Part 9 (2/2)
Here he paused, and raised his hand.
”Hus.h.!.+ there's futsteps on the road, and me talking loud enough to be heard a mile off.”
As he spoke, he rose, went stealthily to the door, opened it, and looked out.
”There's nothing to be afraid of, it's naither the peelers nor the sogers, it's frinds that's coming.”
As he wint back to his sate, a fine, handsome young fellow brought in a lovely girl, exclaiming, as he entered, ”G.o.d save all here.”
”Amen for that same kindly wish,” was our answer.
They were ould frinds and playmates, the son and daughter of two of the snuggest farmers on the estate; and I well knew before I sailed for Amerikay they were engaged to be married.
”I wasn't wrong,” said the young man, as he looked hard at me, ”it is Phil himself. How's every bit of you? sure it's right glad I am to see you here this blessed night.”
”And me, too, Phil,” said pretty Mary Sheean, as she took the hand young O'Rourke left free, and shook it warmly.
We sat for, maybe, an hour or more, talking over ould times; and it was with a sad heart I listened to the bad news--for bad enough it was!
O'Rourke tould me the rason of his visit was to let me know he and Mary had made up their minds to sail for Amerikay, where they had some frinds doing well, and it was agreed they would go as steerage pa.s.sengers with me, three days after date, in the clipper s.h.i.+p, _George Was.h.i.+ngton_.
As they rose to depart, and were bidding us a kind good-night, a low whistle outside caused us all to start. O'Rourke drew himself up, and compressed his lips tightly, as he listened for a repet.i.tion of the signal.
Mary turned deathly pale, and clutched her sweetheart's arm convulsively.
The whistle was repeated.
Miles stooped down, kissed the trembling girl's forehead, and, addressing me, hastily said, ”Phil, tired as you must be, I know I can trust to you to see Mary safe home.”
”Why not do so yourself?” asked I.
”Because I am called, and must obey.”
”Are the boys out to-night?” inquired my father.
”They are, and will be till--”
”When?--where?” demanded my mother.
”No matter,” said O'Rourke, ”you will know soon enough. Perhaps too soon.”
The whistle was heard for the third time. O'Rourke rushed from the cottage, exclaiming, ”Heaven guard you all!”
After the lapse of a few minutes, I started with Mary for her father's house. As I left her, looking very sad, at the door, I told her to be sure to see that O'Rourke was not too late to sail wid me.
”Little fear of that,” said she; ”since his father has been ordered to quit the farm, to make way for a friend of the new agent's, he'll be glad to lave the place forever.”
I turned to go home, with a sad heart.
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