Part 3 (1/2)
”In G.o.d's name, Jerry,” asked her mother, looking from father to daughter in a state of much distress, ”what is wrong, or what has happened to put you in such a condition? I see by the anger in your eye an' the whiteness of your cheeks, barrin' the little red spot in the middle, that something out o' the way all out has happened to vex you.”
”You may well say so, Bridget,” he replied; ”but when I tell you that I came upon that undutiful daughter of ours coortin' wid the son of the man that murdhered her uncle--my only brother--you won't be surprised at the state you see me in--coortin' wid a fellow that Dan M'Gowan here knows will be hanged yet, for he's jist afther tellin' him so.”
”You're ravin', Jerry,” exclaimed his wife, who appeared to feel the matter as incredible; ”you don't mane to tell me that she'd spake to, or know, or make any freedoms whatsomever wid young Condy Dalton, the son of her uncle's murdherer? Hut, no, Jerry, don't say that, at all events--any disgrace but that--death, the grave--or--or anything--but sich an unnatural curse as that would be.”
”I found them together behind the garden not many minutes ago,” replied Sullivan. ”Donnel here seen them as well as I did--deny it she can't; an' now let her say what brought her there to meet him, or rather what brought him all the way to meet her? Answer me that, you disgrace to the name--answer me at wanst!”
The poor girl trembled and became so weak as to be scarcely able to stand: in fact, she durst not raise her eye to meet that of either parent, but stood condemned and incapable of utterance.
The night had now nearly set in, and one of her little sisters entered with a rush candle in her hand, the light of which, as it fell dimly and feebly on the group, gave to the proceedings a wild and impressive appearance. The prophecy-man, with his dark, stern look, peculiar nose, and black raven hair that fell thickly over his shoulders, contrasted strongly with the fair, artless countenance and beautiful figure of the girl who stood beside him, whilst over opposite them were Sullivan himself and his wife, their faces pale with sorrow, anxiety, and indignation.
”Give me the candle,” proceeded her father; ”hand it to me, child, and leave the room; then,” he proceeded, holding it up to a great-coat of frieze which hung against the wall--”there's his coat--there's my lovin'
brother's coat; look upon it now, an' ax yourself what do you desarve for meeting against our will an' consint the son of him that has the murdher of the man that owned it on his hands an' on his heart? What do you desarve, I say?”
The girl spoke not, but the black prophet, struck by the words and the unexpected appearance of the murdered man's coat, started; in a moment, however, he composed himself, and calmly turned his eyes upon Sullivan, who proceeded to address his daughter.
”You have nothing to say, then? You're guilty, an' of coorse you have no excuse to make; however, I'll soon put an end to all this. Bring me a prayerbook. If your book oath can bind you down against ever----”
He could proceed no further. On uttering the last words, his daughter tottered, and would have fallen to the ground, had not Donnel Dhu caught her in his arms. She had, in fact, become almost insensible from excess of shame and over excitement, and, as Donnel carried her towards a bed that was in the corner of the room, her head lay over against his face.
It is unnecessary to say that Sullivan's indignation was immediately lost in alarm. On bringing the candle near her, the first thing they observed were streaks of blood upon Donnel Dhu's face, that gave to it, in connection with the mark of the blow he had received, a frightful and hideous expression.
”What is this?” exclaimed her mother, seizing the candle and holding it to the beautiful features of her trembling daughter, which were now also dabbled with blood. ”In G.o.d's name, what ails my child? O Mave, Mave, my darlin', what's come over you? Blessed mother of marcy, what blood is this? _Achora, machree_, Mave, spake to! me--to the mother that 'ud go distracted, an' that will, too, if anything's wrong wid you. It was cruel in you, Jerry, to spake to; her so harsh as you did, an' to take her to task before a sthranger in such a cuttin' manner. Saiver of Airth, Mave, darlin', won't you spake to me, to your own mother?”'
”Maybe I did spake to her too severely,” said the father, now relenting, ”an' if I did, may G.o.d forgive me; for sure you know, Bridget, I wouldn't injure a hair of my darlin's head. But this blood! this blood!
oh, where did it come from?”
Her weakness, however, proved of but short duration, and their apprehension was soon calmed. Mave looked around her rather wildly, and no sooner had her eyes rested on Donnel Dhu than she shrieked aloud, and turning her face away from him, with something akin to fear and horror, she flung herself into her mother's arms, exclaiming, as she hid her face in her bosom: ”Oh save me from that man; don't let! him near me; don't let him touch me. I can't tell why, but I'm deadly afraid of him.
What blood is that upon his face? Father, stand between us!”
”Foolish girl!” exclaimed her father, ”you don't know what you're sayin'. Of coorse, Donnel, you'll not heed her words for, indeed, she hasn't come to herself yet. But, in G.o.d's name, where did this blood come from that's upon you and her?”
”You can't suppose, Jerry,” said Donnel, ”that the poor girl's words would make me take any notice of them. She has been too much frightened, and won't know, maybe in a few minutes, that she spoke them at all.”
”That's thrue,” said her mother; ”but with regard to the blood----”
She was about to proceed, when Mave rose up, and requested to be taken out of the room.
”Bring me to the kitchen,” said she, ”I'm afraid; and see this blood, mother.”
Precisely as she spoke, a few drops of blood fell from her nose, which, of course, accounted for its appearance on Donnel's face, and probably for her terror also at his repulsive aspect.
”What makes you afeard of poor Donnel, asth.o.r.e?” asked her mother--”a man that wouldn't injure a hair of your head, nor of one belongin' to you, an' never did.”
”Why, when my father,” she returned, ”spoke about the coat there, an'
just as Donnel started, I looked at it, an' seen it movin', I don't know why, but I got afeard of him.”
Sullivan held up the candle mechanically, as she spoke, towards the coat, upon which they all naturally gazed; but, whether from its dim flickering light, or the force of imagination, cannot be determined, one thing was certain, the coat appeared actually to move again, as if disturbed by some invisible hand. Again, also, the prophet involuntary started, but only for a single moment.
”Tut,” said he, ”it's merely the unsteady light of the candle; show it here.”