Part 13 (2/2)
Lilly shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears, at the manly and modest generosity of the pedlar.
”Little you know then, Mr. Magrath, the load you have taken off my dear mistress's heart, and the delight you have brought upon the whole family.”
”Well, Lilly dear, sure if I did, amn't I well paid, for it? thanks to your two sweet lips for that. Sure, bad cess to me, but it was on your account I did it.”
A vile grin, or rather an awkward blank smile, forced by an affectation of gallantry, accompanied the lie which he uttered.
”Oh, yes, indeed,” replied Lilly, ”on my 'account, don't think to pa.s.s that upon me; however, I can forgive you a great many things in consequence of your behavior--just now.”
”And yet you abused me for it,” he replied, laughing, ”but sure I knew that a purty girl always likes to be kissed; bad cess to me, but the same behavior comes naturally to me.”
”Go now,” said Lilly, with a comic and peremptory manner; ”go your rounds, I say; you know very well that I mane your behavior about the shawl, and not your great strong impudence.”
The pedlar, after winking and nodding meanings into her words that she had never thought of, slung his pack over his shoulder as usual, and proceeded on his rounds.
We have always been of opinion that there is scarcely anything more mysterious than the speed with which popular report travels apparently with very inadequate machinery throughout a large district of country.
Before the day was more than half-advanced, fame had succeeded in circulating a report that Matthew Purcel and Dr. Turbot had been both shot dead in the garden of the rectory. This report spread rapidly, and it is with equal pain and shame we are obliged to confess that in general it was received with evident and undisguised satisfaction. John and Alick Purcel, on their way home, were accosted at a place called ”Murderer's Corner,” by two of the men who had attended at their father's office that morning, and informed that he and Dr. Turbot had been murdered in the course of the day, a piece of information which was conveyed by them with a sneer of cowardly triumph that was perfectly diabolical.
”G.o.d save ye, gintlemen!” said one of them, with a peculiar emphasis on the last word; ”did ye here the news?”
”No, Jemmy, what is it?” asked John.
”Why, that Darby Hourigan is very ill,” he replied, with mock gravity.
”No thanks for your information, Jemmy,” replied the other; ”if you told us something of more interest we might thank you.”
”Never mind him, gintlemen,” replied his companion, ”there's nothing wrong wid Darby Horaigan, barrin' that he occasionally rubs himself where he's not itching, but there's worse news than that before you.”
”What is it, then?” asked Alick; ”if you know it, let us hear it, and don't stand humming and hawing as if you were afraid to speak.”
”Faith, an' it's no wondher I would, sir, when it's to tell you that you'll find your father a murdhered corpse at home before you.”
”Great G.o.d! what do you mean, sir? asked John.
”Why, gintlemen, it seems that himself an' Parson Turbot wor both shot in the parsonage garden to-day. The parson's takin' his rest in his own house, but your father's body was brought home upon the car. The bullet entered your worthy father's breeches' pocket, cut through a sheaf of notes that he had to pay the parson his tides wid, and from that it went on----”
Human patience could not endure the ill-suppressed and heartless satisfaction with which the fellow was about to enter into the details, and accordingly, ere he had time to proceed further, John Purcel turning a hunting-whip, loaded for self-defense, left him sprawling on the earth.
”Now, you ill-conditioned scoundrel,” he exclaimed, ”whether he is murdered or not, take that for your information. Alick, lay on Hacket there, you are the nearest to him,” he added, addressing his brother.
Hacket at once took to his heels, but the other, touching his horse with the spurs, cantered up to him, and brought the double thong of his whip into severe contact with his neck and shoulders. When this was over, the two fiery young men exclaimed:--
”There, now, are our thanks, not merely for your information, but for the good will with which it was given, and that to the very sons of the man whom, by your own account, you have murdered among you. If his blood however, has been shed, there is not a drop of it for which we will not exact a tenfold retribution.”
They then dashed home, at the highest speed of which their horses were capable, and throwing themselves out of the saddle, rushed to the hall-door, where they knocked eagerly.
”Is my father at home, Letty?”
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