Willy Reilly Part 65

"Alas, alas!" exclaimed the poor father, "I have no hope; after such a length of time I am indeed without a shadow of expectation. If unfortunate Reilly were here, indeed her seeing him, as that Sligo doctor told me, might give her a chance. He saw her about a week before we came down, and those were his words. But as for Reilly, even if he were in the country, how could I look him in the face? What wouldn't I give now that he were here, that Helen was well, and that one word of mine could make them man and wife?"

"Well, well," she replied, "don't be cast down; perhaps I could tell you good news if I wished."

"You're beating about the bush, Mary, at all events," said her husband, laughing.

"Perhaps, now, Mr. Folliard," she continued, "I could introduce a young lady who is so fond of you, old and ugly as you are, that she would not hesitate to kiss you tenderly, and cry with delight on your bosom you old thief."

They both started at her words with amazement, and her husband said: "Egad, Alick, Helen's malady seems catching. What the deuce do you mean, Molly? or must I, too, send for a doctor?"

"Shall I introduce you to the lady, though?" she proceeded, addressing the father; "but remember that, if I do, you must be a man, Mr.

Folliard!"

"In G.o.d's name! do what you like," said Mr. Hamilton, "but do it at once."

She went upstairs, and said, "As I do not wish to bring your father up, Helen, until he is prepared for a meeting with Mr. Reilly, I will bring you down to him. The sight of you now will give him new life."

"Oh, come, then," said Helen, "bring me to my father; do not lose a moment, not a moment--oh, let me see him instantly!"

The poor old man suspected something. "For a thousand!" said he, "this is some good news about Helen!"

"Make your mind up for that," replied his mend; "as sure as you live it is; and if it be, bear it stoutly."

In the course of a few minutes Mrs. Hamilton entered the room with Helen, now awakened to perfect reason, smiling, and leaning upon her arm. "Oh, dear papa!" she exclaimed, meeting him, with a flood of tears, and resting her head on his bosom.

"What, my darling!--my darling! And you know papa once more!--you know him again, my darling Helen! Oh, thanks be to G.o.d for this happy day!"

And he kissed her lips, and pressed her to his heart, and wept over her with ecstasy and delight. It was a tender and tearful embrace.

"Oh, papa!" said she, "I fear I have caused you much pain and sorrow: something has been wrong, but I am well now that he is here. I felt the tones of his voice in my heart."

"Who, darling, who?"

"Reilly, papa."

"Hamilton, bring him down instantly; but oh, Helen, darling, how will I see him?--how can I see him? but he must come, and we must all be happy.

Bring him down."

"You know, papa, that Reilly is generosity itself."

"He is, he is, Helen, and how could I blame you for loving him?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 183--My son! my son!]

Reilly soon entered; but the old man, already overpowered by what had just occurred, was not able to speak to him for some time. He clasped and pressed his hand, however, and at length said:

"My son! my son! Now," he added, after he had recovered himself, "now that I have both together, I will not allow one minute to pa.s.s until I give you both my blessing; and in due time, when Helen gets strong, and when I get a little stouter, you shall be married; the parson and the priest will make you both happy. Reilly, can you forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive you, sir," replied Reilly; "whatever you did proceeded from your excessive affection for your daughter; I am more than overpaid for any thing I may have suffered myself; had it been ages of misery, this one moment would cancel the memory of it for ever."

"I cannot give you my estate, Reilly," said the old man, "for that is entailed, and goes to the next male issue; but I can give you fifty thousand pounds with my girl, and that will keep you both comfortable for life."

"I thank you, sir," replied Reilly, "and for the sake of your daughter I will not reject it; but I am myself in independent circ.u.mstances, and could, even without your generosity, support Helen in a rank of life not unsuitable to her condition."

It is well known that, during the period in which the incidents of our story took place, no man claiming the character of a gentleman ever travelled without his own servant to attend him. After Reilly's return to his native place, his first inquiries, as might be expected, were after his _Cooleen Bawn_; and his next, after those who had been in some degree connected with those painful circ.u.mstances in which he had been involved previous to his trial and conviction. He found Mr. Brown and Mr. Hastings much in the same state in which he left them. The latter, who had been entrusted with all his personal and other property, under certain conditions, that depended upon his return after the term of his sentence should have expired, now restored to him, and again reinstated him on the original terms into all his landed and other property, together with such sums as had accrued from it during his absence, so that he now found himself a wealthy man. Next to _Cooleen Bawn_, however, one of his first inquiries was after Fergus Reilly, whom he found domiciled with a neighboring middleman as a head servant, or kind of under steward. We need not describe the delight of Fergus on once more meeting his beloved relative at perfect liberty, and free from all danger in his native land.

"Fergus," said Reilly, "I understand you are still a bachelor--how does that come?"

"Why, sir," replied Fergus, "now that you know every thing about the unhappy state of the _Cooleen Bawn_, surely you can't blame poor Ellen for not desartin' her. As for me I cared nothing about any other girl, and I never could let either my own dhrame, or what you said was yours, out o' my head. I still had hope, and I still have, that she may recover."

Reilly made no reply to this, for he feared to entertain the vague expectation to which Fergus alluded.

"Well, Fergus," said he, "although I have undergone the sentence of a convict, yet now, after my return, I am a rich man. For the sake of old times--of old dangers and old difficulties--I should wish you to live with me, and to attend me as my own personal servant or man. I shall get you a suit of livery, and the crest of O'Reilly shall be upon it. I wish you to attend upon me, Fergus, because you understand me, and because I never will enjoy a happy heart, or one day's freedom from sorrow again.

All hope of that is past, but you will be useful to me--and that you know."

Fergus was deeply affected at these words, although he was gratified in the highest degree at the proposal. In the course of a few days he entered upon his duties, immediately after which Reilly set out on his journey to Monaghan, to see once more his beloved, but unhappy, Cooleen Baton. On arriving at that handsome and hospitable town, he put up at an excellent inn, called the "Western Arms," kept by a man who was the model of innkeepers, known by the sobriquet of "honest Peter Philips".

We need, not now recapitulate that with which the reader is already acquainted; but we cannot omit describing a brief interview which took place in the course of a few days after the restoration of the _Cooleen Bawn_ to the perfect use of her reason, between two individuals, who, we think, have some claim upon the good-will and good wishes of our readers. We allude to Fergus Reilly and the faithful Ellen Connor.

Seated in a comfortable room in the aforesaid inn--now a respectable and admirably kept hotel--with the same arms over the door, were the two individuals alluded to. Before them stood a black bottle of a certain fragrant liquor, as clear and colorless as water from the purest spring, and, to judge of it by the eye, quite as harmless; but there was the mistake. Never was hypocrisy better exemplified than by the contents of that bottle. The liquor in question came, Fergus was informed, from the green woods of Truagh, and more especially from a townland named Derrygola, famous, besides, for stout men and pretty girls.

"Well, now, Ellen darlin'," said Fergus, "if ever any two bachelors *

were ent.i.tled to drink their own healths, surely you and I are. Here's to us--a happy marriage, soon and sudden. As for myself, I've had the patience of a Trojan."

*"Bachelor," in Ireland, especially in the country parts of it, where English is not spoken correctly, is frequently applied to both the s.e.xes.

Ellen pledged him beautifully with her eyes, but very moderately with the liquor.

"Bedad!" he proceeded, "seven years--ay, and a half--wasn't a bad apprenticeship, at any rate; but, as I tould Mr. Reilly before he left the country--upon my sowl, says I, Mr. Reilly, she's worth waitin' for; and he admitted it."

"But, Fergus, did ever any thing turn out so happy for all parties? To me it's like a dream; I can scarcely believe it."

"Faith, and if it be a dhrame, I hope it's one we'll never waken from.

And so the four of us are to be married on the same day; and we're all to live with the squire."

"We are, Fergus; the Cooleen Bawn will have it so; but, indeed, her father is as anxious for it almost as she is. Ah, no, Fergus, she could not part with her faithful Ellen, as she calls me; nor, after all, Fergus, would her faithful Ellen wish to part with her?"

"And he's to make me steward; begad, and if I don't make a good one, I'll make an honest one. Faith, at all events, Ellen, we'll be in a condition to provide for the childre', plaise G.o.d."

Ellen gave him a blushing look of reproach, and desired him to keep a proper tongue in his head.

"But what will we do with the five hundred, Ellen, that the squire and Mr. Reilly made up between them?"

"We'll consult Mr. Reilly about it," she replied, "and no doubt but he'll enable us to lay it out to the best advantage. Now, Fergus dear, I must go," she added; "you know she can't bear me even now to be any length of time away from her. Here's G.o.d bless them both, and continue them in the happiness they now enjoy."

"Amen," replied Fergus, "and here's G.o.d bless ourselves, and make us more lovin' to one another every day we rise; and here's to take a foretaste of it now, you thief."

Some slight resistance, followed by certain smacking sounds, closed the interview; for Ellen, having started to her feet, threw on her cloak and bonnet, and hurried out of the room, giving back, however, a laughing look at Fergus as she escaped.

In a few months afterwards they were married, and lived with the old man until he became a grandfather to two children, the eldest a boy, and the second a girl. Upon the same day of their marriage their humble but faithful friends were also united; so that there was a double wedding.

The ceremony, in the case of Reilly and his _Cooleen Bawn_, was performed by the Reverend Mr. Brown first, and the parish priest afterwards; Mr. Strong, who had been for several years conjoined to Mrs.

Smellpriest, having been rejected by both parties as the officiating clergyman upon the occasion, although the lovely bride was certainly his parishioner. Age and time, however, told upon the old man; and at the expiration of three years they laid him, with many tears, in the grave of his fathers. Soon after this Reilly and his wife, accompanied by Fergus and Ellen--for the _Cooleen Bawn_ would not be separated from the latter--removed to the Continent, where they had a numerous family, princ.i.p.ally of sons; and we need not tell our learned readers, at least, that those young men distinguished not only themselves, but their name, by acts of the most brilliant courage in continental warfare. And so, gentle reader, ends the troubled history of w.i.l.l.y Reilly and his own _Cooleen Bawn_.