Volume I Part 20 (2/2)

”My heart bleeds for you, my dear Mrs. Gore,” said he, taking off his spectacles and wiping his eyes, and red enough they were afterwards, for there was snuff on his handkerchief,--”my heart bleeds for you!”

These were his words; and why I didn't break open the door when I heard them, is more than I can tell.

”I was certain of your sympathy; I knew you 'd feel for me, my dear Mr.

Dodd,” said she, sobbing.

”Of course you were,” said I to myself. ”He was the kind of old fool you wanted. But, faith, he shall feel for _me_, too, or my name is not Jemima.”

”I don't suppose you ever heard of so cruel a case?” said she, still sobbing.

”Never,--never,” cried he, clasping his hands. ”I did n't believe it was in the nature of man to treat youth, beauty, and loveliness with such inhumanity. One that could do it must be a Creole Indian.”

”Ah, Mr. Dodd!” said she, looking up into his eyes.

”In Tartary, or the Tropics,” said he, ”such wretches may be found, but in our own country and our own age--”

”Ah, Mr. Dodd,” said she, again, ”it is only in an Irish heart such generous emotions have their home!”

The artful hussey, she knew the tenderest spot of his nature by an instinct! for if there was anything he could n't resist, it was the appeal to his being Irish. And to show you, Molly, the designing craft of her, _she_ knew that weakness of K. I. in less than a month's acquaintance, that _I_ did n't find out till I was eight or nine years married to him.

For a minute or two my feelings overcame me so much that I could n't look or listen to them; but when I did, she had her hand on his arm, and was saying in the softest voice,--

”I may, then, count upon your kindness,--I may rest a.s.sured of your friends.h.i.+p.”

”That you may,--that you may, my dear madam,” said he.

Yes, Molly, he called her ”madam” to her own face.

”If there should be any cruel enough, ungenerous enough, or base enough,” sobbed she, ”to calumniate me, _you_ will be my protector; and beneath _your_ roof shall I find my refuge. _Your_ character--your station in society--the honorable position you have ever held in the world--your claims as a father--your age--will all give the best contradiction to any scandal that malevolence can invent. Those dear venerable locks--”

Just as she said this, I heard somebody coming, and in haste too, for a flower-pot was thrown down, and I had barely time to make my escape to my own room, where I threw myself on my bed, and cried for two hours.

I have gone through many trials, Molly. Few women, I believe, have seen more affliction and sorrow than myself; from the day of my ill-suited marriage with K. I. to the present moment, I may say, it has been out of one misery into another with me ever since. But I don't think I ever cried as hearty as I did then, for, you see, there was no delusion or confusion possible! I heard everything with my own ears, and saw everything with my own eyes.

I listened to their plans and projects, and even heard them rejoicing that, because he was stricken in years, and the father of a grown family, n.o.body would suspect what he was at ”Those dear venerable locks,” as she called them, were to witness for him!

Oh, Molly, wasn't this too bad; could you believe that there was as much duplicity in the world as this? _I_ own, _I_ never did. I thought I saw wickedness enough in Ireland. I know the shameless way I was cheated in wool, and that Mat never was honest about rabbit-skins. But what was all that compared to this?

When I grew more composed, I sent for Mary Anne, and told her everything; but just to show you the perversity of human nature, she would n't agree to one word I said. It was law papers, she was sure, that Mrs. G. was showing; she had something in Chancery, maybe, or perhaps it was a legacy ”tied up,” like our own, ”and that she wanted advice about it” But what nonsense that was! Sure, he needn't be the father of a family to advise her about all that. And there I was, Molly, without human creature to support or sustain me! For the first time since I came abroad, I wished myself back in Dodsborough. Not, indeed, that K. I. would ever have behaved this way at home in Ireland, with the eyes of the neighborhood on him, and Father Maher within call.

I pa.s.sed a weary night of it, for Mary Anne never left me, arguing and reasoning with me, and trying to convince me that I was wrong, and if I was to act upon my delusions, that I 'd be the ruin of them all. ”Here we are now,” said she, ”with the finest opportunity for getting into society ever was known. Mrs. G. is one of the aristocracy, and intimate with everybody of fas.h.i.+on: quarrel with her, or even displease her, and where will we be, or who will know us? Our difficulties are already great enough. Papa's drab gaiters, and the name of Dodd, are obstacles in our way, that only great tact and first-rate management can get over.

When we are swimming for our lives,” said she, ”let us not throw away a life-preserver.” Was n't it a nice name for a woman that was going to s.h.i.+pwreck a whole family.

The end of it all was, however, that I was to restrain my feelings, and be satisfied to observe and watch what was going on, for as they could have no conception of my knowing anything, I might be sure to detect them.

When I agreed to this plan, I grew easier in my mind, for, as I remarked to Mary Anne, ”I 'm like soda-water, and when you once draw the cork, I never fret nor froth any more.” So that after a cold chicken, cut up with salad, a thing Mary Anne makes to perfection, and a gla.s.s of white wine negus, I slept very soundly till late in the afternoon.

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