Willy Reilly Part 48

"Get along, you gipsy--don't be crying. What could you do that papa wouldn't forgive you, unless to run away with Reilly? Don't you know that you can wind me round your finger?"

"Farewell, papa," she said, weeping all the time, for, in truth, she found it impossible to control herself; "farewell--good night! and remember that you may have a great deal to forgive your own _Cooleen Bawn_ some of these days."

On leaving the bedroom, where she was hurried by her feelings into this indiscreet dialogue, she found herself nearly incapable of walking without support. The contending affections for her father and her lover had nearly overcome her. By the aid of the staircase she got to her own room, where she was met by Connor, into whose arms she fell almost helpless.

"Ah, Connor," she said, alluding to her father, whom she could not trust herself to name, "to-morrow morning what will become of him when he finds that I am gone? But I know his affectionate heart. He will relent--he will relent for the sake of his own _Cooleen Bawn_. The laws against Catholics are now relaxed, and I am glad of it. But I have one consolation, my dear girl, that I am trusting myself to a man of honor.

We will proceed directly to the Continent;--that is, if no calamitous occurrence should take place to prevent us; and there, after our nuptials shall have been duly celebrated, I will live happy with Reilly--that is, Connor, as happy as absence from my dear father will permit me--and Reilly will live happy, and, at least, free from the persecution of bad laws, and such villains as base and vindictive Whitecraft. You, Connor, must accompany me to the back of the garden, and see me off. Take this purse, Connor, as some compensation for your truth and the loss of your situation."

It was now, when the moment of separation approached, that Connor's tears began to flow, far less at the generosity of her mistress than her affection, and that which she looked upon as probably their final separation.

"Dear Connor," said her mistress, "I would expect that support to my breaking heart which I have hitherto experienced from you. Be firm now, for you see I am not firm, and your tears only render me less adequate to encounter the unknown vicissitudes which lie before me."

"Well, then, I will be firm, my dear mistress; and I tell you that if there is a G.o.d in heaven that rewards virtue and goodness like yours, you will be happy yet. Come, now, he is waiting for you, and the less time we lose the better. We shall go out by the back way--it is the safest."

They accordingly did so, and had nearly reached the back wall of the garden when they met Malcomson and c.u.mmiskey, on their way into the kitchen, in order to have a mug of strong ale together. The two men, on seeing the females approach, withdrew to the shelter of a clump of trees, but not until they were known by Connor.

"Come, my dear mistress," she whispered, "there is not one second of time to be lost. c.u.mmiskey, who is a Catholic, might overlook our being here at this hour; because, although he is rather in the light of a friend than a servant to your father, still he is a friend to Reilly as well; but as for that ugly Scotchman, that is nothing but bone and skin, I would place no dependence whatever upon him."

We will not describe the meeting between Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_.

They had no time to lose in the tender expressions of their feelings.

Each shook hands with, and bid farewell to, poor affectionate Connor, who was now drowned in tears; and thus they set off, with a view of leaving the kingdom, and getting themselves legally married in Holland, where they intended to reside.

CHAPTER XX.--The Rapparee Secured

--Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_ Escape, and are Captured.

c.u.mmiskey had a private and comfortable room of his own, to which he and the cannie Scotchman proceeded, after having ordered from the butler a tankard of strong ale. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, and when the tankard and gla.s.ses were placed upon the table the Scotchman observed:

"De'il be frae my saul, maisther c.u.mmiskey, but ye're vera comfortable here."

"Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson; here's your health, sir, and after that we must drink another."

"Mony thanks, Andrew."

"Hang it, I'm not Andrew: that sounds like Scotch; I'm Andy, man alive."

"Wfiel mony thanks, Andy; but for the maitter o' that, what the de'il waur wad it be gin it were Scotch?"

"Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, somehow."

"Weel, Andrew--Andy--I do just suppose as muckle; gin ye war considered Scotch, muckle more might be expeck' frae you than, being an Irisher as you are, you could be prepared to answer to; whereas--"

"Why, hang it, man alive, we can give three answers for your one."

"Weel, but how is that now, Andy? Here's to ye in the meantime; and 'am no savin' but this yill is just richt gude drink; it warms the pit o'

the stamach, man."

"You mane by that the pit o' the stomach, I suppose."

"Ay, just that."

"Troth, Mr. Malcomson, you Scotchers bring everything to the pit o' the stomach--no, begad, I ax your pardon, for although you take care of the pratie bag, you don't forget the pocket."

"And what for no, Andy? why the de'il war pockets made, gin they wanna to be filled? but how hae ye Irishers three answers for our ane?"

"Why, first with our tongue; and even with that we bate ye--flog you hollow. You Scotchmen take so much time in givin' an answer that an Irishman could say his pattherin aves before you spake. You think first and spake aftherwards, and come out in sich a way that one would suppose you say grace for every word you do spake; but it isn't 'for what we are to receive' you ought to say 'may the Lord make us thankful, but for what we are to lose'--that is, your Scotch nonsense; and, in troth, we ought to be thankful for losin' it."

"Weel, man, here's to ye, Andy--ou, man, but this yill is extraordinar'

gude."

"Why," replied Andy, who, by the way, seldom went sober to bed, and who was even now nearly three sheets in the wind, "it is. Mr. Malcomson, the right stuff. But, as I was sayin', you Scotchmen think first and spake afther--one of the most unlucky practices that ever anybody had. Now, don't you see the advantage that the Irishman has over you; he spakes first and thinks aftherwards, and then, you know, it gives him plenty of time to think--here's G.o.d bless us all, anyhow--but that's the way an Irishman bates a Scotchman in givin' an answer; for if he fails by word o' mouth, why, whatever he's deficient in he makes up by the fist or cudgel; and there's our three Irish answers for one Scotch."

"Weel, man, a' richt--a' richt--we winna quarrel aboot it; but I thocht ye promised to gie us another toast--de'il be frae my; saul, man, but I'll drink as mony as you like wisiccan liquor as this."

"Ay, troth, I did say so, and devil a thing but your Scotch nonsense put it out o' my head. And now, Mr. Malcomson, let me advise you, as a friend, never to attempt to have the whole conversation to yourself; it I isn't daicent.

"Weel, but the toast, man?"

"Oh, ay; troth, your nonsense would put any thing out of a man's head.

Well, you see this comfortable room?"

"Ou, ay; an vara comfortable it is; ma faith, I wuss I had ane like it.

The auld squire, however, talks o' buildin' a new gertlen-hoose."

"Well, then, fill your b.u.mper. Here's to her that got me this room, and had it furnished as you see, in order that I might be at my aise in it for the remaindher o' my life--I mane the _Cooleen Bawn_--the Lily of the Plains of Boyle. Come, now, off with it; and if you take it from your lantern jaws! till it's finished, divil a wet lip ever I'll give you."

The Scotchman was not indisposed to honor the toast; first, because the ale was both strong and mellow, and secondly, because the _Cooleen Bawn_ was a great favorite of his, in consequence of the deference she paid to him as a botanist.

"Eh, sirs," he exclaimed, after finishing his b.u.mper, "but she's a bonnie la.s.sie that, and as gude as she's bonnie--and de'il a higher compliment she could get, I think. But, Andy, man, don't they talk some clash and havers anent her predilection for that weel-farrant callan, Reilly?"

"All, my poor girl," replied c.u.mmiskey, shaking his head sorrowfully; "I pity her there; but the thing's impossible--they can't be married--the law is against them."

"Weel, Andy, they must e'en thole it; but 'am thinkin' they'll just break bounds at last, an' tak' the law, as you Irish do, into their am hands."

"What do you mane by that?" asked Andy, whose temper began to get warm by the observation.

"Ah, man," replied the Scotchman, "dinna let your birses rise at that gate. Noo, there's the filbert trees, ma friend, of whilk ane is male and the t.i.ther female; and the upshot e'en is, Andy, that de'il a pickle o' fruit ever the female produces until there's a braw halesome male tree planted in the same gerden. But, ou, man, Andy, wasna yon she and that bonnie jaud, Connor, that we met the noo? De'il be frae my laul, but I jalouse she's aff wi' him this vara nicht."

"Oh, dear, no!" replied c.u.mmiskey, starting; "that would kill her father; and yet there must be something in it, or what would bring them there at such an hour? He and she may love one another as much as they like, but I must think of my mas-ther."

"In that case, then, our best plan is to gie the alarm."

"Hould," replied Andy; "let us be cautious. They wouldn't go on foot, I think; and before we rise a ruction in the house, let us find out whether she has made off or not. Sit you here, and I'll try to see Connor, her maid."

"Ah, but, Andy, man, it's no just that pleasant to sit hei-e dry-lipped; the tankard's, oot, ye ken."