Part 47 (2/2)
on which you rested, has deserted you! When you come down to breakfast in the morning, and find that your own Helen, your only one, has gone--oh! who will sustain, or soothe, or calm you in the frenzied grief of your desolation? But alas! what can I do but escape from that cowardly and vindictive villain--the very incarnation of oppression and persecution; the hypocrite, the secret debauchee, the mean, the dastardly, whose inhuman ambition was based upon and nurtured by blood?
Alas! I have but the one remedy--flight with my n.o.ble minded lover, whom that dastardly villain would have hunted, even to his murder, or an ignominious death, which would have been worse. This flight is not spontaneously mine; I am forced to it, and of two evils I will choose the least; surely I am not bound to seal my own misery forever.”
Connor had by this time attempted, as far as she could, to disguise her in one of her own dresses; but nothing could conceal the elegance and exquisite proportion of her figure, nor the ladylike harmony and grace of her motions. She then went to the oaken cabinet, mentioned by her father in the opening of our narrative, and as she always had the key of that portion of it which contained her own diamonds, and other property, she took a casket of jewels of immense value from it, and returned to her room, where she found Connor before her.
”Mr. Reilly is ready, miss,” she said, ”and is waiting for you behind the garden; the only one I dread in the house is Andy c.u.mmiskey; he is so much attached to the master that I think if he knew you were about to escape he would tell him.”
”Well, Connor, we must only avoid him as well as we can; but where, or how, shall I carry these jewels? in these slight pockets of yours, Connor, they could not be safe.”
”Well, then, can't you give them to him to keep, and they'll be safe?”
”True, Connor, so they will; but I give him a heart which he prizes above them all. But, alas! my father! oh! Connor, shall I abandon him?”
”Do not distress yourself, my dear Miss Folliard; your father loves you too much to hold out his anger against you long. Did you not tell me that if Reilly was a Protestant your father said he would rather marry you to him than to Sir Robert, the villain, with all his wealth?”
”I did, Connor, and my father certainly said so; but the serpent, Connor, entwined himself about the poor credulous man, and succeeded in embittering him against Reilly, who would rather go to the scaffold--yes, and--which he would consider a greater sacrifice--rather abandon even me than his religion. And do you think, Connor, that I do not love my n.o.ble-minded Reilly the more deeply for this? I tell you, Connor, that if he renounced his religion upon no other principle than his love for me, I should despise him as a dishonorable, man, to whom it would not be safe for me to entrust my happiness.”
”Well, well; but now it is time to start, and Reilly, as I said, is waiting for you behind the garden.”
”Oh, Connor, and is it come to this? my dear papa! but I cannot go until I see him; no, Connor, I could not; I shall go quietly into his room, and take one look at him; probably it may be the last. Oh, my G.o.d! what am I about to do! Connor, keep this casket until I return; I shall not be long.”
She then went to his chamber. The blinds and curtains of the windows had not been drawn, and it occurred to her that as her dress was so different from any which her father had ever seen on her, some suspicion might be created should he observe it. She therefore left the candlestick which she had brought with her on the inside sill of a lobby window, having observed at the door that the moonlight streamed in through the windows upon his bed. Judge of her consternation, however, when, on entering the room, her father, turning himself in the bed, asked:
”Is that Helen?”
”It is, papa; I thought you had been asleep, and I came up to steal my good-night kiss without any intention of awakening you.”
”I drank too much, Helen, with Whitecraft, whom wine--my Burgundy--instead of warming, seems to turn into an icicle. However, he is a devilish shrewd fellow. Helen, darling, there's a jug of water on the table there; will you hand it to me; I'm all in a flame and a fever.”
She did so, and her hand trembled so much that she was near spilling it.
He took a long draught, after which he smacked his lips, and seemed to breathe more freely.
”Helen,” said he.
”Well, dear papa.”
”Helen, I had something to mention to you, but--”
”Don't disturb yourself to-night, papa; you are somewhat feverish,” she added, feeling his pulse; if you will excuse me, papa, I think you drank too much; your pulse is very quick; if you could fall into rest again it would be better for you.”
”Yes, it would; but my mind is uneasy and sorrowful. Helen, I thought you loved me, my darling.”
”Oh, could you doubt it, papa? You see I am come as usual--no, not as usual, either--to kiss you; I will place my cheek against yours, as I used to do, dear papa, and you will allow me to weep--to weep--and to say that never father deserved the love of a daughter as you have deserved mine; and never did daughter love an affectionate and indulgent father more tenderly than your _Cooleen Bawn_ does you.”
”I know it, Helen, I know it; your whole life has been a proof of it, and will be a proof of it; I know you have no other object in this world than to make papa happy; I know I feel that you are great-minded enough to sacrifice everything to that.”
”Well, but, papa,” she continued, ”for all my former offences against you will you pity and forgive me?”
”I do both, you foolish darling; but what makes you speak so?”
”Because I feel melancholy to-night, papa; and now, papa, if ever I should do any thing wrong, won't you pity and forgive your own _Cooleen Bawn_?”
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