's son, Mr. Woodward. He's an accomplished youth: I'll be +hanged if he isn't. I asked him how many intrigues he has had, and he +replied, with a dolorous face, only half a dozen yet. He only committed +two murders, he says; and when I asked him if he thought there was any +probability of his being hanged, he replied that, from a review of his +past life, and what he contemplated in the future, he had little doubt +of it.” + +Harry Woodward was indeed, a most consummate tactician. From the moment +Miss Riddle entered the room, his air and manner became that of a most +polished gentleman; and after bowing to her when introduced, he cast, +from time to time, a glance at her, which told her, by its significance, +that he had only been gratifying her uncle by playing into his whims and +eccentricities. In the meantime the heart of Mrs. Lindsay bounded with +delight at the progress which she saw, by the complacent spirit of the +old peer, honest and adroit Harry had made in his good opinion. + +“Miss Riddle,” said he, “his lordship and I have been bantering each +other; but although I considered myself what I may term, an able hand at +it, yet I find I am no match for him.” + +“Well, not exactly, I believe,” replied his lordship; “but, +notwithstanding, you are one of the best I have met.” + +“Why, my lord,” replied Woodward, “I like the thing; and, indeed, I +never knew any one fond of it who did not possess a good heart and a +candid disposition; so, you see, my lord, there is a compliment for each +of us.” + +“Yes, Woodward, and we both deserve it.” + +“I trust Mr. Woodward,” observed his niece, “that you don't practise +your abilities as a banterer upon our sex.” + +“Never! Miss Riddle; that would be ungenerous and unmanly. There is +nothing due to your sex but respect, and that, you know, is incompatible +with banter. + +“The wit that could wantonly sport with the modesty of woman degenerates +into impudence and insult;” and he accompanied the words with a low and +graceful bow. + +This young fellow, thought Miss Riddle, is a gentleman. + +“Yes, but, Mr. Woodward, we sometimes require a bantering; and, what is +more, a remonstrance. We are not perfect, and surely it is not the part +of a friend to overlook our foibles or our errors.” + +“True, Miss Riddle, but it is not by bantering they will be reclaimed. +A friendly remonstrance, delicately conveyed, is one thing, but the +buffoonery of a banter is another.” + +“What's that?” said the peer, “buffoonery! I deny it, sir, there is no +buffoonery in banter.” + +“Not, my lord, when it occurs between gentlemen,” replied Woodward, “but +you know, with the ladies it is a different thing.” + +“Ay, well, that's not bad; a proper distinction. I tell you what, +Woodward, you are a clever fellow; and I'm not sure but I'll advocate +your cause with Tom there. Tom, he tells me he is coming to court you, +and he says he doesn't care a fig about either of us, provided he could +secure your fortune. Ay, and, what's more, he says that if you and he +are married, he hopes it will be in the dark. What do you think of that +now?” + +Miss Riddle did not blush, nor affect a burst of indignation, but she +said what pleased both Woodward and his mother far better. + +“Well, uncle,” she replied, calmly, “even if he did say so, I believe +he only expressed in words what most, if not all, of my former lovers +actually felt, but were too cautious to acknowledge.” + +“I trust, Miss Eiddle,” said Harry, smiling graciously, “that I am +neither so silly nor so stupid as to defend a jest by anything like +a serious apology. You will also be pleased to recollect that, as an +argument for my success, I admitted two murders, half a dozen intrigues, +and the lively prospect of being hanged. The deuce is in it, if these +are not strong qualifications in a lover, especially in a lover of +yours, Miss Riddle.” + +The reader sees that the peer was anything but a match for Woodward, who +contrived, and with perfect success, to turn all his jocular attacks to +his own account. + +Miss Riddle smiled, for the truth was that Harry began to rise rapidly +in her good opinion. His sprightliness was gentlemanly and agreeable, +and he contrived, besides, to assume the look and air of a man who only +indulged in it in compliment to her uncle, and, of course, indirectly +to herself, with whom, it was but natural, he should hope to make him +an advocate. Still the expression of his countenance, as he managed it, +appeared to her to be that of a profound and serious thinker--one whose +feelings, when engaged, were likely to retain a strong hold of his +heart. That he should model his features into such an expression is by +no means strange, when we reflect with what success hypocrisy can stamp +upon them all those traits of character for which she wishes to get +credit from the world. + +“Come, Tom,” said his lordship, “it's time for luncheon; we can't +allow our friends to go without refreshments. I say, Woodward, I'm a +hospitable old fellow; did you ever know that before?” + +“I have often heard it, my lord,” replied the other, “and I hope to +have still better proof of it.” This was uttered with a significant, but +respectful glance, at the niece, who was by no means displeased at it. + +“Ay! ay!” said his lordship, laughing, “the proof of the pudding is +in the eating. Well, you shall have an opportunity, and soon, too; you +appear to be a blunt, honest fellow; and hang me but I like you.” + +Miss Riddle now went out to order in the refreshments, but not without +feeling it strange how her uncle and herself should each contemplate +Woodward's character in so different a light--the uncle looking upon him +as a blunt, honest fellow, whilst to her he appeared as a man of sense, +and a perfect gentleman Such, however, was the depth of his hypocrisy, +that he succeeded at once in pleasing both, and in deceiving both. + +“Well, Woodward, what do you think of Tom?” asked his lordship. + +“Why, my lord, that she is an admirable and lovely girl.” + +“Well, you are right, sir; Tom is an admirable girl, and loves her old +uncle as if he was her father, or maybe a great deal better; she will +have all I am worth when I pop off, so there's something for you to +think upon.” + +“No man, my lord, capable of appreciate ing her could think of anything +but herself.” + +“What! not of her property?” + +“Property, my-lord; is a very secondary subject when taken into +consideration with the merits of the lady herself. I am no enemy to +property, and I admit its importance as an element of happiness when +reasonably applied, but I am neither sordid nor selfish; and I know +how little, after all, it contributes to domestic enjoyment, unless +accompanied by those virtues which constitute the charm of connubial +life.” + +“Confound me but you must have got that out of a book, Woodward.” + +“Out of the best book, my lord--the book of life and observation.” + +“Why, curse it, you are talking philosophy, though.” + +“Only common sense, my lord.” + +His lordship, who was walking to and fro in the room, turned abruptly +round, looked keenly at him, and then, addressing Mrs. Lindsay, said,-- + +“Why, upon my soul, Mrs. Lindsay, we must try and do something with this +fellow; he'll be lost to the world if we don't. Come, I say, we must +make a public man of him.” + +“To become a public man is his own ambition, my lord,” replied Mrs. +Lindsay; “and although I am his mother, and may feel prejudiced in his +favor, still I agree with your lordship that it is a pity to see such +abilities as his unemployed.” + +“Well, madam, we shall consider of it. What do you think, Woodward, if +we made a bailiff of you?” + +At this moment Miss Riddle entered the room just in time to hear the +question. + +“The very thing, my lord; and the first capture I should make would be +Miss Riddle, your fair niece here.” + +“Curse me, but the fellow's a cat,” said the peer, laughing. “Throw +him as you will, he always falls upon his legs. What do you think, Tom? +Curse me but your suitor here talked philosophy in your absence.” + +“Only common sense, Miss Riddle,” said Harry. “Philosophy, it is said, +excludes feeling; but that is not a charge which I ever heard brought +against common sense.” + +“I am an enemy neither to philosophy nor common sense,” replied his +niece, “because I think neither of them incompatible with feeling; but I +certainly prefer common sense.” + +“There's luncheon announced,” said the peer, rubbing his hands, “and +that's a devilish deal more comfortable than either of them. Come, Mrs. +Lindsay; Woodward, take Tom with you.” + +They then descended to the dining-room, where the conversation was +lively and amusing, the humorous old peer furnishing the greater +proportion of the mirth. + +“Mrs. Lindsay,” said he, as they were preparing to go, “I hope, after +all, that this clever son of yours is not a fortune-hunter.” + +“He need not be so, my lord,” replied his mother, “and neither is he. He +himself will have a handsome property.” + +“Will have. I would rather you wouldn't speak in the future tense, +though. Woodward,” he added, addressing that gentleman, “remember that I +told you that I sleep with one eye open.” + +“If you have any doubts, my lord, on this subject,” replied Woodward, +“you may imitate me: sleep with both open.” + +“Ay, as the hares do, and devil a bit they're the better for it; but, in +the meantime, what property have you, or will you have? There is nothing +like coming to the point.” + +“My lord,” replied Woodward, “I respect Miss Riddle too much to enter +upon such a topic in her presence. You must excuse me, then, for the +present; but if you wish for precise information on the subject, I refer +you to my mother, who will, upon a future occasion--and I trust it will +be soon--afford you every satisfaction on this matter.” + +“Well,” replied his lordship, “that is fair enough--a little vague, +indeed--but no matter, your mother and I will talk about it. In the +meantime you are a devilish clever fellow, and, as I said, I like you; +but still I will suffer no fortune-hunter to saddle himself upon my +property. I repeat it, I sleep with one eye open. I will be happy to +see you soon, Mr. Woodward; but remember I will be determined on this +subject altogether by the feelings of my niece Tom here.” + +“I have already said, my lord,” replied Woodward, “that, except as +a rational element in domestic happiness, I am indifferent to the +consideration or influence of property. The prevailing motives with me +are the personal charms; the character, and the well-known virtues of +your niece. It is painful to me to say even this in her presence, but +your lordship has forced it from me. However, I trust that Miss Riddle +understands and will pardon me.” + +“Mr. Woodward,” she observed, “you have said nothing unbecoming a +gentleman; nothing certainly but that which you could not avoid saying.” + +After the usual forms of salutation at parting, Harry and his mother +entered the old carriage and proceeded on their way home. + +“Well, Harry,” said his mother, “what do you think?” + +“A hit,” he replied; “a hit with both, but especially with the niece, +who certainly is a fine girl. If there is to be any opposition, it will +be with that comical old buffoon, her uncle. He says he sleeps with +one eye open, and I believe it. You told me it could not be determined +whether he was more fool or knave; but, from all I have seen of him, the +devil a bit of fool I can perceive, but, on the contrary, a great deal +of the knave. Take my word for it, old Cockle-town is not to be imposed +upon.” + +“Is there no likelihood of that wretch, Alice Goodwin, dying?” said his +mother. + +“That is a case I must take in hand,” returned the son. “I shall go +to Ballyspellan and put an end to her. After that we can meet old +Cockletown with courage. I feel that I am a favorite with his niece, and +she, you must have perceived, is a favorite with him, and can manage +him as she wishes, and that is one great point gained--indeed, the +greatest.” + +“No,” replied his mother, “the greatest is the death of Alice Goodwin.” + +“Be quiet,” said her worthy son; “that shall be accomplished.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. Description of the Original Tory + +--Their Manner of Swearing + + +We have introduced an Irish outlaw, or tory, in the person of +Shawn-na-Middoque, and, as it may be necessary to afford the reader a +clearer insight into this subject, we shall give a short sketch of the +character and habits of the wild and lawless class to which he belonged. +The first description of those savage banditti that has come down to us +with a distinct and characteristic designation, is known as that of +the wild band of tories who overran the South and West of Ireland both +before the Revolution and after it. The actual signification of the word +_tory_, though now, and for a long time, the appellative of a political +party, is scarcely known except to the Irish scholar and historian. The +term proceeds from the Irish noun _toir_, a pursuit, a chase; and from +that comes its cognate, _toiree_, a person chased, or pursued--thereby +meaning an outlaw, from the fact that the individuals to whom it +was first applied were such as had, by their murders and robberies, +occasioned themselves to be put beyond the protection of all laws, and, +consequently, were considered outlaws, or tories, and liable to be shot +down without the intervention of judge or jury, as they often were, +wherever they could be seen or apprehended. We believe the word first +assumed its distinct character in the wars of Cromwell, as applied to +the wild freebooters of Ireland. + +Tory-hunting was at one time absolutely a pastime in Ireland, in +consequence of this desperate body of people having proved the common +enemy of every class, without reference to either religious or political +distinction. We all remember the old nursery song, which, however +simple, is very significant, and affords us an excellent illustration of +their unfortunate condition, and the places of their usual retreat. + + “I'll tell you a story about Johnny Magrory, + Who went to the wood and shot a tory; + I'll tell you another about his brother. + Who went to the wood and shot another.” + +From this it is evident that the tories of the time of Cromwell and +Charles the Second were but the lineal descendants of the thievish wood +kernes mentioned by Spenser, or at least the inheritors of their +habits. Defoe attributes the establishment of the word in England to the +infamous Titus Oates. + +“There was a meeting,” says he “(at which I was present), in the +city, upon the occasion of the discovery of some attempt to stifle the +evidence of the witnesses (about the Popish plot), and tampering with +Bedlow and Stephen Dugdale. Among the discourse Mr. Bedlow said 'he had +letters from Ireland; that there were some tories to be brought over +hither, who were privately to murder Dr. Oates and the said Bedlow.' +The doctor, whose zeal was very hot, could never hear any man after this +talk against the plot, or against the witnesses, but he thought he was +one of the tories, and called almost every man who opposed him in his +discourse a tory--till at last the word became popular. Hume's account +of it is not very much different from this. + +“The court party,” says he, “reproached their antagonists with their +affinity to the fanatical conventiclers of Scotland, who were known by +the name of Whigs.* The country party found a resemblance between the +courtiers and the Popish banditti in Ireland, on whom the appellation of +tory was affixed. And after this manner these foolish terms of reproach +came into public and general use.” + + * The word _whig_ is taken from the fact, that in Scotland + it was applied to milk that had become sour; and to this day + milk that has lost its sweetness is termed by the Scotch, + and their descendants in the north of Ireland, whigged milk. + +It is evident, from Irish history, that the original tories, politically +speaking, belonged to no party whatever. They were simply thieves, +robbers, and murderers on their own account. Every man's hand was +against them, and certainly their hands were against every man. The fact +is, that in consequence of the predatory nature of Irish warfare, which +plundered, burned, and devastated as it went along, it was impossible +that thousands of the wretched Irish should not themselves be driven +by the most cruel necessity, for the preservation of their lives and of +those of their families, to become thieves and plunderers in absolute +self-defence. Their habitations, such as they were, having been +destroyed and laid in ruins, they were necessarily driven to seek +shelter in the woods, caves, and other fastnesses of the country, from +which they issued forth in desperate hordes, armed as well as they +could, to rob and to plunder for the very means of life. Goaded by +hunger and distress of every kind, those formidable and ferocious “wood +kernes” only paid the country back, by inflicting on it that plunder +and devastation which they had received at its hands. Neither is it +surprising that they should make no distinction in their depredations, +because they experienced, to their cost, that no “hosting,” on either +or any side, ever made a distinction with them. Whatever hand was +uppermost, whether in the sanguinary struggles of their rival chiefs, or +in those between the Irish and English, or Anglo-Irish, the result was +the same to them. If they were not robbed or burned out to-day, they +might be to-morrow; and under such circumstances to what purpose could +they be expected to exercise industrious or laborious habits, when they +knew that they might go to bed in comfort at night, and rise up beggars +in the morning? It is easy to see, then, that it was the lawless and +turbulent state of the country that reduced them to such a mode of life, +and drove them to make reprisals upon the property of others, in the +absence of any safe or systematic way of living. There is no doubt that +a principle of revenge and retaliation animated their proceedings, and +that they stood accountable for acts of great cruelty and murder, as +well as of robbery. The consequence necessarily was, that they felt +themselves beyond the protection of all law, and fearfully distinct in +the ferocity of their character from the more civilized population of +the country, which waged an exterminating warfare against them under the +sanction and by the assistance of whatever government existed. + +It was about the year 1689 that they began to assume or to be +characterized by a different designation--we mean that of rapparees; so +called, it is said, from the fact of their using the half pike or short +rapier; although, for our part, we are inclined to think that they were +so termed from the word _rapio_, to plunder, which strikes us as the +most appropriate and obvious. At all events it is enough to say that the +_tories_ were absorbed in the rapparees, and their name in Ireland and +Great Britain, except as a political class, was forgotten and lost in +that of the rapparees, who long survived them. + +Barney Casey was, as the reader must have perceived, a young fellow +of good sense and very acute observation. He had been, since an early +period of his youth, domesticated in the family of Mr. Lindsay, who +respected him highly for his attachment and integrity. He had a brother, +however, who, with his many good qualities, was idle and headstrong. His +name was Michael, and, sooth to say, the wild charm of a freebooter's +life, in addition to his own indisposition to labor for his living, +were more than the weak materials of his character could resist. He +consequently joined Shawn-na-Middogue and his gang, and preferred the +dangerous and licentious life of a robber and plunderer to that of +honesty and labor--precisely as many men connected with a seafaring life +prefer the habits of the smuggler or the pirate to those of the +more honorable or legitimate profession. Poor Barney exerted all his +influence with his brother with a hope of rescuing him from the society +and habits of hia dissolute companions, but to no purpose. It was a +life of danger and excitement--of plans and projects, and changes, and +chases, and unexpected encounters--of retaliation, and, occasionally, +the most dreadful revenge. Such, however, was the state of society at +that time, that those persons who had connected themselves with these +desperate outlaws were by no means afraid to pay occasional visits to +their own relatives, and from time to time to hold communication with +them. Nay, not only was this the fact, but, what is still more strange, +many persons who were related to individuals connected with this daring +and unmanageable class were in the habit of attending their nightly +meetings, sometimes for the purpose of preventing a robbery, or of +killing a family whom they wished to suffer. + +One night, during this period of our narrative, Barney's brother +contrived to have secret interview with him for the purpose of +communicating some information to him which had reached his ears from +Shawn-na-Middogue, to the effect that Caterine Collins had admitted to +him (Shawn), upon his promise of marrying her--a promise made only for +the purpose of getting into her confidence, and making her useful as +an agent to his designs--that she knew, she said, that it was not his +brother Charles who had brought unfortunate Grace Davoren to ruin, but +Harry Woodward, and, she added, when it was too late, she suspected +something from his manner, of his intention to send Charles, on that +disastrous night, in his stead. But Shawn, who knew Caterine and her +connections well, recommended Michael Casey to apprise his brother that +he could not keep too sharp an eye upon the movements of both, but, +above all things, to try and induce him to set Woodward in such a way +that he could repair the blow upon him, which, in mistake, he had dealt +to his innocent brother. Now, although Barney almost detested Woodward, +yet he was incapable of abetting Shawn's designs upon Suit Balor. + +“No,” said he to his brother, “I would die first. It is true I do not +like a bone in his body, but I will never lend myself to such a cowardly +act as that; besides, from all I know of Shawn, I did not think he would +stoop to murder.” + +“Ay, but think of our companions,” replied hia brother, “and think too, +of what a notion they have of it. Shawn, however, is a different man +from most, if not all, of them--and he says he was urged on by a fit +of fury when he found the man, that he thought the destroyer of Grace +Davoren, speaking to her in such a lonely and suspicious place. It +was his intention to have bidden him to stand on his guard and defend +himself, but jealousy and revenge overcame him at the moment, and he +struck the blow. Thank God that it failed; but you may take my word +that the next won't--because Shawn now swears, that without preface or +apology, or one moment's warning, he will stab him to the heart wherever +he can meet him.” + +“It's a bad life,” replied Barney, “that Shawn's leading; but, poor +fellow, he and his resaved hard treatment--their house and place torn +down and laid in rains, and instead of protection from government, they +found themselves proclaimed outlaws. What could he and they do? +But, Michael, it was a different thing with you. Our family were +comfortable--too much so, indeed, for you; you got idle habits and a +distaste for work, and so, rather than settle down to industry, you +should join them.” + +“Ay, and so would you, if you knew the life we lead.” + +“That might be,” replied his brother, “if I didn't happen to think of +the death you die.” + +“As to that,” said Michael, “we have all made up our minds; shooting and +hanging will get nothing out of us but the death-laugh at our enemies.” + +“Ay, enemies of your own making,” said Barney; “but as to the +death-laugh on the gallows, remember that that is at your own expense. +It will be what we call on the wrong side of the mouth, I think. But in +regard of these nightly meetings of yours, I would have no objection to +see one of them. Do you think I would be allowed to join you for an hour +or two, that I might hear and see what you say and do?” + +“You may, Barney; but you know it isn't every one that would get that +privilege; but in ordher to make sure, I'll spake to Shawn about it. +Leave is light, they say; and as he knows you're not likely to turn a +spy upon our hands, I'm certain he won't have any objection.” + +“When and where will you meet next?” asked Barney. + +“On the very spot where Shawn struck his middogue into the body of +Masther Charles,” replied his brother. Shawn has some oath of revenge to +make against Woodward, because he suspects that the villain knows where +poor Granua Davoren is.” + +“Well, on that subject he may take his own coorse,” replied Barney; “but +as for me, Michael, I neither care nor will think of the murdher of a +fellow-crature, no matther how wicked he may be, especially when I know +that it is planned for him. As a man and a Christian, I cannot lend +myself to it, and of coorse--but this is between ourselves--I will put +Mr. Woodward on his guard.” + +Those were noble sentiments, considering the wild and licentious period +of which we write, and the dreadfully low estimate at which human life +was then held. + +“Act as you like,” replied Michael; “but this I can tell you, and this I +do tell you, that if, for the safety of this villain, you take a single +step that may bring _Shawn-na-Middogue_ into danger, if you were my +brother ten times over I will not prevent him--Shawn I mean--from +letting loose his vengeance upon you. No, nor upon Rathfillan House and +all that it contains, you among the number.” + +“I will do nothing,” replied Barney, firmly, “to bring Shawn or any of +you into danger; but as sure as I have a Christian soul to be saved, and +my life in my body, I will, as I said, put Mr. Harry Woodward upon his +guard against him. So now, if you think it proper to let me be present +at your meeting, knowing what you know, I will go, but not otherwise.” + +“I feel, Barney,” said his brother, “that my mind is much hardened of +late by the society I keep. I remember when I thought murder as horrible +a thing as you do, but now it is not so. The planning and the plotting +of it is considered only as a good joke among us.” + +“But why don't you lave them, then?” said Barney. “The pious principles +of our father and mother were never such as they practise and preach +among you. Why don't you lave them, I say?” + +“Don't you know,” replied Michael, “that that step would be my death +warrant? Once we join them we must remain with them, let what may +happen. No man laving them, unless he gets clear of the country +altogether, may expect more than a week's lease of life; in general not +so much. They look upon him as a man that has been a spy among them, and +who has left them to make his peace, and gain a fortune from government +for betraying them; and you know how often it has happened.” + +“It is too true, Michael,” replied his brother, “for unfortunately it +so happens that, whether for good or evil, Irishmen can never be got to +stand by each other. Ay, it is true--too true. In the meantime call on +me to-morrow with liberty from Shawn to attend your meeting, and we will +both go there together.” + +“Very well,” replied his brother, “I will do so.” + +The next night was one of tolerably clear moonlight; and about the +hour of twelve or one o'clock some twenty or twenty-five outlaws were +assembled immediately adjoining the spot where Charles Lindsay was +so severely and dangerously wounded. The appearance of those men was +singular and striking. Their garbs, we need scarcely inform our readers, +were different from those of the present day. Many--nay, most, if not +all of them, were bitter enemies to the law, which rendered it penal for +them to wear their glibs, and in consequence most of those present had +them in full perfection around their heads, over which was worn the +_barrad_ or Irish cap, which, however, was then beginning to fall into +desuetude. There was scarcely a man of them on whose countenance was not +stamped the expression of care, inward suffering, and, as it would seem, +the recollection of some grief or sorrow which had befallen themselves +or their families. There was something, consequently, determined and +utterly reckless in their faces, which denoted them to be men who had +set at defiance both the world and its laws. They all wore the _truis_, +the brogue, and beneath the cloaks which covered them were concealed the +celebrated Irish skean or mid-dogue, so that at the first glance they +presented the appearance of men who were in a peaceful garb and unarmed. +The persons of some of them were powerful and admirably symmetrical, +as could be guessed from their well-defined outlines. They arranged +themselves in a kind of circle around Shawn-na-Middogue, who stood in +the centre as their chief and leader. A spectator, however, could not +avoid observing that, owing to the peculiarity of their costume, which, +in consequence of their exclusion from society, not to mention the +poverty and hardship which they were obliged to suffer, their appearance +as a body was wild and almost savage. In their countenances was blended +a twofold expression, composed of ferocity and despair. They felt +themselves excommunicated, whether justly or not, from the world and its +institutions, and knew too well that society, and the laws by which it +is regulated and protected, were hunting them like beasts of prey for +their destruction. Perhaps they deserved it, and this consideration +may still more strongly account for their fierce and relentless-looking +aspect. There is, in the meantime, no doubt that, however wild, +ferocious, and savage they may have appeared, the strong and terrible +hand of injustice and oppression had much, too much, to do with the +crimes which they had committed, and which drove them out of the pale +of civilized life. Altogether the spectacle of their appearance there +on that night was a melancholy, as well as a fearful one, and ought to +teach statesmen that it is not by oppressive laws that the heart of man +can be improved, but that, on the contrary, when those who project and +enact them come to reap the harvest of their policy, they uniformly find +it one of violence and crime. So it has been since the world began, +and so it will be so long as it lasts, unless a more genial and humane +principle of legislation shall become the general system of managing, +and consequently, of improving society. + +“Now, my friends,” said Shawn-na-Middogue, “you all know why we are +here. Unfortunate Granua Davoren has disappeared, and I have brought you +together that we may set about the task of recovering her, whether +she is living or dead. Even her heart-broken parents would feel it +a consolation to have her corpse in order that they might give it +Christian burial. It will be a shame and a disgrace to us if she is not +found, as I said, living or dead. Will you all promise to rest neither +night nor day till she is found? In that case swear it on your skeans.” + +In a moment every skean was out, and, with one voice, they said, “By the +contents of this blessed iron, that has been sharpened for the hearts of +our oppressors, we will never rest, either by night or by day, till we +find her, living or dead”--every man then crossed himself and kissed his +skean--“and, what is more,” they added, “we will take vengeance upon the +villain that ruined her.” + +“Hould,” said Shawn; “do you know who he is?” + +“By all accounts,” they replied, “the man that you struck.” + +“No!” exclaimed Shawn, “I struck the wrong man; and poor Granua was +right when she screamed out that I had murdered the innocent. But now,” + he added, “why am I here among you? I will tell you, although I suppose +the most of you know it already: it was good and generous Mr. Lindsay's +she-devil of a wife that did it; and it was her he-devil of a son, Harry +Woodward, that ruined Granua Davoren. My mother happened to say that +she was a heartless and tyrannical woman, that she had the Evil Eye, +and that a devil, under the name of Shan-dhinne-dhuv, belonged to her +family, and put her up to every kind of wickedness. This, which was +only the common report, reached her ears, and the consequence was that +because we were-behind in the rent only a single gale, she sent in her +bailiffs without the knowledge of her husband, who was from home at the +time, and left neither a bed under us nor a roof over us. At all events, +it is well for her that she was a woman; but she has a son born in her +own image, so far, at least, as a bad heart is concerned; that son is +the destroyer of Granua Davoren; but not a man of you must raise his +hand to him: he must be left to my vengeance. Caterine Collins has told +me much more about him, but it is useless to mention it. The Evil Spirit +I spoke of, the Shan-dhinne-dhuv, and he have been often seen together; +but no matter for that; he'll find the same spirit badly able to protect +him; so, as I said before, he must be left to my vengeance.” + +“You mentioned Caterine Collins?” said one of them. “Caterine has +friends here, Shawn. What is your opinion of her?” + +“Yes,” observed another, “she has friends here; but, then, she has +enemies too, men who have a good right to hate the ground she walks on.” + +“Whatever my opinion of Caterine Collins may be,” said Shawn, “I will +keep it to myself; I only say, that the man who injures her is no friend +of mine. Isn't she a woman? And, surely, we are not to quarrel with, or +injure a defenceless woman.” + +By this piece of policy Shawn gained considerable advantage. His purpose +was to preserve such an ascendency over that cunning and treacherous +woman as might enable him to make her useful in working out his own +designs, his object being, not only on that account, but for the sake +of his own personal safety, to stand well with both her friends and her +enemies. + +Other matters were discussed, and plans of vengeance proposed and +assented to, the details of which would afford our readers but slight +gratification. After their projects had been arranged, this wild and +savage, but melancholy group, dispersed, and so intimately were +they acquainted with the intricacies of cover and retreat which then +characterized the surface of the country, that in a few minutes they +seemed rather to have vanished like spectres than to have disappeared +like living men. Shawn, however, remained behind in order to hold some +private conversation with Barney Casey. + +“Barney,” said he, “I wish to speak, to you about that villain +Woodward.” + +“I don't at all doubt,” replied this honest and manly peasant, “that he +is a villain; but at the same time, Shawn, you must remember that I am +not a tory, and that I will neither aid nor assist you in your designs +of murdher upon him. I received betther principles from my father and +the mother who bore me; and indeed I think the same thing may be said of +yourself, Shawn. Still and all, there is no doubt but that, unlike that +self-willed brother of mine, you had heavy provocation to join the life +you did.” + +“Well, Barney,” replied Shawn, in a melancholy tone of voice, “if the +same oppressions were to come on us again, I think I would take another +course. My die, however, is cast, and I must abide by it. What I wanted +to say to you, however, is this:--You are livin' in the same house +with Woodward; keep your eye on him--watch him well and closely; he is +plotting evil for somebody.” + +“Why,” said Barney, “how do you know that?” + +“I have it,” replied Shawn, “from good authority. He has paid three +or four midnight visits to Sol, the herb docthor, and you know that a +greater old scoundrel than he is doesn't breathe the breath of life. +It has been long suspected that he is a poisoner, and they say that in +spite of the poverty he takes on him, he is rich and full of money. +It can be for no good, then, that Woodward consults him at such +unseasonable hours.” + +“Ay; but who the devil could he think of poisoning?” said Barney. “I see +nobody he could wish to poison.” + +“Maybe, for all that, the deed is done,” replied Shawn. “Where, for +instance, is unfortunate Granua? Who can tell that he hasn't dosed her?” + +“I believe him villain enough to do it,” returned the other; “but still +I don't think he did. He was at home to my own knowledge the night +she disappeared, and could know nothing of what became of her. I think +that's a sure case.” + +“Well,” said Shawn, “it may be so; but in the manetime his stolen +visits to the ould herb docthor are not for nothing. I end, then, as I +began--keep your eye on him; watch him closely--and now, good night.” + +These hints were not thrown away upon Barney, who was naturally of an +observant turn; and accordingly he kept a stricter eye than ever upon +the motions of Harry Woodward. This accomplished gentleman, like every +villain of his class, was crafty and secret in everything he did and +said; that is to say, his object was always to lead those with whom +he held intercourse, to draw the wrong inference from his words and +actions. Even his mother, as the reader will learn, was not in his +full confidence. Such men, however, are so completely absorbed in the +management of their own plans, that the latent principle or motive +occasionally becomes apparent, without any consciousness of its +exhibition on their part. Barney soon had an opportunity of suspecting +this. His brother Charles, after what appeared to be a satisfactory +convalescence, began to relapse, and a fresh fever to set in. The first +person to communicate the melancholy intelligence to Woodward happened +to be Barney himself, who, on meeting him early in the morning, said,-- + +“I am sorry, Mr. Woodward, to tell you that Masther Charles is a great +deal worse; he spent a bad night, and it seems has got very feverish.” + +A gleam of satisfaction--short and transient, but which, however, was +too significant to be misunderstood by such a sagacious observer as +Barney--flashed across his countenance--but only for a moment. He +recomposed his features, and assuming a look expressive of the deepest +sorrow, said,-- + +“Good heavens, Casey, do you tell me that my poor brother is worse, and +we all in such excellent spirits at what we considered his certain but +gradual recovery?” + +“He is much worse, sir; and the masther this morning has strong doubts +of his recovery. He's in great affliction about him, and so are they +all. His loss would be felt in the neighborhood, for, indeed, it's he +that was well beloved by all who knew him.” + +“He certainly was a most amiable and affectionate young fellow,” said +Woodward, “and, for my part, if he goes from us through the means of +that murdering blow, I shall hunt Shawn-na-Middogue to the death.” + +“Will you take a friend's advice?” replied Barney: “we all of us wish, +of coorse, to die a Christian death upon our beds, that we may think +of the sins we have committed, and ask the pardon of our Saviour and +inthersessor for them. I say, then, if you wish to die such a death, +and to have time to repent of your sins, avoid coming across +Shawn-na-Middogue above all men in the world. I tell you this as a +friend, and now you're warned.” + +Woodward paused, and his face became black with a spirit of vengeance. + +“How does it happen, Casey,” he asked, “that you are able to give +me such a warning? You must have some particular information on the +subject.” + +“The only information I have on the subject is this--that you are set +down among most people as the man who destroyed Grace Davoren, and not +your brother; Shawn believes this, and on that account, I say, it +will be well for you to avoid him. He believes, too, that you have her +concealed somewhere--although I don't think so; but if you have, Mr. +Woodward, it would be an act of great kindness--an act becomin' both +a gentleman and a Christian--to restore the unfortunate girl to her +parents.” + +“I know no more about her than you do, Casey. How could I? Perhaps my +poor brother, when he is capable of it, may be able to afford us some +information on the subject. As it is I know nothing of it, but I shall +leave nothing undone to recover her if she be alive, or if the thing can +be accomplished. In the meantime all I can think of is the relapse of +my poor brother. Until he gets better I shall not be able to fix my mind +upon anything else. What is Grace Davoren or Shaivn-nu-Middogue--the +accursed scoundrel--to me, so long as my dear Charles is in a state of +danger?” + +“Now,” said he, when they parted “now to work earth and hell to secure +Shaum-na-Middogue. He has got my secret concerning the girl Davoren, and +I feel that while he is at large I cannot be safe. There is a reward for +his head, whether alive or dead, but that I scorn. In the meantime, I +shall not lose an hour in getting together a band who will scour the +country along with myself, until we secure him. After that I shall be at +perfect liberty to work out my plans without either fear of, or danger +from, this murdering ruffian.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. The Toir, or Tory Hunt. + + +Harry Woodward now began to apprehend that, as the reader sees, either +his star or that of _Shawn-na-Middogue_ must be in the ascendant. He +accordingly set to work with all his skill and craft to secure his +person and offer him up as a victim to the outraged laws of his country, +and to a government that had set a price upon his head, as the leader of +the outlaws; or, what came nearer to his wish, either to shoot him down +with his own hand, or have him shot by those who were on the alert for +such persons. The first individual to whom he applied upon the subject +was his benevolent step-father, who he knew was a magistrate, and whose +duty was to have the wretched class of whom we write arrested or shot as +best they might. + +“Sir,” said he, “I think after what has befallen my dear brother Charles +that this murdering villain, Shawn-na-Middogue, who is at the head of +the tories and outlaws, ought to be shot, or taken up and handed over to +government.” + +“Why,” asked Mr. Lindsay, “what has happened in connection with +Shawn-na-Middogue and your brother?” + +“Why, that it was from his hand he received the wound that may be his +death. That, I think, is sufficient to make you exert yourself; and +indeed it is, in my opinion, both a shame and a scandal that the +subject has not been taken up with more energy by the magistracy of the +country.” + +“But who can tell,” replied Lindsay, “whether it was Shawn-na-Middogue +that stabbed Charles? Charles himself does not know the individual who +stabbed him.” + +“The language of the girl, I think,” replied Woodward, “might indicate +it. He was once her lover--” + +“But she named nobody,” replied the other; “and as for lovers, she had +enough of them. If Shawn-na-Middogue is an outlaw now, I know who made +him so. I remember when there wasn't a better conducted boy on your +mother's property. He was a credit to his family and the neighborhood; +but they were turned out in my absence by your unfeeling mother there, +Harry; and the fine young fellow had nothing else for it but the life of +an outlaw. Confound me if I can much blame him.” + +“Thank you, Lindsay,” replied his wife; “as kind as ever to the woman +who brought you that property. But you forget what the young scoundrel's +mother said of me--do you? that I had the Evil Eye, and that there was a +familiar or devil connected with me and my family?” + +“Egad! and I'm much of her opinion,” replied her husband; “and if she +said it, I give you my honor it is only what every one who knows you +says, and what I, who know you best, say as well as they. Begone, +madam--leave the room; it was your damned oppression made the boy a +tory. Begone, I say--I will bear with your insolence no longer.” + +He stood up as he spoke--his eye flashed, and the stamp of his foot +made the floor shake. Mrs. Lindsay knew her husband well, and without a +single syllable in reply she arose and left the room. + +“Harry,” proceeded his stepfather, “I shall take no proceedings against +that unfortunate young man--tory though he be; I would resign my +magistracy sooner. Do not, therefore, count on me.” + +“Well, sir,” said he, with a calm but black expression of countenance, +“I will not enter into domestic quarrels; but I am my mother's son.” + +“You are,” replied Lindsay, looking closely at him--“and I regret it. I +do not like the expression of your face--it is bad; worse I have seldom +seen.” + +“Be that expression what it may, sir,” replied Woodward, “by the heavens +above me I shall rest neither night nor day until I put an end to +Shawn-na-Middogue.” + +“In the meantime you shall have no assistance from me, Harry; and it ill +becomes your mother's son--the woman whose cruelty to the family made +him what he is--to attempt to hunt him down. On the contrary, I tell +you as a friend to let him pass; the young man is desperate, and his +vengeance, or that of his followers, may come on you when you least +expect it. It is not his death that will secure you. If he dies through +your means, he will leave those behind him who will afford you but short +space to settle your last account.” + +“Be the consequences what they may,” replied Woodward, “either he or I +shall fall.” + +He left the room after expressing this determination, and his +step-father said,-- + +“I'm afraid, Maria, we don't properly understand Master Harry. I am +much troubled by what has occurred just now. I fear he is a hypocrite +in morals, and without a single atom of honorable principle. Did you +observe the expression of his face? Curse me if I think the devil +himself has so bad a one. Besides, I have heard something about him that +I don't like--something which I am not going to mention to you; but I +say that in future we must beware of him.” + +“I was sorry, papa, to see the expression of his face,” replied Maria; +“it was fearful; and above all things the expression of his eye. It made +me feel weak whenever he turned it on me.” + +“Egad, and it had something of the same effect on myself,” replied her +father. “There is some damned expression in it that takes away one's +strength. Well,” as I said, “we must beware of him.” + +Woodward's next step was to pay a visit to Lord Cockletown, who, as he +had gained his title in consequence of his success in tory-hunting, and +capturing the most troublesome and distinguished outlaws of that day, +was, he thought, the best and most experienced person to whom he could +apply for information as to the most successful means of accomplishing +his object. He accordingly waited on his lordship, to whom he thought, +very naturally, that this exploit would recommend him. His lordship +was in the garden, where Woodward found him in hobnailed shoes, digging +himself into what he called his daily perspirations. + +“Don't be surprised, Mr. Woodward,” said he, “at my employment; I am +taking my every-day sweat, because I feel that I could not drink as I +do and get on without it. Well, what do you want with me? Is it anything +about Tom? Egad, Tom says she rather likes you than otherwise; and if +you can satisfy me as to property settlements, and all that, I won't +stand in your way; but, in the meantime, what do you want with me now? +If it's Tom's affair, the state of your property comes first.” + +“No, my lord, I shall leave all dealings of business between you and my +mother. This is a different affair, and one on which I wish to have your +lordship's advice and direction.” + +“Ay, but what is it? Confound it, come to the point.” + +“It is a tory-hunt, my lord.” + +“Who is the tory, or who are the tories? Come, I'm at home here. What's +your plan?” + +“Why, simple pursuit. We have the _posse comitatus_.” + +“The _posse comitatus!_--the posse devil; what do the tories care about +the posse comitatus? Have you bloodhounds?” + +“No, my lord, but I think we can procure them.” + +“Because,” proceeded his lordship, “to go hunt a tory without +bloodhounds is like looking for your grandmother's needle in a bottle of +straw.” + +“I am thankful to your lordship for that hint,” replied Harry Woodward; +“but the truth is, I have been almost since my infancy out of the +country, and am consequently, very ignorant of its usages.” + +“What particular tory are you going to hunt?'” + +“A fellow named Shawn-na-Middogue.” + +[Illustration: PAGE 736-- _Shawn-na-Middogue_, your mother's victim] + +“Ah! _Shawn-na-Middogue_, your mother's victim? Don't hunt him. If you're +wise you'll keep your distance from that young fellow. I tell you, Mr. +Woodward, there will be more danger to yourself in the hunt than +there will be to him. It's a well-known fact that it was your mother's +severity to his family that made a tory of him; and, as I said before, I +would strongly recommend you to avoid him. How many bloodhounds have you +got?” + +“Why, I think we can muster half a dozen.” + +“Ay, but do you know how to hunt them?” + +“Not exactly; but I suppose we may depend upon the instinct of the +dogs.” + +“No, sir, you may not, unless to a very limited extent. Those tories +always, when pursued by bloodhounds, go down the wind whenever it is +possible, and, consequently, leave very little trail behind them. Your +object will be, of course, to hunt them against the wind; they will +consequently have little chance of escape, unless, as they are often in +the habit of doing, they administer a sop.” + +“What is a sop, my lord?” + +“A piece of raw beef or mutton, kept for twenty-four hours under the +armpit until it becomes saturated with the moisture of the body; after +this, administer it to the dog, and instead of attacking he will follow +you over the world. The other sop resorted to by these fellows is the +middogue, or skean, and, as they contrive to manage its application, it +is the surer of the two. Should you like to see Tom?” + +“Unquestionably, my lord. I intended before going to have requested the +honor of a short interview.” + +“Ay, of course, to make love. Well, I tell you that Tom, like her +uncle, has her wits about her. Go up, then, you will find her in the +withdrawing-room; and listen--I desire that you will tell her of your +tory-hunting project, and ask her opinion upon it. Now, don't forget +that, because I will make inquiries about it.” + +Woodward certainly found her in what was then termed the +withdrawing-room. She was in the act of embroidering, and received him +with much courtesy and kindness. + +“I hope your mother and family are all well, Mr. Woodward,” she said; +“as for your sister Maria she is quite a stay-at-home. Does she ever +visit any one at all?” + +“Very rarely, indeed, Miss Riddle: but I think she will soon do herself +the pleasure of calling upon you.” + +“I shall feel much obliged, Mr. Woodward. From what I have heard, and +the little I have seen of her, a most amiable girl You have had a chat +with my kind-hearted, but eccentric uncle?” + +“I have; and he imposed it on me as a condition that I should mention to +you an enterprise on which I am bent.” + +“An enterprise! Pray, what is it?” + +“Why, a tory-hunt; I am going to hunt down Shawn-na-Middogue, as he is +called, and I think it will be rendering the country a service to get +rid of him.” + +Miss Riddle's face got pale as ashes; and she looked earnestly and +solemnly into Woodward's face. + +“Mr. Woodward,” said she, “would you oblige me with one simple request? +Do not hunt down Shawn-na-Middogue: my uncle and I owe him our lives.” + +“How is that, Miss Riddle?” + +“Do you not know that my uncle was a tory hunter?” + +“I have certainly heard so,” replied Woodward; “and I am, besides, aware +of it from the admirable instructions which he gave me concerning the +best method of hunting them down.” + +“Yes, but did he encourage you in your determination of hunting down +Shawn-na-Middogue?” + +“No, certainly; but, on the contrary, advised me to pass him by--to have +nothing to do with him.” + +“Did he state his reasons for giving you such advice?” + +“He mentioned something with reference to certain legal proceedings +taken by my mother against the family of Shawn-na-Middogue. But I +presume my mother had her own rights to vindicate, and beyond that I +know nothing of it. He nearly stabbed my brother to death, and I +will leave no earthly means unattempted to shoot the villain down, or +otherwise secure him.” + +“Well, you are aware that my uncle was the most successful and +celebrated tory-hunter of his day, and rendered important services to +the government in that capacity--services which have been liberally +rewarded.” + +“I am aware of it, Miss Riddle.” + +“But you are not aware, as I am, that this same Shawn-na-Middogue saved +my uncle's life and mine on the night before last?” + +“How could I, Miss Riddle?” + +“It is a fact, though, and I beg you to mark it; and I trust that if +you respect my uncle and myself, you will not engage in this cruel and +inhuman expedition.” + +“But your uncle mentioned nothing of this to me, Miss, Riddle.” + +“He does not know it yet. I have been all yesterday thinking over the +circumstance, with a view of getting his lordship to interfere with +the government for this unfortunate youth; but I felt myself placed +in circumstances of great difficulty and delicacy with respect to your +family and ours. I hope you understand me, Mr. Woodward. I allude to the +circumstances which forced him to become an outlaw and a tory, and it +struck me that my uncle could not urge any application in his favor +without adverting to them.” + +“O, Miss Riddle, if you feel an interest in his favor, he shall +experience no molestation from me.” + +“The only interest which I feel in him is that of humanity, and +gratitude, Mr. Woodward; but, indeed, I should rather say that the +gratitude should not be common to a man who saved my uncle's life and +mine.” + +“And pray may I ask how that came about? At all events he has made me +his friend forever.” + +“My uncle and I were returning home from dinner,--we had dined at Squire +Dawson's,--and on coming to a lonely part of the road we found our +carriage surrounded by a party of the outlaws, who shouted out, 'This is +the old tory-hunter, who got his wealth and title by persecuting us, +and now we will pay him home for all,' 'Ay,' observed another, 'and +his niece is with him, and we will have her off to the mountains.' The +carriage was immediately surrounded, and I know not to what an extent +their violence and revenge might have proceeded, when Shawn same +bounding among them with the air of a man who possessed authority over +them. + +“'Stop,' said he; 'on this occasion they must go free, and on every +occasion. Lord Cockletown, let him be what he may before, is of late a +good landlord, and a friend to the people. His niece, too, is--' He then +complimented me upon some trifling acts of kindness I had paid to his +family when--hem--ahem--in fact, when they stood much in need of it.” + +This was a delicate evasion of any allusion to the cruel conduct of his +mother towards the outlaw's family. + +“When,” she went on, “he had succeeded in restraining the meditated +violence of the tories, he approached me--for they had already dragged +me out, and indeed it was my screaming that brought him with such haste +to the spot. 'Now, Miss Riddle,' said he, in a low whisper which my +uncle could not hear, 'one good act deserves another; you were kind to +my family when they stood sorely in need of it. You and your uncle are +safe, and, what is more, will be safe: I will take care of that; but +forget Shawn-na Middogue, the outlaw and tory, or if ever you mention +his name, let it be in a spirit of mercy and forgiveness. Mr. Woodward, +you will not hunt down this generous young man?” + +“I would as soon hunt down my father, Miss Riddle, if he were alive. I +trust you don't imagine that I can be insensible to such noble conduct.” + +“I do not think you are, Mr. Woodward; and I hope you will allow the +unfortunate youth to remain unmolested until my uncle, to whom I shall +mention this circumstance this day, may strive to have him restored to +society.” + +We need scarcely assure our readers that Woodward pledged himself in +accordance with her wishes, after which he went home and prepared such a +mask for his face, and such a disguise of dress for his person, as, when +assumed, rendered it impossible for any one to recognize him. Such was +the spirit in which he kept his promise to Miss Riddle, and such the +honor of every word that proceeded from his hypocritical lips. + +In the meantime the preparations for the chase were made with the most +extraordinary energy and caution. Woodward had other persons engaged in +it, on whom he had now made up his mind to devolve the consequences of +the whole proceedings. The sheriff and the _posse comitatas_, together +with assistance from other quarters, had all been engaged; and as some +vague intelligence of _Shawn-na-Midoque's_ retreat had been obtained, +Woodward proceeded in complete disguise before daybreak with a party, +not one of whom was able to recognize him, well armed, to have what was, +in those days, called a tory-hunt. + +The next morning was dark and gloomy. Gray, heavy mists lay upon the +mountain-tops, from which, as the light of the rising sun fell upon +them, they retreated in broken masses to the valleys and lower grounds +beneath them. A cold, chilly aspect lay upon the surface of the earth, +and the white mists that had descended from the mountain-tops, or were +drawn up from the ground by the influence of the sun, were, although +more condensed, beginning to get a warmer look. + +Notwithstanding the secrecy with which this enterprise was projected it +had taken wind, and many of those who had suffered by the depredations +of the tories were found joining the band of pursuers, and many others +who were friendly to them, or who had relations among them, also made +their appearance, but contrived to keep somewhat aloof from the main +body, though not at such a distance as might seem to render them +suspected; their object being to afford whatever assistance they +could, with safety to themselves and without incurring any suspicion of +affinity to the unfortunate tories. + +The country was of intricate passage and full of thick woods. At this +distance of time, now that it is cleared and cultivated, our readers +could form no conception of its appearance then. In the fastnesses and +close brakes of those woods lay the hiding-places and retreats of the +tories--“the wood kernes” of Spenser's day. A tory-hunt at that time, +or at any time, was a pastime of no common, danger. Those ferocious +and determined banditti had little to render life desirable. They +consequently set but a slight value upon it. The result was that the +pursuits after them by foreign soldiers, and other persons but slightly +acquainted with the country, generally ended in disaster and death to +several of the pursuers. + +On the morning in question the tory-hunters literally beat the woods +as if they had been in the pursuit of game, but for a considerable time +with little effect. Not the appearance of a single tory was anywhere +visible; but, notwithstanding this, it so happened that some one of +their enemies occasionally dropped, either dead or wounded, by a shot +from the intricacies and covers of the woods, which, upon being +searched and examined, afforded no trace whatsoever of those who did +the mischief. This was harassing and provocative of vengeance to the +military and such wretched police as existed in that day. No search +could discover a single trace of a tory, and many of those in the +pursuit were obliged to withdraw from it--not unreluctantly, indeed, in +order to bear back the dead and wounded to the town of Rathfillan. + +As they were entering an open space that lay between two wooded +enclosures, a white hare started across their path, to the utter +consternation of those who were in pursuit. Woodward, now disguised and +in his mask, had been for a considerable time looking behind him, but +this circumstance did not escape his notice, and he felt, to say +the least of it, startled at her second appearance. It reminded him, +however, of the precautions which he had taken; and he looked back from +time to time, as we have said, in expectation of something appertaining +to the pursuit. At length he exclaimed, + +“Where are the party with the blood-hounds? Why have they not joined us +and come up with us? + +“They have started a wolf,” replied one of them, “and the dogs are after +him; and some of them have gone back upon the trail of the wounded men.” + +“Return for them,” said he; “without their assistance we can never +find the trail of these accursed tories; but, above all, of +Shawn-na-Middoque.” + +In due time the dogs were brought up, but the trails were so various +that they separated mostly into single hunts, and went at such a rapid +speed that they were lost in the woods. + +At length two of them who came up first, gave tongue, and the body of +pursuers concentrated themselves on the newly-discovered trail, keeping +as close to the dogs as they could. Those two had quartered the woods +and returned to the party again when they fell upon the slot of some +unfortunate victim who had recently escaped from the place. The pursuit +now became energetic and full of interest, if we could forget the +melancholy and murderous fact that the game pursued were human victims, +who had nothing more nor less to expect from their pursuers than the +savage wolves which then infested the forests--a price having been laid +upon the heads of each. + +After some time the party arrived at the outskirts of the wood, and +an individual was seen bounding along in the direction of the +mountains--the two dogs in full pursuit of him. The noise, the +animation, and the tumult of the pursuit were now astounding, and rang +long and loud over the surface of the excited and awakened neighborhood, +whilst the wild echoes of their inhuman enjoyment were giving back their +terrible responses from the hills and valleys around them. The shouting, +the urging on of the dogs by ferocious cries of encouragement, were +loud, incessant, and full of a spirit which, at this day, it is terrible +to reflect upon. The whole country was alive; and the loud, vociferous +agitation which disturbed it, resembled the influence of one of those +storms which lash the quiet sea into madness. Fresh crowds joined them, +as we have said, and the tumult still became louder and stronger. In the +meantime, _Shawn-na-Middogue's_ case--it was he--became hopeless--for +it was the speed of the fleetest runner that ever lived to that of +two powerful bloodhounds, animated, as they were, by their ferocious +instincts. Indeed, the interest of the chase was heightened by the +manner and conduct of the dogs, which, when they came upon the trail of +the individual, in question, yelped aloud with an ecstatic delight that +gave fresh courage to the vociferous band of pursuers. + +“Who can that man be?” asked one of them; “he seems to have wings to his +feet.” + +“By the sacred light of day,” exclaimed another, “it is no other than +the famous _Shawn-na-Middogue_ himself. I know him well; and even if I +did not, who could mistake him by his speed of foot?” + +“Is that he?” said the mask; “then fifty pounds in addition to the +government reward to the man who will shoot him down, or secure him, +living or dead: only let him be taken.” + +Just then four or five persons, friends of course to the unfortunate +outlaw, came in before the dogs across the trail, in consequence +of which the animals became puzzled, and lost considerable time in +regaining it, whilst Shawn, in the meantime, was fast making his way to +the mountains. + +The reward, however, offered by the man in the black mask--for it was +a black one--accelerated the speed of the pursuers, between whom a +competition of terrible energy and action arose as to which of them +should secure the public reward and the premium that were offered for +his blood. Shawn, however, had been evidently exhausted, and sat down +considerably in advance of them, on the mountain side, to take breath, +in order to better the chance of effecting his escape; but whilst +seated, panting after his race, the dogs gained rapidly upon him. Having +put his hand over his eyes, and looked keenly down--for he had the sight +of an eagle--the approach of the dogs did not seem at all to alarm him. + +“Ah, thank God, they will have him soon,” said the mask, “and it is a +pity that we cannot give them the reward. Who owns those noble dogs?” + +“You will see that very soon, sir,” replied a man beside him; “you will +see it very soon--you may see it now.” + +As he uttered the words the dogs sprang upon Shawn, wagged their tails +as if in a state of most ecstatic delight, and began to caress him and +lick his face. + +“Finn, my brave Finn!” he exclaimed, patting him affectionately, “and +is this you? and Oonah, my darling Oonah, did the villains think that my +best friends would pursue me for my blood? Come now,” said he, “follow +me, and we will lead them a chase.” + +During this brief rest, however, four of the most active of his +pursuers, who knew what is called the lie of the country, succeeded, +by passing through the skirt of the wood in a direction where it, was +impossible to observe them, in coming up behind the spot where he had +sat, and consequently, when he and his dogs, or those which had been +once his, ascended its flat summit, the four men pounced upon him. Four +against one would, in ordinary cases, be fearful odds; but Shawn knew +that he had two stanch and faithful friends to support him. Quick as +lightning his _middogue_ was into one of their hearts, and almost as +quickly were two more of them seized by the throats and dragged down by +the powerful animals that defended him. The fourth man was as rapidly +despatched by a single blow, whilst the dogs were literally tearing out +the throats of their victims. In the course of about ten minutes, what +between Shawn's middogue and the terrible fangs and strength of those +dreadful animals, the four men lay there four corpses. Shawn's danger, +however, notwithstanding his success, was only increasing. His pursuers +had now gained upon him, and when he looked around he found himself +hemmed in, or nearly so. Speed of foot was everything; but, what was +worst of all, with reference to his ultimate escape, four other dogs +were making their way up the mountains--dogs to which he was a stranger, +and he knew right well that they would hunt him with all the deadly +instincts of blood. They were, however, far in the distance, and he +felt little apprehension from them. Be this as it may, he bounded off +accompanied by his faithful friends, and not less than twenty shots were +fired after him, none of which touched him. The number of his pursuers, +dogs included, almost made his heart sink; and would have done so, but +that he was probably desperate and reckless of life. He saw himself +almost encompassed; he heard the bullets whistling about him, and +perceived at a glance that the chances of his escape were a thousand to +one against him. With a rapid sweep of his eye he marked the locality. +It also was all against him. There was a shoreless lake, abrupt and deep +to the very edge, except a slip at the opposite side, lying at his feet. +It was oblong, but at each end of it there was nothing like a pass for +at least two or three miles. If he could swim across this he knew +that he was safe, and that he could do so he felt certain, provided +he escaped the bullets and the dogs of the pursuers. At all events he +dashed down and plunged in, accompanied by his faithful attendants. Shot +after shot was sent after him; and so closely did some of them reach +him, that he was obliged to dive and swim under water from time to +time, in order to save himself from their aim. The strange bloodhounds, +however, which had entered the lake, were gaining rapidly on him, and +on looking back he saw them within a dozen yards of him. He was now, +however, beyond the reach of their bullets, unless it might be a +longer shot than ordinary, but the four dogs were upon him, and in the +extremity of despair he shouted out,--“Finn and Oonah, won't you save +me?” Shame upon the friendship and attachment of man! In a moment two of +the most powerful of the strange dogs were in something that resembled +a death struggle with his brave and gallant defenders. The other two, +however, were upon himself; but by a stab of his middogue he despatched +one of them, and the other he pressed under water until he was drowned. + +In the meantime, whilst the four other dogs were fighting furiously in +the water, Shawn, having felt exhausted, was obliged to lie on his back +and float, in order to regain his strength. + +A little before this contest commenced, the black mask and a number of +the pursuing party were standing on the edge of the lake looking on, +conscious of the impossibility of their interference. + +“Is there no stout man and good swimmer present,” exclaimed the mask, +“who will earn the fifty pounds I have offered for the capture of that +man?” + +“Here am I,” said a powerful young fellow, the best swimmer, with the +exception of Shawn-na-Middogue, in the province. “I am like a duck in +the water; but upon my sowl, so is he. If I take him, you will give me +the fifty pounds?” + +“Unquestionably; but you know you will have the government reward +besides.” + +“Well, then, here goes. I cannot bring my carbine with me; but even +so--we will have a tug for it with my skean.” + +He threw off his coat and barrad, and immediately plunged in and swam +with astonishing rapidity towards the spot where Shawn and the dogs--the +latter still engaged in their ferocious contest--were in the lake. Shawn +now had regained considerable strength, and was about to despatch the +enemies of his brave defenders, when, on looking back to the spot on the +margin of the lake where his pursuers stood, he saw the powerful young +swimmer within a few yards of him. It was well for him that he had +regained his strength, and such was his natural courage that he +felt rather gratified at the appearance of only a single individual. +“Shawn-na-Middogue,” said the young fellow, “I come to make you a +prisoner. Will you fight me fairly in the water?” + +“I am a hunted outlaw--a tory,” replied Shawn, “and will fight you the +best way I can. If we were on firm earth I would fight you on your +own terms. If there is to be a fight between us, remember that you are +fighting for the government reward, and I for my life.” + +“Will you fight me,” said the man, “without using your middogue?” + +“I saw you take a skean from between your teeth as I turned round,” + replied Shawn, “and I know now that you are a villain and a treacherous +ruffian, who would take a cowardly advantage of me if you could.” + +The fellow made a plunge at Shawn, who was somewhat taken by surprise. +They met and grappled in the water, and the contest between them was, +probably, one of the fiercest and most original that ever occurred +between man and man. It was distinctly visible to the spectators on +the shore, and the interest which it excited in them can scarcely be +described. A terrible grapple ensued, but as neither of them wished to +die by drowning, or, in fact, to die under such peculiar circumstances +at all, there was a degree of caution in the contest which required +great skill and power on both sides. Notwithstanding this caution, +however, still, when we consider the unsubstantial element on which +the battle between them raged--for rage it did--there were frightful +alternatives of plunging and sinking between them. + +Shawn's opponent was the stronger of the two, but Shawn possessed in +activity what the other possessed in strength. The waters of the lake +were agitated by their struggles and foamed white about them, whilst, at +the same time, the four bloodhounds tearing each other beside them +added to the agitation. Shawn and his opponent clasped each other and +frequently disappeared for a very brief space, but the necessity to +breathe and rise to the air forced them to relax the grasps and seek the +surface of the water; so was it with the dogs. At length, Shawn, feeling +that his middogue had got entangled in his dress, which the water had +closely contracted about it, rendering it difficult, distracted as +he was by the contest, to extricate it, turned round and swam several +strokes from his enemy, who, however, pursued him with the ferocity of +one of the bloodhounds beside them. This ruse was to enable Shawn to +disengage his middogue, which he did. In the meantime this expedient of +Shawn's afforded his opponent time to bring out his skean,--two weapons +which differed very little except in name. They once more approached one +another, each with the armed hand up,--the left,--and a fiercer and more +terrible contest was renewed. The instability of the element, however, +on which they fought, prevented them from using their weapons with +effect. At all events they played about each other, offering and warding +off the blows, when Shawn exclaimed,--having grasped his opponent with +his right arm,-- + +“I am tired of this; it must be now sink or swim between us. To die here +is better than to die on the gallows.” + +As he spoke both sank, and for about half a minute became invisible. The +spectators from the shore now gave them both over for lost; one of +them only emerged with the fatal middogue in his hand, but his opponent +appeared not, and for the best reason in the world: he was on his way +to the bottom of the lake. Shawn's exhaustion after such a struggle now +rendered his situation hopeless. He was on the point of going down when +he exclaimed: + +“It is all in vain now; I am sinking, and me so near the only slip that +is in the lake. Finn and Oonah, save me; I am drowning.” + +The words were scarcely out of his lips when he felt the two faithful, +powerful, and noble animals, one at each side of him--seeing as they +did, his sinking state--seizing him by his dress, and dragging him +forward to the slip we have mentioned. With great difficulty he got +upon land, but, having done so, he sat down; and when his dogs, in +the gambols of their joy at his safety, caressed him, he wept like an +infant--this proscribed outlaw and tory. He was now safe, however, and +his pursuers returned in a spirit of sullen and bitter disappointment, +finding that it was useless to continue the hunt any longer. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. Plans and Negotiations. + + +We have already said that Woodward was a man of personal courage, and +without fear of anything either living or dead, yet, notwithstanding +all this, he felt a terror of _Shawn-na-Middogue_ which he could not I +overcome. The escape--the extraordinary escape of that celebrated young +tory--depressed and vexed him to the heart. He was conscious, however, +of his own villany and of his conduct to Grace Davoren, whom Shawn had +loved, and, as Shakespeare says, “conscience makes cowards of us all.” + One thing, however, afforded him some consolation, which was that his +disguise prevented him from from being known as the principal person +engaged in the attempt to hunt down the outlaw. He knew that after the +solemn promise he had given Miss Riddle, any knowledge on her part of +his participation in the pursuit of that generous but unfortunate young +man would have so completely sunk him in her opinion, as an individual +professing to be a man of honor, that she would have treated his +proposals with contempt, and rejected him with disdain. At all events, +his chief object now was to lose no time in prosecuting his suit with +her. For this purpose he urged his mother to pay Lord Cockletown another +visit, in order to make a formal proposal for the hand of his niece in +his name, with a view of bringing the matter to an issue with as +little delay as might be. His brother, who had relapsed, was in a very +precarious condition, but still slightly on the recovery, a circumstance +which filled him with alarm. He only went out at night occasionally, but +still he went out, and, as before, did not return until about twelve, +but much more frequently one, two, and sometimes three o'clock. Nobody +in the house could understand the mystery of these midnight excursions, +and the servants of the family, who were well aware of them, began to +look on him with a certain undefined terror as a man whose unaccountable +movements were associated with something that was evil and supernatural. +They felt occasionally that the power of his eye was dreadful; and as +it began to be whispered about that it was by its evil influence he had +brought Alice Goodwin to the very verge of the grave for the purpose of +getting at the property, which was to revert to him in case she should +die without issue, there was not one of them who, on meeting him, either +in or about the house, would run the risk of looking him in the face. In +fact, they experienced that kind of fear of him which a person might +be supposed to feel in the case of a spirit; and this is not surprising +when we consider the period in which they lived. + +Be this as it may, his mother got up the old carriage once more and +set out on her journey to Cockle Hall--her head filled with many an +iniquitous design, and her heart with fraud and deceit. On reaching +Cockle Hall she was ushered to the withdrawing-room, where she found his +lordship in the self-same costume which we have already described. Miss +Eiddle was in her own room, so that she had the coast clear--which was +precisely what she wanted. + +“Well, Mrs. Lindsay, I'm glad to see you. How do you do, madam? Is your +son with you?” he added, shaking hands with her. + +“No, my lord.” + +“O! an embassadress, then?” + +“Something in that capacity, my lord.” + +“Then I must be on my sharps, for I am told you are a keen one. But tell +me--do you sleep with one eye open, as I do?” + +“Indeed, my lord,” she replied, laughing, “I sleep as other people do, +with both eyes shut.” + +“Well, then, what's your proposal?--and, mark me, I'm wide awake.” + +“By all accounts, my lord, you have seldom been otherwise. How could you +have played your cards so well and so succassfully if you had not?” + +“Come, that's not bad--just what I expected, and I like to deal with +clever people. Did you put yourself on the whetstone before you came +here? I'll go bail you did.” + +“If I did not I would have little chance in dealing with your lordship,” + replied Mrs, Lindsay. + +“Come, I like that, too;--well said, and nothing but the truth. In fact +it will be diamond cut diamond between us--eh?” + +“Precisely, my lord. You will find me as sharp as your lordship, for the +life of you.” + +“Come, confound me, I like that best of all--a touch of my own +candor;--we're kindred spirits, Mrs. Lindsay.” + +“I think so, my lord. We should have been man and wife.” + +“Egad, if we had I shouldn't have played second fiddle, as I'm told poor +Lindsay does; however, no matter about that--even a good second is not +so bad. But now about the negotiations--come, give a specimen of your +talents. Let us come to the point.” + +“Well, then, I am here, my lord, to propose, in the name of my son +Woodward, for the hand of Miss Riddle, your niece.” + +“I see; no regard for the property she is to have, eh?” + +“Do you think me a fool, my lord? Do you imagine that any one of common +sense would or should overlook such an element between parties who +propose to marry? Whatever my son may do--who is deeply attached to +Miss Riddle--I am sure I do not, nor will not, overlook it; you may rest +assured of that, my lord.” + +Old Cockletown looked keenly at her, and their eyes met; but, after a +long and steady gaze, the eyes of the old peer quailed, and he felt, +when put to an encounter with hers, that to which was attributed such +extraordinary influence. There sparkled in her steady black orb a +venomous exultation, mingled with a spirit of strong and contemptuous +derision, which made the eccentric old nobleman feel rather +uncomfortable. His eye fell, and, considering his age, it was decidedly +a keen one. He fidgeted upon the chair--he coughed, hemmed, then looked +about the room, and at length exclaimed, rather in a soliloquy,-- + +“Second fiddle! egad, I'm afraid had we been man and wife I should never +have got beyond it. Poor Lindsay! It's confoundedly odd, though.” + +“Well, Mrs. Lindsay--ahem--pray proceed, madam; let us come to the +property. How does your son stand in that respect?” + +“He will have twelve hundred a year, my lord.” + +“I told you before, Mrs. Lindsay, that I--don't like the future +tense--the present for me. What has he?” + +“It can scarcely be called the future tense, my lord, which you seem to +abhor so much. Nothing stands between him and it but a dying girl.” + +“How is that, madam?” + +“Why, my lord, his Uncle Hamilton, my brother, had a daughter, an only +child, who died of decline, as her mother before her did. This foolish +child was inveigled into an unaccountable affection for the daughter +of Mr. Goodwin--a deep, designing, artful girl--who contrived to gain a +complete ascendency over both father and daughter. For months before +my niece's death this cunning girl, prompted by her designing family, +remained at her sick bed, tended her, nursed her, and would scarcely +allow a single individual to approach her except herself. In short, +she gained such an undue and iniquitous influence over both parent and +child, that her diabolical object was accomplished.” + +“Diabolical! Well, I can see nothing diabolical in it, for so far. +Affection and sympathy on the one hand, and gratitude on the other--that +seems much more like the thing. But proceed, madam.” + +“Why, my poor brother, who became silly and enfeebled in intellect by +the loss of his child, was prevailed on by Miss Goodwin and her family +to adopt her as his daughter, and by a series of the most artful and +selfish manoeuvres they succeeded in getting the poor imbecile and +besotted old man to make a will in her favor; and the consequence was +that he left her twelve hundred a year, both to her and her issue, +should she marry and have any; but in case she should have no issue, +then, after her death, it was to revert to my son Woodward for whom it +was originally intended by my brother. It was a most unprincipled and +shameful transaction on the part of these Goodwins. Providence, however, +would seem to have punished them for their iniquity, for Miss Goodwin is +dying--at least, beyond all hope. The property, of course, will soon +be in my son's possession, where it ought to have been ever since his +uncle's death. Am I not right, then, in calculating on that property as +his?” + +“Why, the circumstances you speak of are recent; I remember them well +enough. There was a lawsuit about the will?” + +“There was, my lord.” + +“And the instrument was proved strictly legal and valid?” + +“The suit was certainly determined against us.” + +“I'll tell you what, Mrs. Lindsay; I am certain that I myself would have +acted precisely as your brother did. I know the Goodwins, too, and I +know, besides, that they are incapable of reverting to either fraud or +undue influence of any kind. All that you have told me, then, is, with +great respect to you, nothing but mere rigmarole. I am sorry, however, +to hear that the daughter, poor girl, is dying. I hope in God she will +recover.” + +“There is no earthly probability--nay, possibility of it--which is a +stronger word--I know, my lord, she will die, and that very soon.” + +“You know, madam! How the deuce can you know? It is all in the hands of +God. I hope she will live to enjoy her property.” + +“My lord, I visited the girl in her illness, and life was barely in her; +I have, besides, the opinion of the physician who attended her, and +of another who was called in to consult upon her state, and both have +informed me that her recovery is hopeless.” + +“And what opinion does your son, Woodward, entertain upon the subject?” + +“One, my lord, in complete keeping with his generous character. He is as +anxious for her recovery as your lordship.” + +“Well, I like that, at all events; it is a good point in him. Yes, +I like that--but, in the meantime, here are you calculating upon a +contingency that may never happen. The calculation is, I grant, not +overburdened with delicacy of feeling; but still it may proceed from +anxiety for the settlement and welfare of your son. Not an improbable +thing on the part of a mother, I grant that.” + +“Well, then, my lord,” asked Mrs. Lindsay, “what is to be done? Come to +the point, as you very properly say yourself.” + +“In the first place bring me the written opinions of those two doctors. +They ought to know her state of health best, and whether she is likely +to recover or not. I know I am an old scoundrel in entering into a +matrimonial negotiation upon a principle so inhuman as the poor lady's +death; but still, if her demise is a certain thing, I don't see why +men of the world should not avail themselves of I such a circumstance. +Now, I wish to see poor Tom settled before I die; and, above all things, +united to a gentleman. Your son Woodward, Mrs. Lindsay, is a gentleman, +and what is more, I have reason to believe Tommy likes him. She speaks +well of him, and there is a great deal in that; because I know that if +she disliked him she would not conceal the fact. She has, occasionally, +much of her old uncle's bluntness about her, and will not say one thing +and think another; unless, indeed, when she has a design in it, and then +she is inscrutable.” + +“My own opinion is this, my lord: let my son wait upon Miss Riddle--let +him propose for her--and if she consents, why the marriage settlements +may be drawn up--at once and the ceremony performed.” + +“Let me see,” he replied. “That won't do. I will never marry off poor +Tommy upon a speculation which may never after all be realized. No, +no--I'm awake there; but I'll tell you what--produce me those letters +from the physician or physicians who attended her; then, should Tom give +her consent, the settlements may be drawn up, and they can lie unsigned +until the girl dies--and then let them be married. Curse me, I'm an old +scoundrel again, however, as to that the whole world is nothing but one +great and universal scoundrel, and it is nothing but to see Tom the wife +of a gentleman in feeling, manners, and bearing, that I consent even to +this conditional arrangement.” + +“Well,” replied the lady, “be it so; it is as much as either of us can +do under the circumstances.” + +Ay, and more than we ought to do. I never was without a conscience; but +of all the poor pitiful scoundrels of a conscience that ever existed, it +was the greatest. But why should I blame it? It loved me too well; for, +after some gentle rebukes when I was about to do a rascally act, it +quietly withdrew all opposition and left me to my own will.” + +“Ah, we all know you too well, my lord, to take your own report of your +own character. However, I am glad that matters have proceeded so far. +I shall do what your lordship wishes as to the opinions of the medical +men. The lawyers, with our assistance, will manage the settlements.” + +“Yes; but this arrangement must be kept a secret from Tom, because if +she knew of it she would knock up the whole project.” + +“She shall not from me, my lord.” + +“Nor from me, I promise you that. But now for another topic. I am glad +your son had nothing to do with the dreadful chase of that unfortunate +Shawn-na-Middogue; he pledged his honor to Tom that he would rather +protect than injure him.” + +“So, my lord, he would, ever since his conversation with Miss Riddle on +the subject.” + +This, indeed, was very honestly said, inasmuch as it was she herself who +had furnished him with the mask and other of the disguises. + +“Well, I think so; and I believe him to be a gentleman, certainly. +This unfortunate tory saved Tom's life and mine the other night; +but, independently of that, Mrs. Lindsay, no son of yours should have +anything to do in his pursuit or capture. You understand me. It is my +intention to try what I can do to get him a pardon from government, and +rescue him from the wild and lawless life he is leading.” + +Mrs. Lindsay merely said,--“If my son Woodward could render you +any assistance, I am sure he would feel great pleasure in doing so, +notwithstanding that it was this same Shawn-na-Middogue who, perhaps, +has murdered his brother, for he is by no means out of danger.” + +“What--he? Shawn-na-Middogue! Have you any proof of that?” + +“Not positive or legal proof, my lord, but! at least a strong moral +certainty. However, it is a subject on which I do not wish to speak.” + +“By the way, I am very stupid; but no wonder. When a man approaches +seventy he can't be expected to remember everything. You will excuse me +for not inquiring after your son's health; how is he?” + +“Indeed, my lord, we know not what to say; neither does the doctor who +attends him--the same, by the way, who attended Miss Goodwin. At present +he can say neither yes or no to his recovery.” + +“No, nor will not as long as he can; I know those gentry well. Curse +the thing on earth frightens one of them so much as any appearance of +convalescence in a patient. I had during my life about half a dozen fits +of illness, and whenever they found that I was on the recovery, they +always contrived to throw me back with their damned nostrums, for a +month or six weeks together, that they might squeeze all they could out +of me. O, devilish rogues! devilish rogues!” + +Mrs. Lindsay now asked to see his niece, and the peer said he would send +her down, after which he shook hands with her, and once more cautioned +her against alluding to the arrangement into which they had entered +touching the matrimonial affairs already discussed. It is not our +intention to give the conversation between the two ladies, which was, +indeed, not one of long duration. Mrs. Lindsay simply stated that she +had been deputed by her son, Woodward, to have the honor of making a +proposal in his name to her uncle, in which proposal she, Miss Riddle, +was deeply concerned, but that her son himself would soon have the +greater honor of pleading his own cause with the fair object of his most +enthusiastic affection. To this Miss Riddle said neither yes nor no; +and, after a further chat upon indifferent topics, the matron took her +departure, much satisfied, however, with the apparent suavity of the +worthy peer's fair niece. + +It matters not how hard and iniquitous the hearts of mothers may be, +it is a difficult thing to extinguish in them the sacred principle of +maternal affection. Mrs. Lindsay, during her son Charles's illness, and +whilst laboring under the apprehension that she was about to lose him, +went to his sick room after her return from Lord Coccletown's, and, +finding he was but slightly improving,--if improving at all,--she felt +herself much moved, and asked him how he felt. + +“Indeed, my dear mother,” he replied, “I can scarcely say; I hardly know +whether I am better or worse.” + +Harry was in the room at the time, having gone up to ascertain his +condition. + +“O, come, Charles,” said she, “you were always an affectionate son, and +you must strive and recover. If it may give you strength and hope, I now +tell you that the property which I intended to leave to Harry here, I +shall leave to you. Harry will not require it; he will be well off--much +better than you imagine. He will have back that twelve hundred a year +when that puny girl dies. She is, probably, dead by this time, and he +will, besides, become a wealthy man by marriage.” + +“But I think, my dear mother, that Harry has the best claim to it; he is +your firstborn, and your eldest son.” + +“He will not require it,” replied his mother; “he is about to be married +to Miss Riddle, the niece of Lord Cockle town.” + +“Are you quite sure of that, mother?” asked Harry, with a brow as black +as midnight. + +“There is an arrangement made,” she replied; “the marriage settlements +are to be drawn up, but left unsigned until the death of Alice Goodwin.” + +Charles here gave a groan of agony, which, for the life of him, he could +not suppress. + +“She will not die, I hope,” said he; “and, mother, as for the property, +leave it to Harry. I don't think you ought to change your contemplated +arrangements on my account, even should I recover.” + +“Yes, Charles, but I will--only contrive and live; you are my son, and +as sure as I have life you will be heir to my property.” + +“But Maria, mother,” replied the generous young man; “Maria--” and he +looked imploringly and affectionately into her face. + +“Maria will have an ample portion; I have taken care of that. I will +not leave my property to those who are strangers to my blood, as a +son-in-law must be. No, Charles, you shall have my property. As for +Harry, as I said before, he won't stand in need of it.” + +“Of course you saw Miss Riddle to-day, mother?” asked. Harry. + +“I did.” + +“Of course, too, you mentioned the matter to her?” + +“To be sure I did.” + +“And what did she say?” + +“Why, I think she acted just as every delicate-minded girl ought. I +told her you would have the honor of proposing to herself in person. She +heard me, and did not utter a syllable either for or against you. What +else should any lady do? You would not have her jump at you, would you? +Nothing, however, could be kinder or more gracious than the reception +she gave me.” + +“Certainly not, mother; to give her consent before she was solicited +would not be exactly the thing; but the uncle is willing?” + +“Upon the conditions I said; but his niece is to know nothing of these +conditions: so be cautious when you see her.” + +“I don't know how it is,” replied Harry; “I have been thinking our last +interview over; but it strikes me there is, notwithstanding her courtesy +of manner, a hard, dry air about her which it is difficult to penetrate. +It seems to me as if it were no easy task to ascertain whether she is in +jest or earnest. Her eye is too calm and reflecting for my taste.” + +“But,” replied his mother, “those, surely, are two good qualities in any +woman, especially in her whom you expect to become your wife.” + +“Perhaps so,” said he;'”but she is not my wife yet, my dear mother.” + +“I wish she was, Harry,” observed his brother, “for by all accounts she +is an excellent girl, and remarkable for her charity and humanity to the +poor.” + +His mother and Harry then left the room, and both went to her own +apartment, where the following conversation took place between them: + +“Harry,” said she, “I hope you are not angry at the determination I +expressed to leave my property to Charles should he recover?” + +“Why should I, my dear mother?” he replied; “your property is your own, +and of course you may leave it to whomsoever you wish. At all events, it +will remain in your own family, and won't go to strangers, like that of +my scoundrel old uncle.” + +“Don't speak so, Harry, of my brother; silly, besotted, and overreached +he was when he acted as he did; but he never was a scoundrel, Harry.” + +“Well, well, let that pass,” replied her son; “but the question now is, +What am I to do? What step should I first take?” + +“I don't understand you.” + +“Why, I mean whether should I start directly for Ballyspellan and put +this puling girl out of pain, or go in a day or two and put the +question at once to Miss Riddle, against whom, somehow, I feel a strong +antipathy.” + +“Ah, Harry, that's your grandfather all over; but, indeed, our family +were full of strong antipathies and bitter resentments. Why do you feel +an antipathy against the girl?” + +“Who can account for antipathies, mother? I cannot account for this.” + +“And perhaps on her part the poor girl is attached to you.” + +“Well, but you have not answered my question. How am I to act? Which +step should I take first--the quietus, of 'curds-and-whey,' or the +courtship? The sooner matters come to a conclusion the better. I wish, +if possible, to know what is before me: I cannot bear uncertainty in +this or anything else.” + +“I scarcely know how to advise you,” she replied; “both steps are of +the deepest importance, but certainly which to take first is a necessary +consideration. I am of opinion that our best plan is simply to take a +day or two to think it over, after which we will compare notes and come +to a conclusion.” And so it was determined. + +We need scarcely assure our readers that honest and affectionate +Barney Casey felt a deep interest in the recovery of the generous and +kind-hearted Charles Lindsay, nor that he allowed a single day to pass +without going, at least two or three times, to ascertain whether there +was any appearance of his convalescence. On the day following that on +which Mrs. Lindsay had declared the future disposition of her property +he went to see Charles as usual, when the latter, after having stated to +him that he felt much better, and the fever abating, he said,-- + +“Casey, I have rather strange news for you.” + +“Be it good, bad, or indifferent, sir,” replied Barney, “you could +tell me no news that would plaise me half so much as that there is a +certainty of your gettin' well again.” + +“Well, I think there is, Barney. I feel much better to-day than I have +done for a long while--but the news, are you not anxious to hear it?” + +“Why, I hope I'll hear it soon, Masther Charles, especially if it's +good; but if it's not good I'm jack-indifferent about it.” + +“It is good, Barney, to me at least, but not so to my brother Woodward.” + +Barney's ears, if possible, opened and expanded themselves on hearing +this. To him it was a double gratification: first, because it was +favorable to the invalid, to whom he was so sincerely attached; and +secondly, because it was not so to Woodward, whom he detested. + +“My mother yesterday told me that she has made up her mind to leave me +all her property if I recover, instead of to Harry, for whom she had +originally intended it.” + +Barney, on hearing this intelligence, was commencing to dance an Irish +jig to his own music, and would have done so were it not that the +delicate state of the patient prevented him. + +“Blood alive, Masther Charles!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers in a +kind of wild triumph, “what are you lying there for? Bounce to your feet +like a two-year ould. O, holy Moses, and Melchisedek the divine, ay, and +Solomon, the son of St. Pettier, in all his glory, but that is news!” + +“She told my brother Woodward, face to face, that such was her fixed +determination.” + +“Good again; and what did he say?” + +“Nothing particular, but that he was glad it was to stay in the family, +and not go to strangers, like our uncle's--alluding, of course, to his +will in favor of dear Alice Goodwin.” + +“Ay, but how did he look?” asked Barney. + +“I didn't observe, I was rather in pain at the time; but, from a passing +glimpse I got, I thought his countenance darkened a little; but I may be +mistaken.” + +“Well, I hope so,” said Barney. “I hope so--but--well, I am glad to find +you are betther, Masther Charles, and to hear the good piece of +fortune you have mentioned. I trust in God your mother will keep her +word--that's all.” + +“As for myself,” said Charles, “I am indifferent about the property; all +that presses upon my heart is my anxiety for Miss Goodwin's recovery.” + +“Don't be alarmed on that account,” said Casey! “they say the waters +of Ballyspellan would bring the dead to life. Now, good-by, Masther +Charles; don't be cast down--keep up your spirits, for something tells +me that's there's luck before you, and good luck, too.” + +After leaving him Barney began to ruminate. He had remarked an +extraordinary change in the countenance and deportment of Harry +Woodward during the evening before and the earlier part of that day. The +plausible serenity of his manner was replaced by unusual gloom, and that +abstraction which is produced by deep and absorbing thought. He seemed +so completely wrapped up in constant meditation upon some particular +subject, that he absolutely forgot to guard himself against observation +or remark, by his usual artifice of manner. He walked alone in the +garden, a thing he was not accustomed to do; and during these walks he +would stop and pause, then go on slowly and musingly, and stop and pause +again. Barney, as we have said before, was a keen observer, and +having watched him from a remote corner of the garden in which he +was temporarily engaged among some flowers, he came at once to the +conclusion that Woodward's mind was burdened with something which +heavily depressed his spirits, and occupied his whole attention. + +“Ah,” exclaimed Barney, “the villain is brewing mischief for some one, +but I will watch his motions if I should pass sleepless nights for it. +He requires a sharp eye after him, and it will go hard with me or I +shall know what his midnight wanderings mean; but in the meantime I must +keep calm and quiet, and not seem to watch him.” + +Whilst Barney, who was unseen by Woodward, having been separated from +him by a fruit hedge over which he occasionally peeped, indulged in this +soliloquy, the latter, in the same deep and moody meditation, extended +his walk, his brows contracted, and dark as midnight. + +“The damned hag,” said he, speaking unconsciously aloud, “is this the +affection which she professed to bear me? Is this the proof she gives of +the preference which she often expressed for her favorite son? To leave +her property to that miserable milksop, my half-brother! What devil +could have tempted her to this? Not Lindsay, certainly, for I know he +would scorn to exercise any control over her in the disposition of her +property, and as for Maria, I know she would not. It must then have been +the milksop himself in some puling fit of pain or illness; and ably must +the beggarly knave have managed it when he succeeded in changing the +stern and flinty heart of such a she-devil. Yes, unquestionably that +must be the true meaning of it; but, be it so for the present; the +future is a different question. My plans are laid, and I will put them +into operation according as circumstances may guide me.” + +Whatever those plans were, he seemed to have completed them in his own +mind. The darkness departed from his brow; his face assumed its usual +expression; and, having satisfied himself by the contemplation of his +future course of action, he walked at his usual pace out of the garden. + +“Egad,” thought Barney, “I'm half a prophet, but I can say no more than +I've said. There's mischief in the wind; but whether against Masther +Charles or his mother, is a puzzle to me. What a dutiful son, too! A +she-devil! Well, upon my sowl, if he weren't her son I could forgive him +for that, because it hits her off to a hair--but from the lips of a son! +O, the blasted scoundrel! Well, no matther, there's a sharp pair of eyes +upon him; and that's all I can say at present.” + +When the medical attendant called that day to see his patient he found, +on examining Charles, and feeling his pulse, that he was decidedly and +rapidly on the recovery. On his way down stairs he was met by Woodward, +who said, + +“Well, doctor, is there any chance of my dear brother's recovery?” + +“It is beyond a chance now, Mr. Wood-ward; he is out of danger; and +although his convalescence will be slow, it will be sure.” + +“Thank God,” said the cold-blooded hypocrite; “I have never heard +intelligence more gratifying. My mother is in the withdrawing-room, and +desired me to say that she wishes to speak with you. Of course it is +about my brother; and I am glad that you can make so favorable a report +of him.” + +On going down he found Mrs. Lindsay alone, and having taken a seat and +made his daily report, she addressed him as follows: + +“Doctor, you have taken a great weight off my mind by your account of my +son's certain recovery.” + +“I can say with confidence, as I have already said to his anxious +brother, madam, that it is certain, although it will be slow. He is out +of danger at last. The wound is beginning to cicatrize, and generates +laudable pus. His fever, too, is gone; but he is very weak still,--quite +emaciated,--and it will require time to place him once more on his legs. +Still, the great fact is, that his recovery is certain. Nothing unless +agitation of mind can retard it; and I do not see anything which can +occasion that.” + +“Nothing, indeed, doctor; but, doctor, I wish to speak to you on another +subject. You have been attending Miss Goodwin during her very strange +and severe illness. You have visited her, too, at Ballyspellan.” + +“I have, madam. She went there by my directions.” + +“How long is it since you have seen her?” + +“I saw her three days ago.” + +“And how was she?” + +“I am afraid beyond hope, madam. She is certainly not better, and I can +scarcely say she is worse, because worse she cannot be. The complaint +is on her mind; and in that case we all know how difficult it is for a +physician to minister to a mind diseased.” + +“You think, then, she is past recovery?” + +“Indeed, madam, I am certain of it, and I deeply regret it, not only for +her own sake, but for that of her heart-broken parents.” + +“My dear doctor--O, by the way, here is your fee; do not be surprised at +its amount, for, although your fees have been regularly paid--” + +“And liberally, madam.” + +“Well, in consequence of the favorable and gratifying report which +you have this day made, you must pardon an affectionate mother for the +compensation which she now offers you. It is far beneath the value of +your skill, your anxiety for my son's recovery, and the punctuality of +your attendance.” + +“What! fifty pounds, madam! I cannot accept it,” said he, exhibiting it +in his hand as he spoke. + +“O, but you must, my dear doctor; nor shall the liberality of the mother +rest here. Come, doctor, no remonstrance; put it in your pocket, and +now hear me. You say Miss Goodwin is past all hope. Would you have any +objection to write me a short note stating that fact?” + +“How could I, madam?” replied the good-natured, easy man, who, of +course, could never dream of her design in asking him the question. +Still, it seemed singular and unusual, and quite out of the range of +his experience. This consideration startled him into reflection, and +something like a curiosity to ascertain why she, who, he felt aware, was +of late at bitter feud with Miss Goodwin and her family--the cause of +which was well known throughout the country--should wish to obtain such +a document from him. + +“Pardon me, madam; pray, may I inquire for what purpose you ask me to +furnish such a document?” + +“Why, the truth is, doctor, that there are secrets in all families, and, +although this is not, strictly speaking, a secret, yet it is a thing +that I should not wish to be mentioned out of doors.” + +“Madam, you cannot for a moment do me such injustice as to imagine +that I am capable of violating professional confidence. I consider +the confidence you now repose in me, in the capacity of your family +physician, as coming under that head.” + +“You will have no objection, then, to write the note I ask of you?” + +“Certainly not, madam.” + +“But there is Dr. Lendrum, who joined you in consultation in my son's +case, as well I believe, as in Miss Goodwin's. Do you think you could +get him to write a note to me in accordance with yours? Speak to him, +and tell him that I don't think he has been sufficiently remunerated for +his trouble in the consultations you have had with him here.” + +“I shall do so, madam, and I think he will do himself the pleasure of +seeing you in the course of to-morrow.” + +Both doctors could, with a very good conscience, furnish Mrs. Lindsay +with the opinions which she required. She saw the other medical +gentleman on the following day, and, after handing him a handsome +douceur, he felt no hesitation in corroborating the opinion of his +brother physician. + +Having procured the documents in question, she transmitted them, +enclosed in a letter, to Lord Cockletown, stating that her son Woodward, +who had been seized by a pleuritic attack, would not be able, she +feared, to pay his intended visit to Miss Biddle so soon as he had +expected; but, in the meantime, she had the honor of enclosing him the +documents she alluded to on the occasion of her last visit. And this +she did with the hope of satisfying his lordship on the subject they +had been discussing, and with a further hope that he might become an +advocate for her son, at least until he should be able to plead his own +cause with the lady herself, which nothing but indisposition prevented +him from doing. The doctor, she added, had advised him to try the waters +of the Spa of Ballyspellan for a short time, as he had little doubt that +they would restore him to perfect health. She sent her love to dear Miss +Riddle, and hoped ere long to have the pleasure of clasping her to her +heart as a daughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. Woodward's Visit to Ballyspellan. + + +After a consultation with his mother our worthy hero prepared for his +journey to this once celebrated Spa, which possessed even then a certain +local celebrity, that subsequently widened to an ampler range. The +little village was filled with invalids of all classes; and even the +farmers' houses in the vicinity were occupied with individuals in quest +of health. The family of the Goodwins, however, were still in deep +affliction, although Alice, for the last few days, was progressing +favorably. Still, such was her weakness, that she was unable to walk +unless supported by two persons, usually her maid and her mother or her +father. The terrible influence of the Evil Eye had made too deep and +deadly an impression ever, she feared, to be effaced; for, although +removed from Woodward's blighting gaze, that eye was perpetually upon +her, through the medium of her strong but diseased imagination. And who +is there who does not know how strongly the force of imagination acts? +On this subject she had now become a perfect hypochondriac. She could +not shake it off, it haunted her night and day; and even the influence +of society could scarcely banish the dread image of that mysterious and +fearful look for a moment. + +The society at Ballyspellan was, as the society in such places usually +is, very much mixed and heterogeneous. Many gentry were there--gentlemen +attempting to repair constitutions broken down by dissipation and +profligacy; and ladies afflicted with a disease peculiar, in those days, +to both sexes, called the spleen--a malady which, under that name, +has long since disappeared, and is now known by the title of nervous +affection. There was a large public room, in imitation of the more +celebrated English watering-places, where the more respectable portion +of the company met and became acquainted, and where, also, balls and +dinners were occasionally held. Not a wreck of this edifice is now +standing, although, down to the days of Swift and Delany, it possessed +considerable celebrity, as is evident from the ingenious verses written +by his friend to the Dean upon this subject. + +The principal individuals assembled at it on this occasion were Squire +Manifold, whose complaint, as was evident by his three chins, consisted +in a rapid tendency to obesity, which his physician had told him might +be checked, if he could prevail on himself to eat and drink with a less +gluttonous appetite, and take more exercise. He had already had a fit +of apoplexy, and it was the apprehension of another, with which he was +threatened, that brought him to the Spa. The next was Parson Topertoe, +whose great enemy was the gout, brought on, of course, by an ascetic and +apostolic life. The third was Captain Culverin, whose constitution had +suffered severely in the wars, but which he attempted to reinvigorate +by a course of hard drinking, in which he found, to his cost, that the +remedy was worse than the disease. There were also a great variety of +others, among whom were several widows whose healthy complexions were +anything but a justification for their presence there, especially in the +character of invalids. Mr. Goodwin, his wife, and daughter, we need not +enumerate. They lodged in the house of a respectable farmer, who lived +convenient to the village, where they found themselves exceedingly snug +and comfortable. In the next house to them lodged a Father Mulrenin, a +friar, who, although he attended the room and drank the waters, was an +admirable specimen of comic humor and robust health. There was also +a Miss Rosebud, accompanied by her mother, a blooming widow, who had +married old Rosebud, a wealthy bachelor, when he was near sixty. The +mother's complaint was also the spleen, or vapors; indeed, to tell the +truth, she was moved by an unconquerable and heroic determination to +replace poor old Rosebud by a second husband. The last whom we shall +enumerate, although not the least, was a very remarkable character of +that day, being no other than Cooke, the Pythagorean, from the county of +Waterford. He held, of course, the doctrines of Pythagoras, and believed +in the transmigration of souls. He lived upon a vegetable diet, and +wore no clothing which had been taken or made from the wool or skins of +animals, because he knew that they! must have been killed before these +_exuviae_ could be applied to human use. His dress, consequently, during +the inclemency of winter and the heats of summer, consisted altogether +of linen, and even his shoes were of vegetable fabric. Our readers, +consequently, need not feel surprised at the complaint of the +philosopher, which was a chronic and most excruciating rheumatism that +racked every bone in his Pythagorean body. He was, however, like a +certain distinguished teetotaler and peace preserver of our own city and +our own day, a mild and benevolent man, whose monomania affected nobody +but himself, and him it did affect through every bone of his body. He +was attended by his own servants, especially by his own cook--for he was +a man of wealth and considerable rank in the country--in order that he +could rely upon their fidelity in seeing that nothing contrary to his +principles might be foisted upon him. He had his carriage, in which +he drove out every day, and into which and out of which his servants +assisted him. We need scarcely assure our readers that he was the +lion of the place, or that no individual there excited either so much +interest or curiosity. Of the many others of various, but subordinate +classes we shall not speak. Wealthy farmers, professional men, among +whom, however, we cannot omit Counsellor Puzzlewell, who, by the way, +had one eye upon Miss Rosebud and another upon the comely-widow herself, +together with several minor grades down to the very paupers of society, +were all there. + +About this period it was resolved to have a dinner, to be followed by a +ball in the latter part of the evening. This was the project of Squire +Manifold, whose physician attended him like, or very unlike, his shadow, +for he was a small thin man, with sharp eyes and keen features, and so +slight that if put into the scale against the shadow he would scarcely +weigh it up. The squire's wife, who was a cripple, insisted that he +should accompany her husband, in order to see that he might not gorge +himself into the apoplectic fit with which he was threatened. His first +had a peculiar and melancholy, though, to spectators, a ludicrous effect +upon him. He was now so stupid, and made such blunders in conversation, +that the comic effect of them was irresistible; especially to to those +who were not aware of the cause of it, but looked upon the whole thing +as his natural manner. He had been, ever since his arrival at the +accursed Spa, kept by Doctor Doolittle upon short commons, both as +to food and drink; and what with the effect of the waters, and severe +purgatives administered by the doctor, he felt himself in a state +little short of purgatory itself. The meagre regimen to which he was so +mercilessly subjected gave him the appetite of a shark, Indeed, the bill +of fare prescribed for him was scarcely sufficient to sustain a boy of +twelve years of age. In consequence of this he had got it into his +head that the season was a season of famine, and on this calamitous +dispensation of Providence he kept harping from morning to night. The +idea of the dinner, however, was hailed by them all as a very agreeable +project, for which the squire, who only thought of the opportunity it +would give himself to enjoy a surfeit, was highly complimented. It was +to be in the shape of a modern table d'hote: every gentleman was to pay +for himself and such of his party as accompanied him to it. Even +the Pythagorean relished the proposal, for although peculiar in his +opinions, he was sufficiently liberal, and too much of a gentleman, +to quarrel with those who differed from him. Mr. Goodwin, too, was +a consenting party, and mentioned the subject to Alice in a cheerful +spirit, and with a hope that she might be able to rally and attend it. +She promised to do so if she could; but said it chiefly depended on +the state of health in which she might find herself. Indeed, if ever +a beautiful and interesting girl was to be pitied, she, most +unquestionably, was an object of the deepest compassion. + +It was not merely what she had to suffer from the Evil Eye of the demon +Woodward, but from the fact which had reached her ears of what she +considered the profligate conduct of his brother Charles, once her +betrothed lover. This latter reflection, associated with the probability +of his death, when joined to the terrible malady which Woodward had +inflicted on her, may enable our readers to perceive what the poor girl +had to suffer. Still she told her father that she would be present if +her health permitted her, “especially,” she added, “as there was no +possibility of Woodward being among the guests.” + +“Why, my dear child,” said her father, “what could put such an absurd +apprehension into your head?” + +“Because, papa, I don't think he will ever let me out of his power until +he kills me. I don't think he will come here; but I dread to return +home, because I fear that if I do he will obtrude himself on me; and I +feel that another gaze of his eye would occasion my death.” + +“I would call him out,” replied the father, “and shoot him like a dog, +to which honest and faithful animal it is a sin to compare the villain.” + +“And then I might be left fatherless!” she exclaimed. “O, papa, promise +me that you never will have recourse to that dreadful alternative.” + +“But my darling, I only said so upon the supposition of your death by +him.” + +“But mamma!” + +“Come, come, Alice, get up your spirits, and be able to attend this +dinner. It will cheer you and do you good. We have been discussing +soap bubbles. Give up thinking of the scoundrel, and you will soon +feel yourself well enough. In about another month we will start for +Killarney, and see the lakes and the magnificent scenery by which they +are surrounded.” + +“Well, dear papa, I shall go to this dinner if I am at all able; but +indeed I do not expect to be able.” + +In the meantime every preparation was made for the forthcoming banquet. +It was to be on a large scale, and many of the neighboring gentry +and their families were asked to it, The knowledge that Cooke, the +Pythagorean, was at the Well had taken wind, and a strong curiosity +had gone abroad to see him. This eccentric gentleman's appearance was +exceedingly original, if not startling. He was, at least, six feet +two, but so thin, fleshless, and attenuated, that he resembled a living +skeleton. This was the more strange, inasmuch as in his earlier days he +had been robust and stout, approaching even to corpulency. His dress was +as remarkable as his person, if not more so. It consisted of bleached +linen, and was exceedingly white; and so particular was he in point of +cleanliness, that he put on a fresh dress every day. He wore a pair of +long pantaloons that, unfortunately for his symmetry, adhered to his +legs and thighs as closely as the skin; and as the aforesaid legs +and thighs were skeletonic, nothing could be more ludicrous than his +appearance in them. His vest was equally close; and as the hanging cloak +which he wore over it did not reach far enough down his back, it was +impossible to view him behind without convulsive laughter. His shoes +were made of some description of foreign bark, which had by some +chemical process been tanned into toughness, and on his head he wore +a turban of linen, made of the same material which furnished his +other garments. Altogether, a more ludicrous figure could not be seen, +especially if a person happened to stand behind him when he bowed. +Notwithstanding all this, however, he possessed the manners and bearing +of a gentleman; the only thing remarkable about him, beyond what we have +described, being a peculiar wildness of the eyes, accompanied, however, +by an unquestionable expression of great benignity. + +We leave the company at the Well preparing for the forthcoming +dinner and return to Rathfillan House, where Harry Woodward is making +arrangements for his journey to Ballyspellan, which now we believe goes +by the name of Johnstown. Under every circumstance of his life he was a +plotter and a planner, and had at all times some private speculation in +view. On the present occasion, in addition to his murderous design +upon Miss Goodwin, he resolved to become a wife-hunter, for, being well +acquainted, as he was, with the tone and temper of English society at +its most celebrated watering places, and. the matrimonial projects and +intrigues which abound at them, he took it for granted that he might +stand a chance of making a successful hit with a view to matrimony. One +thing struck him, however, which was, that he had no horse, and could +not go there mounted, as a gentleman ought. It is true his step-father +had several horses, but not one of them beyond the character of a +common hack. He resolved, therefore, to purchase a becoming nag for his +journey, and with this object he called upon a neighboring farmer, named +Murray, who possessed a very beautiful animal, rising four, and which he +learned was to be disposed of. + +“Mr. Murray,” said he, “I understand you have a young horse for sale.” + +“I have, sir,” replied Murray; “and a better piece of flesh is not in +the country he stands in.” + +“Could I see him?” + +“Certainly, sir, and try him, too. He is not flesh and bone at all, +sir--devil a thing he is but quicksilver. Here, Paudeen, saddle Brien +Boro for this gentleman. You won't require wings, Mr. Woodward; Brien +Boro will show you how to fly without them.” + +“Well,” replied Woodward, “trial's all; but at any rate, I'm willing to +prefer good flesh and bone to quicksilver.” + +In a few minutes the horse was brought out, saddled and bridled, and +Woodward, who certainly was an excellent horseman, mounted him and tried +his paces. + +“Well, sir,” said Murray, “how do you like him?” + +“I like him well,” said Woodward. “His temper is good, I know, by his +docility to the bit.” + +“Yes, but you haven't tried him at a ditch; follow me and I'll show you +as pretty a one as ever a horse crossed, and you may take my word it +isn't every horse could cross it. You have a good firm seat, sir; and I +know you will both do it in sportsman-like style.” + +Having reached the ditch, which certainly was a rasper, Woodward reined +round the animal, who crossed it like a swallow. + +“Now,” said Murray, “unless you wish to ride half a mile in order to get +back, you must cross it again.” + +This was accordingly done in admirable style, both by man and horse; +and Woodward, having ridden him back to the farmyard, dismounted, highly +satisfied with the animal's action and powers. + +“Now, Mr. Murray,” said he, “what's his price?” + +“Fifty guineas, sir; neither more nor less.” + +“Say thirty and we'll deal.” + +“I don't want money, sir,” replied the sturdy farmer, “and I won't part +with the horse under his value. I will get what I ask for him.” + +“Say thirty-five.” + +“Not a cross under the round half hundred; and I'm glad it is not your +mother that is buying him.” + +“Why so?” asked Woodward; and his eye darkly sparkled with its malignant +influence. + +“Why, sir, because if I didn't sell him to her at her own terms, he +would be worth very little in a few days afterwards.” + +The observation was certainly an offensive one, especially when made to +her son. + +“Will you take forty for him?” asked Woodward, coolly. + +“Not a penny, sir, under what I said. You are clearly a good judge of a +horse, Mr. Woodward, and I wonder that a gentleman like you would offer +me less than I ask, because you cannot but know that it is under his +value.” + +“I will give no more,” replied Woodward; “so there is an end to it. Let +me see the horse's eyes.” + +He placed himself before the animal, and looked steadily into his eyes +for about five minutes, after which he said,-- + +“I think, Mr. Murray, you would have acted more prudently had you taken +my offer. I bade you full value for the horse.” + +To Murray's astonishment the animal began to tremble excessively; the +perspiration was seen to flow from him in torrents; he appeared feeble +and collapsed; and seemed scarcely able to stand on his limbs, which +were shaking as if with terror under him. + +“Why, Mr. Murray,” said Woodward, “I am very glad I did not buy him; +the beast is ill, and will be for the dogs of the neighborhood in three +days' time.” + +“Until the last five minutes, sir, there wasn't a sounder horse in +Europe.” + +“Look at him now, then,” said Woodward; “do you call that a sound horse? +Take him into the stable; before the expiration of three days you will +be flaying him.” + +His words were prophetic. In three days' time the fine and healthy +animal was a carcass. + +“Ah!” said the farmer, when he saw the horse lying dead before him, +“this fellow is his mother's son. From the time he looked into the +horse's eyes the poor beast sank so rapidly that he didn't pass the +third day alive. And there are fifty guineas out of my pocket. The curse +of God on him wherever he goes!” + +Woodward provided himself, however, with another horse, and in due time +set out for the Spa at Ballyspellan. + +The dinner was now fixed for a certain day, and Squire Manifold +felt himself in high spirits as often as he could recollect the +circumstance--which, indeed, was but rarely, the worthy epicure's memory +having nearly abandoned him. Topertoe, of the gout, and he were +old acquaintances and companions, and had spent many a merry night +together--both, as the proverb has it, being tarred with the same stick. +Topertoe was as great a glutton as the other, but without his desperate +voracity in food, whilst in drink he equalled if he did not surpass him. +Manifold would have forgotten every thing about the dinner had he not +from time to time been reminded of it by his companion. + +“Manifold, we will have a great day on Thursday.” + +“Great!” exclaimed Manifold, who in addition to his other stupidities, +was as deaf as a post; “great--eh? What size will it be?” + +“What size will it be? Why, confound it, man, don't you know what I'm +saying?” + +“No, I don't--yes, I do--you are talking about something great. O, I +know now--your toe you mean--where the gout lies. They say, it begins at +the great toe, and goes up to the stomach. I suppose Alexander the Great +was gouty and got his name from that.” + +“I'm talking of the great dinner we're I to have on Thursday,” shouted +Topertoe. “We'll have a splendid feed then, my famous old trencherman, +and I'll take care that Doctor Doolittle shall not stint you.” + +“There won't be any toast and water--eh?” + +“Devil a mouthful; and we are to have the celebrated Cooke, the +Pythagorean.” + +“Ay, but is he a good cook?” + +“He's the celebrated Pythagorean, I tell you.” + +“Pythagorean--what's that? I thought you said he was a cook. Does he +understand venison properly? O, good Lord! what a life I'm leading! +Toast and water--toast and water. But it's all the result of this +famine. And yet they know I'm wealthy. I say, what's this your name is?” + +“Never mind that--an old acquaintance. Hell and torments! what's this? +O!” + +“The weather's pleasant, Topertoe. I say, Topertoe, what's this your +name is?” + +“O! O!” exclaimed Topertoe, who felt one or two desperate twinges of +his prevailing malady; “curse me, Manifold, but I think I would exchange +with you; your complaint is an easy one compared to mine. You are a mere +block, and will pop off without pain, instead of being racked like a +soul in perdition as I am.” + +“Your soul in perdition--well I suppose it will. But don't groan and +scream so--you I are not there yet; when you are you will have plenty +of time to groan and scream. As for myself, I will be likely to sleep +it out there. I think, by the way, I had the pleasure of knowing you +before; your face is familiar to me. What's this you call the man that +attends sick people?” + +“A doctor. O! O! Hell and torments! what is this? Yes, a doctor. O! O!” + +“Ay, a doctor. Confound me, but I think my head's going around like +a top. Yes, a--a--a--a doctor. Well, the doctor says that I and Parson +Topertoe led a nice life of it--one a glutton and the other a drunkard. +Do you know Topertoe? Because if you don't I do. He is a damned +scoundrel, and squeezed his tithes out of the people with pincers of +blood.” + +“Manifold, your gluttony has brought you to a fine pass. Are you alive +or not?” + +“Eh? Curse all dry toast and water! But it's all the consequence of this +year of famine. Pray, sir, what do you eat?” + +“Beef, mutton, venison, fowl, ham, turbot, salmon, black sole, with all +the proper and corresponding sauces and condiments.” + +“O Lord! and no toast and water, beef tea, and oatmeal gruel? Heavens! +how I wish this year of famine was past. It will be the death of me. +I say, what's this your name is? Your face is familiar to me somehow. +Could you aid me in poisoning the--the--what you call him--ay, the +doctor?” + +“Nothing more easily done, my dear Manifold. Contrive to let him take +one of his own doses, and he's done for.” + +“Wouldn't ratsbane do? I often think he's a rat.” + +“In face and eyes he certainly looks very like one.” + +“Are you aware, sir, that my wife's a cripple? She's paralyzed in her +lower limbs.” + +“I am perfectly aware of that melancholy fact.” + +“Are you aware that she's jealous of me?” + +“No, not that she's jealous of you now; but perfectly aware that she had +good cause to be so.” + +“Ay, but the devil of it is that the paralysis you speak of never +reached her tongue.” + +“I speak of--'twas yourself spoke of it.” + +“She sent me here because it happens to be a year of famine--what is +commonly called a hard season--and she stitched the little blasted +doctor to me that I might die legitimately under medical advice. Isn't +that very like murder--isn't it?” + +“Ah, my dear friend, thank God that you are not a parson, having a +handsome wife and a handsome curate, with the gout to support you and +keep you comfortable. You would then feel that there are other twinges +worse than those of the gout.” + +“Ay, but is there anything wrong about your head?” + +“Heaven knows. About a twelvemonth ago I felt as if there were two +sprouts budding out of my forehead, but on putting up my hand I +could feel nothing. It was as smooth as ever. It must have been +hypochondriasis. The curate, though, is a handsome dog, and, like +yourself, it was my wife sent me here.” + +“Is your wife a cripple?” + +“Faith, anything but that.” + +“How is her tongue? No paralysis in that quarter?” + +“On the contrary, she is calm and soft-spoken, and perfectly sweet and +angelic in her manner.” + +“But was it in consequence of the famine she sent you here? Toast and +water!--toast and water! O Lord!” + +This dialogue took place in Manifold's lodgings, where Topertoe, aided +by a crutch and his servant, was in the habit of visiting him. To +Manifold, indeed, this was a penal settlement, in consequence of the +reasons which we have already stated. + +The Pythagorean, as well as Topertoe, was also occasionally forced to +the use of crutches; and it was certainly a strange and remarkable thing +to witness two men, each at the extreme point of social indulgence, +and each departing from reason and common-sense, suffering from the +consequences of their respective errors; Manifold, a most voracious +fellow, knocked on the head by an attack of apoplexy, and Cooke, the +philosopher, suffering the tortures of the damned from a most violent +rheumatism, produced by a monomania which compelled him to decline +the simple enjoyment of reasonable food and dress. Cooke's monomania, +however, was a rare one. In Blackwood's Magazine there appeared, several +years ago, an admirable writer, whose name we now forget, under the +title of a modern Pythagorean; but that was merely a _nom de guerre_, +adopted, probably, to excite a stronger interest in the perusal of his +productions. Here, however, was a man in whom the principle existed upon +what he considered rational and philosophic grounds. He had gotten +the philosophical blockhead's crotchet into his head, and carried the +principle, in a practical point of view, much further than ever the old +fool himself did in his life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. The Dinner at Ballyspellan + +--The Appearance Woodward.--Valentine Greatrakes. + + +The Thursday appointed for the dinner at length arrived. The little +village was all alive with stir and bustle, inasmuch as for several +months no such important event had taken place. It was, in fact, a +gala day; and the poorer inhabitants crowded about the inn to watch the +guests arriving, and the paupers to solicit their alms. Twelve or one +was then the usual hour for dinner, but in consequence of the large +scale on which it was to take place and the unusual preparations +necessary, it was not until the hour of two that the guests sat down to +table. Some of the principal names we have already mentioned--all the +males, of course, invalids--but, as we have said, there were a good +number of the surrounding gentry, their wives and daughters, so that the +fete was expected to come off with great eclat. Topertoe was dressed, as +was then the custom, in full canonical costume, with, his silk cassock +and bands, for he was a doctor of divinity; and Manifold was habited in +the usual dress of the day--his falling collar exhibiting a neck whose +thickness took away all surprise as to his tendency to apoplexy. The +lengthy figure of the unsubstantial Pythagorean was cased in linen +garments, almost snow-white, through which his anatomy might be read as +distinctly as if his living skeleton was naked before them. Mrs. Rosebud +was blooming and expanded into full flower, whilst Miss Rosebud was just +in that interesting state when the leaves are apparently in the act of +bursting out and bestowing their beauty and fragrance on the gratified +senses of the beholder. Dr. Doolittle, who was a regular wag--indeed +too much so ever to succeed in his profession--entered the room with his +three-cocked hat under his arm, and the usual gold-headed cane in his +hand; and, after saluting the company, looked about after Manifold, +his patient. He saluted the Pythagorean, and complimented him upon his +philosophy, and the healthful habits engendered by a vegetable diet, and +so primitive a linen dress--a dress, he said, which, in addition to its +other advantages, ought to be generally adopted, if only for the sake of +its capacity for showing off the symmetry of the figure. He was himself +a warm admirer of the principle, and begged to have the honor of shaking +hands with the gentleman who had the courage to carry it out against +all the prejudices of a besotted world. He accordingly seized the +philosopher's hand, which was then in a desperately rheumatic state, as +the little scoundrel well knew, and gave it such a squeeze of respect +and admiration that the Pythagorean emitted a yell which astonished and +alarmed the whole room. + +“Death and torture, sir--why did you squeeze my rheumatic hand in such a +manner?” + +“Pardon me, Mr. Cooke--respect and admiration for your principles.” + +“Well, sir, I will thank you to express what you may feel in plain +language, but not in such damnable squeezes as that.” + +“Pardon me, again, sir; I was ignorant that the rheumatism was in your +hand; you know I am not your physician; perhaps if I were you could bear +a friendly shake of it without all that agony. I very much regret the +pain I unconsciously, and from motives of the highest respect, have put +you to.” + +“It is gone--do not mention it,” said the benevolent philosopher. +“Perhaps I may try your skill some of these days.” + +“I assure you, sir,” said Doolittle, “that I am forcing Mr. Manifold +here to avail himself of your system--a simple vegetable diet.” + +“O Lord!” exclaimed Manifold, in a soliloquy--for he was perfectly +unconscious of what was going on--“toast and water, toast and water! +That and a season of famine--what a prospect is before me! Doolittle +is a rat, and I will hire somebody to give him ratsbane. Nothing but a +vegetable diet, and be hanged to him! What's ratsbane an ounce?” + +“You hear, sir,” said Doolittle, addressing the Pythagorean; “you +perceive that I am adopting your system?” + +“Mr. Doolittle,” replied Cooke, “from this day forth you are my +physician--I intrust you with the management of my rheumatism; but, in +the meantime, I think the room is devilishly cold.” + +Captain Culverin now entered, swathed up, and, as was evident, somewhat +tipsy. + +“Eh! confound me, philosopher, your hand,” he exclaimed, putting out his +own to shake hands with him. + +“I can't, sir,” replied Cooke; “I am afflicted with rheumatism. You seem +unwell, captain; but if you gave up spirituous liquors--such as wine and +usquebaugh--you would find yourself the better for it.” + +“What does all this mean?” asked Manifold. “At all events Doolittle's a +rat. A vegetable diet, a year of famine, toast, and water--O Lord!” + +Dinner, however, came, and the little waggish doctor could not, for the +life of him, avoid his jokes. Cooke's dish of vegetables was placed for +him at a particular part of the table; but the doctor, taking Manifold +by the hand, placed him in the philosopher's seat, whom he afterwards +set before a magnificent sirloin of beef--for, truth to speak, the +little man acted as a kind of master of the ceremonies to the company at +Ballyspellan. + +“What's this?” exclaimed Manifold. “Perdition! here is nothing but a +dish of asparagus before me! What kind of treatment is this? Were we not +to have a great dinner, Topertoe? Alexander the Great!” + +“And who placed me before a sirloin of beef?” asked the philosopher; +“I, who follow the principles of the Great Pythagorean. I am nearly sick +already with the fume of it. Good heavens! a sirloin of beef before a +vegetarian.” + +Of course Manifold and the philosopher exchanged places, and the dinner +proceeded. Mr. and. Mrs. Goodwin were present, but Alice was unable to +come, although anxious to do so in order to oblige her parents. It is +unnecessary to describe the gastric feats of Manifold and Topertoe. The +voracity of the former was astonishing, nor was that of the latter much +less; and when the dishes were removed and the tables cleared for their +compotations, the faces of both gentlemen appeared as if they were about +to explode. The table was now supplied with every variety of liquor, and +the conversation began to assume that convivial tone peculiar to such +assemblies. The little doctor was placed between Manifold and the +Pythagorean, who, by the way, was exceedingly short-sighted; and on the +other side of him sat Parson Topertoe, who seemed to feel something +like a reprieve from his gout. When the liquor was placed on the table, +after dinner, the Pythagorean got to his feet, filled a large glass of +water, and taking a gulp of it, leaving it about half full, he proceeded +as follows: + +“Gentlemen: considering the state of morals in our unfortunate country, +arising as it does from the use of intoxicating liquors and the flesh +of animals, I feel myself called upon to impress upon the consciences +of this respectable auditory the necessity of studying the admirable +principles of the great philosopher whose simplicity of life in food and +drink I humbly endeavor to imitate. Modern society, my friends, is all +wrong, and, of course, is proceeding upon an erroneous and pernicious +system--that of eating the flesh of animals and indulging in the use, +or rather the abuse, of liquors, that heat the blood and intoxicate the +brain into the indulgence of passion and the commission of crime.” + +Here the little doctor threw a glass of usquebaugh--now called +whiskey--into the half-emptied cup which stood before Cooke. + +“A vegetable diet, gentlemen, is that which was appointed for us by +Providence, and water like this our drink. And, indeed, water like +this is delicious drink. The Spa of Ballyspellan stands unrivalled for +strength and flavor, and its capacity of exhilarating the animal spirits +is extraordinary. You see, gentlemen, how copiously I drink it; servant, +fill my glass again--thank you.” + +In the meantime, and before he touched it, the doctor whipped another +glass of whiskey into it--an act which the Pythagorean, who was, as +we have said, unusually tall, and kept his eye upon the company, could +neither suspect nor see. + +“It has been ignorantly said that the structure of the human mouth is an +argument against me as to the quality of our food, and that the growth +of grapes is a proof that wine was ordained to be drank by men. It +is perfectly well known that a man may eat a bushel of grapes without +getting drunk; because the pure vegetable possesses no intoxicating +power any more than the water which I am now drinking--and delicious +water it is!” + +Here the doctor dug his elbow into the fat ribs of Topertoe, whose face, +in the meantime, seemed in a blaze of indignation. + +“I tell you what, philosopher, curse me, but you are an infidel.” + +“I have the honor, sir,” he replied, “to be an infidel--as every +philosopher is. The truth of what I am stating to you has been tested +by philosophers, and it has been ascertained, that no quantity of grapes +eaten by an individual could make him drunk.” + +The doctor gave the parson another dig, and winked at him to keep quiet. + +“Sir,” said the parson, unable, however, to restrain himself, “confound +me if ever I heard such infidel opinions expressed in my life. Damn your +philosophy; it is cursed nonsense, and nothing else.” + +“A vegetable diet,” proceeded Cooke, “is a guarantee for health and long +life--O Lord!” he exclaimed, “this accursed rheumatism will be the death +of me.” + +“What is he saying?” asked Manifold. + +“He is talking philosophy,” replied the doctor, with a comic grin, “and +recommending a vegetable diet and pure water.” + +“A devilish scoundrel,” said Manifold. “He's a rat, too. Doolittle's a +rat; but I'll poison him; yes, I'll dose him with ratsbane, and then I +can eat, drink, and swill away. Is the philosopher's wife a cripple?” + +“He has no wife,” replied Doolittle. + +“And what the devil, then, is he a philosopher for? What on earth +challenges philosophy in a husband so much as a wife,--especially if +she's a cripple and has the use of her tongue?” + +“Not being a married man myself,” replied the doctor, “I can give you no +information on the subject; or rather I could if I would; but it would +not be for your comfort:--ask Manifold.” + +“Ay; but he says there's something wrong about his head--sprouts +pressing up, or something that way. Ask Mrs. Rosebud will she hob or nob +with me. Mrs. Rosebud,” he proceeded, addressing the widow, “hob or nob?” + +Mrs. Rosebud, knowing that he was nothing more nor less than a gouty +old parson, bowed to him very coldly, but accepted his challenge, +notwithstanding. + +“Mrs. Rosebud,” he added, “what kind of a man was old Rosebud?” + +“His family name,” replied the widow, “was not Rosebud but Yellowboy; +and, indeed, to speak the truth, my dear old Rosebud had all the marks +and tokens of the original family name upon him, for he was as thin as +the philosopher there, and as yellow as saffron. His mother, however, +the night before he was born, dreamed that she was presented with a +rosebud, and the name, being somewhat poetical, was adopted by himself +and the family as a kind of set-off against the duck-foot color of the +ancestral skin.” + +The philosopher, in the meantime, finding himself interrupted, stood, +with a complacent countenance, awaiting a pause in which he might +proceed. At length he got an opportunity of resuming. + +“The world,” he added, “knows but little of the great founder of so many +systems and theories connected with human life and philosophy. It was +he who invented the multiplication table, and solved the forty-seventh +proposition of the first book of Euclid. It was he who, from his +profound knowledge of music, first discovered the music of the +spheres--a divine harmony, which, from its unbroken continuity, and +incessant play in the heavenly bodies, we are incapable of hearing.” + +“Where the deuce, then, is the use of it?” cried Captain Culverin; “it +must be a very odd kind of music which we cannot hear.” + +“The great Samian, sir, could hear it; but only in his heart and +intellect, and after he had discovered the truthful doctrine of the +metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls.” + +“The transmigration of soles; why, my dear sir, doesn't every fishwoman +understand that?” observed the captain. “Was the fellow a fisherman?” + +“His great discovery, however, if mankind would only adopt it, was the +healthful one of a vegetable diet, carried out by a fixed determination +not to wear any dress made up from the skins or fleeces of animals that +have been slain by man, but philosophically to confine himself to +plain linen as I do. O Lord! this rheumatism will be the death of me. +Pythagoras was one of the greatest philosophers.” + +Here the doctor threw another glass of usquebaugh into the cup which +stood before the Pythagorean, which act, in consequence of his great +height and short sight, he did not perceive, but imagined that he was +drinking the well water. + +“Philosopher,” said Captain Culverin, “hob or nob, a glass with you.” + +“With pleasure, captain,” said the Pythagorean, “only I wish you would +adopt my principles--a vegetable diet and _aqua pura_. + +“Upon my credit,” observed Father Mulrenin, “I think the _aqua pura_ is +the best of it. It is blessed water, this well water, and it ought to be +so, because the parson consecrated it. Hob or nob with me, Mr. Cooke.” + +“With pleasure, sir,” replied Mr. Cooke, again; “and I do assure you, +Father Mulrenin, that I think the parson's consecration has improved the +water.” + +“Sorra doubt of it,” replied the friar; “and I am sure the doctor there +will support me in the article of the parson's consecration.” + +“The great Samian,” proceeded Cooke, “the great Samian--” + +“My dear philosopher,” said the facetious friar, “never mind your great +Samian, but follow up your principles and drink your water.” + +The mischievous doctor had thrown another glass into his cup: “Drink +your water, and set us all a philosophical example of sobriety.” + +“That I always do,” said the philosopher, staggering a little; “that +I always do: the water is delicious, and I think my rheumatism has +departed from me. Mr. Manifold, hob or nob!” + +“No,” replied Manifold, “confound me if I will. You are the fellow that +eats nothing but vegetables, and drinks nothing but water. Do you think +I will hob or nob with a water-drinking rascal like you? Do you think I +will put my wine against your paltry water?” + +“Don't call it paltry,” replied the Pythagorean; “it is delicious. You +know not how it elevates the spirits and, so to speak, philosophizes the +whole system of man. I am beginning to feel extremely happy.” + +“I think so,” replied the friar; “but wasn't it a fact, as a proof of +your metempsychosis, that the great author of your doctrine was at +the siege of Troy some centuries before he came into the world as the +philosopher Pythagoras?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied his follower, “he fought for the Greeks in +the character of Euphorbus, in the Trojan war, was Hermatynus, and +afterwards a fisherman; his next transformation having been into the +body of Pythagoras.” + +“What an extraordinary memory he must have had,” said the friar. +“Now, can you yourself remember all the bodies your soul has passed +through?--but before I expect you to answer me,--hob or nob again,--this +is famous water, my dear philosopher.” + +“It is famous water, Father Mulrenin; and the parson's consecration has +given it a power of exhilaration which is astonishing.” The doctor had +thrown another glass of usquebaugh into his cup, of course unobserved. + +“Why,” said the friar, “if I'm not much mistaken, you will feel +the benefit of it. It is purely philosophical water, and fit for a +philosopher like you to drink.” + +The company now were divided into little knots, and the worthy +philosopher found it necessary to take his seat. He felt himself in a +state of mind which he could not understand; but the delicious flavor of +the water still clung to him, and, owing to his shortness of sight, +and the doctor's wicked wit,--if wit it could be called,--he continued +drinking spirits and water until he became perfectly--or, in the +ordinary phrase--blind drunk, and was obliged to be carried to bed. + +In the meantime, a new individual had arrived; and, having ascertained +from the servants that there was a great dinner on that day, he inquired +if Mr. Goodwin and his family were present at it. He was informed that +Mr. Goodwin and Mrs. Goodwin were there, but that Miss Goodwin was +unable to come. He asked where Mr. Goodwin and Mrs. Goodwin resided, +and, having been informed on this point, he immediately passed to the +farmer's house where they lodged. + +Now, it so happened that there was a neat garden attached to the house, +in which was an arbor of willows where Miss Goodwin was in the habit of +sitting, and amusing herself by the perusal of a book. It contained an +arm-chair, in which she frequently reclined, sometimes after the slight +exertion of walking; it also happened that she occasionally fell +asleep. There were two modes of approach to the farmer's house--one by +the ordinary pathway, and another much shorter, which led by a gate that +opened into the garden. By this last the guide who pointed out the house +to Woodward directed him to proceed, and he did so. On passing through, +his eye caught the summer house, and he saw at a glance that Alice +Goodwin was there, and asleep. She was, indeed, asleep, but it was +a troubled sleep, for the demon gaze of the terrible eye which she +dreaded, and which had almost blasted her out of life, she imagined was +one more fixed upon her. Woodward approached with a stealthy step, and +saw that, even although asleep, she was deeply agitated, as was evident +by her moanings. He contemplated her features for a brief space. + +“Ah,” he said to himself, “I have done my work. Although beautiful, the +stamp of death is upon her. One last gaze and it will all be over. I am +before her in her dream. My eye is upon her in her morbid and diseased +imagination, but what will the consequence be when she awakens and finds +it upon her in reality?” + +As those thoughts passed through his mind, she gave a scream, and +exclaimed,-- + +“O, take him away! take him away! he is killing me!” and as she uttered +the words she awoke. + +Now, thought he, to secure my twelve hundred a year; now, for one +glance, with the power of hell in its blighting influence, and all is +over; my twelve hundred is safe to me and mine forever. + +On awakening from her terrible dream, the first object that presented +itself to her was the fixed gaze of that terrific eye. It was now +wrought up to such a concentration of malignity as surpassed all that +even her imagination had ever formed of it. Fixed--diabolical in its +aspect, and steady as fate itself--it poured upon the weak and alarmed +girl such a flood of venomous and prostrating influence that her shrieks +were too feeble to reach the house when calling for assistance. She +seemed to have been fascinated to her own destruction. There the eye +was fastened upon her, and she felt herself deprived of the power of +removing her own from his. + +“O my God!” she exclaimed, “I am lost--help, help; the murderous eye is +upon me!” + +“It is enough,” said Woodward; “good by, Miss Goodwin. I was simply +contemplating your beauty, and I am sorry to see that you are in so weak +a state. Present my compliments to your father and mother; and I think +of me as a man whose affection you have indignantly spurned--a man, +however, I whose eye, whatever his heart may be, is not to be trifled +with.” + +He then made her a low bow, and took his departure back through the +garden. + +“It is over,” said he; “_finitum est_, the property is mine; she cannot +be saved now; I have taken her life; but no one can say that I have shed +her blood. My precious mother will be delighted to hear this. Now, we +will be free to act with old Cockletown and his niece; and if she does +not turn out a good wife--if she crosses me in my amours---for amours I +will have,--I shall let her, too, feel what my eye can do.” + +Alice's screams, after his departure from the garden, brought out Sarah +Sullivan, who, aided by another servant, assisted her between them to +reach the house, where she was put to bed in such a state of weakness, +alarm, and terror as cannot be described. Her father and mother were +immediately sent for, and, on arriving at her bedside, found her +apparently in a dying state. All she could find voice to utter was,-- + +“He was here--his eye was upon me in the summer house. I feel I am +dying.” + +Doctor Doolittle and Father Mulrenin were both sent for, but she had +fallen into an exhausted slumber, and it was deemed better not to +disturb her until she might gain some strength by sleep. Her parents, +who felt so anxious about her health, and the faint hopes of her +recovery, now made fainter by the incident which had just occurred, did +not return to the assembly, and the consequence was that Woodward and +they did not meet. + +When the hour for the dance, however, arrived, the tables for +refreshments were placed in other and smaller rooms, and the larger one +in which they had dined was cleared out for the ball. The simple-hearted +Pythagorean had slept himself sober, without being aware of the cause of +his break-down at the dinner, and he now appeared among them in a gala +dress of snow-white linen. He was no enemy to healthy amusements, for +he could not forget that the great philosopher whom he followed had won +public prizes at the Olympic games. He consequently frisked about in +the dance with an awkwardness and a disregard of the graces of motion, +which, especially in the jigs, convulsed the whole assembly, nor did +any one among them laugh more loudly than he did himself. He especially +addressed himself too, and danced with, Mrs. Rosebud, who, as she was +short, fat, and plump, exhibited as ludicrous a contrast with the almost +naked anatomical structure which frisked before her as the imagination +could conceive. + +“Upon my credit,” observed the Mar, “I see that extremes may meet. Look +at the philosopher, how he trebles and capers it before the widow. Faith, +I should not feel surprised if he made Mrs. Pythagoras of her before +long.” + +This, however, was not the worst of it, for what or who but the devil +himself should tempt the parson, with his gout strong upon him, to +select Miss Rosebud for a dance, whilst the philosophic rheumatist was +frisking it as well as he could with her mother? The room was in an +uproar. Miss Rosebud, who possessed much wicked humor, having, as the +lady always has, the privilege, called for one of the liveliest tunes +then known. The parson's attempt to keep time made the uproar still +greater; but at length it ceased, for neither the philosopher nor the +parson could hold out any longer, and each retired in a state of torture +to his seat. The mirth having now subsided, a gentleman entered the +room, admirably dressed, on whom the attention of the whole company +was turned, He was tall, elegantly formed, and at a first glance was +handsome. The expression of his eyes, however, was striking--startling. +It was good--brilliant; it was bad and strange, and, to those who +examined it closely, such as they had never witnessed before. Still he +was evidently a gentleman: there could be no mistake about that. His +manner, his dress, and his whole bearing, made them all feel that he was +entitled to respect and courtesy. Little did they imagine that he was a +murderer, and that he entered the room under the gratifying impression +of his having killed Alice Goodwin. It was Harry Woodward. The evening +was now advanced, but, after his introduction to the company, he joined +in their amusements, and had the pleasure of dancing with both Mrs. +Rosebud and her daughter; and after having concluded his dance with the +latter, some tidings reached the room, which struck the whole company +with a feeling of awe. It was at first whispered about, but it at length +became the general topic of conversation. Alice Goodwin was dying, and +her parents were in a state of distraction. Nobody could tell why, but +it appeared she was at the last gasp, and that there was some mystery in +her malady. Many speculations were broached upon the subject. Woodward +preserved silence for a time, but just as he was about to make some +observations with reference to her illness, a tall, handsome gentleman +entered the room and bowed with much grace to the company. + +Father Mulrenin started up, and, shaking hands with him, said,-- + +“I know now, sir, that you have got my letter.” + +“I have got it,” replied the other, “and I am here accordingly.” + +As he spoke, his eye glanced around the room, the most distinguished +figure in which, beyond comparison, was that of Woodward, who instantly +recognized him as the gentleman whom he had met on the morning of his +departure from the hospitable roof of Mr. Goodwin, on his return home, +and, we may add, between whom and himself that extraordinary trial of +the power of will, as manifested by the power of the eye, took place so +completely to his own discomfiture. They were both gentlemen, and bowed +to each other very courteously, after which they approached and shook +hands, and whilst the stranger held Woodward's hand in his during their +short but friendly chat, it was observed that Woodward's face got as +pale as death, and he almost immediately tottered towards a seat from +weakness. + +“Don't be alarmed,” said the stranger; “you now feel that the principle +of good is always able to overcome the principle of evil.” + +“Who or what are you?” asked Woodward, faintly. + +“I am a plain country gentleman, sir; and something more, a man of +wealth and distinction; but who, unlike my friend Cooke here, do not +make myself ridiculous by absurd eccentricities, and the adoption of the +nonsensical doctrines of Pythagoras, so utterly at variance with reason +and Christian truth. You know, my dear Cooke, I could have cured you of +your rheumatism had you possessed common-sense; but who could cure any +man who guards his person against the elements by such a ludicrous and +unsubstantial dress as yours?” + +“I am in torture,” replied Cooke; “I was tempted to dance with a pretty +woman, and now I am suffering for it.” + +“As for me,” exclaimed Topertoe, “I am a match, and more than a match, +for you in suffering. O, this accursed gout!” + +“I suppose you brought it on by hard drinking, sir,” said the stranger. +“If that be so, I shall not undertake to cure you unless you give up +hard drinking.” + +“I will do anything,” replied Topertoe, “provided you can allay my pain. +I also was tempted to dance as well as the philosopher; and now the +Christian parson and the pagan Pythagorean are both suffering for it.” + +“What is all this about?” exclaimed Manifold. “O Lord! is he going to +put them on a vegetable diet, relieved by toast and water--toast and +water?” + +The stranger paid but little attention to Manifold, because he saw by +his face and the number of his chins that he was past hope; but turning +towards Topertoe and the Pythagorean, he requested them both to sit +beside each other before him. He then asked Topertoe where his gout +affected him, and having been informed that it was principally in his +great toe and right foot, he deliberately stripped the foot, and having +pressed his hands upon it for about the space of ten minutes, he +desired his patient to rise up and walk. This he did, and to his utter +astonishment, without the slightest symptom or sensation of pain. + +“Why, bless my soul!” exclaimed the parson, “I am cured; the pain is +altogether gone. Let me have a bumper of claret.” + +“That will do,” observed the stranger. “You are incurable. You will +plunge once more into a life of intemperance and luxury, and once more +your complaint, from which you are now free, will return to you. +You will not deny yourself the gratification of your irrational and +senseless indulgences, and yet you expect to be cured. As for me, I can +only remove the malady of such persons as you for the present, or +time being; but, so long as you return to the exciting cause of it, no +earthly skill or power in man can effect a permanent cure. Now, Cooke, I +will relieve you of your rheumatism; but unless you exchange this flimsy +stuff for apparel suited to your climate and condition, I feel that I am +incapable of rendering you anything but a temporary relief.” + +He passed his hands over those parts of his limbs most affected by +his complaint, and in a short time he (the philosopher) found himself +completely free from his pains. + +During those two most extraordinary processes Woodward looked on with +a degree of wonder and of interest that might be truly termed intense. +What the operations which took place before him could mean he knew not, +but when the stranger turned round to the friar and said,--“Now bring me +to this unhappy girl,” Woodward seized his hat, feeling a presentiment +that he was going to the relief of Alice Goodwin, and with hasty steps +proceeded to the farm house in which she and her parents lodged. He +was now desperate, and resolved, if courtesy failed, to force one more +annihilating glance upon her before the mysterious stranger should +arrive. We need scarcely inform our readers that he was indignantly +repulsed by the family; but he was furious, and in spite of all +opposition forced his way into her bedroom, to which he was led by her +groans--dying groans they were considered by all around her. He rushed +into her bed-room, and fixed his eye upon her with something like the +fury of hell in it. The poor girl on seeing him a second time fell back +and moaned as if she had expired. The villain stood looking over her in +a spirit of the most malignant triumph. + +“It is done now,” said he; “there she lies--a corpse--and I am now +master of my twelve hundred a year.” + +He had scarcely uttered the words when he felt a powerful hand grasp him +by the shoulder, and send him with dreadful violence to the other side +of the room. On turning round to see who the person was who had +actually twirled him about like an infant, he found the large, but +benevolent-looking stranger standing at Alice's bedside, his finger +upon the pulse and his eyes intently fixed upon her apparently lifeless +features. He then turned round to Woodward, and exclaimed in a voice of +thunder,-- + +“She is not dead, villain, and will not die on this occasion: begone, +and leave the room.” + +“Villain!” replied Woodward, putting his hand to his sword: “I allow no +man to call me villain unpunished.” + +The stranger contemptuously and indignantly waved his hand to him, as +much as to say--presently, presently, but not now. The truth is, the +loud tones of his voice had caused Alice to open her eyes, and instead +of trading the dreaded being before her, there stood the symbol of +benevolence and moral power, with his mild, but clear and benignant eye +smiling upon her. + +“My dear child,” said he, “look upon me and give me your hands. You +shall, with the assistance of that God who has so mysteriously gifted +me, soon be well, and free from the evil and diabolical influence which +I has been for such selfish and accursed purposes exercised over you.” + +He then took her beautiful but emaciated hands into his own, which were +also soft and beautiful, and keeping his eyes fixed upon hers, he +then, with that necessary freedom which physicians exercise with their +patients, pressed his hands after a time upon her temples, her head, her +eyes, and her heart, the whole family being present, servants and all. +The effect was miraculous. In the course of twenty minutes the girl was +recovered; her spirits--her health had returned to her. Her eyes smiled +as she turned them with delight upon her father and mother. + +“O, papa!” she exclaimed, smiling, “O, dear mamma, what can this mean? +I am; cured, and what is more, I am no longer afraid of that vile, +bad man. May the God of heaven be praised for this! but how will we +thank--how can we thank the benevolent gentleman who has rescued me from +death?” + +“More thanks are due,” replied the stranger, smiling, “to Father +Mulrenin here, who acquainted me in a letter, not only with your +melancholy condition, but with the supposed cause of it. However, let +your thanks be first returned to God, whose mysterious instrument I only +am. Now, sir,” said he, turning to Woodward, “you laid your hand upon +your sword. I also wear a sword, not for aggression but defence. You +know we met before. I was not then aware of your personal history, but +I am now. I have just returned from London, where I was at the court of +his Majesty Charles the Second. While in London I met your granduncle, +and from him I learned your history, and a bad one it is. Now, sir, I +beg to inform you that your malignant and diabolical influence over the +person of this young lady has ceased forever. As to the future, she is +free from that influence; but if I ever hear that you attempt to intrude +yourself into her presence, or to annoy her family, I will have you +secured in the jail of Waterford in forty-eight hours afterwards, for +other crimes that render you liable to the law.” + +“And pray who are you?” asked Woodward, with a blank and crestfallen +countenance, but still with a strong feeling of enmity and bitterness--a +feeling which he could not repress. “Who are you who presume to dictate +to me upon my conduct and course of life?” + +“Who am I?” replied the stranger, assuming an air of incredible dignity. +“Sir, my name is VALENTINE GREATRAKES, a person on whom God has bestowed +powers which, apart from inspiration, have seldom for centuries ever +been vouchsafed to man.” + +Woodward got pale again. He had heard of his extraordinary powers of +curing almost every description of malady peculiar to the human frame, +and without another word slunk out of the room. On hearing his name +Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin rushed to him, seized his hands, and with the +enthusiasm of grateful hearts each absolutely wept upon his broad and +ample bosom. He was at this period about forty-six; but seeing Alice's +face lit up with joy and delight, he stooped down and kissed her as a +father would a daughter who had recovered from the death struggle. “My +dear child,” he said, “you are now saved; but you must remain here for +some time longer, because I do not wish to part with you until I shall +have completely confirmed the sanative influence with which God +has enabled me to reinvigorate you and others. As for your selfish +persecutor, he will trouble you no more. He knows now what the +consequences would be if he attempt it.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +History of the Black Spectre. + + +Woodward returned to the public room, where he was soon followed by +Father Mulrenin and Greatrakes, who were shortly joined by Mr. Goodwin; +Mrs. Goodwin having remained at home with Alice. The dancing went on +with great animation, and when the hour of supper arrived there was a +full and merry table. The friar was in great glee, but from time to time +kept his eye closely fixed upon Woodward, whose countenance and conduct +he watched closely; It might have been about the hour of midnight, if +not later, when, after a short lull in the conversation, Father Mulrenin +addressed Mr. Goodwin as follows:-- + +“Mr. Goodwin, is there not a family in your neighborhood named Lindsay?” + +“There is,” replied Goodwin; “and a very respectable family, too.” + +“By the way, there is a very curious tradition, or legend, connected +with the family of Mr. Lindsay's wife: have you ever heard of it?” + +“That such a tradition, or legend, exists, I believe,” he replied, “but +there are many versions of it--although I have never heard any of +them distinctly; something I did hear about what is termed the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or the Black Spectre.” + +“Well, then,” proceeded the friar, “if the company has no objection to +hear an authentic account of this fearful apparition, I will indulge +them with a slight sketch of the narrative: + +“When Essex was over here in the Elizabethan wars--and a nice hand he +made of them; not, God knows, that we ought to regret it, but I like a +good general whether he is for us or against us--devil a doubt of that: +well, when Essex was over here conducting them (with reverence be +it spoken) it so happened that he had a scoundrel with him by name +Hamilton--and a thorough scoundrel was he. O Lord! if I had lived in +those days, and wasn't in Orders to tie my hands up--but no matter; this +same scoundrel was one of the handsomest vagabonds in the English camp. +Well and good; but, indeed, to tell God's truth, it was neither well nor +good, because, as I said, the man was a first-rate, tiptop scoundrel; +but you will find that he was a devilish sight more so before I have put +a period to my little narration. Mr. Woodward, will you hob or nob? I +think your name is Woodward?” + +“With great pleasure, sir,” replied Woodward; “and you are right, my +name is Woodward; but proceed with your narrative, for, I assure you, I +feel very much interested in it, especially in that portion of it which +relates to the Black Spectre. Though not a believer in supernatural +appearances, I feel much gratification in listening to accounts of them. +Pray proceed, sir.” + +“Well sir, it so happened that this Hamilton, who had been originally +a Scotch Redshank, became privately acquainted with a beautiful and +wealthy orphan girl, a relation of the O'Neils; and it so happened +again, that whether they made a throw on the dice for it or not, he won +her affections. So far, however, there was nothing very particularly +obnoxious in it, because we know that intermarriages between Catholics +and Protestants may disarm the parties of their religious prejudices +against each other; and although I cannot affirm the truth of what I am +about to say from my own experience, still, I think I have been able to +smell out the fact that little Cupid is of no particular religion, and +can be claimed by no particular church; or rather I should say that he +is claimed by all churches and all creeds. This Hamilton, as I said, was +exceedingly handsome, but it seems from the tradition that it was by the +beauty of his eyes that Eva O'Neil was conquered, just as the first +Eve was by the eyes and tongue of the serpent. Not, God knows, that the +great Eve was any great shakes, for she left the world in a nice plight +by falling in love with a serpent; but upon my credit she was not the +first woman, excuse the blunder, who fell in love with a serpent, and +suffered accordingly. I appeal to Pythagoras there.” + +“It is an allegory,” replied the Pythagorean, “and simply means that we +are innocent so long as we are young, and that when we come to maturity +we are corrupted and depraved by our passions.” + +“How the sorra can you say that,” replied the friar, “when you know that +Adam and Eve were created full-grown?” + +“Pray go on with your tradition,” said Greatrakes, “and let us hear the +history of the Black Spectre. I am not myself an infidel in the history +of supernatural appearances, and I wish to hear you out.” + +“Well, then,” replied the friar, “you shall. The villain proposed +marriage to this beautiful young orphan, and as he was a handsome +vagabone, as I have stated, he was accepted; but his eyes, above all +things, were irresistible. They were married by a Protestant clergyman, +and immediately afterwards by a Catholic priest, who was far advanced +in years. The lady would submit to no marriage but a legal one. The +marriage, however, was private; for Hamilton knew that Essex was aware +of his having been during this event a married man, and that his +wife, who was a distant relation of the Earl's, was still living. The +marriage, however, came to Essex's ears, and Hamilton was called to +account. He denied the marriage, the old priest having been now dead, +and none but the Protestant clergyman of the parish being alive to bear +testimony to the fact of the marriage. He endeavored to prevail upon the +clergyman also to deny the marriage, which he refused to do, whereupon +he was found murdered. His wife by this marriage having learned from +Essex that Hamilton had most treacherously deceived her, fell into +premature labor and died; but her last words were an awful curse upon +him, and his children after him, to the last generation. + +“'May the Eye that lured me to destruction,' she said, 'become a curse +to you and your descendants forever! May it blight and kill all those +whom it looks upon, and render it dreadful and dreaded to all those who +will place confidence in you or your descendants!'” + +“God knows I couldn't much blame her; it was her last Christian +benediction to the villain who had destroyed her, and, setting-charity +aside, I don't see how she could have spoken otherwise. + +“When the proofs of the marriage, however, were about to be brought +against him, the Protestant clergyman, who, on discovering his iniquity, +was too honest to conceal it, and who felt bitterly the fraud that had +been practised on him, was found murdered, as I have said, because he +was now the only evidence left against Hamilton's crime. The latter +did not, however, get rid of him by that atrocious and inhuman act. The +spirit of that man haunts the family from that day to this; it is always +a messenger of evil to them whenever he appears, and it matters not +where they go or where they live, he is sure to follow them, and to +fasten upon some of the family, generally the wickedest, of course, +as his victim. Now, Mr. Woodward, what do you think of that family +tradition?” + +“I think of it,” replied Woodward, “with contempt, as I do of everything +that proceeds from the lips of an ignorant and illiterate Roman Catholic +priest.” + +“Sir,” replied the friar, “I am not the inventor of this family +tradition, nor of the crime which is said--however justly I know not--to +have given rise to it; but this I do know, that no man having claims to +the character of a gentleman would use such language to a defenceless +man as you have just used to me. The legend is traditionary in your +family, and I have only given it as I have heard it. If I were not a +clergyman I would chastise you for your insolence; but my hands are +bound up, and you well know it.” + +“Friar,” said Greatrakes, “when you know that your hands are bound up, +you should have avoided insulting any man. You should not have related +a piece of family history--perhaps false from beginning to end--in the +presence of a gentleman so intimately connected with that family as you +knew him to be. It was no topic for a common room like this, and it was +quite unjustifiable in you to have introduced it.” + +“I feel, sir, that you are perfectly right,” replied the good-natured +friar, “and I ask Mr. Woodward's pardon for having, without the +slightest intention of offence to him, done so. You will recollect that +he himself expressed an anxiety to hear it.” + +“All I say upon the subject,” observed the Pythagorean, “is simply this, +that Pythagoras himself could not have cured me of the rheumatism as my +friend Valentine Greatrakes has done.” + +“You will require no cure, and, what is better, no necessity for cure,” + replied Greatrakes, smiling, “if you will have only common sense, my +dear Cooke. Clothe yourself in warm and comfortable garments, and feed +your miserable carcass with good beef and mutton, and, in addition +to which, like myself and the friar here, take a warm tumbler of good +usquebaugh punch to promote digestion.” + +“I will never abandon my principles,” replied the philosopher. “Linen +and vegetable diet forever.” + +Manifold was asleep after his gorge,--a sleep from which he never +awoke,--but Doctor Doolittle, anxious to secure Cooke as a patient, +became quite eloquent upon the advantages of a vegetable diet, and of +the Pythagorean system in general; after which the conversation of the +night closed, and the guests departed to their respective lodgings. + +The night was still an beautiful. The moon was about to sink, but still +she emitted that faint and shadowy light which lends such calm, but +picturesque beauty to the nocturnal landscape. Woodward was alone; +but it would be difficult to find language in which to describe the +bitterness of his feelings and the frightful sense of his disappointment +on finding, not only that his infamous design upon the life of Alice +Goodwin had been frustrated, but on feeling certain that she had been +restored to perfect health before his eyes. This, however, was not +the worst of it. He had calculated on killing her, and consequently of +securing the twelve hundred a year, on the strength of which he and his +mother could confidently negotiate with the old nobleman, who always +slept with one eye open. In the venom and dark malignity of his heart +he cursed Alice Goodwin, he cursed Valentine Greatrakes, he cursed +the world, and he cursed God, or rather would have cursed him had he +believed in the existence of such a being. + +In this mood of mind he was proceeding to his lodgings, when he espied +before him the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or Black Spectre with the middogue in +his hand. He stood and looked at it steadily. + +“What is this?” said he, addressing the figure before him. “What pranks +are you playing now? Do you think me a fool? What brought you here? and +what do you mean by this pantomimic nonsense, Mr. Conjurer?” + +The figure, of course, made no reply, except by gesture. It brandished +the middogue, or dagger, however, and pointed it three times at his +heart. The spot upon which this strange interview occurred was perfectly +clear of anything that could conceal an individual. In fact it was an +open common. Woodward, consequently, led astray by circumstances with +which the reader will become subsequently acquainted, started forward +with the intention of reaching the individual whom he suspected of +indulging himself in playing with his fears, or rather with jocularly +intending to excite them. He sprang forward, we say, and reached the +spot on which the Black Spectre had stood, but our readers may judge +of his surprise when he found that the spectre, or whatever it was, +had disappeared, and was nowhere, or any longer, visible. Place of +concealment there was none. He examined the ground about him. It was +firm and compact, and without a fissure in which a rat could, conceal +itself. + +There is no power in human nature which enables the heart of man, under +similar circumstances, to bear the occurrence of such a scene as we have +described, unmoved. The man was hardened--an infidel, an atheist; but, +notwithstanding all this, a sense of awe, wonder, and even, in some +degree, of terror, came over his heart, which nearly unnerved him. +Most atheists, however, are utter profligates, as he was; or silly +philosophers, who, because they take their own reason for their guide, +will come to no other conclusion than that to which it leads them. “It +is simply a hallucination,” said he to himself, “and merely the result +of having heard the absurd nonsense of what that ignorant and credulous +old friar related tonight concerning my family. Still it is strange, +because I am cool and sober, and in the perfect use of my senses. This +is the same appearance which I saw before near the Haunted House, and of +which I never could get any account. What if there should be--?” + +He checked himself and proceeded to his lodgings, with an intention of +returning home the next morning; which he did, after having failed in +the murderous mission which he undertook to accomplish. + +“Mother,” said he, after his return home, “all is lost: Alice Goodwin +has been restored to perfect health by Valentine Greatrakes, and +my twelve hundred a year is gone for ever. How can we enter into +negotiations with that sharp old scoundrel, Lord Cockle-town, now? +I assure you I had her at the last gasp, when Greatrakes came in and +restored her to perfect health before my face. But, setting that aside +for the present, is there such a being as what is termed the Black +Spectre, mysteriously connected, if I may say so, with our family?” + +His mother's face got pale as death. + +“Why do you ask, Harry?” said she. + +“Because,” he replied, “I have reason to think that I have seen it +twice.” + +“Alas! alas!” she exclaimed, “then the doom of the curse is upon you. It +selects only one of every generation on which to work its vengeance. The +third appearance of it will be fatal to you.” + +“This is all contemptible absurdity, my dear mother. I don't care if I +saw it a thousand times. How can it interfere with my fate?” + +“It does not interfere,” she replied, “it only intimates it, and +whatever the nature of the individual's death among our family may be, +it shadows it out. What signs did it make to you?” + +“It brandished what is called in this country a middogue, or Irish +dagger, at my heart.” + +His mother got pale again. + +“Harry,” said she, “I would recommend you to leave the kingdom. Avoid +the third warning!” + +“Mother,” he replied, “this certainly is sad nonsense. I have no notion +of leaving the kingdom in consequence of such superstitious stuff as +this; all these things are soap bubbles; put your finger on them and +they dissolve into nothing. How is Charles? for I have not yet seen +him.” + +“Improving very much, although not able yet to leave his room.” + +Woodward walked about and seemed absorbed in thought. + +“It is a painful thing, mother,” said he, “that Charles is so long +recovering. Do you know that I am half inclined to think he will never +recover? His wound was a dreadful one, and its consequences on his +constitution will, I fear, be fatal.” + +“I hope not, Harry,” she replied, “for ever since his illness I have +found that my heart gathers about him with an affection that I have +never felt for him before.” + +“Your resolution, then, is fixed, I suppose, to leave him your +property?” + +“It is fixed; there is, or can be, no doubt about it. Once I come to a +determination I am immovable. We shall be able to wheedle Lord +Cockletown and his niece.” + +Harry paused a moment, then passed out of the room, and retired to his +own apartment. + +Here he remained for hours. At the close of the evening he appeared in +the withdrawing-room, but still in a silent and gloomy state. + +The perfect cure of Miss Goodwin had spread like wildfire, and reached +the whole country. + +Greatrake's reputation was then at its highest, and the number of his +cures was the theme of all conversation, Barney Casey had well marked +Woodward since his return from Ballyspellan, and having heard, in +connection with others, that Miss Goodwin had been cured by Greatrakes, +he resolved to keep his eye upon him, and, indeed, as the event will +prove, it was well he did so. + +That night, about the hour of twelve o'clock, Barney, who had suspected +that he (Woodward) had either murdered Grace Davoren in order to +conceal his own guilt, or kept her in some secret place for the most +unjustifiable purposes, remarked that, as was generally usual with him, +he did not go to bed at the period peculiar to the habits of the family. + +“There is something on my mind this night,” said Barney; “I can't tell +what it is; but I think he is bent on some villainous scheme that ought +to be watched, and in the name of God I will watch him.” + +Woodward went out of the house more stealthily than usual, and took his +way towards the town of Rathfillan. A good way in the distance behind +him might be discovered another figure dogging his footsteps, that +figure being no other than the honest figure of Barney Casey. On +went Woodward unsuspicious that he was watched, until he reached the +indescribable cabin of Sol Donnel, the old herbalist. The night had +become dark, and Barney was able, without being seen, to come near +enough to Woodward to hear his words and observe his actions. He tapped +at the old man's window, which, after some delay and a good deal of +grumbling, was at length opened to him. The hut consisted of only one +room--a fact which Barney well knew. + +“Who is there?” said the old herbalist. “Why do you come at this hour to +deprive me of my rest? Nobody comes for any good purpose at such an hour +as this.” + +“Open your door, you hypocritical old sinner, and I will speak to you. +Open your door instantly.” + +“Wait, then; I will open it; to be sure--I will open it; because I know +whoever you are that if there was not something extraordinary in it, it +isn't at this hour you'd be coming to me.” + +“Open the door I say, and then I shall speak to you.” + +The window, which the old herbalist had opened, and, in the hurry of +the moment, left unshut, remained unshut, and Barney, after Woodward had +entered, stood close to it in order to hear the conversation which might +pass between them. + +“Now,” said Woodward, after he had entered the hut, “I want a dose +from you. One of my dogs, I fear, is seized with incipient symptoms of +hydrophobia, and I wish to dose him to death.” + +“And what hour is this to come for such a purpose?” asked Sol Donnel. “It +isn't at midnight that a man comes to me to ask for a dose of poison for +a dog.” + +“You are very right in that,” replied Woodward; “but the truth is, that +I had an assignation with a girl in the town, and I thought that I might +as well call upon you now as at any other time.” + +The eye of the old sinner glistened, for he knew perfectly well that the +malady of the dog was a fable. + +“Well,” said he, “I can give you the dose, but what's to be the +recompense?” + +“What do you ask?” replied the other. “I will dose nothing under five +pounds.” + +“Are you certain that your dose will be sure to effect its purpose?” + asked Woodward. + +“As sure as I am of life,” replied the old sinner; “one glass of it +would settle a man as soon as it would a dog;” and as he spoke he +fastened his keen, glittering eyes upon Woodward. The glance seemed to +say, I understand you, and I know that the dog you are about to give the +dose to walks upon two legs instead of four. + +“Now,” said Woodward after having secured the bottle, “here are your +five pounds, and _mark me_----” he looked sternly in the face of the +herbalist, but added not another word. + +The herbalist, having secured the money and deposited it in his pocket, +said, with a malicious grin, + +“Couldn't you, Mr. Woodward, have prevented yourself from going to the +expense of five pounds for poisoning a dog, that you could have shot +without all this expense?” + +Woodward looked at him. “Your life,” said he, “will not be worth a day's +purchase if you breathe a syllable of what took place between us this +night. Sol Donnel, I am a desperate man, otherwise I would not have come +to you. Keep the secret between us, for, if you divulge it, you may take +my word for it that you will not survive it twenty-four hours. Now, be +warned, for I am both resolute and serious.” + +The herbalist felt the energy of his language and was subdued. + +“No,” he replied, “I shall never breathe it; kill your dog in your own +way; all I can say is, that half a glass of it would kill the strongest +horse in your stable; only let me remark that I gave you the bottle to +kill a dog!” + +“Now,” thought Barney Casey, “what can all this mean? There is none +of the dogs wrong. He is at some devil's work; but what it is I do not +know; I shall watch him well, however, and it will go hard or I shall +find out his purpose.” + +As Woodward was about to depart he mused for a time, and at length +addressed the herbalist. + +“Suppose,” said he, “that I wish to kill this dog by slow degrees, would +it not be a good plan to give him a little of it every day, and let him +die, as it were, by inches?” + +“That my bed may be made in heaven but it is a good thought, and by +far the safest plan,” replied the herbalist, “and the very one I would +recommend you. A small spoonful every day put into his coffee or her +coffee, as the case may be, will, in the course of a fortnight or three +weeks, make a complete cure.” + +“Why, you old scoundrel, who ever heard of a dog drinking coffee?” + +“I did,” replied the old villain, with another grin, “and many a time +it is newly sweetened for them, too, and they take it until they fall +asleep; but they forget to waken somehow. Taste that yourself, and +you'll find that it is beautifully sweetened; because if it was given to +the dog in its natural bitter state he might refuse to take it at all, +or, what would be worse and more dangerous still, he might suspect the +reason why it was given to him.” + +The two persons looked each other in the face, and it would, indeed, +be difficult to witness such an expression as the countenance of each +betrayed. That of the herbalist lay principally in his ferret eyes. It +was cruel, selfish, cunning, and avaricious. The eye of the other was +dark, significant, vindictive, and terrible. In his handsome features +there was, when contrasted with those of the herbalist, a demoniacal +elevation, a satanic intellectuality of expression, which rendered the +contrast striking beyond belief. The one appeared with the power of +Apollyon, the god of destruction, conscious of that power; the other +as his mere contemptible agent of evil-subordinate, low, villanous, and +wicked. + +Woodward, after a significant look, bade him good night, and took his +way home. + +Barney Casey, however, still dogged him stealthily, because he knew not +whether the dose was intended for Grace Davoren or his brother Charles. +Mrs. Lindsay had made no secret of her intention to leave her property +to the latter, whose danger, and the state of whose health, had awakened +all those affections of the mother which had lain dormant in her heart +so long. The revivification of her affections for him was one of those +capricious manifestations of feeling which can emanate from no other +source but the heart of a mother. Independently of this, there was in +the mind of Mrs. Lindsay a principle of conscious guilt, of hardness of +heart, of all want of common humanity, that sometimes startled her into +terror. She knew the villany of her son Woodward, and, after all, the +heart of a woman and a mother is not like the heart of a man. There is a +tendency to recuperation in a woman's and a mother's heart, which can +be found nowhere else; and the contrast which she felt herself forced +to institute between the generous character of her son Charles and the +villany of Woodward broke down the hard propensities of her spirit, and +subdued her very wickedness into something like humanity. Virtue and +goodness, after all, will work their way, especially where a mother's +feelings, conscious of the evil and conscious of the good, are forced +to strike the balance between them. This consideration it was which +determined Mrs. Lindsay, in addition to other considerations already +alluded to, to come to the resolution of leaving her property to her son +Charles. There is, besides, a want of confidence and of mutual affection +in villany which reacts upon the heart, precisely as it did upon that of +Mrs. Lindsay. She knew that her eldest son was in intention a murderer; +and there is a terrible summons in conscience which sometimes awakens +the soul into a sense of virtue and truth. + +Be this as it may, Barney Casey's vigilance was ineffectual. From the +night on which Woodward got the bottle from the herbalist, Charles +Lindsay began gradually and slowly to decline. Barney's situation in the +family was that of a general servant, in fact, a man of all work, and +the necessary consequence was, that he could not contravene the conduct +of Harry Woodward, although he saw clearly that, notwithstanding +Charles's wound was nearly healed, his general health was getting worse. + +Now, the benevolence and singular power of Valentine Greatrakes are +historical facts which cannot be contradicted. After about a month from +the time he cured Alice Goodwin he came to the town of Rathfillan, with +several objects in view, one of which was to see Alice Goodwin, and to +ascertain that her health was perfectly reestablished. But the other +and greater one was that which we shall describe. Mr. Lindsay, having +perceived that his son Charles's health was gradually becoming worse, +though his wound was healed, and on finding that the physician who +attended him could neither do anything for his malady, nor even account +for it, or pronounce a diagnosis upon its character, bethought him +of the man who had so completely cured Alice Goodwin. Accordingly, on +Greatrakes's visit to Rathfillan, he waited upon him, and requested, as +a personal favor, that he would come and see his dying son, for indeed +Charles at that time was apparently not many days from death. This +distinguished and wealthy gentleman at once assented, and told Mr. +Lindsay that he “would visit his sen the next day. + +“I may not cure him,” said he, “because there are certain complaints +which cannot be cured. Such complaints I never attempt to cure; and even +in others that are curable I sometimes fail. But wherever there is a +possibility of cure I rarely fail. I am not proud of this gift; on the +contrary, it has subdued my heart into a sense of piety and gratitude to +God, who, in his mercy, has been pleased to make me the instrument of so +much good to my fellow-creatures.” + +Mr Lindsay returned home to his family in high spirits, and on his way +to the house observed his stepson Woodward and Barney Casey at the door +of the dog-kennel. + +“I maintain the dog is wrong,” said Woodward, “and to me it seems an +incipient case of hydrophobia.” + +“And to me,” replied Barney, “it appears that his complaint is hunger, +and that you have simply deprived him of his necessary food.” + +At this moment Mr. Lindsay approached them, and exclaimed,-- + +“Harry, let your honest and affectionate heart cheer up. Valentine +Greatrakes will be here to-morrow, and will cure Charles, as he cured +Alice Goodwin, and then we will have them married; for if he recovers +I am determined on it, and will abide no opposition from any quarter. +Indeed, Harry, your mother is now willing that they should be married, +and is sorry that she ever opposed it. Your mother, thank God, is a +changed woman, and thank God the change is one that makes my very heart +rejoice.” + +“God be praised,” exclaimed Barney, “that is good news, and makes my +heart rejoice nearly as much as yours.” + +“Father,” said Woodward, “you have taken a heavy load off my mind. +Charles is certainly very ill, and until Greatrakes comes I shall make +it a point to watch and nurse-tend him myself.” + +“It is just what I would expect from your kind and affectionate heart, +Harry,” replied Lindsay, rather slowly though, who then passed into +the house to communicate the gratifying intelligence to his wife and +daughter. + +The intensity of Woodward's malignity and villany was such that, as we +have mentioned before, on some occasions he forgot himself into such +a state of mind, and, what was worse, into such an expression of +countenance, as, especially to Barney Casey, who so deeply suspected +him, challenged observation. After Lindsay had gone he put his hand to +his chin, and said, still with caution,-- + +“Yes, poor fellow, I will watch him myself this night; for if he +happened to die before Greatrakes comes to-morrow, what an affliction +would it not be to the family, and especially to myself, who love him so +well. Yes, in order to sustain and support him, I will watch him and act +as his nurse this night.” + +There was, however, such an expression on his countenance as could not +be mistaken even by a common observer, much less by such an acute one +as Barney Casey, who had his eye upon him for such a length of time! +His countenance, Barney saw plainly, was as dark as hell, and seemed to +catch its inspiration from that damnable region. + +“Barney,” said he, “I shall watch the sick bed, and nurse my brother +Charles tonight, in order, if possible, to sustain him until Greatrakes +cures him to-morrow.” + +“Ah, it's you that is the affectionate brother,” replied Barney, who had +read deliberate murder in his countenance. “But,” he exclaimed, after +Woodward had gone, “if you watch him this night, I will watch you. You +know now that he stands between you and your mother's property, and you +will put him out of the way if you can. Yes, I will watch you well this +night.” + +The minute poisoned doses which he had contrived to administer to his +brother were always followed by an excessive thirst. Now, Barney had, +as we have often said, strong suspicions; but on this occasion he was +determined to place himself in a position from which he could watch +every movement of Woodward without being suspected himself. His usual +sleeping place was in a low gallery below stairs; but it so happened +that there was a closet beside Charles's bed in which there was neither +bed nor furniture of any kind, with the exception of a single chair. The +door between them had, as is usual, two panes of glass in; it, through +which any person in the dark could see what happened in the room in +which Charles slept. + +Barney locked the door on the inside, and it was well that he did so, +for in a short time Woodward came in, with a guilty and a stealthy pace, +and having looked, like a murderer, about the room, he approached the +closet door and tried to open it; but finding that it was locked his +apprehensions vanished, and he deliberately, on seeing that his brother +was asleep, took a bottle out of his pocket, and having poured about a +wine-glassful of the poison into the small jug which contained the usual +drink of the patient, he left the room, satisfied that, as soon as +his brother awoke, he would take the deadly draught. When he departed, +Barney came out, and having substituted another for it--for there was a +variety of potions on the sick table--he, too, stealthily descended +the stairs, and going to the dog-kennel deliberately administered the +pernicious draught to the dog which Woodward had insisted was unwell. +He happily escaped all observation, and accomplished his plan without +either notice or suspicion. He stayed in the kennel in order to watch +the effects of the potion upon the dog, who died in the course of about +fifteen minutes after having received it. + +“Now,” said Barney, “I think I have my thumb upon him, and it will go +hard with me or I will make him suffer for this hellish intention to +murder his brother. Mr. Greatrakes is a man of great wealth and high +rank; he is, besides, a magistrate of the county, and, please God, I +will disclose to him all that I have seen and suspect.” + +Barney, under the influence of these feelings, went to bed, satisfied +that he had saved the life of Charles Lindsay, at least for that night, +but at the same time resolved to bring his murderous brother to an +account for his conduct. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. Greatrakes at Work--Denouement + + +Greatrakes was on his way from Birch Grove to Rathnllan House the next +day when he was met by Barney Casey, who had been on the lookout for +him. Barney, who knew not his person, was not capable of determining +whether he was the individual whom he wanted or not. At all events he +resolved at once to ascertain that fact. Accordingly, putting his hand +to his hat, he said, with a respectful manner,-- + +“Pray, sir, are you the great Valentine Great Rooke, who prevents the +people from dyin'?” + +“I am Valentine Greatrakes,” he replied, with a smile; “but I cannot +prevent the people from dying.” + +“Begad, but you can prevent them from being sick, at any rate. I am +myself sometimes subject to a colic, bad luck to it--(this was a lie, +got up for the purpose of arresting the attention of Greatrakes)--and +maybe if you would be kind enough to rub me down you would drive the +wind out of me and cure me of it, for at least, by all accounts through +the whole parish, it's a windy colic that haunts me.” + +Greatrakes, who was a man of great goodnature, and strongly susceptible +of humor, laughed very heartily at Barney's account of his miserable +state of health. + +“Well,” said he, “my good friend, let me tell you that the colic you +speak of is one of the most healthy diseases we have. Don't, if you +regard your constitution, and your health, ever attempt to get rid of +it. Your constitution is a windy constitution, and that is the reason +why you are graciously afflicted with a windy colic.” + +It was, in fact, diamond cut diamond between the two. Barney, who had +never had a colic in his life, shrugged his shoulders very dolefully at +the miserable character of the sympathy which was expressed for him; and +Greatrakes, from his great powers of observation, saw that every word +Barney uttered with respect to his besetting malady was a lie. + +At length Barney's countenance assumed an expression of such honest +sincerity and feeling that Greatrakes was at once struck by it, and he +kept his eye steadily fixed upon him. + +“Sir,” said Barney, “I understand you are a distinguished gentleman and +a magistrate besides?” + +“I am certainly a magistrate,” replied Greatrakes; “but what is your +object in asking the question, my good fellow?” + +“I understand you are going to our Masther Charles Lindsay. Now, I wish +to give you a hint or two concerning him. His brother--he of the Evil +Eye--according to my most solemn and serious opinion, is poisoning him +by degrees. I think he has been dosing him upon a small scale, so as to +make him die off by the effects of poison, without any suspicion being +raised against himself; but when his father told him yesterday that you +were to come this day to cure him, his brother insisted that he should +sit up with him, and nurse-tend him himself. I was aware of this, and +from a conversation I heard him have with an old herbalist, named Sol +Donnel, I had suspicions of his design against his brother's life. He +strove to kill Miss Goodwin by the damnable force and power of his Evil +Eye, and would have done so had not you cured her.” + +“And are you sure,” replied Greatrakes, “that it is not his Evil Eye +that is killing his brother?” + +“I don't know that,” replied Barney; “perhaps it may be so.” + +“No,” replied Greatrakes, “from all I have read and heard of its +influence it cannot act upon persons within a certain degree of +consanguinity.” + +“I would take my oath,” said honest Barney, “that it is the poison that +acts in this instance.” + +He then gave him a description of Woodward's having poured the +poison--or at least what he suspected to be such--into the drink which +was usually left at the bedside of his brother, and of its effect upon +the dog. + +Greatrakes, on hearing this, drew up his horse, and looking Barney +sternly in the face, asked him,-- + +“Pray, my good fellow, did Mr. Woodward ever injure or offend you?” + +“No, sir,” replied Barney, “never in any instance; but what I say I say +from my love for his brother, whose life, I can swear, he is tampering +with. It is a weak word, I know, but I will use a stronger, for I say he +is bent upon his murder by poison.” + +“Well,” said Greatrakes, “keep your counsel for the present. I will +study this matter, and examine into it; and I shall most certainly +receive your informations against him; but I must have better +opportunities for making myself acquainted with the facts. In the +meantime keep your own secret, and leave the rest to me.” + +When Greatrakes reached Rathfillan House the whole family attended him +to the sick bed of Charles. Woodward was there, and appeared to feel a +deep interest in the fate of his brother. Greatrakes, on looking at him, +said, before he applied the sanative power which God had placed in his +constitution,-- + +“This young man is dying of a slow and subtle poison, which some person +under the roof of this house has been administering to him in small +doses.” + +As he uttered these words he fixed his eyes upon Woodward, whose face +quailed and blanched under the power and significance of his gaze. + +“Sir,” replied Lindsay, “with the greatest respect for you, there is not +a single individual under this roof who would injure him. He is beloved +by every one. The sympathy felt for him through the whole parish is +wonderful--but by none more than by his brother Woodward.” + +This explanation, however, came too late. Greatrakes's impressions were +unchanged. + +“I think I will cure him,” he proceeded; “but after his recovery let him +be cautious in taking any drink unless from the hands of his mother or +his father.” + +He then placed his hands over his face and chest, which he kept rubbing +for at least a quarter of an hour, when, to their utter astonishment, +Charles pronounced himself in as good health as he had ever enjoyed in +his lift. + +“This, sir,” said he, “is wonderful; why, I am perfectly restored to +health. As I live, this man must have the power of God about him to +be able to effect such an extraordinary cure: and he has also cured my +darling Alice. What can I say? Father, give him a hundred--five hundred +pounds.” + +Greatrakes smiled. + +“You don't know, it seems,” he replied, “that I do not receive +remuneration for any cures I may effect. I am wealthy and independent, +and I fear that if I were to make the wonderful gift which God has +bestowed on me the object of mercenary gain, it might be withdrawn from +me altogether. My principle is one of humanity and benevolence. I will +remain in Rathfillan for a fortnight, and shall see you again,” he +added, addressing himself to Charles. “Now,” he proceeded, “mark me, you +will require neither drinks nor medicine of any description. Whatever +drinks you take, take them at the common table of the family. There are +circumstances connected with your case which, as a magistrate of the +county, I am I resolved to investigate.” + +He looked sternly at Woodward as he uttered the last words, and then +took his departure to Rathfillan, having first told Barney Casey to call +on him the next day. + +After Greatrakes had gone, Woodward repaired to the room of his mother, +in a state of agitation which we cannot describe. + +“Mother,” said he, “unless we can manage that old peer and his niece, I +am a lost man.” + +“Do not be uneasy,” replied his mother; “whilst you were at Ballyspellan +I contrived to manage that. Ask me nothing about it; but every +arrangement is made, and you are to be married this day week. Keep +yourself prepared for a settled case.” + +What the mother's arguments in behalf of the match may have been, we +cannot pretend to say. We believe that Miss Riddle's attachment to his +handsome person and gentlemanly manners overcame all objections on the +part of her uncle, and nothing now remained to stand in the way of their +union. + +The next day Barney Casey waited upon Greatrakes, according to +appointment, when the following conversation took place between them:-- + +“Now,” said Greatrakes, solemnly, “what is your name?” + +As he put the question with a stern and magisterial air, his tablets and +pencil in hand, which he did with the intention of awing Barney into a +full confession of the exact truth--a precaution which Barney's romance +of the windy colic induced him to take,--“I say,” he repeated, “what's +your name?” + +Barney, seeing the pencil and tablets in hand, and besides not being +much, or at all, acquainted with magisterial investigations, felt rather +blank, and somewhat puzzled at this query. + +He accordingly resorted to the usage of the country, and commenced +scratching a rather round bullet head. + +“My name, your honor,” he replied; “my name, couldn't you pass that by, +sir?” + +“No,” said Greatrakes, “I cannot pass it by. In this business it is +essential that I should know it.” + +“Ay,” replied Barney, “but maybe you have some treacherous design in it, +and that you are goin' to take the part of the wealthy scoundrel against +the poor man; and even if you did, you wouldn't be the first magistrate +who did it.” + +Greatrakes looked keenly at him. The observation he expressed was +precisely in accordance with the liberality of his own feelings. + +“Don't be alarmed,” he added; “if you knew my character, which it is +evident you do not, you would know that I never take the part of the +rich man against the poor man, unless when there is justice on the part +of the wealthy man, and crime, unjustifiable and cruel crime, on the +part of the poor man, which, I am sorry to say, is not an unfrequent +case. Now, I must insist, as a magistrate, that you give me your name.” + +“Well, then,” replied the other, “I'm one Barney Casey, sir, who lives +in Rathfillan House, as a servant to Mr. Lindsay, step-father to that +murtherin' blackguard.” + +Greatrakes then examined him closely, and made him promise to come to +Rathfillan that night, in order that he might accompany him to the hut +of old Sol Donnel, the herbalist. + +“I am resolved,” said he, “to investigate this matter, and in my +capacity of a magistrate to bring the guilty to justice.” + +“Faith, sir,” replied Barney, “and I'm not the boy who is going to stand +in your way in such a business as that. You know that it was I that put +you up to it, and any assistance I can give you in it you may reckon on. +Although not a magistrate, as you are, maybe I'm just as fond of justice +as yourself. Of coorse I'll attend you to-night, and show you the +devil's nest in which Sol Donnel and his blessed babe of a niece, by +name Caterine Collins, live.” + +Greatrakes took down the name of Caterine Collins, and after having +arranged the hour at which Barney was to conduct him to Sol Donnel's +hut, they separated. + +About eleven o'clock that night Barney and Greatrakes reached the +miserable-looking residence in which this old viper lived. + +“Now,” said Greatrakes, addressing the herbalist, “my business with you +is this: I have a bitter enemy who wants to establish a claim upon my +property, and I wish to put him out of my way. Do you understand me? I +am a wealthy man, and can reward you well.” + +“I never talk of these things in the presence of a third party,” replied +the herbalist, looking significantly at Barney, whom he well knew. + +“Well,” replied the other, “I dare say you are right. Casey, go out and +leave us to ourselves.” + +There was a little hall in the house, which hall was in complete +obscurity. Barney availed himself of this circumstance, opened the door +and clapped it to as if he had gone out, but remained at the same time +in the inside. + +“No, sir,” replied Sol Donnel, ignorant of the trick which Barney had +played upon him, “I never allow a third person to be present at any of +those conversations about the strength and power of my herbs. Now, tell +me, what it is that you want me to do for you.” + +“Why, to tell you the truth,” replied Greatrakes, “I never heard of your +name until within a few days ago, that you were mentioned to me by Mr. +Henry Woodward, who told me that you gave him a dose to settle a dog +that was laboring under the first symptoms of hydrophobia. Well, the dog +is dead by the influence of the bottle you gave him; but now that we +are by ourselves I tell you at once that I want a dose for a man who is +likely, if he lives, to cut me out of a large property.” + +“O, Cheernah!” exclaimed the old villain, “do you think that I who lives +by curin' the poor for nothing, or next to nothing, could lend myself to +sich a thing as that?” + +“Very well,” replied the other, preparing to take his departure, “you +have lost fifty pounds by the affair at all events.” + +“Fifty pounds!” exclaimed the other, whilst his keen and diabolical eyes +gleamed with the united spirit of avarice and villany. “Fifty pounds! +well how simple and foolish some people are. Why now, if you had a dog, +say a setter or a pointer, that from fear of madness you wished to get +rid of, and that you had mentioned it to me, I could give you a bottle +that would soon settle it; I don't go above a dog or the inferior +animals, and no man that has his senses about him ought to ask me to do +anything else.” + +“Well, then, I tell you at once that, as I said, it is not for a dog, +but for a worse animal, a man, my own cousin, who, unless I absolutely +contrive to poison him, will deprive me of six thousand a year. Instead +of fifty I shall make the recompense a hundred, after having found that +your medicine is successful.” + +The old villain's eye gleamed again at the prospect of such liberality. + +“Well now,” said he, “see what it is for a pious man to forget his +devotions, even for one day. I forgot to say my Leadan Wurrah this +mornin', and that is the raison that your temptation has overcome me. +You must call then to-morrow night, because I have nothing now, barrin' +what 'ud excite the bowels, and it seems that isn't what you want; but +if you be down here about this same hour to-morrow night, you shall have +what will put your enemy out of the way.” + +“That will do then,” replied Greatrakes, “and I shall depend on you.” + +“Ay,” replied the old villain, “but remember that the act is not mine +but your own. I simply furnish you with the necessary means--your own +act will be to apply them.” + +On leaving the hut, Greatrakes was highly gratified on finding that +Barney Casey had overheard their whole conversation. + +“You will serve as a corroborative evidence,” said he. + +The herbalist, at all events, was entrapped, and not only his +disposition to sell botanical poisons, but his habit of doing so, was +clearly proved to the benevolent magistrate. + +On the next night he got the poison, and having consulted with Casey, he +said he would not urge the matter for a few days, as he wished, in +the most private way possible, to procure further evidence against the +guilty parties. + +In the meantime, every preparation was made in both families for +Woodward's wedding. The old peer, who had cross-examined his niece upon +the subject, discovered her attachment to Woodward; and as he wished +to see her settled before his death with a gentlemanly and respectable +husband--a man who would be capable of taking care of the property +which he must necessarily leave her, as she was his favorite and his +heiress--and besides, he loved her as a daughter--he was resolved that +Woodward and she should be united.” + +“I don't care a fig,” said he, “whether this Woodward has property or +not. He is a gentleman, respectably connected, of accomplished manners, +handsome in person, and if he has no fortune, why you have; and I think +the best thing you can do is to accept him without hesitation. The +comical rascal,” said he, laughing heartily, “took me in so completely +during our first interview, that he became a favorite with me.” + +“I think well of him,” replied his firm-minded niece; “and even I admit +that I love him, as far as a girl of such a cold constitution as mine +may; but I tell you, uncle, that if I discovered a taint of vice or want +of principle in his character, I could fling him off with contempt.” + +“I wish to heaven,” replied the uncle, rather nettled, “that we could +have up one of the twelve apostles. I dare say some of them, if they +were disposed to marry, might come up to your mark.” + +“Well, uncle, at all events I like him sufficiently to consent that he +should become my husband.” + +“Well, and is not that enough; bless my heart, could you wish to go +beyond it?” + +In the meantime, very important matters were proceeding, which bore +strongly upon Woodward's destiny. Greatrakes had collected--aided, +of course, by Barney Casey, who was the principal, but not the sole, +evidence against him--such a series of facts, as, he felt, justified him +in receiving informations against him. + +At this crisis a discovery was made in connection with the Haunted +House, which was privately, through Casey, communicated to Greatrakes, +who called a meeting of the neighboring magistrates upon it. This he +did by writing to them privately to meet him on a particular day at his +little inn in Rathfillan. For obvious reasons, and out of consideration +to his feelings, Mr. Lindsay's name was omitted. At all events the night +preceding the day of Woodward's marriage with Miss Riddle had arrived, +but two circumstances occurred on that evening and on that night which +not only frustrated all his designs upon Miss Riddle, or rather upon her +uncle's property, but--however, we shall not anticipate. + +It was late in the evening when Miss Riddle was told by a servant that a +young man, handsome and of fine proportions, wished to see her for a few +minutes. + +“Not that I would recommend you to see him,” said the serving-woman who +delivered the message. “He is, to be sure, very handsome; but, then, he +is one of those wild people, and armed with a great mid-dogue or dagger, +and God knows what his object may be--maybe to take your life. As sure +as I live he is a tory.” + +“That may be,” replied Miss Riddle; “but I know, by your description of +him, that he is the individual to whose generous spirit I and my dear +uncle owe our lives: let him be shown in at once to the front parlor.” + +In a few minutes she entered, and found Shawn before her. + +“O Shawn!” said she, “I am glad to see you. My uncle is using all his +interest to get you a pardon--that is, provided you are willing to +abandon the wild life to which you have taken.” + +“I am willing to abandon it,” he replied; “but I have one task to +perform before I leave it. You have heard of the toir, or tory-hunt, +which was made after me and others; but chiefly after me, for I was the +object they wanted to shoot down, or rather that he, the villain, wanted +to murder under the authority of those cruel laws that make us tories.” + +“Who do you mean by he?” asked Miss Riddle. + +“I mean Harry Woodward,” he replied. “He hunted me, disguised by a black +mask.” + +“But are you sure of that, Shawn?” + +“I am sure of it,” he replied; “and it was not until yesterday that I +discovered his villany. I know the barber in Rathfillan where the black +mask was got for him, I believe, by his wicked mother.” + +Miss Riddle, who was a strong-minded girl, paused, and was silent for a +time, after which she said,-- + +“I am glad you told me this, Shawn. I spoke to him in your favor, and he +pledged his honor to me previous to the terrible hunt you allude to, and +of which the whole country rang, that he would never take a step to +your prejudice, but would rather protect you as far as he could, in +consequence of your having generously saved my dear uncle's life and +mine.” + +“The deeper villain he, then. He is upon my trail night and day. He +ruined Grace Davoren, who has disappeared, and the belief of the people +is that he has murdered her. He possesses the Evil Eye too, and would +by it have murdered Miss Goodwin, of Beech Grove, in order to get back +the property which his uncle left her, only for the wonderful power of +Squire Greatrakes, who cured her. And, besides, I have raison to know +that he will be arrested this very night for attempting to poison his +brother. I am a humble young man, Miss Riddle, but I am afeard that if +you marry him you will stand but a bad chance for happiness.” + +“She was again silent, but, after a pause, she said-- + +“Shawn, do you want money?” + +“I thank you, Miss Riddle,” he replied, “I don't want money: all I want +is, that you will not be desaved by one of the most damnable villains on +the face of the earth.” + +There was an earnestness and force of truth in what the generous young +tory said that could not be mistaken. He arose, and was about to take +his leave, when he said,-- + +“Miss Riddle, I understand he is about to be married to you to-morrow. +Should he become your husband, he is safe from my hand--and that on your +account; but as it may not yet be too late to spake, I warn you +against his hypocrisy and villany--against the man who destroyed Grace +Davoren--who would have killed Miss Goodwin with his Evil Eye, in order +to get back the property which his uncle left her, and who would have +poisoned his own brother out of his way bekase his mother told him she +had changed her mind in leaving it to him (Woodward), and came to the +resolution of leaving it to his brother, and that was the raison why he +attempted to poison him. All these things have been proved, and I have +raison to believe that he will sleep--if sleep he can--in Waterford +jail before to-morrow mornin'. But,” he added, with a look which was so +replete with vengeance and terror, that it perfectly stunned the girl, +“perhaps he won't, though. It is likely that the fate of Grace Davoren +will prevent him from it.” + +He did not give her time to reply, but instantly disappeared, and left +her in a state of mind which our readers may very well understand. + +She immediately went to her uncle's library, where the following brief +dialogue occurred: + +“Uncle, this marriage must not and shall not take place.” + +“What!” replied the peer; “then he is none of the twelve apostles.” + +“You are there mistaken,” said she; “he is one of them. Remember Judas.” + +“Judas! What the deuce are you at, my dear niece?” + +“Why, that he is a most treacherous villain: that's what I'm at,” and +her face became crimson with indignation. + +“But what's in the wind? Don't keep me in a state of suspense. Judas! +Confound it, what a comparison! Well, I perceive you are not disposed to +become Mrs. Judas. You know me, however, well enough: I'm not going +to press you to it. Do you think, my dear niece, that Judas was a +gentleman?” + +“Precisely such a gentleman, perhaps, as Mr. Woodward is.” + +“And you think he would betray Christ?” + +“He would poison his brother, uncle, because he stands between him and +his mother's property, which she has recently expressed her intention of +leaving to that brother--a fact which awoke something like compassion in +my breast for Woodward.” + +“Well, then, kick him to hell, the scoundrel. I liked the fellow in +the beginning, and, indeed, all along, because he had badgered me so +beautifully,--which I thought few persons had capacity to,--and in +consequence, I entertained a high opinion of his intellect, and be +hanged to him; kick him to hell, though.” + +“Well, my dear lord and uncle, I don't think I would be capable of +kicking him so far; nor do I think it will be at all necessary, as +my opinion is, that he will be able to reach that region without any +assistance.” + +“Come, that's very well said, at all events--one of your touchers, as I +call them. There, then, is an end to the match and marriage, and so be +it.” + +She here detailed at further length, the conversation which she had with +Shawn-na-Middogue; mentioned the fact, which had somehow become well +known, of his having wrought the ruin of Grace Davoren, and concluded by +stating that, notwithstanding his gentlemanly manners and deportment, he +was unworthy either the notice or regard of any respectable female. + +“Well,” said the peer, “from, all you have told me I must say you have +had a narrow escape; I did suspect him to be a fortune-hunter; but then +who the deuce can blame a man for striving to advance himself in life? +However, let there be an end to it, and you must only wait until a +better man comes.” + +“I assure you, my dear uncle, I am in no hurry; so let that be your +comfort so far as I am concerned.” + +“Well, then,” said the peer, “I shall write to him to say that the +marriage, in consequence of what we have heard of his character, is +off.” + +“Take whatever steps you please,” replied his admirable niece; “for most +assuredly, so far as I am concerned, it is off. Do you imagine, uncle, +that I could for a moment think of marrying a seducer and a poisoner?” + +“It would be a very queer thing if you did,” replied her uncle; “but +was it not a fortunate circumstance that you came to discover his +real character in time to prevent you from becoming the wife of such a +scoundrel?” + +“It was the providence of God,” said his niece, “that would not suffer +the innocent to become associated with the guilty.” + +Greatrakes, in the meantime, was hard at work. He and the other +magistrates had collected evidence, and received the informations +against Woodward, the herbalist, and the mysterious individual who +was in the habit of appearing about the Haunted House as the +_Shan-dhinne-dhuv_, or the Black Spectre. Villany like this cannot be +long concealed, and will, in due time, come to light. + +During the dusk of the evening preceding Woodward's intended marriage, +an individual came to Mr. Lindsay's house and requested to see Mr. +Woodward. That gentleman came down, and immediately recognized the +person who had, for such a length of time, frightened the neighborhood +as the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_ or the Black Spectre. He was shown into the +parlor, and, as there was no one present, the following dialogue took +place, freely and confidentially, between them:-- + +“You must fly,” said the Spectre, or, in other words, the conjurer, whom +we have already described,--“you must fly, for you are to be arrested +this night. Our establishment for the forgery of bad notes must also +be given up, and the Haunted House must be deserted. The magistrates, +somehow, have smelled out the truth, and we must change our lodgings. We +dodged them pretty well, but, after all, these things can't last long. +On to-morrow night I bid farewell to the neighborhood; but you cannot +wait so long, because on this very night you are to be arrested. It +is very well that you sent Grace Davoren, at my suggestion, from the +Haunted House to what is supposed to be the haunted cottage, in the +mountains, where Nannie Morrissy soon joined her. I supplied them with +provisions, and had a bed and other articles brought to them, according +to your own instructions, and I think that, for the present, the safest +place of concealment will be there.” + +Woodward became terribly alarmed. It was on the eve of his marriage, and +the intelligence almost drove him into distraction. + +“I will follow your advice,” said he, “and will take refuge in what is +called the haunted cottage, for this night.” + +His mysterious friend now left him, and Woodward prepared to seek the +haunted cottage in the mountains. Poor Grace Davoren was in a painful +and critical condition, but Woodward had engaged Caterine Collins to +attend to her: for what object, will soon become evident to our readers. + +Woodward, after night had set in,--it was a mild night with faint +moonlight,--took his way towards the cottage that was supposed to be +haunted, and which, in those days of witchcraft and. superstition, +nobody would think of entering. We have already described it, and that +must suffice for our readers. On entering a dark, but level moor, he +was startled by the appearance of the Black Spectre, which, as on two +occasions before, pointed its middogue three times at his heart. He +rushed towards it, but on arriving at the spot he could find nothing. It +had vanished, and he was left to meditate on it as best he might. + +We now pass to the haunted cottage itself. There lay Grace Davoren, +after having given birth to a child; there she lay--the victim of the +seducer, on the very eve of dissolution, and beside her, sitting on the +bed, the unfortunate Nannie Morrissy, now a confirmed and dying maniac. + +“Grace,” said Nannie, “you, like me, were ruined.” + +“I was,” replied Grace, in a voice scarcely audible. + +“Ay, but you didn't murder your father, though, as I did; that's one +advantage I have over you--ha! ha! ha!” + +“I'm not so sure of that, Nannie,” replied the dying girl; “but where's +my baby?” + +“O! yes, you have had a baby, but Caterine Collins took it away with +her.” + +“My child! my child! where is my child?” she exclaimed in a low, but +husky voice; “where's my child? and besides, ever since I took that +bottle she gave me I feel deadly sick.” + +“Will I go for your father and mother--but above all things for your +father? But then if he punished the villain that ruined you and brought +disgrace upon your name, he might be hanged as mine was.” + +“Ah! Nannie,” replied poor Grace; “my father won't die of the gallows; +but he will of a broken heart.” + +“Better to be hanged,” said the maniac, whose reason, after a lapse of +more than a year, was in some degree returning, precisely as life was +ebbing out, “bekase, thank God, there's then an end to it.” + +“I agree with you, Nannie, it might be only a long life of suffering; +but I wouldn't wish to see my father hanged.” + +“Do you know,” said Nannie, relapsing into a deeper mood of her +mania,--“do you know that when I saw my father last he wouldn't nor +didn't spake to me? The house was filled with people, and my little +brother Frank--why now isn't it strange that I feel somehow as if I will +never wash his face again nor comb his white head in order to prepare +him for mass?--but whisper, Grace, sure then I was innocent and had not +met the destroyer.” + +The two unhappy girls looked at each other, and if ever there was a gaze +calculated to wring the human heart with anguish and with pity, it was +that gaze. Both of them were, although unconsciously, on the very eve of +dissolution, and it would seem as if a kind of presentiment of death had +seized upon both at the same time. + +“Nannie,” said Grace, “do you know that I'm afeard we're both goin' to +die?” + +“And why are you afeard of it?” asked Nannie. “Many a time I would 'a +given the world to die.” + +“Why,” replied Grace, who saw the deep shadows of death upon her wild, +pale, but still beautiful countenance,--“why Nannie, you have your +wish--you are dying this moment.” + +Just as Grace spoke the unfortunate girl seemed as if she had been +stricken by a spasm of the heart. She gave a slight start--turned up her +beautiful, but melancholy eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, as if conscious +of the moment that had come,-- + +“Forgive me, O God!” after which she laid herself calmly down by the +side of Grace and expired. Grace, by an effort, put her hand out and +felt her heart, but there was no pulsation there--it did not beat, and +she saw by the utter lifelessness of her features that she was dead, and +had been relieved at last from all her sorrows. + +“Nannie,” she said, “your start before me won't be long. I do not wish +to live to show a shamed face and a ruined character to my family and +the world. Nannie, I am coming; but where is my child? Where is that +woman who took it away? My child! Where is my child?” + +Whilst this melancholy scene was taking place, another of a very +different description was occurring near the cottage. Two poachers, who +were concealed in a hazel copse on the brow of a little glen beside +it, saw a woman advance with an infant, which, by its cries, they felt +satisfied was but newly born. + +Its cries, however, were soon stilled, and they saw her deposit it in a +little grave which had evidently been prepared for it. She had covered +it slightly with a portion of clay, but ere she had time to proceed +further they pounced upon her. + +“Hould her fast,” said one of them, “she has murdered the infant. At all +events, take it up, and I will keep her safe.” + +This was done, and a handkerchief, the one with which she had strangled +it, was found tightly tied about its neck. That she was the instrument +of Woodward in this terrible act, who can doubt? In the meantime both +she and the dead body of the child were brought back to Rathfillan, +where, upon their evidence, he was at once committed to prison, the +handkerchief having been kept as a testimony against him, for it was at +once discovered to be her own property. + +During all this time Grace Davoren lay dying, in a state of the most +terrible desolation, with the dead body of Nannie Morrissy on the bed +beside her. What had become of her child, and of Caterine Collins, she +could not tell. She had, however, other reflections, for the young, +but guilty mother was not without strong, and even tender, domestic +affections. + +“O!” she exclaimed, in her woful solitude and utter desolation, “if I +only had the forgiveness of my father and mother I could die happy; but +now I feel that death is upon me, and I must die alone.” + +A footstep was heard, and it relieved her. “Oh! this is Caterine,” she +said, “with the child.” + +The door opened, and the young tory, Shawn-na-Middogue, entered. He +paused for a moment and looked about him. + +“What is this?” said he, looking at the body of Nannie Morrissy; “is it +death?” + +“It is death,” replied Grace, faintly; “there is one death, but, Shawn, +there will soon be another. Shawn, forgive me, and kiss me for the sake +of our early love.” + +“I am an outlaw,” replied the stern young tory; “but I will never kiss +the polluted lips of woman as long as she has breath in her body.” + +“But Caterine Collins has taken away my child, and has not returned with +it.” + +“No, nor ever will,” replied the outlaw. “She was the instrument of +your destroyer. But I wish you to be consoled, Grace. Do you see that +middogue? It is red with blood. Now listen. I have avenged you; that +middogue was reddened in the heart of the villain that wrought your +ruin. As far as man can be, I am now satisfied.” + +“My child!” she faintly said; “my child! where is it?” + +Her words were scarcely audible. She closed her eyes and was silent. The +outlaw looked closely into her countenance, and perceived at once that +death was there. He felt her pulse, her heart, but all was still. + +[Illustration: PAGE 774-- Kiss you for the sake of our early love] + +“Now,” said he, “the penalty you have paid for your crime has taken away +the pollution from your lips, and I will kiss you for the sake of our +early love.” + +He then kissed her, and rained showers of tears over her now unconscious +features. The two funerals took place upon the same day; and, what was +still more particular, they were buried in the same churchyard. Their +unhappy fates were similar in more than one point. The selfish and +inhuman seducer of each became the victim of his crime; one by the just +and righteous vengeance of a heart-broken and indignant father, and +the other by the middogue of the brave and noble-minded outlaw. Who the +murderer of Harry Woodward, or rather the avenger of Grace Davoren, +was, never became known. The only ears to which the outlaw revealed the +secret were closed, and her tongue silent for ever. + +The body of Woodward was found the next morning lifeless upon the +moors; and when death loosened the tongues of the people, and when the +melancholy fate of Grace Davoren became known, there was one individual +who knew perfectly well, from moral conviction, who the avenger of her +ruin was. + +“Uncle,” said Miss Riddle, while talking with him on the subject, “I +feel who the avenger of the unfortunate and beautiful Grace Davoren is.” + +“And who is he, my dear niece?” + +“It shall never escape my lips, my lord and uncle.” + +“Egad, talking of escapes, I think you have had a very narrow one +yourself, in escaping from that scoundrel of the Evil Eye.” + +“I thank God for it,” she replied, and this closed their conversation. + +There is little now to be added to our narrative. We need scarcely +assure our readers that Charles Lindsay and Alice Goodwin were in due +time made happy, and that Ferdora O'Connor, who had been long attached +to Maria Lindsay, was soon enabled to call her his beloved wife. + +The devilish old herbalist, and his equally devilish niece, together +with the conjurer and forger, who had assumed the character of the +Black Spectre, were all hanged, through the instrumentality of Valentine +Greatrakes, who had acquired so many testimonies of their villainy and +their crimes as enabled him, in conjunction with the other magistrates +of the county, to obtain such a body of evidence against them as no jury +could withstand. It was, probably, well for Woodward that the middogue +of the outlaw prevented him from sharing the same fate, and dying a +death of public disgrace. + +Need we say that honest Barney Casey was rewarded by the love of Sarah +Sullivan, who, soon after their marriage, was made housekeeper in +Mr. Lindsay's family; and that Barney himself was appointed to the +comfortable situation of steward over his property? + +Lord Cockletown exercised all his influence with the government of the +day to procure a pardon for Shawn-na-Middogue, but without effect. He +furnished him, however, with a liberal sum of money, with which he left +the country, but was never heard of more. + +Miss Riddle was married to a celebrated barrister, who subsequently +became a judge. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector +by William Carleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVIL EYE *** + +***** This file should be named 16004-0.txt or 16004-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/0/16004/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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