--A Proposal for Marriage Accepted.
On that evening, when the family were assembled at supper, Mrs. Lindsay,
who had had a previous consultation with her son Harry, thought proper
to introduce the subject of the projected marriage between him and Alice
Goodwin.
“Harry has paid a visit to these neighbors of ours,” said she, “these
Goodwins, and I think, now that he has come home, it would be only
prudent on our part to renew the intimacy that was between us. Not that
I like, or ever will like, a bone in one of their bodies; but it's only
right that we should foil them at their own weapons, and try to get back
the property into the hands of one of the family at least, if we can,
and so prevent it from going to strangers. I am determined to pay them a
friendly visit tomorrow.”
“A friendly visit!” exclaimed her husband, with an expression of
surprise and indignation on his countenance which he could not conceal;
“how can you say a friendly visit, after having just told us that you
neither like them, nor ever will like them? not that it was at all
necessary for you to assure us of that. It is, however, the hypocrisy of
the thing on your part that startle? and disgusts me.”
“Call it prudence, if you please, Lindsay, or worldly wisdom, if you
like, after all the best kind of wisdom; and I only wish you had more of
it.”
“That makes no difference in life,” replied her husband, calmly, but
severely; “as it is, you have enough, and more than enough for the whole
family.”
“But has Harry any hopes of success with Alice Goodwin,” asked Charles,
“because everything depends on that?”
“If he had not, you foolish boy, do you think I would be the first to
break the ice by going to pay them a visit? The girl, I dare say, will
make a very good wife, or if she does not, the property will not be a
pound less in value on that account; that's one comfort.”
“And is it upon this hollow and treacherous principle that you are about
to pay them a friendly visit?” asked her husband, with ill-repressed
indignation.
“Lindsay,” she replied, sharply, “I perceive you are rife for a
quarrel now; but I beg to tell you, sir, that I will neither seek your
approbation nor regard your authority. I must manage these people after
my own fashion.”
“Harry,” said his step-father, turning abruptly, and with incredulous
surprise to him, “surely it is not possible that you are a party to such
a shameful imposture upon this excellent family?”
His brother Charles fastened his eyes upon him as if he would read his
heart.
“I am sorry, sir,” replied that gentleman, “that you should think it
necessary to apply the word imposture to any' proceeding of mine. You
ought to know my mother's outspoken way, and that her heart is kinder
than her language. The fact is, from the first moment I saw that
beautiful girl I felt a warm interest in her, and I feel that interest
increasing every day. I certainly am very anxious to secure her for her
own sake, whilst I candidly admit that I am not wholly indifferent to
the property. I am only a common man like others, and not above the
world and its influences--who can be that lives in it? My mother,
besides, will come to think better of Alice, and all of them, when she
shall be enabled to call Alice daughter; won't you, mother?”
The mother, who knew by the sentiments which he had expressed to her
before on this subject, that he was now playing a game with the
family, did not consider it prudent to contradict him; she consequently
replied,--
“I don't know, Harry; I cannot get their trick about the property out
of my heart; but, perhaps, if I saw it once more where it ought to be, I
might change. That's all I can say at present.”
“Well, come, Harry,” said Lindsay--adverting to what he had just
said--“I think you have spoken fairly enough; I do--it's candid; you are
not above this world; why should you be?--come, it is candid.”
“I trust, sir, you will never find me un-candid, either on this or any
other subject.”
“No; I don't think I shall, Harry. Well, be it so--setting your mother
out of the question,--proceed with equal candor in your courtship. I
trust you deserve her, and, if so, I hope you may get her.”
“If he does not,” said Maria, “he will never get such a wife.”
“By the way, Harry,” asked Charles, “has she given you an intimation of
anything like encouragement?”
“Well, I rather think I am not exactly a fool, Charles, nor likely to
undertake an enterprise without some prospect of success. I hope you
deem me, at least, a candid man.”
“Yes; but there is a class of persons who frequently form too high an
estimate of themselves, especially in their intercourse with women; and
who very often mistake civility for encouragement.”
“Very true, Charles--exceedingly just and true; but I hope I am not one
of those either; my knowledge of life and the world will prevent me
from that, I trust.”
“I hope,” continued Charles, “that if the girl is adverse to such a
connection she will not be harassed or annoyed about it.”
“I hope, Charles, I have too much pride to press any proposal that may
be disagreeable to her; I rather think I have. But have you, Charles,
any reason to suppose that she should not like me?”
“Why, from what you have already hinted, Harry, you ought to be the best
judge of that yourself.”
“Well, I think so, too. I am not in the habit of walking blindfold into
any adventure, especially one so important as this. Trust to my address,
my dear fellow,” he added, with a confident smile, “and, believe me, you
shall soon see her your sister-in-law.”
“And I shall be delighted at it, Harry,” said his sister; “so go on and
prosper. If you get her you will get a treasure, setting her property
out of the question.”
“Her property!” ejaculated Mrs. Lindsay; “but no matter; we shall see. I
can speak sweetly enough when I wish.”
“I wish to God you would try it oftener, then,” said her husband; “but
I trust that during this visit of yours you will not give way to your
precious temper and insult them at the outset. Don't tie a knot with
your tongue that you can't unravel with your teeth. Be quiet, now;
I didn't speak to raise the devil and draw on a tempest--only let us
have a glass of punch, till Charley and I drink success to Harry.”
The next day Mrs. Lindsay ordered the car, and proceeded to pay her
intended visit to the Goodwins. She had arrived pretty near the house,
when two of Goodwin's men, who were driving his cows to a grazing field
on the other side of the road by which she was approaching, having
noticed and recognized her, immediately turned them back and drove them
into a paddock enclosed by trees, where they were completely out of her
sight.
“Devil blow her, east and west!” said one of them. “What brings her
across us now that we have the cattle wid us? and doesn't all the world
know that she'd lave them sick and sore wid one glance of her unlucky
eye. I hope in God she didn't see them, the thief o' the devil that she
is.”
“She can't see them now, the cratures,” replied the other; “and may the
devil knock the light out of her eyes at any rate,” he added, “for sure,
they say it's the light of hell that's in them.”
“Well, when she goes there she'll be able to see her way, and sure
that'll be one comfort,” replied his companion; “but in the mane time,
if anything happens the cows--poor bastes--we'll know the rason of it.”
“She must dale wid the devil,” said the other, “and I hope she'll be
burned for a witch yet; but whisht, here she comes, and may the devil
roast her on his toastin' iron the first time he wants a male!”
“Troth, an' he'd find her tough feedin',” said his comrade; “and.
barrin' he has strong tusks, as I suppose he has, he'd find it no
every-day male wid him.”
As they spoke, the object of their animadversion appeared, and turned
upon them, so naturally, a sinister and sharp look, that it seemed to
the men as if she had suspected the subject of their conversation.
“You are Mr. Goodwin's laborers, are you not?”
“We are, ma'am,” replied one of them, without, as usual, touching his
hat however.
“You ill-mannered boor,” she said, “why do you not touch your hat to a
lady, when she condescends to speak to you?”
“I always touch my hat to a lady, ma'am,” replied the man sharply.
“Come here, you other man,” said she; “perhaps you are not such an
insolent ruffian as this? Can you tell me if Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin are at
home?”
“Are you goin' there?” asked the man, making a low bow.
“Yes, I am, my good man,” she replied.
“Well, then, ma'am,” he added, bowing again, “you'll find that out
when you go to the house;” and he made her another bow to wind up the
information with all due politeness.
“Barney,” said she to the servant, her face inflamed with rage, “drive
on. I only wish I had those ruffianly scoundrels to deal with; I would
teach them manners to their betters at all events; and you, sirra, why
did you not use your whip and chastise them?”
“Faith, ma'am,” replied our friend Barney Casey, “it's aisier said than
done wid some of us. Why, ma'am, they're the two hardiest and best men
in the parish; however, here's Pugshy Ruah turnin' out o' the gate, and
she'll be able to tell you whether they are at home or not.”
“O, that's the woman they say is unlucky,” observed his
mistress--“unlucky to meet, I mean; I have often heard of her; indeed,
it may be so, for I believe there are such persons; we shall speak to
her, however. My good woman,” she said, addressing Pugshy, “allow me to
ask, have you been at Mr. Goodwin's?”
Now Pugshy had all the legitimate characteristics of an “unlucky” woman;
red-haired, had a game eye--that is to say, she squinted with one of
them; Pugshy wore a caubeen hat, like a man; had on neither shoe nor
stocking; her huge, brawny arms, uncovered almost to the shoulders,
were brown with freckles, as was her face; so that, altogether, she
would have made a bad substitute either for the Medicean Venus or the
Apollo Belvidere.
“My good woman, allow me to ask if you have been at Mr. Goodwin's.”
Pugshy, who knew her well, stood for a moment, and closing the eye with
which she did not squint, kept the game one fixed upon her very steadily
for half a minute, and as she wore the caubeen rather rakishly on one
side of her head, her whole figure and expression were something between
the frightful and the ludicrous.
“Was I at Misther Goodwin's, is it? Lord love you, ma'am, (and ye need
it, _sotto voce_), an' maybe you'd give us a thrifle for the male's
mate; it's hard times wid us this weader.”
“I have no change; I never bring change out with me.”
“You're goin' to Mr. Goodwin's, ma'am?”
“Yes; are he and Mrs. Goodwin at home, can you tell me?”
“They are, ma'am, but you may as well go back again; you'll have no luck
this day.”
“Why so?”
“Why, bekaise you won't; didn't you meet me? Who ever has luck that
meets me? Nobody ought to know that betther than yourself, for, by all
accounts, you're tarred wid the same stick.”
“Foolish woman,” replied Mrs. Lindsay, “how is it in your power to
prevent me?”
“No matther,” replied the woman; “go an; but mark my words, you'll have
your journey for nuttin', whatever it is. Indeed, if I turned back three
steps wid you it might be otherwise, but you refused to cross my hand,
so you must take your luck,” and with a frightful glance from the eye
aforesaid, she passed on.
As she drove up to Mr. Goodwin's residence she was met on the steps of
the hall-door by that kind-hearted gentleman and his wife, and received
with a feeling of gratification which the good people could not
disguise.
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Lindsay, after they had got seated in the
drawing-room, “that you are surprised to see me here?”
“We are delighted, say, Mrs. Lindsay,” replied Mr. Goodwin--“delighted.
Why should ill-will come between neighbors and friends without any just
cause on either side? That property--”
“O, don't talk about that,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “I didn't come to
speak about it; let everything connected with it be forgotten; and
as proof that I wish it should be so, I came here to-day to renew the
intimacy that should subsist between us.”
“And, indeed,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, “the interruption of that intimacy
distressed us very much--more, perhaps, Mrs. Lindsay, than you might
feel disposed to give us credit for.”
“Well, my dear madam,” replied the other, “I am sure you will be glad
to hear that I have not only my own inclination, but the sanction and
wish of my whole family, in making this friendly visit, with the hope of
placing us all upon our former footing. But, to tell you the truth, this
might not have been so, were it not for the anxiety of my son Henry, who
has returned to us, and whom, I believe, you know.”
“We have that pleasure,” replied Goodwin; “and from what we have seen of
him, we think you have a right to feel proud of such a son.”
“So I do, indeed,” replied his mother; “he is a good and most amiable
young man, without either art or cunning, but truthful and honorable
in the highest degree. It is to him we shall all be indebted for this
reconciliation; or, perhaps, I might say,” she added, with a smile, “to
your own daughter Alice.”
“Ah! poor Alice,” exclaimed her father; “none of us felt the
estrangement of the families with so much regret as she did.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Lindsay,” added his wife, “I can bear witness to that;
many a bitter tear it occasioned the poor girl.”
“I believe she is a most amiable creature,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “and
I believe,” she added with a smile, “that there is one particular young
gentleman of that opinion as well as myself.”
We believe in our souls that the simplest woman in existence, or that
ever lived, becomes a deep and thorough diplomatist when engaged in
a conversation that involves in the remotest degree any matrimonial
speculation for a daughter. Now, Mrs. Goodwin knew as well as the reader
does, that Mrs. Lindsay made allusion to her son Harry, the new-comer;
but she felt that it was contrary to the spirit of such negotiations
to make a direct admission of that feeling; she, accordingly, was of
opinion that in order to bring Mrs. Lindsay directly to the point, and
to exonerate herself and her husband from ever having entertained the
question at all, her best plan was to misunderstand her, and seem to
proceed upon a false scent.
“O, indeed, Mrs. Lindsay,” she replied, “I am not surprised at that;
Charles and Alice were always great favorites with each other.”
“Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay; “Charles! What could induce you
to think of associating Charles and Alice? He is unworthy of such an
association.”
“Bless me,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodwin in her turn; “why, I thought you
alluded to Charles.”
“No,” said her neighbor, “I alluded to my eldest son, Harry, to whose
good offices in this matter both families are so much indebted. He is
worthy of any girl, and indeed few girls are worthy of him; but as for
Alice, you know what a favorite she was with me, and I trust now I shall
like her even better than ever.”
“You are right, Mrs. Lindsay,” said Goodwin, “in saying that few women
are worthy of your eldest son; he is a most gentlemanly, and evidently
a most accomplished young man; his conversation at breakfast here the
morning after the storm was so remarkable, both for good sense and good
feeling, that I am not surprised at your friendly visit today, Mrs.
Lindsay. He was sent, I hope, to introduce a spirit of peace and concord
between us, and God forbid that we should repel it; on the contrary,
we hail his mediation with delight, and feel deeply indebted to him for
placing both families in their original position.”
“I trust in a better position,” replied his adroit mother; “I trust in a
better position, Mr. Goodwin, and a still nearer and dearer connection.
It is better, however, to speak out; you know me of old, my dear
friends, and that I am blunt and straightforward--as the proverb has it,
'I think what I say, and I say what I think.' This visit, then, is made,
as I said, not only by my own wish, but at the express entreaty of my
son Harry, and the great delight of the whole family; there is therefore
no use in concealing the fact--he is deeply attached to your daughter,
Alice, and was from the first moment he saw her;--of course you now
understand my mission--which is, in fact, to make a proposal of marriage
in his name, and to entreat your favorable consideration of it, as well
as your influence in his behalf with Alice herself.”
“Well, I declare, Mrs. Lindsay,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, (God forgive
her!) “you have taken us quite by surprise--you have indeed;--dear
me--I'm quite agitated; but he is, indeed, a fine young man--a perfect
gentleman in his manners, and if he be as good as he looks--for
marriage, God help us, tries us all--”
“I hope it never tried you much, Martha,” replied her husband, smiling.
“No, my dear, I don't say so. Still, when the happiness of one's child
is concerned--and such a child as Alice--”
“But consider, Mrs. Goodwin,” replied the ambassadress, who, in
fact, was not far from an explosion at what she considered a piece of
contemptible vacillation on the part of her neighbor--“consider, Mrs.
Goodwin,” said she, “that the happiness of my son is concerned.”
“I know it is,” she replied; “but speak to her father, Mrs. Lindsay--he,
as such, is the proper person--O, dear me.”
“Well, Mr. Goodwin--you have heard what I have said?”
“I have, madam,” said he; “but thank God I am not so nervous as my good
wife here. I like your son, Harry, very much, from what I have seen
of him--and, to be plain with you, I really see no objection to such a
match. On the contrary, it will promote peace and good-will between
us; and, I have no doubt, will prove a happy event to the parties most
concerned.”
“O, there is not a doubt of it,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodwin, now chiming in
with her husband; “no, there can be no doubt of it. O, they will be very
happy together, and that will be so delightful. My darling Alice!”--and
here she became pathetic, and shed tears copiously--“yes,” she added,
“we will lose you, my darling, and a lonely house we will have after
you, for I suppose they will live in the late Mr. Hamilton's residence,
on their own property.”
This allusion to the arrangements contemplated in the event of the
marriage, redeemed, to a certain degree, the simple-hearted Mrs. Goodwin
from the strongest possible contempt on the part of a woman who was
never known to shed a tear upon any earthly subject.
“Well, then,” proceeded Mrs. Lindsay, “I am to understand that this
proposal on the behalf of my son is accepted?”
“So far as I and Mrs. Goodwin are concerned,” replied Goodwin, “you are,
indeed, Mrs. Lindsay, and so far all is smooth and easy; but, on the
other hand, there is Alice--she, you know, is to be consulted.”
“O! as for poor Alice,” said her mother, “there will be no difficulty
with her; whatever I and her father wish her to do, if it be to please
us, that she will do.”
“I trust,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “she has no previous attachment; for that
would be unfortunate for herself, poor girl.”
“She an attachment!” exclaimed her mother; “no, the poor, timid creature
never thought of such a thing.”
“It is difficult for parents to know that,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “but
where is she?”
“She's gone out,” replied her mother, “to take a pleasant jaunt somewhere
with a young friend of ours, a Mr. O'Connor; but, indeed, I'm glad she
is not here, for if she was, we could not, you know, discuss this matter
in her presence.”
“That is very true,” observed Mrs. Lindsay, dryly; “but perhaps she
doesn't regret her absence. As it is, I think you ought to impress upon
her that, in the article of marriage, a young and inexperienced girl
like her ought to have no will but that of her parents, who are best
qualified, from their experience and knowledge of life to form and
direct her principles.”
“I do not think,” said her father, “that there is anything to be
apprehended on her part. She is the most unselfish and disinterested
girl that ever existed, and sooner than give her mother or me a pang, I
am sure she would make any sacrifice; but at the same time,” he added,
“if her own happiness were involved in the matter, I should certainly
accept no such sacrifice at her hands.”
“As to that, Mr. Goodwin,” she replied, “I hope we need calculate upon
nothing on her part but a willing consent and obedience. At all events,
it is but natural that they should be pretty frequently in each other's
society, and that my son should have an opportunity of inspiring her
with good will towards him, if not a still warmer feeling. The matter
being now understood, of course, that is and will be his exclusive
privilege.”
“Your observations, my dear madam, are but reasonable and natural,”
replied Goodwin. “Why, indeed, should it be otherwise, considering their
contemplated relation to each other? Of course, we shall be delighted
to see him here as often as he chooses to come, and so, I am sure, will
Alice.”
They then separated upon the most cordial terms; and Mrs. Lindsay,
having mounted her vehicle, proceeded on her way home. She was, however,
far from satisfied at the success of her interview with the Goodwins. So
far as the consent of her father and mother went, all was, to be sure,
quite as she could have wished it; but then, as to Alice herself, there
might exist an insurmountable difficulty. She did not at all relish the
fact of that young lady's taking her amusement with Mr. O'Connor, who
she knew was of a handsome person and independent circumstances, and
very likely to become a formidable rival to her son. As matters stood,
however, she resolved to conceal her apprehensions on this point, and to
urge Harry to secure, if possible, the property, which both she herself
and he had solely in view. As for the girl, each of them looked on her
as a cipher in the transaction, whose only value was rated by the broad
acres which they could not secure without taking her along with them.
The family were dispersed when she returned home, and she, consequently,
reserved the account of her mission until she should meet them in the
evening. At length the hour came, and she lost no time in opening
the matter at full length, suppressing, at the same time, her own
apprehensions of Alice's consent, and her dread of the rivalry on the
part of O'Connor.
“Well,” said she, “I have seen these people; I have called upon them, as
you all know; and, as I said, I have seen them.”
“To very little purpose, I am afraid,” said her husband; “I don't like
your commencement of the report.”
“I suppose not,” she replied; “but, thank God, it is neither your liking
nor disliking that we regard, Lindsay. I have seen them, Harry; and I am
glad to say that they are civil people.”
“Is it only now you found that out?” asked her husband; “why, they never
were anything else, Jenny.”
“Well, really,” said she, “I shall be forced to ask you to leave the
room if you proceed at this rate. Children, will you protect me from the
interruption and the studied insults of this man?”
“Father,” said Charles, “for Heaven's sake will you allow her to state
the result of her visit? We are all very anxious to hear it; none more
so than I.”
“Please except your elder brother,” said Harry, laughing, “whose
interest you know, Charley, is most concerned.”
“Well, perhaps so,” said Charles; “of course, Harry--but proceed,
mother, we shan't interrupt you.”
“O, go on,” said his mother, “go on; discuss the matter among you, I can
wait; don't hesitate to interrupt me; your father there has set you that
gentlemanly example.”
“It must surely be good when it comes,” said Harry,with a smile; “but do
proceed, my dear mother, and never mind these queer folk; go on at once,
and let us know all: we--that is, myself--are prepared for the worst; do
proceed, mother.”
“Am I at liberty to speak?” said she, and she looked at them with a
glance that expressed a very fierce interrogatory. They all nodded, and
she resumed:
“Well, I have seen these people, I say; I have made a proposal of
marriage between Harry and Alice, and that proposal is--”
She paused, and looked around her with an air of triumph; but whether
that look communicated the triumph of success, or that of her inveterate
enmity and contempt for them ever since the death of old Hamilton,
was as great a secret to them as the Bononian enigma. There was a dead
silence, much to her mortification, for she would have given a great
deal that her husband had interrupted her just then, and taken her upon
the wrong tack.
“Well,” she proceeded, “do you all wish to hear it?”
Lindsay put his forefinger on his lips, and nodded to all the rest to do
the same.
“Ah, Lindsay,” she exclaimed, “you are an ill-minded man; but it matters
not so far as you are concerned--in three words, Harry, the proposal is
accepted; yes, accepted, and with gratitude and thanksgiving.”
“And you had no quarrel?” said Lindsay, with astonishment; “nor you
didn't let out on them? Well, well!”
“Children, I am addressing myself to you, and especially to Harry here,
who is most interested; no, I see nothing to prevent us from having back
the property and the curds-and-whey along with it.”
“Faith, and the curds-and-whey are the best part of it after all,” said
Lindsay; “but, in the meantime, you might be a little more particular,
and give us a touch of your own eloquence and ability in bringing it
about.”
“What did Alice herself say, mother?” asked Charles; “was she a party to
the consent? because, if she was, your triumph, or rather Harry's here,
is complete.”
“It is complete,” replied his mother, having recourse to a dishonest
evasion; “the girl and her parents have but one opinion. Indeed, I
always did the poor thing the credit to believe that she never was
capable of entertaining an opinion of her own, and it now turns out a
very fortunate thing for Harry that it is so; but of course he has made
an impression upon her.”
“As to that, mamma,” said Maria, “I don't know--he may, or he may not;
but of this I am satisfied, that Alice Goodwin is a girl who can form
an opinion for herself, and that, whatever that opinion be, she will
neither change or abandon it upon slight grounds. I know her well, but
if she has consented to marry Harry she will marry him, and that is all
that is to be said about it.”
“I thought she would,” said Harry; “I told you, Charley, that I didn't
think I was a fool--didn't I?”
“I know you did, Harry,” replied his brother; “but I don't know how--it
strikes me that I would rather have any other man's opinion on that
subject than your own; however, time will tell.”
“It will tell, of course; and if it proves me a fool, I will give
you leave to clap the fool's cap on me for life. And now that we
have advanced so far and so well, I may go and take one of my evening
strolls, in order to meditate on my approaching happiness.” And he did
so.
The family were not at all surprised at this, even although the period
of his walks frequently extended into a protracted hour of the night.
Not so the servants, who wondered why Master Harry should walk so much
abroad and remain out so late at night, especially considering the
unsettled and alarming state of the country, in consequence of the
outrages and robberies which were of such frequent occurrence. This,
it is true, was startling enough to these simple people; but that which
filled them not only with astonishment, but with something like awe,
was the indifference with which he was known to traverse haunted places
alone and unaccompanied, when the whole country around, except thieves
and robbers, witches, and evil spirits, were sound asleep. “What,” they
asked each other, “could he mean by it?”
“Barney Casey, you that knows a great deal for an unlarned man, tell
us what you think of it,” said the cook; “isn't it the world's wondher,
that a man that's out at such hours doesn't see somethin'? There's Lanty
Bawn, and sure they say he saw the _white woman_ beyant the end of the
long _boreen_ on Thursday night last, the Lord save us; eh, Barney?”
Barney immediately assumed the oracle.
“He did,” said he; “and what is still more fearful, it's said there was
a black man along wid her. They say that Lanty seen them both, and that
the black man had his arm about the white woman's waist, and was kissin'
her at full trot.”
The cook crossed herself, and the whole kitchen turned up its eyes at
this diabolical piece of courtship.
“Musha, the Lord be about us in the manetime; but bad luck to the ould
boy, (a black man is always considered the devil, or the ould boy,
as they call him,) wasn't it a daisant taste he had, to go to kiss a
ghost?”
“Why,” replied Barney with a grin, “I suppose the ould chap is hard set
on that point; who the devil else would kiss him, barrin' some she ghost
or other? Some luckless ould maid, I'll go bail, that gather a beard
while she was here, and the devil now is kissin' it off to get seein'
what kind of a face she has. Well, all I can say,” he proceeded, “is,
that I wish him luck of his employment, for in troth it's an honorable
one and he has a right to be proud of it.”
“Well, well,” said the housemaid, “it's a wondher how any one can walk
by themselves at night; wasn't it near the well at the foot of the long
hill that goes up to where the Davorens live that they were seen?”
“It was,” replied Barney; “at laste they say so.”
“And didn't yourself tell me,” she proceeded, “that that same lonesome
boreen is a common walk at night wid Master Harry?”
“And so it is, Nanse,” replied Barney: “but as for Misther Harry, I
believe it's party well known, that by night or by day he may walk where
he likes.”
“Father of heaven!” they exclaimed in a low, earnest voice; “but why,
Barney?” they asked in a condensed whisper.
“Why! Why is he called _Harry na Suil Balor_ for? Can you tell me that?”
“Why, bekaise his two eyes isn't one color.”
“And why aren't they one color? Can you tell me that?”
“O, the sorra step farther I can go in that question.”
“No,” said Barney, full of importance, “I thought not, and what is more,
I didn't expect it from you. His mother could tell, though. It's in her
family, and there's worse than that in her family.”
“Troth, by all accounts,” observed the girl, “there never was anything
good in her family. But, Barney, achora, will you tell us, if you know,
what's the rason of it?”
“If I know?” said Barney, rather offended; “maybe I don't know, and
maybe I do, if it came to that. Any body, then, that has two eyes of
different colors always has the Evil Eye, or the _Suil Balor_, and has
the power of overlookin'; and, between ourselves, Masther Harry has it.
The misthress herself can only overlook cattle, bekaise both her eyes is
of the one color; but Masther Harry could overlook either man or woman
if he wished. And how do you think that comes?”
“The Lord knows,” replied the cook, crossing herself; “from no good, at
any rate. Troth, I'll get a gospel and a scapular, for, to tell you the
truth, I observed that Masther Harry gave me a look the other day that
made my flesh creep, by rason that he thought the mutton was overdone.”
“O, you needn't be afeard,” replied Barney; “he can overlook or not, as
he plaises; if he does not wish to do so, you're safe enough; but when
any one like him that has the power wishes to do it, they could wither
you by degrees off o' the airth.”
“God be about us! But, Barney, you didn't tell us how it comes, for all
that.”
“It comes from the fairies. Doesn't every one know that the fairies
themselves has the power of overlookin' both cattle and Christians?”
“That's true enough,” she replied; “every one, indeed, knows that. Sure,
my aunt had a child that died o' the fairies.”
“Yes, but Masther Harry can see them.”
“What! is it the fairies?”
“Ay, the fairies, but only wid one eye, that piercin' black one of his.
No, no; as I said before, he may walk where he likes, both by night and
by day; he's safe from everything of the kind; even a ghost daren't lay
a finger on him; and as the devil and the fairies are connected, he's
safe from him, too, in this world at laste; but the Lord pity him when
he goes to the next; for there he'll suffer _lalty_.”
The truth is, that in those days of witchcraft and apparitions of all
kinds, and even in the present, among the ignorant and uneducated of the
lower classes, any female seen at night in a lonely place, and supposed
to be a spirit, was termed a white woman, no matter what the color
of her dress may have been, provided it was not black. The same
superstition held good when anything in the shape of a man happened to
appear under similar circumstances. Terror, and the force of an excited
imagination, instantly transformed it into a black man, and that black
man, of course, was the devil himself. In the case before us, however,
our readers, we have no doubt, can give a better guess at the nature
of the black man and white woman in question than either the cook, the
housemaid, or even Barney himself.
It was late that night when Harry came in. The servants, with whose
terrors and superstitions Casey had taken such liberties, now looked
upon him as something awful, and, as might be naturally expected, felt a
dreadful curiosity with respect to him and his movements. They lay
awake on the night in question, with the express purpose of satisfying
themselves as to the hour of his return, and as that was between twelve
and one, they laid it down as a certain fact that there was something
“not light,” and beyond the common in his remaining out so late.