The Tithe-Proctor Part 22

"The mist is gone," he observed, "from the mountains, and I suppose the boys will soon begin to come."

"Throth, Frank," she replied, "I hate these nightly meetin's that you hould here--all this plottin' and plannin' isn't nor can't be good."

"You hate them! an' who the ould diaoul cares whether you do or not? I allow them this house to meet in, bekaise it's large and far from the polis. A house down in the country, where they might pop in on them, wouldn't be so safe; here, however, no one would suspect them of meetin', and from the way the house is situated, no one could come upon us widout bein' known or seen. You hate! that indeed!"

"An' what do they meet for, Frank? if it's a fair question!"

"It's not a fair question, an' you have no business to ax; still if you want to know, and if it can make you anything the wiser, you shall hear.

It's to break a Millstone they meet."

"To brake a millstone, _inngh!_ Oh, sorra a word of that I believe. Sure there's no millstone here?--if you want to break millstones you must go farther up--to Carnmore, where they make them. Sorra millstone's here, I know."

"You know--oh, how much you know! I tell you, there's a great Millstone that covers and grinds the whole kingdom, or at least the greatest parts of it--that's the Millstone we want to brake, and that we will brake."

"When did you hear from Mark Ratigan, or see him?"

"Mark Ratigan is snug and comfortable as a laborin' boy wid Magistrate Driscol that's in--hem--but listen to me, now if you should meet Mark anywhere down the country, you're neither to call him Mark nor Ratigan, otherwise you may be the manes of hangin' the poor boy."

"Throth, an' by all accounts, he'll come to the gallows yet."

"Well, and many a betther man did. I expect him and Hourigan both here tonight."

"An' what name does he go by now?" she asked.

"By the name of Phil Hart; and remember when there's any stranger present, you're never to call him anything else--but above all things, and upon the peril of your life, never call him Mark Ratigan."

"And do you think," replied his wife, "that I won't take care not to do it? But, Frank, tell me what was Mogue Moylan doin' here the night before last?"

"Only to let me know that he and a Misthor M'Carthy--a great friend of his and of two good creatures--Magistrate Driscol and Procthor Purcel--wor to come out shootin' on the mountains to-day and to ax if I would prevent them."

"An' did you give them lave?" she inquired.

A very peculiar expression pa.s.sed over the dark grim features of her husband. "Did I give them lave?" he replied; "well, indeed, you may take your davy, I did. Why would I refuse a dacent gintleman, and a friend of Mogue Moylan's lave to shoot? Poor dacent Mogue, too, that loves thruth and religion so well--ha! ha! ha!--whisht!--here's some one."

The words were scarcely uttered, when our friends, M'Carthy and Mogue, made their appearance in the caretaker's house, both evidently in a fatigued state, especially M'Carthy, who had not been so well accustomed to travel over mountain scenery as his companion.

"Well, blessed be G.o.d that we have got the roof of a house over us at last!" exclaimed Mogue. "Frank Finnerty, how are you? an' Vread, achora, not forgettin' you--my hand to you both, but we're lost--especially this gentleman, Mr. M'Carthy--a great friend of Mr. O'Driscol's and Procthor Parcel's--but a betther man than either o' them, I hope."

"I am fairly knocked up, I admit," said M'Carthy--"in fact, I am more jaded than I ever was in my life."

"Take a chair, sir," said Finnerty; "you are welcome at all events, and I am glad to see you, or any friend of Mogue's; take this chair, sir--and--here, Mogue, do you take a stool; you must be both in a sad state, sure enough."

"Thank you, Frank," replied Mogue, "oh, then, bad cess to it for a dirty mist--G.o.d pardon me for cursin' the poor mist though, for sure it wasn't it's fault, the crathur of a mist we oughn't to curse anything that G.o.d has made, but indeed I'm a great sinner that way, G.o.d forgive me; howandever as I was sayin', only for it afther all, Mr. Francis, it's atin' your comfortable dinner, or rayther drinkin' your fine wine you'd be now at Mr. Purcel's illigant table, instead of bein' here as you are, however, sure it's good to have a house over our heads any way."

Finnerty and his wife heaped more turf on the fire, and the poor woman, with that kind spirit of hospitality and sympathy for which her countrywomen are so remarkable, told them that they must necessarily be hungry, and said she would lose no time in providing them with refreshment.

"Many thanks," replied M'Carthy, "it is not refreshment, but rest we require; we have had more refreshments of every kind with us than he could use, and it is well we were so provident, otherwise we never would or could have reached even this house alive. Such a day I have never spent--we have done nothing but wade through this d--d mist for the last six or eight hours, without the slightest knowledge of whereabout we were."

"Well, well, Mr. Francis, sure it's one comfort that we're safe at all events," said Mogue; "only I'm frettin' myself about the onaisiness they'll all feel at home, I mane in Mr. Purcel's, about you. Do you know now, that a thought strikes me, sir; I'm fresher than you are a good.

deal. Now what if I'd run home and make their minds aisy in the first place, and get Jerry Joyce to bring the car up for you as far as the mountain road? You can rest yourself here in the manetime, and Frank Finnerty will see you safe that far. I'll carry the gun and things with me too--so that you'll have a lighter tramp down the hills."

This arrangement was precisely what M'Carthy could have wished.

"Thank you, Mogue, for thinking of this--you are a considerate kind fellow, and I cordially admit that I owe my life to you this day.

Had you not been with me I must have lost my way and perished in the mountains."

Mogue and Finnerty exchanged glances, which, however, did not escape the observation of the wife, who thoroughly understood those changes of expression, which reflected her husband's darker and sterner purposes.

"Why, then, Misther Frank, that I may be happy but I am glad I was with you, so I am, for indeed only for me I don't think, sure enough, that ever you'd see this house to-night. There's some spirits left here still, and as I'm for another stretch, I don't think a gla.s.s of it will do me, or for that matther, Frank Finnerty here, any harm. You can see me down the hills a piece, Frank; and you, Mr. Francis, might throw yourself on the bed a while, and get an hour's sleep or so."

This too was agreed to--Mogue and Finnerty took each a gla.s.s of whiskey, as did Mrs. Finnerty, by permission of her husband, and in a few minutes she and M'Carthy were left by themselves.

After the two worthies had been gone a few minutes, she proceeded to the door, and as the night had now become tolerably light, she looked out, but with a great deal of caution. At first she saw no person, but in walking in the shadow of the house, along! the sidewall to the left, she was able to observe five or six persons coming towards her husband and Moylan in a body; she saw that they stopped and were in close conversation, pointing frequently towards the house as they spoke. She returned to M'Carthy with the same caution, and, approaching him, was about to speak, when dread of her husband supervened for the moment, and she paused like a person in doubt. The peculiar glare and the satanic smile which her husband gave to Mogue, who, by the way, seemed perfectly to understand it, oppressed her with an indistinct sense of approaching evil which she could neither shake off, nor separate from the strange gentleman to whom their glances evidently referred. She remembered also to have heard her husband say upon one occasion when he was drunk, that Mogue Moylan was the deepest villain in the barony--ay, or in the kingdom; and that only for his cowardice he would be a man after his own heart. 'Twas true, she knew that he had contradicted all this afterwards when he got sober, and said it was the liquor that caused him to speak as he did, that Mogue was a good kind-hearted crature, who loved truth, and was one of the most religious boys among them.

This, however, did not satisfy her; the impression of some meditated evil against their temporary guest was too strong to be disregarded, and on recollecting that Mogue had been up with her husband only the evening but one before, as if to prepare him for something unusual, the conviction arose to an alarming height.

We have said that this woman was a poor pa.s.sive creature, whose life was a mere round of almost mechanical action. This, to be sure, so far as regarded her own domestic duties, and in general every matter in which her husband's opinions and her own could clash, was perfectly true. She was naturally devoid, however, of neither heart nor intellect, when any of her fellow-creatures happened to come within the range of her husband's enmity or vengeance, as well as upon other occasions too, and it was well known that she had given strong proofs of this. Her life in general appeared to be one long lull, but, notwithstanding its quietude, there was, under circ.u.mstances of crime or danger, the brooding storm ready to start up into action.

"Sir," said she, on returning into the house, "I'm a plain and ignorant woman, so that you needn't feel surprised or alarmed at anything I am goin' to say. I hope you will pardon me, sir, when I ax if you seen my husband before, or if you know him either more or less?"

M'Carthy did feel surprised, and replied in the negative to both points of her question--"I do not know your husband," he said, "nor have I to my knowledge ever seen him until to-night; may I beg to inquire why you ask?"

"It's not worth your while," she replied, "it was a mere thought that came into my head: but you and Mogue Moylan never had a dispute, sir?"

"Why, what can put such a notion into your head, my good woman?

Certainly not. Mogue and I have been always on the best of terms."

She paused again for some minutes, after which, she said, in a voice not audible.

"There's something in the wind for all that.

"Sir." she proceeded, "you'll think me odd, but will you let me ax if you wor ever threatened or put on your guard, of if you know of any enemy you have that would wish to injure you?"

M'Carthy now started, and, looking at her with a gaze of equal curiosity and astonishment, replied, "Your language, my good woman, is beyond doubt very strange--why do you ask me these questions?"

"Answer me first, if you plaise," she replied.

"I have certainly been put on my guard," he returned, "and informed that I ought to be cautious, for that I had an enemy and that danger was before me."

"When, and in what way did this happen?"

"I shall make no further communication on the subject," he replied, "until you speak more plainly."

"Then," she proceeded, "I'm afeard there's danger over you this night, if G.o.d hasn't said it."

"Not, I trust, while I am under the protection of your husband and Mogue Moylan."

She shook her head. "If you haven't something better to depend upon, I wouldn't think myself overly safe; but you didn't answer the last question I axed you. How wor you warned, and who warned you?"