All were asleep at the cottage, when Lord Colambre arrived, except the
widow, who was sitting up, waiting for him; and who had brought her dog
into the house, that he might not fly at him, or bark at his return. She
had a roast chicken ready for her guest, and it was—but this she never
told him the only chicken she had left; all the others had been sent
with the DUTY-FOWL as a present to the under-agent’s lady. While he was
eating his supper, which he ate with the better appetite, as he had had
no dinner, the good woman took down from the shelf a pocket-book, which
she gave him: ‘Is not that your book?’ said she. ‘My boy Brian found it
after you in the potato furrow, where you dropped it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lord Colambre; ‘there are bank notes in it, which I
could not afford to lose.’
‘Are there?’ said she; ‘he never opened it—nor I.’
Then, in answer to his inquiries about Grace and the young man, the
widow answered, ‘They are all in heart now, I thank ye kindly, sir, for
asking; they’ll sleep easy to-night anyway, and I’m in great spirits for
them and myself—for all’s smooth now. After we parted you, Brian saw
Mr. Dennis himself about the LASE and memorandum, which he never denied,
but knew nothing about. “But, be that as it may,” says he, “you’re
improving tenants, and I’m confident my brother will consider ye; so
what you’ll do is, you’ll give up the possession to-morrow to myself,
that will call for it by cock-crow, just for form’s sake; and then go up
to the castle with the new LASE ready drawn, in your hand, and if all’s
paid off clear of the rent, and all that’s due, you’ll get the new LASE
signed; I’ll promise you that upon the word and honour of a gentleman.”
And there’s no going beyond that, you know, sir. So my boy came home
as light as a feather, and as gay as a lark, to bring us the good news;
only he was afraid we might not make up the rent, guineas and all; and
because he could not get paid for the work he done, on account of
the mistake in the overseer’s tally, I sold the cow to a
neighbour—dog-cheap; but needs must, as they say, when old Nick
DRIVES,’ said the widow, smiling. ‘Well, still it was but paper we got
for the cow; then that must be gold before the agent would take or touch
it so I was laying out to sell the dresser, and had taken the plates and
cups, and little things off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy
the carpenter, that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy,
and out of breath—it’s a wonder I minded her run out, and not missed
her. “Mother,” says she, “here’s the gold for you! don’t be stirring
your dresser.”—”And where’s your gown and cloak, Grace?” says I. But I
beg your pardon, sir; maybe I’m tiring you?’
Lord Colambre encouraged her to go on.
‘”Where’s your gown and cloak, Grace!” says I.—”Gone,” says she. “The
cloak was too warm and heavy, and I don’t doubt, mother, but it was that
helped to make me faint this morning. And as to the gown, sure I’ve a
very nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, mother; and that I
prize above all the gowns ever came out of a loom; and that Brian said
become me to his fancy above any gown ever he see me wear; and what
could I wish for more?” Now I’d a mind to scold her for going to sell
the gown unknown’st to me, but I don’t know how it was, I couldn’t scold
her just then, so kissed her, and Brian the same, and that was what no
man ever did before. And she had a mind to be angry with him, but could
not, nor ought not, says I; “for he’s as good as your husband now,
Grace; and no man can part yees now,” says I, putting their hands
together. Well, I never saw her look so pretty; nor there was not a
happier boy that minute on God’s earth than my son, nor a happier mother
than myself; and I thanked God that had given them to me; and down they
both fell on their knees for my blessing, little worth as it was; and
my heart’s blessing they had, and I laid my hands upon them. “It’s the
priest you must get to do this for you to-morrow,” says I. And Brian
just held up the ring, to show me all was ready on his part, but could
not speak. “Then there’s no America any more!” said Grace low to me, and
her heart was on her lips; but the colour came and went, and I was a
FEARED she’d have swooned again, but not for sorrow so I carried her
off Well, if she was not my own—but she is not my own born so I may
say it—there never was a better girl, nor a more kind-hearted, nor
generous; never thinking anything she could do, or give, too much for
them she loved, and anything at all would do for herself; the sweetest
natured and tempered both, and always was, from this high; the bond that
held all together, and joy of the house.’
‘Just like her namesake,’ cried Lord Colambre.
‘Plase your honour?’
‘Is not it late?’ said Lord Colambre, stretching himself and gaping;
‘I’ve walked a great way to-day.’
The old woman lighted his rushlight, showed him to his red check bed,
and wished him a very good night; not without some slight sentiment of
displeasure at his gaping thus at the panegyric on her darling Grace.
Before she left the room, however, her short-lived resentment vanished,
upon his saying that he hoped, with her permission, to be present at the
wedding of the young couple.
Early in the morning Brian went to the priest, to ask his reverence when
it would be convenient to marry him; and, whilst he was gone, Mr. Dennis
Garraghty came to the cottage, to receive the rent and possession. The
rent was ready, in gold, and counted into his hand.
‘No occasion for a receipt; for a new LASE is a receipt in full for
everything.’
‘Very well, sir, said the widow; ‘I know nothing of law. You know
best—whatever you direct—for you are acting as a friend to us now. My
son got the attorney to draw the pair of new LASES yesterday, and here
they are ready, all to signing.’
Mr. Dennis said his brother must settle that part of the business,
and that they must carry them up to the castle; ‘but first give me the
possession.’
Then, as he instructed her, she gave up the key of the door to him, and
a bit of the thatch of the house; and he raked out the fire, and said
every living creature must go out. ‘It’s only form of law,’ said he.
‘And must my lodger get up and turn out, sir?’ said she. ‘He must turn
out, to be sure—not a living soul must be left in it, or it’s no legal
possession properly. Who is your lodger?’
On Lord Colambre’s appearing, Mr. Dennis showed some surprise, and said,
‘I thought you were lodging at Brannagan’s; are not you the man who
spoke to me at his house about the gold mines?’
‘No, sir, he never lodged at Brannagan’s,’ said the widow.
‘Yes, sir, I am the person who spoke to you about the gold mines at
Brannagan’s; but I did not like to lodge—’
‘Well, no matter where you liked to lodge; you must walk out of this
lodging now, if you please, my good friend.’
So Mr. Dennis pushed his lordship out by the shoulders, repeating, as
the widow turned back and looked with some surprise and alarm, ‘Only for
form sake, only for form sake!’ then locking the door, took the key, and
put it into his pocket. The widow held out her hand for it: ‘The form’s
gone through now, sir, is not it? Be plased to let us in again.’
‘When the new lease is signed, I’ll give you possession again; but not
till then—for that’s the law. So make away with you to the castle; and
mind,’ added he, winking slily, ‘mind you take sealing-money with you,
and something to buy gloves.’
‘Oh, where will I find all that?’ said the widow.
‘I have it, mother; don’t fret,’ said Grace. ‘I have it—the price
of—-what I can want.[1] So let us go off to the
castle without delay. Brian will meet us on the road, you know.’
They set off for Clonbrony Castle, Lord Colambre accompanying them.
Brian met them on the road. ‘Father Tom is ready, dear mother; bring her
in, and he’ll marry us. I’m not my own man till she’s mine. Who knows
what may happen?’
‘Who knows? that’s true,’ said the widow.
‘Better go to the castle first,’ said Grace.
‘And keep the priest waiting! You can’t use his reverence so.’ said
Brian.
So she let him lead her into the priest’s house, and she did not make
any of the awkward draggings back, or ridiculous scenes of grimace
sometimes exhibited on these occasions; but blushing rosy red, yet
with more self-possession than could have been expected from her timid
nature, she gave her hand to the man she loved, and listened with
attentive devotion to the holy ceremony.
‘Ah!’ thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratulated the bride, ‘shall I
ever be as happy as these poor people are at this moment?’ He longed to
make them some little present, but all he could venture at this moment
was to pay the priest’s DUES.
The priest positively refused to take anything. ‘They are the best
couple in my parish,’ said he; ‘and I’ll take nothing, sir, from you, a
stranger and my guest.’
‘Now, come what will, I’m a match for it. No trouble can touch me,’ said
Brian.
‘Oh, don’t be bragging,’ said the widow.
‘Whatever trouble God sends, He has given one now will help to bear it,
and sure I may be thankful,’ said Grace.
‘Such good hearts must be happy—shall be happy!’ said Lord Colambre.
‘Oh, you’re very kind,’ said the widow, smiling; ‘and I wouldn’t
doubt you, if you had the power. I hope, then, the agent will give you
encouragement about them mines, that we may keep you among us.’
‘I am determined to settle among you, warm-hearted, generous people!’
cried Lord Colambre, ‘whether the agent gives me encouragement or not,’
added he.
It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle; the old woman, as she said
herself, would not have been able for it, but for a LIFT given to her
by a friendly carman, whom they met on the road with an empty car. This
carman was Finnucan, who dissipated Lord Colambre’s fears of meeting and
being recognised by Mrs. Raffarty; for he, in answer to the question
of, ‘Who is at the castle?’ replied, ‘Mrs. Raffarty will be in it afore
night; but she’s on the road still. There’s none but old Nick in it yet;
and he’s more of a NEGER than ever; for think, that he would not pay me
a farthing for the carriage of his SHISTER’S boxes and bandboxes down.
If you’re going to have any dealings with him, God grant ye a safe
deliverance!’
‘Amen!’ said the widow, and her son and daughter.
Lord Colambre’s attention was now engaged by the view of the castle and
park of Clonbrony. He had not seen it since he was six years old. Some
faint reminiscence from his childhood made him feel or fancy that he
knew the place. It was a fine castle, spacious park; but all about it,
from the broken piers at the great entrance, to the messy gravel and
loose steps at the hall-door, had an air of desertion and melancholy.
Walks overgrown, shrubberies wild, plantations run up into bare poles;
fine trees cut down, and lying on the gravel in lots to be sold. A hill
that had been covered with an oak wood, in which, in his childhood,
our hero used to play, and which he called the black forest, was gone;
nothing to be seen but the white stumps of the trees, for it had been
freshly cut down, to make up the last remittances.—’And how it went,
when sold!—but no matter,’ said Finnucan; ‘it’s all alike.—It’s the
back way into the yard, I’ll take you, I suppose.’
And such a yard! ‘But it’s no matter,’ repeated Lord Colambre to
himself; ‘it’s all alike.’
In the kitchen a great dinner was dressing for Mr. Garraghty’s friends,
who were to make merry with him when the business of the day was over.
‘Where’s the keys of the cellar, till I get out the claret for after
dinner,’ says one; ‘and the wine for the cook—sure there’s venison,’
cries another.—’Venison!—That’s the way my lord’s deer goes,’ says a
third, laughing.—’ay, sure! and very proper, when he’s not here to eat
’em.’—’Keep your nose out of the kitchen, young man, if you PLASE,’
said the agent’s cook, shutting the door in Lord Colambre’s face.
‘There’s the way to the office, if you’ve money to pay, up the back
stairs.’
‘No; up the grand staircase they must—Mr. Garraghty ordered,’ said the
footman; ‘because the office is damp for him, and it’s not there he’ll
see anybody to-day; but in my lady’s dressing-room.’
So up the grand staircase they went, and through the magnificent
apartments, hung with pictures of great value, spoiling with damp.
‘Then, isn’t it a pity to see them? There’s my lady, and all spoiling,’
said the widow.
Lord Colambre stopped before a portrait of Miss Nugent.—’Shamefully
damaged!’ cried he. ‘Pass on, or let me pass, if you PLASE,’ said one of
the tenants; ‘and don’t be stopping the doorway.’ ‘I have business more
nor you with the agent,’ said the surveyor; ‘where is he?’
‘In the PRESENCE-CHAMBER,’ replied another; ‘where should the viceroy be
but in the PRESENCE-CHAMBER?’
There was a full levee, and fine smell of greatcoats. ‘Oh! would you
put your hats on the silk cushions?’ said the widow to some men in the
doorway, who were throwing off their greasy hats on a damask sofa.—’Why
not? where else?’ ‘If the lady was in it, you wouldn’t,’ said she,
sighing.—’No, to be sure, I wouldn’t; great news! would I make no
DIFFER in the presence of old Nick and my lady?’ said he, in Irish.
‘Have I no sense or manners, good woman, think ye?’ added he, as he
shook the ink out of his pen on the Wilton carpet, when he had finished
signing his name to a paper on his knee. ‘You may wait long before you
get to the speech of the great man,’ said another, who was working his
way through numbers. They continued pushing forward, till they came
within sight of Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, seated in state; and a worse
countenance, or a more perfect picture of an insolent, petty tyrant in
office, Lord Colambre had never beheld.
We forbear all further detail of this levee. ‘It’s all the same!’ as
Lord Colambre repeated to himself, on every fresh instance of roguery or
oppression to which he was witness; and, having completely made up his
mind on the subject, he sat down quietly in the background, waiting
till it should come to the widow’s turn to be dealt with, for he was
now interested only to see how she would be treated. The room gradually
thinned; Mr. Dennis Garraghty came in, and sat down at the table, to
help his brother to count the heaps of gold.
‘Oh, Mr. Dennis, I’m glad to see you as kind as your promise, meeting me
here,’ said the widow O’Neill, walking up to him; ‘I’m sure you’ll speak
a good word for me; here’s the LASES—who will I offer this to?’ said
she, holding the GLOVE-MONEY and SEALING-MONEY,—’for I’m strange and
ashamed.’
‘Oh, don’t be ashamed—there’s no strangeness in bringing money or
taking it,’ said Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, holding out his hand. ‘Is this
the proper compliment?’
‘I hope so, sir; your honour knows best.’
‘Very well,’ slipping it into his private purse. ‘Now, what’s your
business?’
‘The LASES to sign—the rent’s all paid up.’
‘Leases! Why, woman, is the possession given up?’
‘It was, PLASE your honour; and Mr. Dennis has the key of our little
place in his pocket.’
‘Then I hope he’ll keep it there. YOUR little place—it’s no longer
yours; I’ve promised it to the surveyor. You don’t think I’m such a fool
as to renew to you at this rent.’
‘Mr. Dennis named the rent. But anything your honour PLASES—anything at
all that we can pay.’
‘Oh, it’s out of the question—put it out of your head. No rent you can
offer would do, for I’ve promised it to the surveyor.’
‘Sir, Mr. Dennis knows my lord gave us his promise in writing of a
renewal, on the back of the OULD LASE.’
‘Produce it.’
‘Here’s the LASE, but the promise is rubbed out.’
‘Nonsense! coming to me with a promise that’s rubbed out. Who’ll listen
to that in a court of justice, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, plase your honour; but this I’m sure of, my lord and Miss
Nugent, though but a child at the time, God bless her! who was by when
my lord wrote it with his pencil, will remember it.’
‘Miss Nugent! what can she know of business?—What has she to do with
the management of my Lord Clonbrony’s estate, pray?’
‘Management!—no, sir.’
‘Do you wish to get Miss Nugent turned out of the house?’
‘Oh, God forbid!—how could that be?’
‘Very easily; if you set about to make her meddle and witness in what my
lord does not choose.’
‘Well then, I’ll never mention Miss Nugent’s name in it at all, if it
was ever so with me. But be PLASED, sir, to write over to my lord, and
ask him; I’m sure he’ll remember it.’
‘Write to my lord about such a trifle—trouble him about such nonsense!’
‘I’d be sorry to trouble him. Then take it on my word, and believe me,
sir; for I would not tell a lie, nor cheat rich or poor, if in my power,
for the whole estate, nor the whole world: for there’s an eye above.’
‘Cant! nonsense!—Take those leases off the table; I never will sign
them. Walk off; ye canting hag; it’s an imposition—I will never sign
them.’
‘You WILL then, sir,’ cried Brian, growing red with indignation; ‘for
the law shall make you, so it shall; and you’d as good have been civil
to my mother, whatever you did—for I’ll stand by her while I’ve life;
and I know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the memorandum
written before ever it went into your hands, sir, whatever became of it
after; and will swear to it, too.’
‘Swear away, my good friend; much your swearing will avail in your own
case in a court of justice,’ continued old Nick.
‘And against a gentleman of my brother’s established character and
property,’ said St. Dennis. ‘What’s your mother’s character against a
gentleman’s like his?’
‘Character! take care how you go to that, anyway, sir,’ cried Brian.
Grace put her hand before his mouth, to stop him. ‘Grace, dear, I must
speak, if I die for it; sure it’s for my mother,’ said the young man,
struggling forward, while his mother held him back; ‘I must speak.’
‘Oh, he’s ruin’d, I see it,’ said Grace, putting her hand before her
eyes, ‘and he won’t mind me.’
‘Go on, let him go on, pray, young woman,’ said Mr. Garraghty, pale with
anger and fear, his lips quivering; ‘I shall be happy to take down his
words.’
‘Write them; and may all the world read it, and welcome!’ His mother and
wife stopped his mouth by force.
‘Write you, Dennis,’ said Mr. Garraghty, giving the pen to his brother;
for his hand shook so he could not form a letter. ‘Write the very words,
and at the top’ (pointing) after warning, WITH MALICE PREPENSE.’
‘Write, then—mother, Grace—let me,’ cried Brian, speaking in a
smothered voice, as their hands were over his mouth. ‘Write then, that,
if you’d either of you a character like my mother, you might defy the
world; and your word would be as good as your oath.’
‘OATH! mind that, Dennis,’ said Mr. Garraghty.
‘Oh, sir! sir! won’t you stop him?’ cried Grace, turning suddenly to
Lord Colambre.
‘Oh dear, dear, if you haven’t lost your feeling for us,’ cried the
widow.
‘Let him speak,’ said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; ‘let the
voice of truth be heard.’
‘TRUTH!’ cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen.
‘And who the devil are you, sir?’ said old Nick.
‘Lord Colambre, I protest!’ exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Raffarty
at this instant appeared at the open door.
‘Lord Colambre!’ repeated all present, in different tones.
‘My lord, I beg pardon;’ continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if
her legs were tied; ‘had I known you was down here, I would not have
presumed. I’d better retire; for I see you’re busy.’
‘You’d best; for you’re mad, sister,’ said St. Dennis, pushing her back;
‘and we are busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you can.’
‘First, madam,’ said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door, ‘let
me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house, whilst
any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you showed
me you cannot think that I now forget.’
‘Oh, my lord, you’re too good—how few—too kind—kinder than my own,’
and bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room.
Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, who were in various
attitudes of astonishment, and with faces of fear, horror, hope, joy,
doubt.
‘Distress,’ continued his lordship, ‘however incurred, if not by vice,
will always find a refuge in this house. I speak in my father’s name,
for I know I speak his sentiments. But never more shall vice,’ said
he, darting such a look at the brother agents as they felt to the
backbone—’never more shall vice, shall fraud enter here.’
He paused, and there was a momentary silence.
‘There spoke the true thing! and the RAEL gentleman; my own heart’s
satisfied,’ said Brian, folding his arms, and standing erect.
‘Then so is mine,’ said Grace, taking breath, with a deep sigh.
The widow advancing, put on her spectacles, and, looking up close at
Lord Colambre’s face—’Then it’s a wonder I didn’t know the family
likeness.’
Lord Colambre now recollecting that he still wore the old greatcoat,
threw it off.
‘Oh, bless him! Then now I’d know him anywhere. I’m willing to die now,
for we’ll all be happy.’
‘My lord, since it is so—my lord, may I ask you,’ said Mr. Garraghty,
now sufficiently recovered to be able to articulate, but scarcely to
express his ideas; ‘if what your lordship hinted just now—’
‘I hinted nothing, sir; I spoke plainly.’
‘I beg pardon, my lord,’ said old Nick;—’respecting vice, was levelled
at me; because, if it was, my lord,’ trying to stand erect; ‘let me tell
your lordship, if I could think it was—’
‘If it did not hit you, sir, no matter at whom it was levelled.’
‘And let me ask, my lord, if I may presume, whether, in what you
suggested by the word fraud, your lordship had any particular meaning?’
said St. Dennis.
‘A very particular meaning, sir,—feel in your pocket for the key of
this widow’s house, and deliver it to her.’
‘Oh, if that’s all the meaning, with all the pleasure in life. I never
meant to detain it longer than till the leases were signed,’ said St.
Dennis.
‘And I’m ready to sign the leases this minute,’ said the brother.
‘Do it, sir, this minute; I have read them; I will be answerable to my
father.’
‘Oh, as to that, my lord, I have power to sign for your father.’ He
signed the leases; they were duly witnessed by Lord Colambre.
‘I deliver this as my act and deed,’ said Mr. Garraghty;—’My lord,’
continued he, ‘you see, at the first word from you; and had I known
sooner the interest you took in the family, there would have been no
difficulty; for I’d make it a principle to oblige you, my lord.’
‘Oblige me!’ said Lord Colambre, with disdain.
‘But when gentlemen and noblemen travel INCOGNITO, and lodge in cabins,’
added St. Dennis, with a satanic smile, glancing his eye on Grace, ‘they
have good reasons, no doubt.’
‘Do not judge my heart by your own, sir,’ said Lord Colambre, coolly;
‘no two things in nature can, I trust, be more different. My purpose in
travelling INCOGNITO has been fully answered: I was determined to
see and judge how my father’s estates were managed; and I have seen,
compared, and judged. I have seen the difference between the Clonbrony
and the Colambre property; and I shall represent what I have seen to my
father.’
‘As to that, my lord, if we are to come to that but I trust your
lordship will suffer me to explain these matters.—Go about your
business, my good friends; you have all you want;—and, my lord, after
dinner, when you are cool, I hope I shall be able to make you sensible
that things have been represented to your lordship in a mistaken light;
and I flatter myself I shall convince you I have not only always acted
the part of a friend to the family, but am particularly willing to
conciliate your lordship’s goodwill,’ said he, sweeping the rouleaus of
gold into a bag; ‘any accommodation in my power, at any time.’
‘I want no accommodation, sir,—were I starving, I would accept of
none from you. Never can you conciliate my goodwill; for you can never
deserve it.’
‘If that be the case, my lord, I must conduct myself accordingly; but
it’s fair to warn you, before you make any representation to my Lord
Clonbrony, that if he should think of changing his agent, there are
accounts to be settled between us—that may be a consideration.’
‘No, sir; no consideration—my father never shall be the slave of such a
paltry consideration.’
‘Oh, very well, my lord; you know best. If you choose to make an
assumpsit, I’m sure I shall not object to the security. Your lordship
will be of age soon, I know—I’m sure I’m satisfied—but,’ added he
with a malicious smile, ‘I rather apprehend you don’t know what you
undertake; I only premise that the balance of accounts between us is not
what can properly be called a paltry consideration.’
‘On that point, perhaps, sir, you and I may differ.’
‘Very well, my lord, you will follow your own principles, if it suits
your convenience.’
‘Whether it does or not, sir, I shall abide by my principles.’
‘Dennis! the letters to the post.—When do you go to England, my lord?’
‘Immediately, sir,’ said Lord Colambre; his lordship saw new leases from
his father to Mr. Dennis Garraghty, lying on the table, unsigned.
‘Immediately!’ repeated Messrs. Nicholas and Dennis, with an air
of dismay. Nicholas got up, looked out of the window, and whispered
something to his brother, who instantly left the room.
‘Lord Colambre saw the post-chaise at the door, which had brought Mrs.
Raffarty to the castle, and Larry standing beside it; his lordship
instantly threw up the sash, and holding between his finger and thumb a
six-shilling piece, cried, ‘Larry, my friend, let me have the horses!’
‘You shall have ’em—your honour,’ said Larry. Mr. Dennis Garraghty
appeared below, speaking in a magisterial tone. ‘Larry, my brother must
have the horses.’
‘He can’t, PLASE your honour—they’re engaged.’
Half a crown! a crown!—half a guinea!’ said Mr. Dennis Garraghty,
raising his voice, as he increased his proffered bribe. To each offer
Larry replied, ‘You can’t, PLASE your honour, they’re engaged;’—and,
looking up to the window at Lord Colambre, he said, ‘as soon as they
have eaten their oats, you shall have ’em.’
No other horses were to be had. The agent was in consternation. Lord
Colambre ordered that Larry should have some dinner, and whilst the
postillion was eating, and the horses finishing their oats, his
lordship wrote the following letter to his father, which, to prevent all
possibility of accident, he determined to put, with his own hand, into
the post-office at Clonbrony, as he passed through the town.
MY DEAR FATHER, I hope to be with you in a few days. Lest anything
should detain me on the road, I write this, to make an earnest request
to you, that you will not sign any papers, or transact any farther
business with Messrs. Nicholas or Dennis Garraghty, before you see your
affectionate son, COLAMBRE.
The horses came out. Larry sent word he was ready, and Lord Colambre,
having first eaten a slice of his own venison, ran down to the carriage,
followed by the thanks and blessings of the widow, her son, and
daughter, who could hardly make their way after him to the chaise-door,
so great was the crowd which had gathered on the report of his
lordship’s arrival. ‘Long life to your honour! Long life to your
lordship!’ echoed on all sides. ‘Just come, and going, are you?’
‘Good-bye to you all, good people!’
‘Then GOOD-BYE is the only word we wouldn’t wish to hear from your
honour.’
‘For the sake both of landlord and tenant, I must leave you now, my good
friends; but I hope to return to you at some future time.’
‘God bless you! and speed ye! and a safe journey to your honour!—and a
happy return to us, and soon!’ cried a multitude of voices.
Lord Colambre stopped at the chaise-door and beckoned to the widow
O’Neill, before whom others had pressed. An opening was made for her
instantly.
There! that was the very way his father stood with his feet on the
steps. And Miss Nugent was IN IT.’
Lord Colambre forgot what he was going to say—with some difficulty
recollected.
‘This pocket-book,’ said he, ‘which your son restored to me—I intend
it for your daughter—don’t keep it, as your son kept it for me, without
opening it. Let what is within-side,’ added he, as he got into the
carriage, ‘replace the cloak and gown, and let all things necessary
for a bride be bought; “for the bride that has all things to borrow has
surely mickle to do.”—Shut the door, and drive on.’
‘Blessings be WID you,’ cried the widow, ‘and God give you grace!’
Footnotes
Nguồn: Wikisource English — The Absentee/Chapter XII. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.