She remained a considerable time in a state of insensibility, and, when
recovered, she found herself in a bed laid upon the floor in a corner of
the outside room. Her senses were at first confused--she felt as if
waking from a disagreeable dream, but in a few minutes a perfect
recollection of what had passed returned. She saw some one sitting by
the bed--she raised herself a little, and perceived Sister Mary. "This
is, indeed, a charitable visit," cried she, extending her hand, and
speaking in a low broken voice. The good-natured nun jumped from her
seat on hearing her speak, and embraced her most tenderly. Her caresses
affected Amanda inexpressibly--she dropped her head upon her breast, and
wept with a vehemence which relieved the oppression of her heart.
Sister Mary said she had never heard of her return to the country, till
Mrs. Byrne came to St. Catherine's for a few sprigs of rosemary to strew
over the poor captain. She had returned with her then to the cabin, to
try if she could be of any service, and to invite her, in the name of
the prioress and the whole sisterhood, to the convent.
Amanda thanked her for her kind invitation, which, she said, she must
decline accepting for a few days, till she had performed all her duties,
which, in a voice half stifled by sobs, she added, "the grave would soon
terminate." She was sorry, she said, that they had undressed her, and
requested Sister Mary to assist her in putting on her clothes. The
sister tried to dissuade her from this, but soon found she was
determined to spend the remainder of the night in her father's
apartment. She accordingly dressed her--for Amanda's trembling hands
refused their accustomed office--and made her take a glass of wine and
water, ere she suffered her to move towards the door. Amanda was
astonished, as she approached it, to hear a violent noise, like the
mingled sounds of laughing and singing. Her soul recoiled at the
tumult, and she asked Sister Mary, with a countenance of terror, "what
it meant?" She replied, "it was only some friends and neighbors doing
honor to the captain." Amanda hastily opened the door, anxious to
terminate the suspense these words occasioned, but, how great was her
horror, when she perceived a set of the meanest rustics assembled round
the bed, with every appearance of inebriety, laughing, shouting, and
smoking. What a savage scene for a child, whose heart was bursting with
grief! She shrieked with horror, and, flinging herself into the arms of
Sister Mary, conjured her to have the room cleared.
Sister Mary, from being accustomed to such scenes, felt neither horror
nor disgust: she complied, however, with the request of Amanda, and
besought them to depart, saying: "that Miss Fitzalan was a stranger to
their customs, and besides, poor thing, quite beside herself with
grief." They began to grumble at the proposal of removing; they had made
preparations for spending a merry night, and Mrs. Byrne said, "if she
had thought things would have turned out in this way, the captain might
have found some other place to die in--for the least one could have,
after his giving them so much trouble, was a little enjoyment with one's
neighbors at the latter end." Johnaten and Kate, who were among the
party, joined their entreaties to Sister Mary's, and she, to tempt them
to compliance, said, "that in all probability they would soon have
another and a better opportunity for making merry than the present."
They at length retired, and Sister Mary and Amanda were left alone in
the chamber of death. The dim light which remained cast a glimmering
shade upon the face of Fitzalan, that added to its ghastliness. Amanda
now indulged in all the luxury of grief, and found in Sister Mary a
truly sympathetic friend, for the good nun was famed throughout the
little circle of her acquaintance for weeping with those that wept, and
rejoicing with those that rejoiced. She obtained a promise from Amanda
of accompanying her to St. Catherine's as soon as her father was
interred; and in return for this she gave an assurance of continuing
with her till the last melancholy offices were over, and also that, with
the assistance of Johnaten, she would see everything proper provided.
This was some comfort to Amanda, who felt herself at present unequal to
any exertion; yet, notwithstanding her fatigue and illness, she
persevered in her resolution of sitting up with her father every night,
dreading that, if she retired to bed, a scene of riot would again ensue,
which, in her opinion, was sacrilege to the dead. She went to bed every
morning and was nursed with the most tender attention by Sister Mary,
who also insisted on being her companion at night. This, however, was
but a mere matter of form, for the good sister was totally unable to
keep her eyes open, and slept as comfortably upon the earthen floor,
with her gown made into a pillow for her head, as if laid upon down:
then was poor Amanda left to her own reflections, and the melancholy
contemplation of her beloved father's remains. The evening of the fourth
day after his decease was fixed upon for his interment; with streaming
eyes and a breaking heart, Amanda beheld him put into the coffin, and in
that moment felt as if he had again died before her. A small procession
attended, consisting of the people of the house, Johnaten and Kate, and
a few respectable farmers, to whom Fitzalan had endeared himself during
his short abode at Castle Carberry; the men had scarfs and hat-bands,
and the women hoods.
Johnaten, who had been a soldier in his youth, resolved to pay him some
military honors, and placed his hat and sword upon the coffin. Amanda,
by the most painful efforts, supported the preparations for his removal;
but when she saw the coffin actually raised to be taken out, she could
no longer restrain her feelings; she shrieked in the agony of her soul,
a sickness, almost deadly, seized her and she fell fainting upon Sister
Mary's bosom.