Part 18 (2/2)
said Ody, with much careful mystery. ”For it might be on'y discouragin'
the crathur worse than she is already. But it's the place where the Seven Oceans of the World meet. Ay, indeed, ma'am--but don't be lettin'
on to her. I was spakin' to a man who had a brother went through it, and he said the ragin' and tearin' of them all flowin' together 'ud terrify the sinses out of King Solomon. They had the great big stamer he was in whirlin' round and round and round, the same as if it was a float on one of its own paddlewheels, he couldn't tell how many days and nights.
Thracks, how are you. It's a very ready one there is in it to the bottom of the say.”
”Still a good few people gets through it safe enough,” said Theresa, ”ay, and comes back through it of an odd while.”
”But how many's lost in it that you never hear tell of?” said Ody. ”And besides that, the man I was talkin' to tould me his brother was never right in his head after the tossin' he got. It's a poor case to be landin' ravin' mad in a sthrange counthry, supposin' you get there itself. But me own notion is that if people's well off, they've a right to stop where they are, and if they're misfort'nit, they've a chance any way of better bad luck stayin' at home.”
Ody stated his own notion authoritatively, and Theresa looked depressed by the dilemma in which it seemed to place the emigrant.
”'Deed, now, maybe it's a bad turn I'm after doin' the two of them,” she said; ”but poor Mrs. Morrough, many a time she sez to me it 'ud be the greatest comfort to her at all to get quit of the fear she was in continyal wheniver he went out wid the ould boat. Sure she might be a bit lonesome, she'd say, but after all what great company was he to her when half the time she would be drowndin' him under the rowl of the say, like his poor father and grandfather? And wid the most he could do it's hard set he was to make what 'ud keep him. So she'd planned she'd be able to conthrive well enough wid her hins and her spriggin' work, till Felix could be sendin' her over a thrifle. A very cliver woman she was at the spriggin'; the handkercher corners she'd work was rael iligant.
Pence a-piece she got for them, and I've known her finish a dozen in three days.
”Och, but I got a turn on the Friday mornin' when I stepped down to her place to see what way they were after the storm, and there she was sittin' crouched up in a corner, and screechin' to me to know who was comin' in, and I standin' before her eyes in the middle of a sun-bame.
And 'Glory be to G.o.d,' sez she, 'that it's yourself, for you'll have the sinse to give me a hand wid endeavourin' to keep the knowledge of what's after happenin' me from Felix, the way he won't be purvinted of goin'
to-morra. Sorra a fut would he if he knew aught ailed me; and then sure he might stay at home for good and all; and dhrownded he'll be, and meself'ill go deminted.' And sure I thought it was maybe no thing to be doin', and so I said to her. But it seemed the heart of her was to be broke altogether if anythin' 'ud hinder him gettin' out of it. And then I was mindin' the father and grandfather of him, the way they went, and me brother, poor Thady, and I couldn't tell but I might ha' raison to think bad of biddin' him stay; and if he did, sure perhaps he couldn't be keepin' her at all, and she so helpless; it's better able he might be to help her out in the States. And sorry I'd ha' been to disappoint the crathur of the first wish she'd took a thought of sittin' in the dark of her misfortin. So the ind of it was I settled I'd stop wid her for that day, and thry could we let on there was nothin' amiss when Felix come in, that was out somewhere since early in the mornin' before the storm began.
”But 'deed now it was the quare conthrivin' we had after he'd come home.
And where'd he been but off down to Drumroe gettin' her an iligant big taypot for a keepsake? So the sorra a stim of it, in coorse, could she see; and I done me best biddin' her look at the grand gilt handle, and the wrathe of pink roses on it, and she'd say the same thing after me; but sure its noways very aisy to fall into an admiration of a taypot you've never set eyes on; and I mis...o...b.. the poor lad thought she wasn't so much plased with it as he expected. And then he'd be walkin' in and out, and axin' for this and that he was to put in his bundle; and she could on'y be tellin' him where to look for them, instid of readyin'
them up for him herself. And the pair of socks she'd promised him she couldn't get to finish--rael fretted she was wid it all. Howsome'er one way or the other we made a s.h.i.+ft, till poor Felix went off in the grey of the mornin' wid ne'er a notion of anythin'. Sez he to her: 'You'll be seem' me steppin' in agin one of these days;' and sez she: 'Ay will I--as sure as I'll see the sun s.h.i.+nin';' so he consaited she was well enough contint--but the two of them was thinkin' diff'rint things.
”Ne'er a word of it we said to anybody before Felix was gone, or else somebody 'ud ha' been safe to ha' tould him, for there's plinty of people couldn't be goin' about widout tellin' everythin' they hear any more than a wasp could fly widout buzzin' its wings. And then we got the docther to her, but he couldn't do e'er a hand's turn. Sure what could anybody do agin the lightnin', that's a sort of miracle, you may say, unless it was wid another one?”
”And I dunno has people any call to be settin' themselves up to thry do them,” said Mrs. Brian. ”We'd better lave the like to Them that understands the nathur of such things.”
”Ah, I should suppose we'd a right to be thryin' whativer we get the chance to,” said Theresa, ”and that's little enough, the Lord knows.
Plinty of things there is kep' up out of the raich of our meddlin' wid them.”
”Ay bedad, or else it's the quare regulatin' we'd be givin' them now and agin--we would so,” said Ody, regretfully. ”Och, but there's an odd few good jobs I'd give more than a thrifle to be puttin' me hand to this minyit if I could get a hould of them.”
”And that's the way it is, I'm afeared, wid the lightnin'-blindin',”
said Theresa. ”Howane'er, up at Laraghmena we'd ha' done the best we could for her, if she'd ha' been contint to ha' sted there; we'd ha'
conthrived among us all to keep her well enough. But not a bit of her would for all we could do or say. She wouldn't be a burden on the neighbours she said. You see she's proud in her mind, the crathur, that's what it is, goodness help her.”
”And when a body has that sort of a notion,” said Ody, ”you might as aisy crack an egg ind-ways as get it out of their head.”
”So that's the way of it,” said Theresa. ”But if you could be tellin' me whether it's wrong I done or right, you know more than meself. Felix 'ud be for killin' me if he knew, that's sartin, and small blame to him I was thinkin' part of the while comin' along. For bad work there's apt to ha' been, sure enough, in anythin' that inds in landin' a body in the Union.”
The blind woman in her corner across the hearth seemed to have caught the last word, for she abruptly said, ”Ay, ay, it's there I'm goin', and the first of the Morroughs iver wint on the rates, or the Conroys aither. But I'm not takin' their name along wid me; troth no; sorra the Ellen Morrough 'ill they find in it.”
”Sure not at all, woman dear,” said Theresa. ”Why, Mrs. Doyne, it's great work the two of us had this day comin' along the road, plannin' a fine name for Mrs. Morrough to have in the Union', for she sez it's none any dacint poor people own she'll be bringin' into it. So we've settled she's to be Mrs. Skeffington Yelverton. That's an iligant soundin' one, isn't it, ma'am?”
Everybody expressed admiration, and a forlorn glimmer of complacency at the arrangement pa.s.sed over even the sorrowful countenance of Mrs.
Skeffington Yelverton herself, as she sat in her ragged old wisp of a shawl. She was holding under it her grand new delft teapot, whose beauties she should never see; though by this time much fingering had made her familiar with the outlines of its raised pink-rose wreath. Then Theresa Joyce said, ”We ought to be steppin' on wid ourselves, if we're to get to Duffclane before dark. The evenin's took up a bit. I see the sky there turnin' like goulden gla.s.s agin the windy-pane.” But the neighbours protested against their setting forward again; and it was agreed that they should sleep the night at the Kilfoyles'.
When this point had been decided, Mrs. Morrough said, ”Would that be the say--the rustlin' I hear outside there?”
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