Part 21 (1/2)

'Ay did he; and said, ”Mrs. Raffarty,” says he, ”it's all your own fault; you're an extravagant fool, and ever was, and I wash my hands of you;”

that was the word he spoke; and she answered, and said, ”And mayn't I send the beds and blankets,” said she, ”and what I can, by the cars, out of the way of the creditors, to Clonbrony Castle; and won't you let me hide there from the shame, till the bustle's over?”--”You may do that,” says he, ”for what I care; but remember,” says he, ”that I've the first claim to them goods;” and that's all he would grant. So they are coming down all o' Monday--them are her bandboxes and all to settle it; and faith it was a pity of her! to hear her sobbing, and to see her own brother speak and look so hard! and she a lady.'

'Sure she's not a lady born, no more than himself,' said Larry; 'but that's no excuse for him. His heart's as hard as that stone,' said Larry; 'and my own people knew that long ago, and now his own know it; and what right have we to complain, since he's as bad to his own flesh and blood as to us?'

With this consolation, and with a 'G.o.d speed you,' given to the carman, Larry was driving off; but the carman called to him, and pointed to a house, at the corner of which, on a high pole, was swinging an iron sign of three horse-shoes, set in a crooked frame, and at the window hung an empty bottle, proclaiming whisky within.

'Well, I don't care if I do,' said Larry; 'for I've no other comfort left me in life now. I beg your honour's pardon, sir, for a minute,'

added he, throwing the reins into the carriage to Lord Colambre, as he leaped down. All remonstrance and power of lungs to reclaim him vain!

He darted into the whisky-house with the carman--reappeared before Lord Colambre could accomplish getting out, remounted his seat, and, taking the reins, 'I thank your honour,' said he; 'and I'll bring you into Clonbrony before it's pitch-dark yet, though it's nightfall, and that's four good miles, but ”a spur in the head is worth two in the heel.”'

Larry, to demonstrate the truth of his favourite axiom, drove off at such a furious rate over great stones left in the middle of the road by carmen, who had been driving in the gudgeons of their axle-trees to hinder them from lacing, [Opening; perhaps from LACHER, to loosen.] that Lord Colambre thought life and limb in imminent danger; and feeling that at all events the jolting and b.u.mping was past endurance, he had recourse to Larry's shoulder, and shook and pulled, and called to him to go slower, but in vain; at last the wheel struck full against a heap of stones at a turn of the road, the wooden linch-pin came off, and the chaise was overset: Lord Colambre was a little bruised, but glad to escape without fractured bones.

'I beg your honour's pardon,' said Larry, completely sobered; 'I'm as glad as the best pair of boots ever I see, to see your honour nothing the worse for it. It was the linch-pin, and them barrows of loose stones, that ought to be fined anyway, if there was any justice in the country.'

'The pole is broke; how are we to get on?' said Lord Colambre.

'Murder! murder!--and no smith nearer than Clonbrony; nor rope even.

It's a folly to talk, we can't get to Clonbrony, nor stir a step backward or forward the night.'

'What, then, do you mean to leave me all night in the middle of the road?' cried Lord Colambre, quite exasperated.

'Is it me! please your honour? I would not use any jantleman so ill, BARRING I could do no other,' replied the postillion, coolly; then, leaping across the ditch, or, as he called it, the GRIPE of the ditch, he scrambled up, and while he was scrambling, said, 'If your honour will lend me your hand till I pull you up the back of the ditch, the horses will stand while we go. I'll find you as pretty a lodging for the night, with a widow of a brother of my s.h.i.+ster's husband that was, as ever you slept in your life; for old Nick or St. Dennis has not found 'em out yet; and your honour will be, no compare, snugger than the inn at Clonbrony, which has no roof, the devil a stick. But where will I get your honour's hand; for it's coming on so dark, I can't see rightly.

There, you're up now safe. Yonder candle's the house.'

'Go and ask whether they can give us a night's lodging.'

'Is it ASK? when I see the light!--Sure they'd be proud to give the traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one. Take care of the potato furrows, that's all, and follow me straight. I'll go on to meet the dog, who knows me and might be strange to your honour.'

'Kindly welcome,' were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he approached the cottage; and 'kindly welcome' was in the sound of the voice and in the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading her rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path. When he entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty young woman making it blaze: she curtsied, put her spinning-wheel out of the way, set a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating, in a very low tone of voice, 'Kindly welcome, retired.

'Put down some eggs, dear, there's plenty in the bowl,' said the old woman, calling to her; 'I'll do the bacon. Was not we lucky to be up--The boy's gone to bed, but waken him,' said she, turning to the postillion; 'and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses in the bier for the night.'

No; Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might get the chaise mended betimes for his honour. The table was set; clean trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and 'kindly welcome to all.'

'Set the salt, dear; and the b.u.t.ter, love; where's your head, Grace, dear!'

'Grace!' repeated Lord Colambre, looking up; and, to apologise for his involuntary exclamation, he added, 'Is Grace a common name in Ireland?'

'I can't say, plase your honour, but it was give her by Lady Clonbrony, from a niece of her own that was her foster-sister, G.o.d bless her! and a very kind lady she was to us and to all when she was living in it; but those times are gone past,' said the old woman, with a sigh. The young woman sighed too; and, sitting down by the fire, began to count the notches in a little bit of stick, which she held in her hand; and, after she had counted them, sighed again.

'But don't be sighing, Grace, now,' said the old woman; 'sighs is bad sauce for the traveller's supper; and we won't be troubling him with more,' added she, turning to Lord Colambre with a smile.

'Is your egg done to your liking?'

'Perfectly, thank you.'

'Then I wish it was a chicken for your sake, which it should have been, and roast too, had we time. I wish I could see you eat another egg.'