Part 37 (2/2)
She approached her mother, and, seizing her hands, exclaimed:--
”Oh, mother, for the sake of the livin' G.o.d, make it your own case!--think of it--bring it home to you--look into the frightful state they're in. Are they to die in a Christian country for want of some kind person to attend upon them? Is it not our duty, when we know how they are sufferin'? I cannot rest, or be at ease; an' I am not afeard of fever here. You may say I love young Condy Dalton, an' that it is on his account I am wis.h.i.+n' to go. Maybe it is; an' I will now tell you at wanst, that I do love him, and that if it was the worst plague that ever silenced the noise of life in a whole country, it wouldn't prevent me from goin' to his relief, nor to the relief of any one belongin' to him.”
”I know,” said her father, ”that that was at the bottom of it.”
”I do love him,” she continued, ”an' this is more than ever I had courage to tell you openly before; but, father, I feel that I am called upon here to go to their a.s.sistance, and to see that they don't die from neglect in a Christian country. I have trust an' confidence in the Almighty G.o.d. I am not afeard of fever now; and even if I take it an'
die, you both know that I'll die in actin' the part of a Christian girl; an' what brighter hope could anything bring to us than the happiness that such a death would open to me? But here I feel that the strength and protection of G.o.d is upon me, and I will not die.”
”That's all very well Mave,” said her mother; ”but if you took it, and did die--oh, darlin'------”
”In G.o.d's name, then, I'll take my chance, an' do the duty that I feel myself called upon to do; and, father dear, just think for a minute--the thrue Christian doesn't merely forgive the injury but returns good for evil; and then, above all things, let us make it our own case. As I said before, if we were as they are--lyin' racked with pain, burnin' with druth, the head splittin', the whole strength gone--not able, maybe, to spake, and hardly able to make a sign--to wake ourselves, to put a drink to our lips;--suppose, I say, we wor lyin' in this state, an' that all the world had deserted us--oh, wouldn't we say that any fellow-crature that had the kindness and the courage to come and aid us--wet our lips, raise our heads, and cheer our sinkin' hearts by the sound of their voice alone--oh, wouldn't we say that it was G.o.d that in His mercy put it into their heart to come to us, and relieve us, and save us?”
The mother's feelings gave way at this picture; and she said, addressing her husband--
”Jerry, maybe it's right that she should go, bekaise, afther all, what if it's G.o.d Himself that has put it into her heart?”
He shook his head, but it was clear that his opposition began to waver.
”Think of the danger,” he replied; ”think of that. Still if I thought it was G.o.d's own will that was setting her to it--”
”Father,” she replied, ”let us do what is right, and lave the rest to G.o.d Himself. Surely you aren't afeard to trust in _Him_. I may take the fever here at home, without goin' at all, and die; for if it's His blessed will that I should die of it, nothing can save me, let me go or stay where I plaise; and if it's not, it matthers little where I go; His divine grace and goodness will take care of me and protect me. It's to G.o.d Himself, then, you are trustin' me, an' that ought to satisfy you.”
Her parents looked at each other--then at her; and, with tears in their eyes, as if they had been parting with her as for a sacrifice, they gave a consent, in which that humble confidence in the will of G.o.d which const.i.tutes the highest order of piety, was blended with a natural yearning and terror of the heart, lest they were allowing her to place herself rashly within the fatal reach of the contagion which prevailed.
Having obtained their permission, she lost very little time in preparing for the task she had proposed to execute. A very small portion of meal, and a little milk, together with one or two jugs of gruel, whey, &c, she put under her cloak; and after getting the blessings of her parents, and kissing them and the rest of the family, she departed upon her pious--her sublime mission, followed by the tears and earnest prayers of her whole family.
How anomalous, and full of mysterious and inexplicable impulses is the human heart! Mave Sullivan, who, in volunteering to attend at the contagious beds of the unfortunate Daltons, gave singular and n.o.ble proof of the most heroic devotedness, absolutely turned from the common road, on her way to their cabin, rather than meet the funeral of a person who had died of fever, and on one or two occasions kept aloof from men who she knew to be invalids by the fact of their having handkerchiefs about their heads--a proof, in general, that they had been shaved or blistered, while laboring under its severest form.
When she had gone within about a quarter of a mile of her destination, she met two individuals, whose relative positions indicated anything but a state of friendly feeling between them. The persons we allude to were Thomas Dalton and the miserable object of his vengeance, Darby Skinadre.
Our readers are aware that Sarah caused Darby to accompany her, for safety, to the cabin of the Daltons, as she feared that, should young Dalton again meet him at the head of his mob, and he in such a furious and unsettled state, the hapless miser might fall a victim to his vengeance. No sooner, therefore, had the meal-monger heard Tom's name mentioned by his father, when about to proceed to prison, than he left a dark corner of the cabin, into which he had slunk, and, pa.s.sing out, easily disappeared, without being noticed, in the state of excitement which prevailed.
The very name of Tom reminded him that he was in his father's house, and that should he return, and find him there, he might expect little mercy at his hands. Tom, however, amidst the melancholy fatuity under which he labored, never forgot that he had an account to settle with Skinadre.
It ran through his unsettled understanding like a sound thread through a damaged web; for ever and anon his thought and recollection would turn to Peggy Murtagh, and the miser's refusal to give her credit for the food she asked of him. During the early part of that day he had gone about with a halter in his hand, as if seeking some particular individual; and whenever he chanced to be questioned as to his object, he always replied with a wild and ferocious chuckle--
”The fellow that killed her!--the fellow that killed her!”
Upon the present occasion, Mave was surprised by meeting him and the miser, whom he must have met accidentally, walking side by side, but in a position which gave fearful intimation of Dalton's purpose respecting him. Around the unfortunate wretch's neck was the halter aforesaid, made into a running noose, while, striding beside him, went his wild and formidable companion, holding the end of it in his hand, and eyeing him from time to time with a look of stupid but determined ferocity.
Skinadre's appearance and position were ludicrously and painfully helpless. His face was so pale and thin that it was difficult to see, even in those frightfuf times of sickness and famine, a countenance from which they were more significantly reflected. He was absolutely shrunk up with terror into half his size, his little thin, corded neck appearing as if it were striving unsuccessfully to work its way down into his trunk, and his small ferret eyes looking about in every direction for some one to extricate him out of the deadly thrall in which he was held. Mave, who had been aware of the enmity which his companion bore him, as well as of its cause, and fearing that the halter was intended to hang the luckless mealman, probably upon the next tree they came to, did not, as many another female would do, avoid or run away from the madman. On the contrary, she approached him with an expression singularly winning and sweet on her countenance, and in a voice of great kindness, laid her hand upon his arm to arrest his attention, asked him how he did. He paused a moment, and looking upon her with a dull but turbid eye, exclaimed with an insane laugh, pointing at the same time, to the miser--”This is the fellow that killed her--ha, ha, ha, but I have him now--here he is in the noose; in the noose. Ay, an' I swore it, an' there's another, too, that's to get it, but I won't rob any body, nor join in that at all; I'll hang him here, though--ha, Darby, I have you now.”
As he spoke, poor Skinadre received a chuck of the halter which almost brought his tongue out as far as in the throttling process which we have before described.
”Mave, achora,” said he, looking at her after his recovery from the powerful jerk he had just got, ”for the sake of heaven, try an' save my life; if you don't he'll never let me out of his hands a livin' man.”
”Don't be alarmed, Darby,” she replied, ”poor Tom won't injure you; so far from that, he'll take the halter from about your neck, an' let you go. Won't you let poor Darby go, Tom?”
”I will,” he replied, ”after I hang him--ha, ha, ha; 'twas he that killed her; he let her die wid hunger, but now he'll swing for it, ha, ha!”
These words were accompanied by another chuck, which pulled miserable Skinadre almost off his legs.
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