Part 6 (1/2)
CHAPTER VII.
BIDDY DILLON BECOMES A ”HERETIC.”
Several months pa.s.sed quietly by. It was winter, and the heaviest snow that had fallen within the memory of that personage so universally known and respected--namely, the oldest inhabitant--now lay upon the ground; and all in town and country who were partial to the exercise of skating could enjoy it freely. But the severe cold confined the delicate invalids to their heated rooms, and fair Annie Lee again found herself shut up to the tiresome routine of sick-room pleasures, only varied by intervals of suffering. The pleasure, however, predominated. She seemed almost to forget her pain and increasing languor in her unceasing efforts to instruct her young nurse.
Annorah, on her part, thirsted for knowledge, especially for the wisdom that cometh from above. She improved, too, rapidly enough to satisfy a less partial teacher. In the varied arts of housewifery, and in the more intricate use of the needle, she had also become quite expert, and, to use Mrs. Lee's own words, ”was quite a treasure in every part of the house.”
Little lame Phelim came for an hour each afternoon to Miss Annie's room to be made a ”schollard, shure;” and every Sat.u.r.day evening found Annorah, with her Bible, seated by her mother's fireside, reading, and in her own earnest but uncouth manner expounding the truths she read.
One Sabbath evening in March, Father M'Clane set out for a walk to Mrs. Dillon's cottage. His prospects and reflections had been of a grave and sad character throughout the day, and his threadbare coat and lean purse had been more than usually suggestive of the great truth, that all earthly comforts are fleeting and transitory.
For the first time Biddy had that day absented herself from the Catholic chapel. Annorah had lately added to her Scripture reading, ”Kirwan's Letters to Archbishop Hughes.” She read it to her mother whenever a spare hour enabled her to run home. Biddy had been greatly interested in the appeals and arguments of her talented countryman, and deeply impressed by his life-like delineation of the follies and superst.i.tions of the Romish ritual.
”It's rasonable he is intirely,” she said, ”and a bright son o' the ould counthree, blessin's on it! It's him who spakes well o' the poor ruined crathers, and praises us all for the natural generous-sowled people we are. He knows us intirely, Norah dear. Shure he's a wonderful man and a bould, let alone the thrue son o' ould Ireland, for doing the beautiful thing. Read us one more letther, mavourneen, before ye are off, and lave the book here. Mayhap Phelim will spell out a morsel or so when the Sabbath even is coom.”
”You will not go to confession to-morrow, dear mother?” said Annorah.
”Not I,” replied Biddy firmly.
”It goes to my heart, mother, that the money we earn so hardly, and which should be kept to comfort your old age, should go for nothing, or worse.”
”I will do it no more. Make yer heart aisy, honey. Never a penny o'
mine will the praste hould in his hand again.”
”He will visit you, mother.”
”An' what o' that? Let him coom. He is welcome an' he minds his own business, and only dhraps in for a bit o' gossip; but an' he interferes in me private consarns, it's soon he'll find himself relaved o' all throuble on account o' us.”
Annorah saw that there was no reason now to fear that her mother would be overawed by the priest; but she still lingered anxiously. Her mother saw the shade on her face, and asked,--
”What is it, Norah? Are you in throuble?”
”Do not quarrel with him, mother,” replied the daughter.
”Let him be dacent, and it's ceevil treatment he'll get; but no man shall browbeat me on me own floor,” said Biddy, in a tone which declared the firmness of her purpose.
It was on the night succeeding this conversation, that Father M'Clane visited the cottage. As he approached the house he paused at the unusual sound of a voice reading. It was Phelim imperfectly spelling out to his mother and a few of the neighbours one of the letters of Kirwan. The priest, who was not remarkably well versed in the books of the day, did not know the work, but supposed that it was the Bible to which they were so profoundly listening. His face grew as dark as the night shades around him.
”I've caught ye at last!” he exclaimed, as, without ceremony, he burst into the room. ”This tells the story. It's not that ye are ill in bed, or hindered by the rain, or the could; it's because ye are heretics all, that ye shun the confession and the holy ma.s.s. Do ye know what the Church has power to do wi' the like o' ye? Arrah! it was the heavenly and not the mortal wisdom that made the hot fires o'
purgatory for such. Small help will ye get from me when the flames are scorching ye. Never a ma.s.s shall be said for a sowl o' ye, unless ye repent at once.”
”And what call have ye to spake the like o' that,” said Biddy, ”and me sitting peaceably by me own fire wi' the neighbours?” She spoke in a low, uncertain tone, for his sudden appearance had startled her. A hush had fallen on the little a.s.sembly, and signs of terror flitted across the faces of the most timid, as the familiar voice of the priest recalled their old Popish fears. He was not slow to perceive this, or to take advantage of it.
”And who taught yer lame boy to read at all? Who brought the heretic Bible into yer house? And who gathered the poor neighbours together to hear the false words that lead to perdition? Answer me that, Misthress Dillon,” said the priest in a tone of anger.
Biddy did not reply, though she had quite regained her usual courage.
”I'll ask ye a plain question, Biddy Dillon, and I want a straight answer. Will ye, or will ye not, give up these heretic doings, and stay in the communion o' the holy Church?”
”An' it plaze yer riverence,” replied Biddy, no ways disconcerted, ”yer blessed saints are nothing to me; an' I shall do as I plaze.”
”Hear the woman! Do you hear the bould blasphemer?” he exclaimed.