The Catholic World Volume I Part 98

"Be gorra, Miss Winny, I took up two tenpenny-bits an' a fippenny."

"And what will you do with all that money, Jamesy? it is nearly a month's wages."

"Be gorra, my mother has it afore this, Miss Winny."

"That is a good boy, Jamesy, but you shouldn't curse."

"Be gorra, I won't, miss; but I didn't think that was cursing, at all, at all."

"Well, it is swearing, Jamesy, and that is just as bad."

"Well, Miss Winny, you'll never hear me say it agen."

"That's right, James. Is the garden open?

"It is, miss; I'm afther bringing out an armful of leaves to bile for the pigs."

Winny pa.s.sed on through the yard into the garden. It was a fine, mild day for the time of year, and she was soon sitting in the bower with an unopened story-book in her lap. It was a piece of idle folly her bringing the book there at all. In the first place, she had it by heart--for books were scarce in that locality, and were often read--and in the next, she was more in a humor to think than to read.

It was no strange thing, under the circ.u.mstances, if, like some heroines of a higher stamp, "she fell into a reverie." "How long she remained thus," to use the patent phrase in such a case, must be a mere matter of surmise; but a step at the gate outside the hedge, and her own name distinctly p.r.o.nounced, caused her to start.

Eaves-dropping has been universally condemned, and "listeners," they say, "never hear good of themselves." But where is the young girl, or indeed any person, hearing their own name p.r.o.nounced, and being in a position to listen un.o.bserved, who would not do so? Our heroine, at all events, was not "above that sort of thing," and instead of hemming, or coughing, or shuffling her feet in the gravel, she c.o.c.ked her ears and held her breath. We would be a little indulgent to a person so sorely tempted, whatever our readers may think.

"If Winny Cavana," she heard, "was twice as proud, an' twice as great a lady, you may believe me, Tom, she wouldn't refuse you. She'll have six hundred pounds as round as the crown of your hat; an' that fine farm we're afther walkin' over; like her, or not like her, take my advice an' don't lose the fortune an' the farm."

"Not if I can help it, father. There's more reason than you know of why I should secure the ready money of her fortune at any rate; as to herself, if it wasn't for that, she might marry Tom Naddy _th'

aumadhawn_ if she had a mind."

"Had you any chat with her last night, Tom? Oh then, wasn't she lookin' elegant!"

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"As elegant as you please, father, but as proud as a peac.o.c.k. No, I had no chat with her, except what the whole room could hear; she was determined on that, and I'm still of opinion that you did more harm than good."

"Not if you were worth a _thrawncen_, Tom. Arrah avic machree, you don't undherstand her; that was all put on, man alive. I'm afeerd she'll think you haven't the pluck in you; she's a sperited girl herself, and depend upon it she expects you to spake, an' its what she's vexed at, your dilly-dallyin'. Why did you let that fellow take her out for the first dance? I heerd Mrs. Moran remark it to Kitty Mulvey's mother."

"That was a mistake, father; he had her out before I got in from the kitchen."

"They don't like them mistakes, Tom, an' that's the very thing I blame you for; you should have stuck to her like a leech the whole night; they like a man that's in earnest. Take my advice, Tom avic, an put the question plump to her at wanst fore Shraftide. Tell her I'll lay down a pound for you for every pound her father gives her, and I'll make over this place to you out an out. Old Ned an I will live together while we last, an that can't be long, Tom avic. I know he'll settle Rathcash upon Winny, and he'll have the interest of her fortune beside--"

"Interest be d--d!" interrupted Tom; "won't he pay the money down?"

"He might do that same, but I think not; he's afeerd it might be dribbled away, but with Rathcash, an Rathcashmore joined, the devil's in it and she can't live like a lady; at all events, Tom, you can live like a gentleman; ould Ned's for you entirely, Tom, I can tell you that."

"That is all very well, father, and I wish that you could make me think that your words would come true, but I'm not come to four-and-twenty years of age without knowing something of the way girls get on; and if that one is not set on young Lennon, my name is not Tom Murdock; and I'll tell you what's more, that if it wasn't for her fortune and that farm, he might have her and welcome. There are many girls in the parish as handsome, and handsomer for that matter, than what she is, that would just jump at me."

"I know that, Tom agra, but maybe it's what you'll only fix her on that whelp, as you call him, the stronger, if you be houldin' back the way you do. They like pluck, Tom; they like pluck, I tell you, and in my opinion she's only makin' b'lief, to dhraw you out. Try her, Tom, try her."

"I will, father, and if I fail, and I find that that spalpeen Lennon is at the bottom of it, let them both look out, that's all. For his part, I have a way of dealing with him that he knows nothing about, and as for her--"

Here Jamesy Doyle came out into the lane from the farm-yard, and father and son immediately branched off in the direction of their own house, leaving Tom Murdock's second part of the threat unfinished.

But Winny had heard enough. Her heart, which had been beating with indignation the whole time, had nearly betrayed itself when she heard Emon-a-knock called a spalpeen.

One thing she was now certain of, and the certainty gave her whole soul relief,--that if ever Tom Murdock could have had any chance of success through her father's influence, and her love for him, it was now entirely at an end for ever. Should her father urge the match upon her, she had, as a last remedy, but to reveal this conversation, to gain him over indignantly to her side.

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Winny was seldom very wrong in her likings or dislikings, although perhaps both were formed in some instances rather hastily, and she often knew not why. In Tom Murdock's case, she was glad, and now rather "proud out of herself," that she had never liked him.

"I knew the dirt was in him," she said to herself as she returned to the house. "I wish he did not live so near us, for I foresee nothing but trouble and vexation before me on his account. I'm sorry Jamesy Doyle came out so soon. I'd like to have heard what he was going to say of myself, but sure he said enough. Em-on-a-knock may despise himself and his threat." And she went into the house to prepare the dinner.

Tom Murdock, notwithstanding his shortcomings, and they were neither few nor far between, was a shrewd, clever fellow in most matters. It was owing to this shrewdness that he resolved to watch for some favorable opportunity, rather than seek a formal meeting with Winny Cavana "_at wanst_" as had been 'advised by his father.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

From Once a Week.

SAINT DOROTHEA.

The sun blazed fiercely out of cloudless blue, And the deep sea flung back the glare again, As though there were indeed another sun Within the mimic sky reflected there; Not steadily and straight, as from above, But all athwart the little rippling waves The broken daybeams sparkling leapt aloft In glittering ruin; scarce a breath of air To stir the waters or to wave the trees; The flowers hung drooping, and the leaves lay close Against their branches, as if sick and faint With the dull heat and needing strong support.

The city walls, the stones of every street, The houses glow'd, you would have thought that none Would venture forth, till that the gracious night Should come with sable robe and wrap the earth In softest folds, and shade men from the day.

But see, from every street the seething crowds Pour out, and all along the way they stand, And ribald jest and song resound aloud, And light accost and careless revelry: What means this, wherefore flock the people forth?

Ceases the hum, a sudden silence falls On all around, the tramp of armed men Rings through the air; and hark, what further sound?

A girl's fresh voice, a sad sweet song is heard Above the clank of arms, men hold their breath; Yet not all sadness is that wondrous chant, That hushes the wild crowd with sudden awe.

As when the nightingale's mellifluous tones Rise in the woodland, ere the other birds {667} Have ceased their vesper hymn, that moment drops Each fluttering songster's wild thanksgiving lay, So for awhile did silence fall on all Within the seething crowd at that sweet voice.

She comes, they bring her forth to die, for she This day must win the martyr's palm, this day Must witness for her faith, this day must reap The fruit of all her pains, long rest in heaven!

Long had they spared her, for the governor Was loth that she should suffer, and her race Was n.o.ble, so they hoped to make her yield, And waited still and waited; but at length They grew enraged at her calm steadfastness, They knew not whence a resolution such As made a young maid baffle aged men, So she must die.

Now as she went along 'Midst all her guards, again burst forth the mob Into such bitter taunts, such foul wild words, As sent the hot blood mantling to her cheek For shame that she, a maid, must hear such things; And yet was no remorse within their hearts, No light of pity in their savage eyes, Like hungry wolves that scent the blood from far They howled with joy, expectant of their prey.

There was one there, he in old days had loved Her fair young face, but he too now, with scorn Written in his dark eyes and on his brow, And in the curl of his short lip, stood by; It 'seemed not such a face, that bitter smile, For he was pa.s.sing fair, in youth's heyday; But if contemptuous was his mien, his words Were worse for her to bear, for he cried out-- He, whom her heart yet own'd its only love!

He, whom she held first of all living men!

He, whom she honor'd yet, though left by him In her distress and danger!--this man cried, "Ho, Dorothea! doth the bridegroom wait?

And goest thou to his arms? Joy go with thee!

But yet when in his palace courts above, Whereof thou tellest, fair one, think on us Who toil in this sad world below; on me Think thou before all others, thine old love, And send me somewhat for a token, send Of that same heavenly fruit and of those flowers That fade not!"

Then she turn'd and answer'd him, "As thou hast said, so be it, thy request Is granted!" and she pa.s.s'd on to her death.

She died: her soul was rapt into the skies.

The vulgar horde who watch'd her torture, knew Nought of the great unfathomable bliss {668} Which waited her, and when her spirit fled None saw the angel bands receive her, none Heard the long jubilant sweet sound that burst Through heaven's high gates, swept from ten thousand harps By seraph choirs, for she had died on earth Only to enter on the life above.

Night fell upon the earth, the city lay Slumb'ring in cool repose, the restless sea, Weary with dancing all day 'neath the sun, Was hushed to sleep by the faint whisp'ring breeze That, wanting force to sport, but rose and fell With soothing murmur, like to pine boughs stirr'd By the north wind: sleep held men's eyelids close.

And he, that youth, slept, aye, slept peacefully, Nor reck'd of the vile insult he had pour'd Upon the head of one whom once he swore To love beyond all others. As he lay, Wrapt in the dreamless slumber of young health, Sudden a light unearthly clear hath fill'd The chamber, and he starts up from his couch, Gazing in troubled wonder: by his side What sees he?

A young boy he deems him first, But when had mortal such a calm pure smile Since our first father lost his purity?

A radiant angel, rather, should he be, Who stands all glorious, bearing in his hands Such fruit and flowers as surely never grew On this dull earth; their fragrance fill'd the air, And smote the senses of Theophilus, That a sad yearning rose within his heart, Such as at times a strain of song will raise, Or some chance word will bring (we know not why), Flooding the inmost soul with that strange sense, Half pain, half pleasure, of some bygone time-- Some far off and forgotten happiness, We know not where nor what.

The stranger spoke, And thus he said, "Rise up, Theophilus!

And take these gifts which I from heaven bring.

Fair Dorothea, mindful of her words, Hath sent thee these, and bids thee that henceforth Thou scoff not, but believe!"