The Tithe-Proctor Part 31

"'Well,' said the spokesman, 'will you give that letther,' handin' me this, 'to Mr. M'Carthy?'" and as the pedlar spoke he placed the note in M'Carthy's hands. "'Do so,' says the fellow, 'as soon as you can--if possible, widout an hour's delay. It consarns himself and it consarns me--can I depend on you to do this?' I said I would: and now there's the letther---my message is delivered."

M'Carthy read as follows:--"Francis M'Carthy, as you regard the life of the man that saved yours last night, you won't breathe a syllable about seein' a young man's corpse last night in the shebeen-house, nor about anything that happened to you in it, till you hear further from me. If you're grateful, and a gintleman, you won't; but if you're a traitor, you will. Your friend, as you act in this."

"Now, Mr. Frank," said the, pedlar, "as you know the danger that's about you, I say that unless you get out o' the counthry at wanst, you'll only have a hand in your own death if anything happens. You're, goin' now, I suppose, to Mr. Purcel's; if you are--if it wouldn't be troublesome--jist say that the Cannie Soogah will call there in the coorse o' the mornin' for breakfast."

He then turned off by a different road; and M'Carthy proceeded at, a very slow pace towards the proctor's, which lay in a right line between the house to which the White-boy had brought him and O'Driscol's. As he reached the back yard, by which he intended to enter, anxious to get himself washed before any of them should see him--he was met by Mogue, who after a glance or two recognized him at once by his shooting-dress.

"Why thin, good fortune to me, Misther Frank, is this you?"

"It is, Mogue; but I have no time to speak to you now. Only get me soap and a towel till I wash my face at the pump here. These are strange times, Mogue, and that was a very suspicious place of refuge to which you brought me; however, it will go hard or we shall make Mr. Frank Finnerty speak out, and to some purpose too. Get me soap and towel quick---I do not wish to be seen with this diabolical-looking face upon me."

"That I may be blest, sir, but the same face surprises me. Wisha, then, Mr. Frank, might one ax--"

"No," replied M'Carthy, "do as I have desired you--some other time you may hear it, but not now."

At this moment, Mogue, who was very circ.u.mspect in all his looks as well as in all his motions, saw by a side glance that Julia, on coming down the stairs, saw M'Carthy--a circ.u.mstance which delighted his very heart, inasmuch as he resolved to so manage it, that it might be made to confirm the hint he had already thrown out against M'Carthy--if that could be called a hint which was a broad and undisguised a.s.sertion. He accordingly watched until an opportunity presented itself of addressing her apart from listeners; and in the course of the morning, as she went to look after some favorite flowers in the garden, he met her at the gate.

"Miss Julia," said he, "I wish to spake one word to you, i' you plaise, miss."

"Well, Mogue, what is it?"

"You know what I tould you about poor Misther Frank last night; and what I want to say, miss, is, that you aren't to put any trust in it; truth, I believe I had a sup in--don't be guided by it--it was only jokin'

about him I was--that I may never do an ill turn but it was--now."

"You need make no apology about it, Mogue," she replied; "I am not at all interested in the matter; but I now know that you told me truth; and as a friend and well-wisher of Mr. M'Carthy's, in common with all my family, I am sorry to find it so."

"Oh, well now, miss, what will I do at all? wisha, but that's the way wid me ever and always; when the little sup is in--and indeed it wasn't much I tuck--the truth always come out--if it was the killin' of a man, my heart always gets the betther of ma then."

"I saw him, Mogue, with his face blackened."

"Wisha, wisha, but I was a haythen to mention it at all. The truth is, I like Mr. Frank--but then again, I don't like anything like desate, or that carries two faces--only as you did see him, Miss Julia, if you're loyal to me and won't turn traitor on me--you've but to wait for a little, I'll be able to tell you more about the same foolish--I'd rather say foolish for the sake of settin' a Christian pat-thern, than wicked or traicherous--och, ay--for sure we all have our failins--howandiver as I was sayin', I'll soon be able, I think, to tell you more about him--things that will surprise you, miss, ay, and make the blood in your veins run cowld. Only I say, if you wish to hear this, and to have it as clearly proved to you as what I tould you last night, you musn't betray me."

This was spoken in such an earnest, and at the same time in so simple and candid a manner, that it was actually impossible to suspect for a moment that there was falsehood or treachery intended. Nay,--his pretended effort to undeceive her as to M'Carthy's connection with the Whiteboys, was such a natural step after the drink which she supposed he had taken on the preceding night, and when cool reflection had returned to him, that she felt an indescribable curiosity--one attended with pain and terror--to hear the full extent of her lover's perfidy. Beyond all doubt, Moylan's treacherous adroitness, and the simplicity and piety under which he contrived to veil his treachery and revenge, were perfect in their way. As it was, he succeeded in banishing peace, and trust, and cheerfulness, from the heart of generous and affectionate Julia Purcel.

M'Carthy found the young men up, and after simply stating that the previous night was one of danger and adventure, he said that he wished to go to bed for a while, and that he would describe these adventures at more length after he had refreshed himself by some sleep. This, indeed, they perceived to be absolutely necessary, from his exhausted and pallid look. He accordingly went to rest--and, sooth to say, the sense of security, joined to his complete exhaustion, and the comforts of a warm good bed, gave him such a perception of luxury as he had never conceived before. In a few minutes he fell into a dreamless and unbroken trance.

Breakfast was postponed an hour on his account; for as he had extorted a promise from John Purcel, that he should either call him or have him called when the time for that meal arrived, they did not wish to disturb him so soon. In the meantime, there was many a conjecture as to the cause of his absence, and as the fact of his black face could not be concealed, there was consequently many an opinion given as to the circ.u.mstances which occasioned that unexpected phenomenon. Julia did not at all appear, but pleaded indisposition, and Alick had not yet returned-from O'Driscol's, so there was only the proctor, his son John, his wife, and Mary, to discuss the matter. At length, about half-past ten M'Carthy made his appearance, and after the usual civilities of the morning, he gave them a pretty clear, but not a very detailed account of the dangers he had undergone. After a good deal of consideration, he resolved, in accordance with the wish of his unknown friend, to suppress all mention of the attack upon O'Driscol's house, and of the young man who had been shot whilst it was going on.

Breakfast had not been concluded, when the _Cannie Soogah_, who had already got his hansel, as he called his breakfast, in the kitchen, made his appearance at the parlor window, which was immediately thrown up.

"G.o.d save all here," he exclaimed, "long life and good health to every one of you! Here I am, the rantin' Cannie Soogah, as large as life; and upon my profits maybe a little larger if the truth was known."

"Cannie," said the proctor, "dix me, but I'm glad to see you--and how are you, man?--and do you carry your bones safe--or your head upon your shoulders at all, durin' these wild times?"

"Troth, and you may well say they're wild times, Mr. Purcel, and it'll be wisdom in every one to keep themselves as safe as possible till they mend. Is it thruth, sir, that you're makin' preparations to collect your tides wid the help o' the sogers and polis?"

"Perfectly thrue, Cannie; we'll let the rascals that are misleading the people, as well as the people themselves, know whether they or the law are the strongest. They cannot blame us for the consequence, for we're forced to it."

"There will be bad work, thin, I'm afeard, sir; and b.l.o.o.d.y work, I dread."

"That's not our fault, Cannie, but the fault of those who will wilfully violate the law. However, let that pa.s.s, what's the news in the world?"

"I suppose you hard, sir, that the house of your friend and neighbor, that man that hears nothin'--" here there was the slightest perceptible grin upon the pedlar's face--"was attacked last night?"

"You don't mean O'Driscol's?"

"Upon my profits, I do--an' n.o.body else's.

"Hillo! do you hear this, girls? O'Driscol's house was attacked last night!"

"Heavenly father! I hope Alick is safe," exclaimed Mrs. Purcel, getting pale.

"Well, Cannie," inquired the proctor, quite coolly, and as if it was a matter of mere business, "what was the consequence? I hope n.o.body was hurt?"

"Why, that his son Fergus, sir--that fine young man that everybody was fond of--"

"Good G.o.d!" exclaimed the proctor, now really shocked at what he supposed the pedlar was about to say; "what is it you are goin' to tell us? I hope in G.o.d--"

"What is this!" exclaimed John; "heavens, Mary, you have spilled all the tea!"

"Mary, my child," exclaimed the mother, running to her; "what ails you?--in G.o.d's name, what is the matter?"

"A sudden faintness," replied the girl, recovering herself as if by an effort; "but it is over, and I--I am better."

"His son Fergus, sir--I hope Miss Mary is betther, sir--that his son Fergus and his father, by all accounts, gave them a warmer reception than they expected."

"But was none of O'Driscol's family hurt nor anybody else?" asked Purcel.

"No, sir, it seems not--and indeed I'm main glad of it."

"D--n you, Cannie," exclaimed the other, between jest and earnest, "why did you give me such a start? You told the affair as if Fergus had been shot--however, I'm glad that all's safe in O'Driscol's;--but about the night-boys? Were there any lives lost among them?"

"It's thought not, sir," replied the pedlar. "They left the marks o'

blood behind them, but the general opinion is, that there was no life lost; I hope there wasn't--for, indeed, I have such a hatred against the shed-din' of blood, that I don't wish even to hear of it."

"What was their object, have you learned, in attacking O'Driscol's place?"

"Well, then, I didn't hear; but anyhow, they say that a new workin' boy of O'Driscol's, that dogged them up beyant Darby Hourigan's, was wounded by them, along with Darby himself, in regard, of his having joined the young fellow in dodgin' afther them."

"Are they seriously hurt?" asked John.

"Throth that's more than I can say, but I hope they're not, poor fellows; at any rate, I'm sure Mr. O'Driscol will have them well taken care of till they're recovered."

"Certainly," observed the proctor, "if he thinks it his duty he will: my friend O'Driscol will do what he conceives to be right."

The pedlar nodded significantly, and honored the observation with, a broad grin. "Well, sir," said he, changing the conversation, "he may do for that as he likes, but I must look to number one. Come, ladies--and, by the way, where's my favorite, Miss Julia--from you?"

"She's not quite well this morning, Cannie," said her mother; "she has a slight headache, I believe."