Aloysius Murphy went a-courting when the woods were green. There were
grapes in the air and birds in the river. A voice and a song went
everywhere, and the voice said, "Where is my beloved?" and the song
replied, "Thy beloved is awaiting thee, and she stretches her hands
abroad and laughs for thy coming; bind then the feather of a bird to
thy heel and a red rose upon thy hair, and go quickly."
So he took his hat from behind the door and his stick from beside the
bed and went out into the evening.
He had been engaged to Miss Nora MacMahon for two ecstatic months, and
held the opinion that the earth and the heavens were aware of the
intensity of his passion, and applauded the unique justice of his
choice.
By day he sat humbly in a solicitor's office, or scurried through the
thousand offices of the Four Courts, but with night came freedom, and
he felt himself to be of the kindred of the gods and marched in pomp.
By what subterranean workings had he become familiar with the lady?
Suffice it that the impossible is possible to a lover. Everything can
be achieved in time. The man who wishes to put a mountain in his
pocket can do so if his pocket and his wish be of the requisite
magnitude.
Now the lady towards whom the raging torrent of his affections had been
directed was the daughter of his employer, and this, while it notated
romance, pointed also to tragedy. Further, while this fact was well
within his knowledge, it was far from the cognizance of the lady. He
would have enlightened her on the point, but the longer he delayed the
revelation, the more difficult did it become. Perpetually his tongue
ached to utter the truth. When he might be squeezing her hand or
plunging his glance into the depths of her eyes, consciousness would
touch him on the shoulder with a bony hand and say, "That is the boss's
daughter you are hugging"--a reminder which was provocative sometimes
of an almost unholy delight, when to sing and dance and go mad was but
natural; but at other times it brought with it moods of woe, abysses of
blackness.
In the solitude of the room wherein he lodged he sometimes indulged in
a small drama, wherein, as the hero, he would smile a slightly sad and
quizzical smile, and say gently, "Child, you are Mr. MacMahon's
daughter, I am but his clerk"--here the smile became more sadly
quizzical--"how can I ask you to forsake the luxury of a residence in
Clontarf for the uncongenial, nay, bleak surroundings of a South
Circular Road habitation?" And she, ah me! She vowed that a hut and a
crust and the love of her heart. . .! No matter!
So, nightly, Aloysius Murphy took the tram to Clontarf, and there,
wide-coated and sombreroed like a mediaeval conspirator, he trod
delicately beside his cloaked and hooded inamorata, whispering of the
spice of the wind and the great stretches of the sea.
Now a lover who comes with the shades of night, harbinger of the moon,
and hand in glove with the stars, must be a very romantic person
indeed, and, even if he is not, a lady whose years are tender can
easily supply the necessary gauze to tone down his too-rigorous
projections. But the bird that flies by night must adduce for our
curiosity substantial reason why his flight has deserted the whiteness
of the daytime; else we may be tempted to believe that his advent in
darkness is thus shrouded for even duskier purposes.--Miss MacMahon had
begun to inquire who Mr. Murphy was, and he had, accordingly, begun to
explain who he was not. This explanation had wrapped his identity in
the most labyrinthine mystery, but Miss MacMahon detected in the rapid,
incomprehensible fluctuations of his story a heart torn by unmerited
misfortune, and whose agony could only be alleviated by laying her own
dear head against its turmoil.
To a young girl a confidant is almost as necessary as a lover, and when
the rendezvous is clandestine, the youth mysterious, and his hat
broad-leafed and flapping, then the necessity for a confidant becomes
imperative.
Miss MacMahon confided the knowledge of all her happiness to the
thrilled ear of her younger sister, who at once hugged her, and bubbled
query, conjecture, and admonishment. ". . . Long or short? . . .
Dark or fair?" ". . . and slender . . . with eyes . . . dove . . .
lightning . . . hair . . . and so gentle . . . and then I said . . .
and then he said . . .!" "Oh, sweet!" sighed the younger sister, and
she stretched her arms wide and crushed the absent excellences of Mr.
Murphy to her youthful breast.
On returning next day from church, having listened awe-stricken to a
sermon on filial obedience, the little sister bound her mother to
secrecy, told the story, and said she wished she were dead.
Subsequently the father of Clann MacMahon was informed, and he said
"Hum" and "Ha," and rolled a fierce, hard eye, and many times during
the progress of the narrative he interjected with furious energy these
words, "Don't be a fool, Jane," and Mrs. MacMahon responded meekly,
"Yes, dear," and Mr. MacMahon then said "Hum" and "Ha" and "Gr-r-r-up"
in a truly terrible and ogreish manner; and in her distant chamber Miss
MacMahon heard the reverberation of that sonorous grunt, and whispered
to her little sister, "Pa's in a wax," and the little sister pretended
to be asleep.
The spectacle of an elderly gentleman, side-whiskered, precise and
grey, disguising himself with mufflers and a squash hat, and stalking
with sombre fortitude the erratic wanderings of a pair of young
featherheads, is one which mirth may be pleased to linger upon. Such a
spectacle was now to be observed in the semi-rural outskirts of
Clontarf. Mr. MacMahon tracked his daughter with considerable stealth,
adopting unconsciously the elongated and nervous stride of a theatrical
villain. He saw her meet a young man wearing a broad-brimmed hat,
whose clothing was mysteriously theatrical, and whose general shape,
when it could be glimpsed, was oddly familiar.
"I have seen that fellow somewhere," said he.
The lovers met and kissed, and the glaring father spoke rapidly but
softly to himself for a few moments. He was not accustomed to walking,
and it appeared as if these two intended to walk for ever, but he kept
them in sight, and when the time came for parting he was close at hand.
The parting was prolonged, and renewed, and rehearsed again with
amendments and additions: he could not have believed that saying
good-bye to a person could be turned into so complicated and symbolic a
ceremony: but, at last, his daughter, with many a backward look and
wave of hand, departed in one direction, and the gentleman, after
similar signals, moved towards the tramway.
"I know that fellow, whoever he is," said Mr. MacMahon.
Passing a lamp-post, Mr. Aloysius Murphy stayed for a moment to light
his pipe, and Mr. MacMahon stared, he ground his teeth, he foamed at
the mouth, and his already prominent eyes bulged still further and
rounder--
"Well, I'm----!" said he.
He turned and walked homewards slowly, murmuring often to himself and
to the night, "All right! wait, though! Hum! Ha! Gr-r-r-up!"
That night he repeatedly entreated his wife "not to be a fool, Jane,"
and she as repeatedly replied, "Yes, dear." Long after midnight he
awoke her by roaring violently from the very interior depths of a
dream, "Cheek of the fellow! Pup! Gr-r-r-up!"
At breakfast on the following morning he suggested to his wife and
elder daughter that they should visit his office later on in the day--
"You have never seen it, Nora," said he, "and you ought to have a look
at the den where your poor old daddy spends his time grinding dress
material for his family from the faces of the poor. I've got some
funny clerks, too: one of them is a curiosity." Here, growing suddenly
furious, he gave an egg a clout.