« PoprzedniaDalej »
* What is it?" said Fardorougba, with “ Very well, may be I do, and agin a hesitating shrug, "what is it? This may be I don't; there's times when is ever an' always the way when you the one's betther than the other ; but want money; but I tell you I have no go an ; may be I do grant it.” money. Yon wor born to waste and “ Now tell me where in this parish, extravagance, Honour, an' there's no ay, or in the next five parishes to it, eurin' you. What is it you want ? an' you'd find sich a boy for a father or let me go about my business.”
mother to be proud out of, as Connor, * Throw that ould threadbare Cotha- your own darlin' as you often called more off o'you,” replied Honour,“ and him?" beg of God to give you grace to sit
“ Divil a one, Honour ; damnho to down, an' have common feeling an' the one ; I won't differ wid you in common sense."
that.” “If it's money to get cloes either for “ You won't differ wid me! the divil yourself or Connor, there's no use in thank you for that. You won't, init. I needn't sit ; you don't want a deed! but could you, I say, if you wor stitch either of you."
willin'?" Honour, without more ado, seized “I tell you I could not.” the coat, and flinging it aside, pushed “ Now there's sinse an' kindness in him over to a seat on which she forced that. Very well, you say you're gahim to sit down.
therin' up all the money you can for "As heaven's above me,” she ex- him." claimed, * I dunna what'll come over " For him-him,” exclaimed the unyou at all, at all. Your money, your conscious miser," why, what do you ihrash, your dirt an’ filth, ever, ever, mane-for-well-ay-yes, yes, I did an' for ever more in your thought, say for him ; it's for him I'm keeping heart, and sow). Oh Chierna ! to think it-it is I tell you.” of it, an' you know there's a God above Now, Fardorougha, you know he's you, an' that you must meet him, an'ould enough to be settled in life on his that widout your money too!"
own account, an' you heard last night " Ay, ay, the money's what you the girl he can get, if you stand to him, want to come at; but I'll not sit here as he ought to expect from a father to be beethor'd. What is it, I say agin, that loves him.” you want "
“Why, last night, thin, didn't I give "Fardorougha abagur," continued my—". the wife, checking herself
, and ad « Whist, ahagur ! hould your tongue dressing him in a kind and affectionate awhile, and let me go on. Truth's voice, maybe I was spakin' too harsh best—he dotes on that girl to sich a to you, but sure it was an’ is for your degree, that if he doesn't get her, he'll own good. How an ever, I'll thry never see another happy day while he's kindness, and if you have a heart at alive.” all, you can't but show it when you All feasthalagh, Honour—that won't hear what I'm goin' to say."
pass wid me; I know otherwise my* Well, well, go an,” replied the per- self. Do you think that if I hadn't got tinacious husband ; “but-money-ay, you, I'd been unhappy four an’ twenty ay, is there. I feel by the way you're hours, let alone my whole life? I tell comin' about me, that there is money you that's feasthalagh, an' won't pass. at the bottom of it.”
He wouldn't ate an ounce the less if he The wife raised ber hands and eyes was never to get her. You seen the to heaven, shook her head, and after a breakfast he made this mornin'; I slight pause, in which she appeared to didn't begrudge it to him, but may I consider her appeal a hopeless one, she never stir if that Flanagan wouldn't at length went on in an earnest but ate a horse behind the saddle ; he has subdued and desponding spirit a stomach that 'd require a king's ran
“ Fardorougha, the time's now come som to keep it." that will show the world whether you “ You know nothing of what I'm love Connor or not."
spakin' about,” replied his wife. “I a I don't care a pin about the world; wasn't Una dhas dhun O'Brien in my you an' Connor know well enough that best days; an' be the vestment, you I love him."
war n't Connor, that has more feelin'an' * Love for one's child doesn't come spirit, an' generosity in the nail of his out merely in words, Fardorougha; little finger, than ever you had in your actin' for their benefit shows it betther whole carkass. I tell you if he doesn't than spakin'. Don't you grant that ?” get married to that girl he'll break his
heart. Now how can he marry her him as, I sed, about lettin' the matthes except you take a good farm for him, be known to Una's family out of band.' and stock it dacently, so that he may And, thin, if they refuse, you can have a home sich as she đesarves to show them a ginerous example, by bring her to ?"
puttin' them into a dacent farm. Will “ How do you know but they'll give you promise me that, Fardorougha? her a fortune when they find her bent If you do, all's right, for they're not on him ?"
livin' that ever knew you to break. “ Why, it's not unpossible,” said the your word or your promise.". wife, immediately changing her tactics, “ I'll make no promise, Honour ; “it's not unpossible, but I can tell you I'll make no promise ; but let the other it's very unlikely."
plan be tried first. Now don't be “ The best way, then, in my opinion, pressin' me ; he is—he is a noble boy, ’ud be to spake to Connor about break- and would, as you say, thravel round ing it to the family."
the earth to keep my little finger from Why, that's fair enough;" said the pain ; but let me alone about it nowwife, “ I wondher myself I didn't let me alone about it.” think of it, but the time was so short This, thouglı slight encouragement, since last night."
was still in Honour's opinion quite as “ It is short,” replied the miser, “far much as, if not more than, she ex. an' away too short to expect any one pected. Without pressing him, thereto make up their mind about it. Let fore, too strongly at that moment, sbe them not be rash themselves aither, for contented herself with a full-length I tell you that when people marry in portrait of their son, drawn with all haste, they're apt to have time enough the skill of a mother who knew, if her to repint at laysure.”
husband's heart could be touched at “ Well, but Fardorougha acushla, all, those points at which she stood now hear me ; throth it's thruth and the greatest chance of finding it acsinse what you say ; but still, avour- cessible. neen, listen ; now set in case that the For a few days after this the subject Bodagh an' his wife don't consint to of Connor's love was permitted to lie their marriage, or to do any thing for undebated, in the earnest hope that them, wont you take them a farm and Fardorougha's heart might have caught stock it bravely? Think of poor Connor, some slight spark of natural affection the darlin' fine fellow that he is. Oh, from the conversation which had taken thin, Saver above, but it's he id go to place between him and Honour. They the well o' the world's end to ase you, waited consequently with patience for if your little finger only ached. He some manifestation on his part of a would, or for myself, and yet his own better feeling, and flattered themselves father to trate him wid sich
that his silence proceeded from the It was in vain she attempted to pro- struggle which they knew a man of
the subject was one in which her his disposition must necessarily feel in heart felt too deep an interest to be working up his mind to any act rediscussed without tears. A brief silence quiring him to part with that which ensued, during which Fardorougha he loved better than life, his money. moved uneasily on his seat, took the The ardent temperament of Connor
, tongs and mechanically mended the however, could ill brook the pulseless fire, and peering at his wife with a indifference of the old man ; with countenance twitched as if by tic much difficulty, therefore was he in. doloureur, stared rouvd the house with duced to wait a whole week for the a kind of stupid wonder, rose up, then issue, though sustained by the mother's sat instantly down, and in fact ex assurance, that in consequence of the hibited many of those unintelligible impression left on her by their last and uncouth movements, which, in per- conversation, she was certain the sons of his cast, may be properly termed father, if not urged beyond his wish, the hieroglyphics of human action, would declare himself willing to prounder feelings that cannot be de- vide for them. A week, however
, ciphered either by those on whom they elapsed, and Fardorougha moved on operate, or by those who witness in the same hard and insensible spirit them.
which was usual to him, wholly en“ Yes,” said he, “Connor is all you grossed by money, and never either say, an' more, an' more-an-an'- directly or indirectly appearing to rea rash act is the worst thing he could member that the happiness and welfare do. It's betther, Honour, to spake to of his son were at stake, or depending
upon the determination to which he This resolution of permitting Flanamight come.
gan to share his confidence had been Another half-week passed, during come to by Connor upon the day subwhich Connor had made two un- sequent to that on which he had last successful attempts to see Una, in tried to see Una. After his return order that some fixed plan of inter- home, the disappointment on one hand, course might be established between and his auxiety concerning his father's them, at least until his father's ulti- liberality on the other, together with mate resolution on the subject proposed the delight arising from the certainty to him should be known. He now felt of being beloved, all kept his mind in deeply distressed, and regretted that a tumult, and permitted him to sleep the ardour of his attachment had so but little. The next day he decided far borne him away during their last on admitting Bartle to his confidence, meeting, that he had forgotten to con- and reposing this solemn trust in his cert measures with Una for their integrity. He was lying on his back future interviews.
in the meadow—for they had been He had often watched about her father's ricking the hay from the lapcocks, premises from a little before twilight when that delicious languor which until the whole family had gone to arises from the three greatest provobed, yet without any chance either of catives to slumber, want of rest, fatigue, conversing with her, or of letting her and heat, so utterly overcame him, know that he was in the neighbour- that, forgetting his love, and all the hood. He had gone to chapel, too, anxiety arising from it, he fell into a with the hope of seeing her, or snatch- dreamless and profound sleep. ing a hasty opportunity of exchanging From this state he was aroused after a word or two, if possible, but to his about an hour by the pressure of someastonishment she had not attended thing sharp and painful against his massman omission of duty of which side, near the region of the heart, and she had not been guilty for the last
on looking up, he discovered Bartle three years. What, therefore, was to Flanagan standing over him with a be done? For him to be detected pitchfork in his hand, one end of which larking about the Bodagh's house
was pressed against his breast, as if he might create suspicion, especially after had been in the act of driving it fortheir interview in the garden, which ward into his body. His face was very probably had, through the offici- pale, his dark brows frightfully conousness of the servants, been com- tracted, and his teeth apparently set municated to her parents. In a matter together, as if working under some of such difficulty he bethought him of fearful determination. When Connor a confidant, and the person to whom 'awoke, Flanagan broke out into a laugh the necessity of the case directed him that no language could describe. The was Bartle Flanagan. Barile, indeed, character of mirth which he wished to ever since he entered into his father's throw into his face, jarred so terrifically service, had gained rapidly upon Con- with its demoniacal expression when dor's good-will
, and on one or two oc- first seen by Connor, that even unsuscasions well nigh succeeded in drawing pecting he was, he started up with from him a history of the mutual at- alarm, and asked Flanagan what was tachment which subsisted between him the matter. Flanagan, however, laughed and Una. His good humour, easy 01-peal after peal succeeded_he language, and apparent friendship for tossed the pitchfork aside, and clapping young O'Donovan, together with his both his hands upon his face, continued natural readiness of address, or if you the paroxysms until he recovered his vill, of manner, all marked him out as
composure. admirably qualified to act as a confidant in a matter which required the wake as a child wid laughin'; but,
Oh," said he, “ I'm sick, I'm as very tact and talent he possessed. • Poor fellow,” thought Connor to is a man's life worth whin he has an
Lord bless us, after all, Connor, what bimself, “it will make him feel more like one of the family than a servant. enemy near him. There was I, ticklin' If he can think that he's trated as my you, and one inch of it would have
you wid the pitchfork, strivin' to waken friend and companion, he may forget laked your bread for life. Didn't you that he's ating the bread of the very feel me, Connor?" than that drove him an' his to destrucion. Ay, an' if we're married, I'm not
· Divil a bit, till the minute afore I sure but I'll have him to give me away
“ Then the divil a purtier jig ever
you danced in your life ; wait till I putting his hand to his neck,“ do you shew you how your left toe wint."
see here?” He accordingly lay down and illus “ To be sure I do. Well, what trated the pretended action, after which about there !" he burst out into another uncontrol “ Be my sowl I'm very careful of lable fit of mirth.
hut sure I may as well tell you the “'Twas just for all the world,” said whole truth--I sed I was in love; well, he, “as if I had tied a string to your man, that was thrue, an," he added toe, for you groaned an' grunted, an'in a low pithy whisper, “ I was nearwent on like I dunna what ; but Con- no, Connor, I won't
, but go an ; it's nor, what makes you so sleepy to-day enough for you to know that I was as well as on Monday last ?”
an' am in love, an' that it'll go hard “ That's the very thing,” replied the wid me if ever any one else is marriunsuspicious and candid young man, ed to the girl I'm in love wid. Now " that I wanted to spake to you about.” that my business is past, let me hear
“ What! about sleepin' in the mea- your's, poor fellow, an' I'm divilish dows ?"
glad to know, Connor, that-that“ Divil a bit o' that, Bartle, not a why tundher un' ouns, that you're not morsel of sleepin' in the meadows is as I am. Be the crass that saved us, consarned in what I'm goin' to min- Connor, I'm glad of that.” tion to you. Bartle, didn't you tell me “ Why love will set you mad, Bartle, the day you hired wid my father, that if you don't take care of yourself ; an' you wor in love ?"
faith I dunna but it may do the same “ I did, Connor, I did."
with myself, if I'm disappointed. How« Well so am I ; but do you know ever, the truth is, you must sarve me who I'm in love with ?”
in this business. I struv to see her “ How the divil, man, could I ?” twiste, but could n't, an' I'm afraid of
“Well no swearin', Bartle ; keep the bein' seen spyin' about their place." commandments, my boy. I'll tell you “ The thruth is, Connor, you want in the mane time, an' that's more than to make me a go-between-a blackfoot; you did to me, you close-mouth-is-a very well, I'll do that sanie on your acsign-of-a-wise-head spalpeen.” count, an' do it well, too, I hope.”
" Hard fortune to you, go on, and It was then arranged that Flanagan, don't be keepin' me in suspince—who's who was personally known to some of the girl ?"
the Bodagh's servants, should avail “ Did you ever hear tell of one himself of that circumstance, and conColleen dhas dhun, as she's called, trive to gain an interview with Una, known by the name of Una or Oona in order to convey her a letter from O'Brien, daughter to one Bodagh O'Donovan. He was further enjoined Buie O'Brien, the richest man, barrin' by no means to commit it to the hands a born gintleman, in the three parishes.” of any person save those of Una her
“ All very fair, Connor, for you or self, and, in the event of his not being any one else to be in love wid her- able to see her, then the letter was to ay, or man alive, for myself, if it goes to be returned to Connor. If he sucthat-but, but Connor, avouchal, are ceeded, however, in delivering it, he you sure that iver you'll bring her to was to await an answer, provided she be in love wid you ?”
found an opportunity of sending ope; “ Bartle,” said Connor, seriously, if not, she was to inform Connor, and after a sudden change in his whole through Flanagan, at what time and manner, “ in this business I'm goin' to place he could see her. This arrangetrate you as a friend and a brother. ment having been made, Connor immeShe loves me, Bartle, and a solemn diately wrote the letter, and, after promise of marriage has passed be having dispatched Flanagan upon his tween us.”
errand, set himself to perform, by his “Connor,” said Bartle, “it's won- individual labour, the task which his dherful, it's wondherful; you couldn't father had portioned out for both. Ere believe what a fool I am-fool! no but Bartle's return Fardorougha came to a faint-hearted, cowardly villian.” inspect their progress in the meadow,
“What do you mane, Bartle? what and, on finding that the servant was the dickens are you drivin' at ?" absent, he enquired sharply into the « Drivin' at! whenever I happen to
cause of it. have an opportunity of makin' a drive He's gone on a message for me,” that id—hut! I'm talkin' balderdash. replied Connor with the utmost frankDo you see here Connor,” said he, ness.
* But that's a bad way for him to sarra carry the ring ever you'd put on mind bis business," said his father.
my finger.” “I'll have the task that you set ** Father,” said Connor, “ I must be both of us finished,” replied the son, disobedient to you in this at all evints. " so that you'll lose nothin' by his abs It's plain you'll do nothing for us, so Bence, at all events.”
there's no use in sayin' any thing more - li's wrong, Connor, it's wrong ; about it. I have no manes of supwhere did you sind him to?"
portin' her, and I swear by the blessed * To Bodagh Buie's wid a letter to sacrayment I'll never bring her to Una."
poverty. If I had money to carry me * It's a waste of time, an'a loss of I'd go to America an' thry my fortune york ; about that business I have there ; but I have not. Father, it's something to say to your motiver an' too hard that you should stand in my You tu-night, aither the supper, when way when you could so easily make me the rest goes to bed.”
happy ; who have you sich a right to * I hope, father, you'll do the dacent assist as your son--your only son, an' thing still.”
your only child, too?" - No ; but I hope, son, you'll do the This was spoken in a tone of rewise thing still ; how-an-ever let me spect and sorrow at once impressive alone now; if you expect me to do and affectionate. His fine features anything, you must n't drive me as were touched with something beyond your mother does. To-night we'll sadness or regret, and as the tears wake up a plan that'll outdo Bodagh stood in his eyes, it was easy to see Buie. Before you come home, Con- that he felt much more deeply for his nor, throw a stone or two in that gap, father's want of principle than for any to prevent the cows from gettin'into thing connected with his own hopes the hay ; it won't cost you much and prospects. In fact the tears that throuble. But Connor, honomon dioul, rolled silently down his cheeks were did you ever see sich a gut as Bartle the tears of shame and sorrow, for a bas? He'll brake me out o' house and parent who could thus school him to home feedin' him ; he has a stomach an act of such unparalleled baseness. for ten-penny nails ; be my word it 'ud As it was, the genius of the miser, felt be a charity to give him a dose of oak rebuked by the natural delicacy and bark to make him dacent ; he's a divil hunour of the son-the old man there. at atin', an' little good may it do him!” fore shrunk back abashed, confused,
The hour of supper arrived without and moved at the words which he Bartle's returning, and Connor's impa- had heard --- simple and inoffensive tienee began to overcome him, when, though they were. Fardorougha, for the first time, intro “Fardorougha,” said the wife, wiping duced the subject which lay nearest her eyes, that were kindling into indighis son's heart.
nation, “ we're now married goin'an--" Coanor," he began, " I've been " I think, mother," said Connor, “the thinkin' of this affair with Una O'Brien; less we say about it now the betterau' in my opinion there's but one way with my own good will I'll never spake of it; but if you're a fool and stand in on the subject." your own light, it's not my fault.”
You're right, avourneen,” replied ** What is the way, father?” enquired the mother; “ you're right ; I'll say Connor.
nothing-God sees it's no use." ** The very same I tould your mother “What would you have me do ?" an' you before-run away wid her-I said the old man, rising and walking mane make a runaway match of it- about in unusual distress and agitation; then refuse to marry her unless they “ you don't know me, I can't do itcome down wid the money. You I can't do it. You say, Honor, I don't kaow afther runnin' away wid you care about him-I'd give him my blood nobody else ever would marry her, so -I'd give him my blood to save a hair that rather than see their child dis- of his head. My life an' happiness de
graced, never fear but they'll pay pinds on bim; but who knows how he | down on the nail, or maybe bring you an his wife might mismanage that both to live wid 'em."
money if they got it-both young an' - My sowl to glory, Fardorougha,” foolish. It wasn't for nothing it came said the wife ; " but you're a bigger an' into my mind what I'm afeard will cupainuer ould rogue thau ever I tuck happen to me yet.”. you for. By the scapular upon me,
if And what was that, Fardorougha ?” I had a known how you'd turn out, the asked the wife.