While the above exploits were being performed by Jamesy Doyle and the police, a sad scene indeed was being enacted at the bridge. Winny Cavana, whose bonds had been loosed, had rushed to where Emon lay with his head in his father's lap, while the two policemen, Cotter and Donovan, moved up with their prisoner. They not only handcuffed him, but had tied his legs together, and threw him on the side of the road, "to wait their convenience," while they rendered any assistance they could to the wounded man.
The father had succeeded in stanching the blood, which at first had poured freely from the wound. With the assistance of one of the police, while the other was tying the prisoner, he had drawn his son up into a sitting posture and leaned him against the bank at the side of the road, and got his arm round him to sustain him. He was not shot dead; but was evidently very badly wounded. He was now, however, recovering strength and consciousness, as the blood ceased to flow.
"Open your eyes, Emon dear, if you are not dead, and look at your own Winny," she said; "your mad Winny Cavana, who brought you here to be murdered! Open your eyes, Emon, if you are not dead! I don't ask you to speak."
Emon not only opened his eyes, but turned his face and looked upon her. Oh, the ghastly smile he tried to hide!
"Don't speak, Emon; but tell me with your eyes that you are not dying. No, no, Emon--Emon-a-knock! demon as he is, he could not murder you. Heaven would not permit so much wickedness!"
Emon looked at her again. A faint but beautiful smile--beautiful now, for the color had returned to his cheeks--beamed upon his lips as he shook his head.
"Yes, yes, he has murdered him," sobbed the distracted father; "and I pity you, Winny Cavana, as I hope you will pity his poor mother; to say nothing of myself."
"No, no, do not say so! He will not die, heshallnot die!" And she pressed her burning that's to his marble forehead. It was smooth as alabaster, cold as ice.
"Win--ny Ca--va-na, good-by," he faintly breathed in her ear. "My days, my hours, my very moments are numbered. I feel death trembling in every vein, in every nerve. I could--could--have--lived for you--Winny; but even--to--die for you--is--a blessing, because--successful. One last request--Winny, my best beloved, is --all--I have--to ask; spare me--a spot in Rathcash--chapel-yard, in the space allotted to--the--Cavanas. I feel some wonderful strength given me just now. It is a special mercy that I may speak with you before I go. But, Winny, my own precious, dearest love, do not deceive yourself. If I reach home to receive my mother's blessing before I die, it is the most--" and he leaned his head against his father's breast.
"No more delay!" cried Winny energetically, "Time is too precious to be lost; bring the cart here, and let us take him home at once, and send for the doctor. Oh, policeman, one of you is enough to remain with the prisoner here; do, like a good man, leave your gun and belts here, and run off across the fields as fast as you can, and bring Dr. Sweeney to Rathcash house."
"To Shanvilla," faintly murmured the wounded man; "and bring Father Farrell."
"Yes, yes, to Shanvilla, to be sure," repeated Winny; "my selfish heart had forgotten his poor mother."
Emon opened his eyes at the word mother, and smiled. It was a smile of thanks; and he closed them again.
The policeman had obeyed her request in a moment; and, stripped of ail incumbrances, he was clearing the hedges, ditches, and drains toward Dr. Sweeney's.
They then placed Lennon, as gently as if he were made of wax, into the cart, his head lying in Winny's lap, and his hand clasped in hers, while the distracted father led the horse more like an automaton than a human being. They proceeded at a very gentle pace, for the cart had no springs, and Winny knew that a jolt might be fatal if the blood burst forth afresh. The policeman followed with his prisoner at some distance; and ere long, for the dawn had become clear, he saw his comrades coming on behind him, a long way off. But there was evidently a man beside themselves and Jamesy Doyle. He sat down by the side of the road until they came up.
How matters stood was then explained to Sergeant Driscoll aside. Cotter told him he had no hopes that ever Lennon would reach home alive; that Donovan had gone off across the country for the doctor and the priest, and hiscarabineand belts were on the cart.
"We will take that prisoner from you, Cotter," said Driscoll, "and do you get on to the cart as fast as you can; you may be of use. I don't like to bring this villain Murdock in sight of them; you need not say we have got him at all. We will go on straight to the barrack by the lower road, and let you go up to Lennon's with the cart. But see here, Cotter--do not speak to the wounded man at all, and don't let anybody else speak to him either. We don't want a word from him; sure we all saw it as plain as possible."
Cotter then hastened on, and soon overtook the cart. He merely said, in explanation of being by himself, that his comrades had come up, and that he had given his prisoner to them and hastened on to see if he could be of any use.
Winny soon suggested a use for the kind-hearted man--to help poor Pat Lennon into the cart, and to lead the horse. This was done without stirring hand or foot of the poor sufferer; and the father lay at Emon's other side scarcely less like death than he was himself.
When they came to the end of the road which turned to Rathcash and Shanvilla, Winny, as was natural, could have wished to go to Rathcash. She knew not how her poor father had been left, or what might be his fate. She could not put any confidence in the assurance of such ruffians, that a hair of his head should not be hurt; and did not one of the villains remain in the house? Yes, Winny, one of themdid remainin the house, but hedid no harm to your father.
With all her affection and anxiety on her father's account, Winny could not choose but to go on to Shanvilla. The less moving poor Emon got the better, and to get from under his head now and settle him afresh would be cruel, and might be fatal. Winny, therefore, sat silent as Cotter turned the horse's head toward Shanvilla, where, ere another half-hour had added to the increasing light, they had arrived.
Winny Cavana, who knew what a scene must ensue when they came to the door, had sent on Cotter to the house; the father again taking his place at the horse's head. He was to tell Mrs. Lennon that an accident had happened--no, no, notthat; but that Emon had been hurt; and that they were bringing him home quietly for fear of exciting him.
These precautions were of no use. Mrs. Lennon had waited but for the word "hurt," which she understood at once as importing something serious. She rushed from the house like a mad woman, and stood upon the road gazing up and down. Fortunately Winny had the forethought to stop the cart out of sight of the house to give Cotter time to execute his mission, and calm Mrs. Lennon as much as possible. It was a lucky thought, and Cotter, who was a very intelligent man, was equal to the emergency.
As Mrs. Lennon looked round her in doubt, Cotter cried out, "Oh, don't go that road, Mrs. Lennon, for God's sake!" and he pointed in the direction in which the cart was not. It was enough; the ruse had succeeded; and Mrs. Lennon started off at full speed, clapping her hands and crying out: "Oh! Emon, Emon, have they killed you at last? have they killed you? Oh! Emon, Emon, my boy, my boy!" And she clapped her hands, and ran the faster. She was soon out of sight and hearing.
"Now is your time," said Cotter, running back to the cart; "she is gone off in another direction, and we'll have him on his bed before she comes back."
They then brought the cart to the door, and in the most gentle and scientific manner lifted poor Emon into the house and laid him on his bed.
"God bless you, Winny!" he said, stretching out his hand. "Don't, like a good girl, stop here now. Return to your poor father, who must be distracted about you. I'm better and stronger, thank God, and will be able to see you again before I--"
"Whist, whist, Emon mavourneen, don't talk that way; you are better, blessed be God! I must, indeed, go home, Emon, as you say, for my heart is torn about my poor father. God bless you, Emon, my own Emon!" And she stooped down and kissed his pale lips.
Cotter and she then left the house and made all the speed they could toward Rathcash. They had not gone very far when Cotter heard Mrs. Lennon coming back along the road, and they saw her turn in toward her own house.
Bully-dhu having satisfied himself that nothing further was to be apprehended from the senseless form of a man upon the kitchen floor, and finding it impossible to burst open the door where his master was confined, thought the next best thing that he could do was to bemoan the state of affairs outside the house, in hope of drawing some help to the spot. Accordingly he took his post immediately at the house-door, still determined to be on the safe side, for fear the man was scheming. Here he set up a long dismal and melancholy howl.
"My father is dead," said Winny; "there is the Banshee."
"Not at all, Miss Winny; that is a dog."
"It is all the same; Bully-dhu would not cry that way for nothing; there is somebody dead, I'm sure."
"It is because he knew you were gone, Miss Winny, and he did not know where to look for you; that's all, you may depend."
"Thank you, Cotter; the dog might indeed do that same. God grant it is nothing worse!"
By this time they were at the door, and Cotter followed Bully-dhu into the house. Winny, without looking right or left, rushed to her father's room. She found it locked, but, quickly turning the key, she burst in. It was now broad daylight, and she saw at a glance her father stretched upon the bed, still bound hand and foot. She flew to the table, and taking his razor cut the cords. The poor old man was quite exhausted from suspense, excitement, and the fruitless physical efforts he had been making to free himself.
"Thank God, father!" she exclaimed; "I hope you are not hurt."
"No, dear. Give me a sup of milk, or I will choke."
Poor Winny, in the ignorance of her past habits, called out to Biddy to bring her some.
Biddy answered with a smothered cry from the inner room. Cotter flew to the door and unlocked it. In another moment he had set her free from her cords, and she darted across the kitchen to minister to the old man's wants at Winny's direction.
Poor Bully-dhu then pointed out to Cotter the share he had taken in the night's work, and it might almost be said quietly "gave himself up." At least he showed no disposition to escape. He lay down at the dead man's head, sweeping the floor with an odd wag of his bushy tail, rather proud than frightened at what he had done. That it was his work, Cotter could not for a moment doubt. The man's throat had by this time turned almost black, and there were the marks of the dog's teeth sunk deep at each side of the windpipe, where the choking grip of death had prevailed.
Cotter then brought a quilt from the room where he had released Biddy Murtagh, and spread it over the corpse, and was bringing Bully-dhu out to the yard, when he met Jamesy Doyle at the door. Jamesy took charge of him at once, and brought him round to the yard, where for the present he shut him up in his wooden house; but he did not intend to neglect him.
Jamesy told Cotter that Sergeant Driscoll and his men had taken their prisoners safe to the barracks, and desired him to tell Cotter to join them as soon as soon as possible.
"I cannot join them yet awhile, Jamesy; we have a corpse in the house."
"God's mercy! an' shure it's not the poor ould masther?" said Jamesy.
"No; I don't know who he is. He must have been one of the depredators."
"An' th' ould masther done for him!--God be praised? More power to his elbow!"
"No, Jamesy, it was not the old master. It was Bully-dhu that choked him--see here;" and he turned down the quilt.
"The divil a word of lie you're tellin', sir; dear me, but he gev' him the tusks in style. Begorra, Bully, I'll give you my own dinner to-day, an' tomorrow, an' next day for that. See, Mr. Cotter, how the Lord overtakes the guilty at wanst, sometimes. Didn't he strike down Tom Murdock wid lightning, an' he batin' me out a horseback? an I'd never have cum up wid him only for that."
Cotter could not help smiling at Jamesy's enthusiasm.
"What are you laughin' at, Mr. Cotter? Maybe it's what you don't give in to me; but I tell you I seen the flash of lightning take him down ov the horse, as plain as the daylight. Where's Miss Winny?"
"Whist, whist, boy, don't be talking that way. Never heed Miss Winny; she's with her father. I would not like her to see this dead man here; don't be talking so loud. Is there any place we could draw him into, until we find out who he is?"
"An'I'dlike to show him to Miss Winny, for Bully-dhu's sake. Will I call her?"
"If you do, I'll stick you with this, Jamesy," said Cotter, getting angry, and tapping his bayonet with his finger.
"Begorra, an' that's not the way to get me to do anything, I can tell you; for I--"
"Well, there's a good boy, James; you have proved your cell one tonight; and now for God's sake don't fret poor Miss Winny worse than what she is already, and it would nearly kill her to see this dead man here now--it would make her think of some one else dead, Jamesy--thigum thu?
"Thau, begorra--you're right enough."
"Where can we bring him to? is there any outhouse or place?"
"To be sure there is; there's the barn where I sleep; cum out wid him at wanst. I'll take him by the heels, an' let you dhraw him along the floore by his shoulders."
There was a coolness and intrepidity about all Jamesy's acts and expressions which surprised Cotter. With all his experience he had never seen the same in so young a boy--except in a hardened villain; and he had known Jamesy for the last four years to be the very contrary. Cotter, however, was not philosopher enough to know that an excess of principle, and a total want of it, might produce the same intrepidity of character.
Cotter took the dead man under the shoulders and drew him along, while Jamesy took him by the feet and pushed him.
Neither Winny, nor Biddy, nor the old man knew a word about this part of the performance. Jamesy saw the propriety of keeping it to himself for the present. Cotter locked the barn-door and took away the key with him. He told Jamesy that he would find out from the other prisoner "who the corpse was," and that he would call again with instructions in the course of the day. He then hastened to the barrack, and Jamesy went in to see Miss Winny and the ould masther. The message which Cotter had sent her by Jamesy was this--"To keep up her heart, and to hold herself in readiness for a visit from the resident magistrate before the day was over."
It was still very early. The generality of the inhabitants were not yet up, and Winny sighed at the long sad day which was before her. She had first made her father tell her how the ruffians had served him, and after hearing the particulars she detailed everything which had befallen herself. She described the battle at the bridge, as well as her sobs would permit her, from the moment that Lennon sprang up from behind the battlement to their rescue until the fatal arrival of the police, as she called it, upon the approach of whom "that demon fired his pistol at my poor Emon as close as I am to you, father."
"Well, well; Winny, don't lave the blame upon the police; he would have fired at Lennon whether they cum up or not, for Emon never would have let go his holt."
"True enough, father. I do not lay it upon them at all. Emon would have clung to his horse for miles if he had not shot him down."
"Beside, Jamesy says the police has him fast enough. Isn't that a mercy at all events, Winny?"
"It is only the mercy of revenge, father, God forgive me for the thought. The law will call it justice."
"And a just revenge is all fair an' right, Winny. He had no pity on an innocent boy, an' why should you have pity on a guilty villain?"
"Pity! No, father, I have no pity for him. But I wish I did not feel so vengeful."
"But how did the police hear of it, Winny, or find out which way they went; an' what brought Jamesy Doyle up with them?"
"We must ask Jamesy himself about that, father," she said; and she desired Biddy to call him in, for he was with Bully-dhu.
Jamesy was soon in attendance again, and they made him sit down, for with all his pluck he looked weary and fatigued. They then asked him to tell everything, from the moment he first heard the men smashing the door.
Jamesy Doyle's description of the whole thing was short and decisive, told in his own graphic style, with many "begorras," in spite of Winny's remonstrances.
"Begorra, Miss Winny, I tould Bully-dhu what they were up to, an' I let him in at the hall doore, an' when I seen him tumble the fust man he met, and stick in his windpipe without so much as a growl, I knew there was one man wouldn't lave that easy, any way; an' I med off for the polis as fast as my legs and feet could carry me."
"And how did--how--did--poor Emon hear of it?" sighed Winny.
"Arra blur-an-ages, Miss Winny, didn't I cut across by Shanvilla, an' tould him every haporth? Why, miss, he'd murdher me af I let him lie there dhramin', an' they carrin' you off, Miss Winny."
"Oh, Jamesy, why did you not go straight for the police, and never mind Emon-a-knock?" she said.
"Ah! Winny dear," said her father, "remember that there was nearly half-an-hour's battle at the bridge before the police came up; and had your persecutor that half-hour's law, where and what would you be now?"
"I did not care. I would have fought my battle alone against twenty Tom Murdocks. They might have ill-used me, and then murdered me, but what of that? Emon-a-knock would live, perhaps to avenge me; but now--now--oh, father, father! I wish he had murdered me along with Emon. But, God forgive me, indeed I am very sinful; I forgot you, father dear. Here, Biddy, get the kettle boiling; we all want a cup of tea;" and she put her handkerchief to her swimming eyes.
Jamesy had thrown himself in his clothes on some empty sacks in a corner of the kitchen, saying, "Miss Winny, I'm tired enough to sleep anywhere, an' I'll lie down here."
"Hadn't you better go to your own bed in the barn, Jamesy, where you can take off your clothes? I am sure you would be more comfortable."
"No, Miss Winny, I'm sure I would not. Beside, the policeman tuck--" Jamesy stopped himself. "What the mischief have I been saying?" thought he.
"The policeman took what, Jamesy?" said Winny.
"He tuck the key, miss. He said no one should g'win there till he cum back."
"Oh, very well, Jamesy; lie down, and let me throw this quilt over you. But, God's mercy, if here is not a pool of blood! I wonder what brought it here? Oh, am I doomed to sec nothing but blood--blood? What is this, Jamesy, do you know?"
"I do, miss. It was Bully-dhu that cut one of the men when they cum in; and no cure for him, Miss Winny!"
"Why, he must have cut him severely, James; the whole floor is covered with blood."
"Cut him, is it? Begorra, Miss Winny, he kilt him out-an-out. I may as well tell you the thruth at wanst."
"For heaven's sake, you do not mean to say that he actually killed him, Jamesy?"
"That's just what I do mane. Miss Winny, an' I may as well tell you, for Mr. Cotter will be here by-an-bye with the coroner and a jury to hould an inquest. Isn't he lyin' there abroad in the barn as stiff as a crowbar, an' as ugly as if he was bespoke, miss? Didn't I help Mr. Cotter to carry him out, or rather to dhrag him? for begorra he was as heavy as if he was made of lead!"
"Fie, fie, James, you should not talk that way of any poor fellow-being--for shame!"
"An' a bad fellow-bein' he was, to cum here to carry you away. Miss Winny, an' maybe to murdher you in the mountain, or maybe worse. My blessin' on you, Bully-dhu!"
Winny was shocked at the cool manner in which Jamesy spoke of such a frightful occurrence. She was afraid she would never make a Christian of him.
Cotter and a comrade soon returned and took charge of the body until the coroner should arrive. They had served summonses upon twelve or fourteen of the most respectable neighbors--good men and true. They had ascertained that the deceased was a man named John Fahy, from the county of Cavan, a reputed Ribbonman. The cart had belonged to him, but of course there was no name upon it. The news of the whole affair had already spread like fire the moment the people began to get about; and two brothers of Fahy's arrived to claim the body before the inquest was over.
Jamesy Doyle was the principal witness "before the fact." His evidence was like himself all over. Having been sworn by the coroner, he did not think that sufficient, but began his statement with another oath of his own--the reader knows by this time what it was. The coroner checked him, and reminded him that he was already on his solemn oath, and that light swearing of that kind was very unseemly, and could not be permitted. He advised him to be cautions.
Jamesy had sense enough to take his advice, although he seldom took Winny's upon the same subject.
"When first I heerd therookawnI got up, an' dhrew on my clothes, an' cum round the corner of the house. I seen three men stannin' at the doore, an' I heerd wan of 'em ordher it to be bruck in. I knew there was but two women an' wan ould man, the masther, in the house, an' I knew there was no use in goin' in to be murdhered, an' that I could be of more use a great dale outside. Bully-dhu was roarin' like a lion in the back yard, an' couldn't get out. I knew Bully was well able for wan of 'em, any way, if not for two, an' I let him out an' brought him to the hall-doore. The minit ever I let him out iv the yard he was as silent as the grave, an' I knew what that meant. Well, I brought him to the doore, an' pointed to the deceased, for he was the first man I seen in from me. Well, without with your lave or by your lave, Bully had him tumbled on the floore, an' his four big teeth stuck in his windpipe. 'That'll do,' says I, 'as far as wan of ye goes, any way;' an' I med off for the police. I wasn' much out about Bully, your worship, for the man never left that antil Mr. Cotter an' I helped him out into the barn."
Cotter was then examined. His evidence was "that he had found the deceased lying dead on the kitchen floor; that the dog on entering lay down at his head and put his paw upon his breast, as if pointing out what he had done." That was all he knew about it.
The doctor was then examined--surgeon, perhaps, we should call him on this occasion--and swore "that he had carefully examined the deceased; that he had been choked; and that the wounds in the throat indicated that they had been inflicted by the teeth of a large, powerful dog; no cat nor other animal known in this country could have done it."
This closed the evidence. The coroner made a short charge to the jury, and the verdict was "that the deceased, John Fahy, as they believed him to be, had come by his death by being suffocatedand chokedby a large black dog called Bully-dhu, belonging to one Edward Cavana, of Rathcash, in the parish, etc., etc.; but that inasmuch as he, the said deceased, was in the act of committing a felony at the time, for which, if convicted in a court of law, he would have forfeited his life, they would not recommend the dog to be destroyed."
The coroner said "he thought this was a very elaborate verdict upon so simple a case; and disagreed with the jury upon the latter part of the verdict. The dog could not have known that, and it was evident he was a ferocious animal, and he thought he ought to be destroyed."
"He did know it, your honor," vociferated Jamesy Doyle. "Didn't I tell him, and wasn't it I pointed out the deceased to him, and tould him to hould him? If it was th' ould masther or myself kilt him, you couldn't say a haporth to aidher of us, let alone the dog."
If this was not logic for the coroner, it was for the jury, who refused to change their verdict. But the tack to the verdict, exonerating poor Bully-dhu, was almost unnecessary, where he had such a friend in court as Jamesy Doyle; for he, anticipating some such attempt, had provided for poor Bully's safety. His first act after Cotter had left in the morning was to get a chum of his, who lived not for off, to take the dog in his collar and strap to an uncle's son, a first cousin of his, about seven miles away, to tell him what had happened, and to take care of the dog until the thing "blew over," and that "Miss Winny would never forget it to him."
Billy Brennan delivered the dog and the message safely; "he'd do more nor that for Miss Winny;" or for that matter for the dog himself, for they were great play-fellows in the dry grass of a summer's day. Now it was a strange fact, and deserves to be recorded for the curious in such things, that although Bully-dhu had never seen Jamesy's cousin in his life, and that although he was a surly, distant dog to strangers, he took up with young Barny Foley the moment he saw him. He never stirred from his side, and did not appear inclined to leave the place.
Before the inquest had closed its proceedings the two brothers of the deceased man adverted to had arrived to take away the dead body. It was well for poor Bully-dhu, after all, that Jamesy had been so thoughtful, although it was quite another source of danger he had apprehended. The two Fahys searched high and low for the dog, one of them armed secretly with a loaded pistol, but both openly with huge crab-tree sticks to beat his brains out, in spite of coroner, magistrate, police, or jury. But they searched in vain. They offered Jamesy, not knowing the stuff he was made of, a pound-note "to show them where the big black dog was." His answer, though mute, was just like him. He put his left thumb to the tip of his nose, his right thumb to the little finger of the left hand, and began to play the bagpipes in the air with his fingers.
They pressed it upon him and he got vexed.
"Begorra," said be, "af ye cum here to-night after midnight to take Miss Winny away, I'll show him to you, an' maybe it wouldn't be worth the coroner's while to go home."
"He may stay where he is, for that matther," said one of the brothers. "He'll have work enough tomorrow or next day at Shanvilla;" and they turned away.
"Ay, and the hangman from the county ofCavanwill have something to do soon afther," shouted Jamesy after them, who was never at a loss for an answer. He had the last word here, and it was a sore one.
As the brothers Fahy failed in their search for Bully, they had nothing further that they dare vent their grief and indignation upon. It was no use in bemoaning the matter there amongst unsympathizing strangers; so they fetched the cart to the barn-door and laid the corpse into it, covering it with a white sheet which they had brought for the purpose.
"Will I lind you a hand, boys?" said Jamesy, as they were struggling with the weight of the dead man at the barn-door.
The scowl he got from one of the brothers would have discomfited a boy less plucky or self-possessed than Jamesy Doyle; but he had not said it in irony. No one there appeared inclined to give any help, and Jamesy actually did get under the corpse, and "helpedhim into the cart," as he said himself.
The unfortunate men then left, walking one at each side of their dead brother. And who is there, except perhaps Jamesy Doyle, who would not pity them as they rumbled their melancholy way down the boreen to the road?
About two hours later in the day "the chief" arrived to "visit the scene," as he was bound to do before he made his report.
He was received courteously and with respect by Winny Cavana, who showed him into the parlor. He considerately began by regretting the unfortunate and melancholy occurrence which had taken place; but of course added, the satisfaction it was to him, indeed that it must be to every one, that the perpetrators had been secured, particularly the principal mover in the sad event.
Winny made no remark, and "the chief" then requested her to state in detail what had occurred from the time the men broke into the house until the shot was fired which wounded the man. She seemed at first disinclined to do so; but upon that gentleman explaining that she would be required to do so on her oath, when the magistrate called to take her information, she merely sighed, and said:
"I suppose so; indeed I do not see why I should not."
She then gave him a plain and succinct account as far as their conduct to herself was concerned, and referred him to her father and the servants for the share they had taken toward them.
He then obtained from old Cavana, Biddy Murtagh, and Jamesy Doyle what they knew of the transaction; and thus fully primed and loaded for his report, he left, telling Winny Cavana "the stipendiary magistrate had left home the day before, but that he would be back the next day; and she might expect an official visit from him, as he would make arrangements with him that she should not be brought from her home, when no doubt the prisoners would be remanded for the doctor's report of the wounded man."
The morning after "the chief" had been at Rathcash house, Winny Cavana, almost immediately after breakfast, told Jamesy Doyle to get ready and come with her to Shanvilla. She was anxious to ascertain from personal knowledge how poor Emon was going on. She was distracted with the contradictory reports which Biddy Murtagh brought in from time to time from the passers-by upon the road. Winny had little, if any, hope at all that Edward Lennon would survive. She had been assured by Father Farrell, in whose truth and experience she placed the greatest confidence, that it wasimpossible, although he might linger for a few days. The doctor, too, had pronounced the same solemn doom. Her thoughts as she hastened toward Shanvilla were full of awe anddetermination. She had spent the night, the entire night, for she had never closed an eye, in laying down a broad short map of her future life, and it was already engraven on her mind. She had been clever in drawing such things at the school where she had him been educated, and her thoughts now took that form.
Her poor father while he lived; herself before and after his death; the Lennons one and all; Kate Mulvey, Phil M'Dermott, Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and Bully-dhu were the only spots marked upon the map; but they were conspicuous, like the capital towns of counties. There was but one river on the map, and it could be traced by Winny's tears. It was the great river of "the Past," and rose in the distant mountains of her memory which hemmed in this map of her fancy. It flowed first round old Ned and the Lennons, who were bounded by Winny on the north, south, east, and west. It passed by Kate Mulvey and Phil M'Dermott, and thence passing by Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and Bully-dhu, it emptied itself into the Irish ocean of Winny's affectionate heart.
Winny knew that she would meet Father Farrell at Emon's bedside; he scarcely ever left it; and she knew that he would not deceive her as to his real state. She knew, too, that he would not refuse her a sincere Christian advice and counsel upon the sudden resolve which had taken possession of her heart.
Father Farrell saw her coming from Emon's window, and went to meet her at the door. They stood in the kitchen alone. The poor father and mother had been kept out of Emon's room by the priest, and were bewailing their fate in their own room.
"I am glad you are come, Winny, dear," said he. "The poor fellow has not ceased to speak of you and pray for you from the first, when he does transgress his orders not to speak at all."
"How is he, oh, how is he, Father Farrell?"
"Stronger just now, but dying, Winny Cavana. Let nothing tempt you to deceive yourself. He has been so much stronger for the last hour or so that I was just going to send my gig for yon. He said it would soothe his death-bed, which he knows he is on, Winny, to see you and have your blessing."
"He shall have my blessing, and I shall claim every right to give it to him. Father Farrell," she added, solemnly, but with a full, untrembling tone, "will you marry me to Edward Lennon?"
The priest almost staggered back from her for a moment.
"Yes, Father Farrell, you have heard aright, and I solemnly and sincerely repeat the question. Listen: You must know that never on this earth will I wed any other. I shall devote myself and the greater portion of any wealth I may possess to the church for charitable purposes after Edward Lennon, my future husband--future here and hereafter--is dead. I wish to call him husband by that precious right which death will so soon rob me of. Even so, Father Farrell; give me that right, short though it be. It will enable me legally to provide for his honest, stout-hearted father and his broken-hearted mother, without the lying lips of slander doubting the motive. Oh, Father Farrell, it is the only consolation left me now to hope for, or in your power to bestow."
The priest was struck dumb. Her eyes, her breath, pleaded almost more than her words.
Father Farrell sat down upon a form.
"Winny Cavana," he said, "do not press me--that is, I mean, do not hurry me. The matter admits of serious consideration, and may not be altogether so unreasonable or extraordinary as it might at first appear. But I say that it requires consideration. Walk abroad for a few minutes and let me think."
"No, father. You may remain here for a few minutes and think. Let me go in and see my poor Emon."
"Yes, yes, you shall; but I must go in along with you, Winny. I can come out again if I find that more consideration is necessary."
Winny saw that she had gained her point. They then entered the room, and Emon cast such a look of gratitude and love upon Winny as calmed every doubt upon the priest's mind, for he was afraid that Emon himself would object, and that the scene would injure him.
Winny was soon at Emon's side, with his hand clasped in hers.
"You are come, Winny dear, to bid me a final good-by--in this world," he murmured. "God bless you for your goodness and your love for me!"
"I am come, Emon dear, to fulfil that love in the presence of heaven, and with Father Farrell's sanction--am I not, Father Farrell?"
"I never doubted it, Winny dear."
"And you shall not doubt it now. You shall die declaring it. Emon-- Emon, my own Emon-a-knock, I am come to claim the promise you gave me to make me your wife."
"Great God, Winny I are you mad?--she not mad. Father Farrell?"
"No, Emon dear, she really is not mad. She will devote herself and her whole future life to charity and the love of a better world than this. She can do that not only as well, but better, in some respects, as your widow than otherwise. I have considered the matter, and I cannot see that there are any just reasons to deny her request."
"Then I shall die happy, though it be this very night. But oh, Winny, Winny, think of what you are about; time will soften your grief, and you may yet be happy with ano--"
"Stop, Emon dear--not another word; for here, before heaven and Father Farrell, I swear never shall I marry any one in this world but you. Here, Father Farrell, begin; here is a ring you gave me yourself, Emon, and although not a wedding-ring it will do very well--we will make one of it."
Father Farrell then brought in Emon's father and mother, and married Winny Cavana to the dying man.
She stooped down and kissed his pallid lips. Big drops of sweat burst out upon his forehead, and Father Farrell saw that the last moment was at hand. Winny held his hand between both hers, and said, "Emon, you are now mine--mine by divine right, and I resign you to the Lord." And she looked up to heaven through the roof, while the big tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
"Winny," said Emon, in a solemn but distinct voice, "I now die happy. For this I have lived, and for this I die. I cannot count on even hours now; my moments are numbered. I feel death trembling round my heart. But you have calmed its approach, Winny dear. Your love and devotion at a moment like this is the happiest pang that softens my passage to the grave. I can now claim a right to what you promised me as a favor--my portion of your space in Rathcash chapel-yard. God bless you, Winny dear!--Good-by--my--wife!"
Yes, Emon had lived and had died for the love of her who wasnow his widow.
As Emon had ceased to speak, a bright smile broke over his whole countenance, and he rendered his last sigh into the safe-keeping of his guardian angel, until the last great day.
Winny knew that he was dead, though his breath had passed so gently forth that he might have been only falling asleep. She continued to hold his hand, and to gaze upon his still features, while Father Farrell's lips moved in silent prayer, more for the living than the dead.
"Come, Winny," he at last said, "you cannot remain here just at present. Come along with me, and I will bring you in my gig to your father's house, where I will tell him all myself."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Father Farrell," she said, turning resignedly with him. "Tell poor Pat Lennon what has happened; their pity for me as a companion in their grief may help to soften their own. Tell him, of course, Father Farrell, that I shall take all the arrangements of the funeral upon myself--God help them and me!"
As they came from the dead man's room they met Pat Lennon in the kitchen, and Winny, throwing her arms round his neck, caught the big salt tears which were rolling down his face upon her quivering lips.
"I have a right to call you father now," she exclaimed. "You have lost a son, but I will be your daughter," and she kissed him again and again.
On their way to Rathcash, Winny in the first instance told the priest that "of course her poor husband should be buried in Rathcash chapel-yard, and, as a matter in which she could not interfere, by Father Roche." Here she stopped, but the kind-hearted priest took her up at once.
"Of course, my dear child," he said, "that will be quite right. Indeed, Winny, I should not wish to be the person so soon to add that sad ceremony to the still sadder one I was engaged in to-day."
"Before God or man, Father Farrell, you will never have cause to regret that act. It was my own choosing after deliberate consideration, and I was best judge of my own feelings. Icanbe happy now. I nevercouldbe happy if it were otherwise."
"God grant it, my love," said the priest.
"But still, Father Farrell," she continued, "I have something more for you to do for me. Will you not, like a good man, take all the arrangement of the funeral upon yourself? I will pay every penny of the expenses, and let them not be niggardly. Thank God, Father Farrell, I can do so now without reproach."
The kind, sympathizing priest engaged to do everything which was requisite in the most approved of manner. The more he reflected upon what he had done, the less fault he had to find with himself. There was a calm, resigned tone about all that Winny now said very different from what he might have anticipated from his knowledge of her temper and disposition, had the fatal moment taken place when the shot was fired, or even subsequently before she became Edward Lennon's wife. Bitter revenge, he thought, would have seized her soul toward the man who had deprived her of all hope or source of happiness in this world. Now the only time she trusted her tongue to speak of him was an exclamation--"May God forgive him!"
They soon arrived at Rathcash house, where Father Farrell paid a long visit to old Ned Cavana. His kindness quite gained upon the old man, and, before he left, he acquainted him with the facts of his daughter's position and the death of her husband.
The old man sat silent for some time after the truth had been made known to him. Winny stood hoping for a look of encouragement and forgiveness; but the old man gave it not. At length, with that impatience habitual to her disposition, she rushed into his arms and wept upon his breast.
"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "I could never be the wife of any man living after poor Emon's death in defence of my life; ay, more than my life, of my honor."
"But oh, Winny, Winny! to sacrifice yourself for a man so near the grave! There was no hope for him, I heerd."
"None, father. I was aware of that. Had there been, I should have waited patiently. I told Father Farrell here my plans, and the same thing as swore that I would not alter them. He will now tell them to you, father dear; and I shall lie down for a couple of hours, for indeed I want rest of both body and mind."
She then kissed her father again and again, and blessed him, or rather she prayed God to do so, and went to her room.
Father Farrell then explained all Winny's views to her distracted father, observing, as he had been enjoined to do, the tenderest love and respect for the old man; taking nothing "for granted;" but at the same time showing the utmost confidence that all matters would still be arranged for his daughter in the same manner he had often explained to her to be his intention. "One step she was determined on," Father Farrell said; "and that was to join a religious sisterhood of charity in the north. Nothing should ever tempt her to marry."
"I'll sell this place at wance," said old Ned. "It's not a month since I had a rattlin' bid for it; but my landlord--and he's member for the county, you know--tould me with his own lips, that if ever I had a mind to part with it, he'd give me a hundred pounds more for it than any one else."
"That was Winny's wish, Ned; and that you should remove with her to the north, where she would settle you comfortably, and where she could see you almost every day in the week."
"Almost," repeated old Ned, sorrowfully.
"Well, perhaps every day, Ned, for that matter."
"Well, Father Farrell, I would not wish to stay here any longer afther what has happened. I'll sell the place out an' out at wance. I have nothing to do but to write to my landlord. I could not bear to be lookin' across at Mick Murdock's afther what tuck place. I think my poor Winny is right; an' that it was the Lord put it all into her head. Athen, Father Farrell, maybe it was yourself laid it down for the little girl?"
"No, Ned; she laid it all down for me. I was going to reason with her at first, but she put her hand upon my mouth, and told me to stop; that nothing should alter her plans. I considered her words, Ned, for a while, and I gave in; not on account of her determination, but because I thought she was right. And I think so still; even to the marrying of Emon on his death-bed."
"Indeed, Father Farrell, you have aised my mind. Glory be to God that guided her!"
"Amen," said the priest.
Father Farrell had now in the kindest manner dealt with old Ned Cavana, according to Winny's wishes and instructions; so that it was an easy matter for Winny herself on that evening, when she had joined her father after a refreshing sleep, to explain more in detail her intentions as regarded herself, and her wishes as regarded her friends--those capitals of counties which were marked on the map of her imagination.
Old Ned was like a child in her hands; and no mother ever handled her first-born babe more fondly than Winny dealt with her poor old father.
"Ducks an' dhrakes iv it, Winny asthore; ducks an' dhrakes iv it, Winny dear! Isn't it all your own; what do I want with it, mavrone, but to see you happy? an' haven't you laid out a plan for both yourself an' myself that can't be bet, Winny mavoureen?"
The old man was perfectly satisfied with the map, and studied it so well that he had it by heart before he went to bed, and could have told you the boundaries of all Winny's wishes to the breadth of a hair, as he kissed her for the last time that night.
I will spare the reader a detail of the melancholycortègeof poor Emon-a-knock's funeral, which proceeded from Shanvilla to Rathcash chapel-yard the day but one after.
Winny had expressed a wish to attend it, but had yielded to the joint advice of Father Farrell and Father Roche to resist the impulse.
Emon-a-knock had been well and truly loved in life, and was now sincerely regretted in death. Father Farrell, at the head of the procession, was met by Father Roche bare-headed at the chapel-gate of Rathcash, and the melancholy ceremony was performed amidst the silent grief of the immense crowd around. Poor Emon's last wish was complied with, and he now occupied his last resting-place with the Cavanas of Rathcash.