Part 48 (1/2)
”Get along, you gipsy--don't be crying. What could you do that papa wouldn't forgive you, unless to run away with Reilly? Don't you know that you can wind me round your finger?”
”Farewell, papa,” she said, weeping all the time, for, in truth, she found it impossible to control herself; ”farewell--good night! and remember that you may have a great deal to forgive your own _Cooleen Bawn_ some of these days.”
On leaving the bedroom, where she was hurried by her feelings into this indiscreet dialogue, she found herself nearly incapable of walking without support. The contending affections for her father and her lover had nearly overcome her. By the aid of the staircase she got to her own room, where she was met by Connor, into whose arms she fell almost helpless.
”Ah, Connor,” she said, alluding to her father, whom she could not trust herself to name, ”to-morrow morning what will become of him when he finds that I am gone? But I know his affectionate heart. He will relent--he will relent for the sake of his own _Cooleen Bawn_. The laws against Catholics are now relaxed, and I am glad of it. But I have one consolation, my dear girl, that I am trusting myself to a man of honor.
We will proceed directly to the Continent;--that is, if no calamitous occurrence should take place to prevent us; and there, after our nuptials shall have been duly celebrated, I will live happy with Reilly--that is, Connor, as happy as absence from my dear father will permit me--and Reilly will live happy, and, at least, free from the persecution of bad laws, and such villains as base and vindictive Whitecraft. You, Connor, must accompany me to the back of the garden, and see me off. Take this purse, Connor, as some compensation for your truth and the loss of your situation.”
It was now, when the moment of separation approached, that Connor's tears began to flow, far less at the generosity of her mistress than her affection, and that which she looked upon as probably their final separation.
”Dear Connor,” said her mistress, ”I would expect that support to my breaking heart which I have hitherto experienced from you. Be firm now, for you see I am not firm, and your tears only render me less adequate to encounter the unknown vicissitudes which lie before me.”
”Well, then, I will be firm, my dear mistress; and I tell you that if there is a G.o.d in heaven that rewards virtue and goodness like yours, you will be happy yet. Come, now, he is waiting for you, and the less time we lose the better. We shall go out by the back way--it is the safest.”
They accordingly did so, and had nearly reached the back wall of the garden when they met Malcomson and c.u.mmiskey, on their way into the kitchen, in order to have a mug of strong ale together. The two men, on seeing the females approach, withdrew to the shelter of a clump of trees, but not until they were known by Connor.
”Come, my dear mistress,” she whispered, ”there is not one second of time to be lost. c.u.mmiskey, who is a Catholic, might overlook our being here at this hour; because, although he is rather in the light of a friend than a servant to your father, still he is a friend to Reilly as well; but as for that ugly Scotchman, that is nothing but bone and skin, I would place no dependence whatever upon him.”
We will not describe the meeting between Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_.
They had no time to lose in the tender expressions of their feelings.
Each shook hands with, and bid farewell to, poor affectionate Connor, who was now drowned in tears; and thus they set off, with a view of leaving the kingdom, and getting themselves legally married in Holland, where they intended to reside.
CHAPTER XX.--The Rapparee Secured
--Reilly and the _Cooleen Bawn_ Escape, and are Captured.
c.u.mmiskey had a private and comfortable room of his own, to which he and the cannie Scotchman proceeded, after having ordered from the butler a tankard of strong ale. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, and when the tankard and gla.s.ses were placed upon the table the Scotchman observed:
”De'il be frae my saul, maisther c.u.mmiskey, but ye're vera comfortable here.”
”Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson; here's your health, sir, and after that we must drink another.”
”Mony thanks, Andrew.”
”Hang it, I'm not Andrew: that sounds like Scotch; I'm Andy, man alive.”
”Wfiel mony thanks, Andy; but for the maitter o' that, what the de'il waur wad it be gin it were Scotch?”
”Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, somehow.”
”Weel, Andrew--Andy--I do just suppose as muckle; gin ye war considered Scotch, muckle more might be expeck' frae you than, being an Irisher as you are, you could be prepared to answer to; whereas--”
”Why, hang it, man alive, we can give three answers for your one.”
”Weel, but how is that now, Andy? Here's to ye in the meantime; and 'am no savin' but this yill is just richt gude drink; it warms the pit o'
the stamach, man.”
”You mane by that the pit o' the stomach, I suppose.”