Part 53 (2/2)
”Before you go, _alanna!_” exclaimed his father, pressing him tenderly to his breast. ”Oh! but they're bitther words to us, my darlin' an' my lovin' boy. But the air, Mary, darlin', strive an' sing it for him as well as you can.”
It was a trying task for the affectionate girl, who, however, so far overcame her grief, as to be able to sing it with the very pathos of nature itself.
”Ay,” said he, as she proceeded, ”that's it--that's what Peggy used to sing for me, bekaise she knew I liked it.”
Tender and full of sorrow were the notes as they came from the innocent lips of that affectionate sister. Her task, however, was soon over; for scarcely had she concluded the air, when her poor brother's ears and heart were closed to the melody and affection it breathed, forever.
”I know,” said she, with tears, ”that there's one thing will give comfort to you all respecting poor Tom. Peter Rafferty, who helped him home, seein' the dyin' state he was in, went over to the Car, and brought one of Father Hanratty's curates to him, so that he didn't depart without resaving the rites of the Church, thank G.o.d!”
This took the sting of bitterness out of their grief, and infused into it a spirit that soothed their hearts, and sustained them by that consolation which the influence of religion and its ordinances, in the hour of death and sorrow, never fail to give to an Irish family.
Old Dalton's sleep was sound that night; and when he awoke the next morning the first voice he heard was that of our friend Toddy Mack, which, despite of the loss they had sustained, and its consequent sorrow, diffused among them a spirit of cheerfulness and contentment.
”You have no raison,” said he, ”to fly in the face of G.o.d--I don't mane you, Mrs. Dalton--but these youngsters. If what I heard is thrue that that poor boy never was himself since the girl died, it was a mercy for G.o.d to take him; and afther all He is a betther judge of what's fit for us than we ourselves. Bounce, now, Mr. Dalton; you have little time to lose. I want you to come wid me to the agent, Mr. Travers. He wishes, I think, to see yourself, for he says he has heard a good account o' you, an' I promised to bring you. If we're there about two o'clock we'll hit the time purty close.”
”What can he want with him, do you think?” asked Mrs. Dalton.
”Dear knows--fifty things--maybe to stand for one of his childhre--or--but, ah! forgive me--I could be merry anywhere else; but here--here--forgive me, Mrs. Dalton.”
In a short time Dalton and he mounted a car which Toddy had brought with him, and started for the office of Mr. Travers.
While they are on their way, we shall return to our friend, young d.i.c.k, who was left to trudge home from the Grey Stone on the night set apart for the abduction of Mave Sullivan. Hanlon, or Magennis, as we ought now to call him, having by his shrewdness, and Rody Duncan's loose manner of talking, succeeded in preventing the burglarious attack upon his master's house, was a good deal surprised at young d.i.c.k's quick return, for he had not expected him at all that night. The appearance of the young gentleman was calculated to excite impressions of rather a serio-comic character.
”Hanlon,” said he, ”is all right?--every man at his post?”
”All right, sir; but I did not expect you back so soon. Whatever you've been engaged on to-night is a saicret you've kep' me out of.”
”D--e, I was afraid of you, Hanlon--you were too honest for what I was about to-night. You wouldn't have stood it--I probed you on it once before, and you winced.”
”Well, sir, I a.s.sure you I don't wish to know what it is.”
”Why, as the whole thing has failed there, can be no great secret in it now. The old Prophet hoaxed me cursedly to-night. It was arranged between us that he should carry off Sullivan's handsome daughter for me--and what does the mercenary old scoundrel do but put his own in her place, with a view of imposing her on me.”
”Faith, an' of the two she is thought to be the finest an' handsomest girl; but, my G.o.d! how could he do what you say, an' his daughter sick o' the typhus?”
”There's some d--d puzzle about it, I grant--he seemed puzzled--his daughter-seemed sick, sure enough--and I am sick. Hanlon, I fear I've caught the typhus from her--I can think of nothing else.”
”Go to bed, sir; I tould you as you went out that you had taken rather too much. You've been disappointed, an' you're vexed;--that's what ails you; but go to bed, an' you'll sleep it off.”
”Yes, I must. In a day or two it's arranged that I and Travers are to settle about the leases, and I must meet that worthy gentleman with a clear head.”
”Is Darby Skinadre, sir, to have Dalton's farm?”
”Why, I've pocketed a hundred of his money for it, an' I think he ought.
However, all this part of the property is out of lease, and you know we can neither do nor say anything till we get the new leases.”
”Oh, yes, you can, sir,” replied Hanlon, laughing; ”it's clear you can _do_ at any rate.”
<script>