Part 3 (2/2)
”What do you mean, sir?” replied Reilly, somewhat indignantly. ”I am not in the habit of stating a falsehood, nor of submitting tamely to such an imputation.”
”Ha, ha, ha, I say it's a lie still, my friend. What did you say? Why, that you had heard enough of her goodness and beauty. Now, sir, by the banks of the Boyne, I say you didn't hear half enough of either one or other. Sir, you should know her, for although you are a Papist you are a brave man, and a gentleman. Still, sir, a Papist is not--curse it, this isn't handsome of me, w.i.l.l.y. I beg your pardon. Confound all religions if it goes to that. Still at the same time I'm bound to say as a loyal man that Protestantism is my forte, Mr. Reilly--there's where I'm strong, a touch of Hercules about me there, Mr. Reilly--w.i.l.l.y, I mean. Well, you are a thorough good fellow, Papist and all, though you--ahem!--never mind though, you shall see my daughter, and you shall hear my daughter; for, by the great Boyne, she must salute the man that saved her father's life, and prevented her from being an orphan. And yet see, w.i.l.l.y, I love that girl to such a degree that if heaven was open for me this moment, and that Saint Peter--hem!--I mean the Apostle Peter, slid to me, 'Come, Folliard, walk in, sir,' by the great Deliverer that saved us from Pope and Popery, bra.s.s money, and--ahem! I beg your pardon--well, I say if he was to say so, I wouldn't leave her.
There's affection for you; but she deserves it. No, if ever a girl was capable of keeping an old father from heaven she is.”
”I understand your meaning, sir,” replied Reilly with a smile, ”and I believe she is loved by every one who has the pleasure of knowing her--by rich and poor.”
”Troth, Mr. Reilly,” observed Andy, ”it's a sin for any one to let their affections, even for one of their own childer, go between them and heaven. As for the masther, he makes a G.o.d of her. To be sure if ever there was an angel in this world she is one.”
”Get out, you old whelp,” exclaimed his master; ”what do you know about it?--you who never had wife or child? isn't she my only child?--the apple of my eye? the love of my heart?”
”If you loved her so well you wouldn't make her unhappy then.”
”What do you mean, you despicable old Papist?”
”I mean that you wouldn't marry her to a man she doesn't like, as you're goin' to do. That's a bad way to make her happy, at any rate.”
”Overlook the word Papist, Mr. Reilly, that I applied to that old idolater--the fellow wors.h.i.+ps images; of course you know, as a Papist, he does--ahem!--but to show you that I don't hate the Papist without exception, I beg to let you know, sir, that I frequently have the Papist priest of our parish to dine with me; and if that isn't liberality the devil's in it. Isn't that true, you superst.i.tious old Padareen? No, Mr.
Reilly, Mr. Mahon--w.i.l.l.y, I mean--I'm a liberal man, and I hope we'll be all saved yet, with the exception of the Pope--ahem! yes, I hope we shall all be saved.”
”Throth, sir,” said Andy, addressing himself to Reilly, ”he's a quare gentleman, this. He's always abusing the Papists, as he calls us, and yet for every Protestant servant undher his roof he has three Papists, as he calls us. His bark, sir, is worse than his bite, any day.”
”I believe it,” replied Reilly in a low voice, ”and it's a pity that a good and benevolent man should suffer these idle prejudices to sway him.”
”Divil a bit they sway him, sir,” replied Andy; ”he'll d.a.m.n and abuse them and their religion, and yet he'll go any length to serve one o'
them, if they want a friend, and has a good character. But here, now we're at the gate of the avenue, and you'll soon see the _Cooleen Bawn_”
”Hallo!” the squire shouted out, ”what the devil! are you dead or asleep there? Brady, you Papist scoundrel, why not open the gate?”
The porter's wife came out as he uttered the words, saying, ”I beg your honor's pardon. Ned is up at the Castle;” and whilst speaking she opened the gate.
”Ha, Molly!” exclaimed her master in a tone of such bland good nature as could not for a moment be mistaken; ”well, Molly, how is little Mick? Is he better, poor fellow?”
”He is, thank G.o.d, and your honor.”
”Hallo, Molly,” said the squire, laughing, ”that's Popery again. You are thanking G.o.d and me as if we were intimate acquaintances. None of that foolish Popish nonsense. When you thank G.o.d, thank him; and when you thank me, why thank me; but don't unite us, as you do him and your Popish saints, for I tell you, Molly, I'm no saint; G.o.d forbid! Tell the doctorman to pay him every attention, and to send his bill to me when the child is properly recovered; mark that--properly recovered.”
A n.o.ble avenue, that swept along with two or three magnificent bends, brought them up to a fine old mansion of the castellated style, where the squire and his two equestrian attendants dismounted, and were ushered into the parlor, which they found brilliantly lighted up with a number of large wax tapers. The furniture of the room was exceedingly rich, but somewhat curious and old-fas.h.i.+oned. It was such, however, as to give ample proof of great wealth and comfort, and, by the heat of a large peat fire which blazed in the capacious hearth, it communicated that sense of warmth which was in complete accordance with the general aspect of the apartment. An old gray-haired butler, well-powdered, together with two or three other servants in rich livery, now entered, and the squire's first inquiry was after his daughter.
”John,” said he to the butler, ”how is your mistress?” but, without waiting for a reply, he added, ”here are twenty pounds, which you will hand to those fine fellows at the hall-door.”
”Pardon me, sir,” replied Reilly, ”those men are my tenants, and the sons of my tenants: they have only performed towards you a duty, which common humanity would require at their hands towards the humblest person that lives.”
”They must accept it, Mr. Reilly--they must have it--they are humble men--and as it is only the reward of a kind office, I think it is justly due to them. Here, John, give them the money.”
It was in vain that Reilly interposed; the old squire would not listen to him. John was, accordingly, dispatched to the hall steps, but found that they had all gone.
At this moment our friend Toni Steeple met the butler, whom he approached with a kind of wild and uncouth anxiety.
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