The next morning Winny presented herself at the breakfast-table,
looking more attractive and more tidily dressed, her rich glossy hair
better brushed and smoothed down more carefully than was usual at that
hour of the day. Her daily custom, like all other country girls who
had household concerns to look after, was not to "tidy herself up"
until they had been completed. She was not ignorant, however, of the
great advantage which personal neatness added to beauty gave a young
girl who had a cause to plead. And although the man upon whom she
might have to throw herself for mercy was her father, she was not slow
on this occasion to claim their advocacy for what they might be worth.
But she had also prayed to God to guide her in all her replies to the
parent whom she was bound to honor and obey, as well as to Love. She
had not contented herself with having set out her own appearance to
the best advantage, but she had also set out the breakfast-table in
the same way. The old blue-and-white teapot had been left on the
dresser, and a dark-brown one, with a figured plated lid, taken out of
the cupboard of Sunday china. Two cups and saucers, and plates "to
match," with two real ivory-hafted knives laid beside them. There was
also some white _broken_ sugar in a glass bowl, which Winny had won in
a lottery at Carrick-on-Shannon from a "bazaar-man." There was nothing
extraordinary in all this for persons of their means, though, to tell
the truth, it was not the every-day paraphernalia of their
breakfast-table. Winny had not been idle either in furnishing the
plates with a piping hot potato-cake, a thing of which her father was
particularly fond, and which she often gave him; but this one had a
few carraway-seeds through it, and was supposed to be better than
usual. Then she had a couple of slices of nice thin bacon fried with
an egg, which she knew he liked too. All this was prepared, and
waiting for her father, whose fatigue of the day before had caused him
to sleep over-long.
While waiting for him, it struck Winny that he must think such
preparations out of the common, and perhaps done for a purpose. Upon
reflection she was almost sorry she had not confined her
embellishments to her own personal appearance, and even that, she
began to feel, might have been as well let alone also. But she had
little time now for reflection, for she heard her father's step, as he
came down stairs.
She met him at the door, opening it for him.
"Good morrow, father," she said; "how do you find yourself to-day? I
hope you rested well after your long walk yesterday."
"After a while I did, Winny; but the tea you made was very strong, an'
I didn't sleep for a long time after I went to bed."
"Well, 'a hair of the hound,' you know, father dear. I have a good cup
for you now, too; it will not do you any harm in the morning when you
have the whole day before you. And I have a nice potato-cake for you,
for I know you like it."
"Troth I b'lieve you have, Winny; an' I smell the carraways that I
like. But, Winny, sure the ould blue teapot's not broken, is it?"
"No, father; but I was busy with the potato-cake this morning, and had
not time to wash it out last night, so I took out number one to give
it an airing; and I put down the other things to match."
The portion of this excuse which was true was far greater than that
which was not; and Winny, who as a general rule was truthful, was
satisfied with it--and, reader, so must you be.
"Never mind, Winny, you are mistress here, an' I don't want any
explanation; it wasn't that made me spake; but I'd be sorry th' ould
blue teapot was bruck, for we have it since afore you were well in
your teens. You're lookin' very well this mornin', Winny agra."
"Hush, father; eat your cake, and don't talk nonsense. There's an egg
that black Poll laid this morning, and here's some butter I finished
not five minutes before you came in yesterday evening. Shall I give
you some tea?"
"If you please, Winny dear." And the old man looked at his daughter
with undeniable admiration.
They then enjoyed a neat and comfortable breakfast, which indeed
neither of them seemed in a hurry to bring to an end. The old man was
constrained and silent, and left all the talk to Winny, who, it must
be admitted, never felt it more difficult to furnish conversation. Old
Ned looked at her once or twice intently, as if wondering at her being
much finer than usual; and then he looked at the breakfast gear; and
the expression of his face was as if he suspected something. These
looks, both at herself and the table, did not escape Winny's notice,
but she never met them, always interrupting any exclamation which was
likely to follow them with some question or remark of her own, such
as, "Do you like that cake, father?" "That is the muil cow's butter; I
always keep her milk by itself, and churn it in the small chum for
you, father; you said you liked it." "Here, Bully-dhu, is a piece of
cake for you."
With some such heterogeneous questions or remarks as these, she
managed to parry his looks, or at all events the observations which
were likely to follow them, and direct for the moment--ah, Winny, it
was only for the moment!--his thoughts from whatever was upon them,
and which Winny believed she knew right well.
But this suspense on both sides must come to an end. Old Ned, from his
conversation with Mick Murdock, had determined not to speak to his
daughter until he knew Tom had done so. But Winny did not know this,
and dreaded every moment a thunder-clap would come which she was
herself preparing for her father, and she was anxious, if it was only
for the sake of propriety, to tell her story unprovoked.
The old man now stood up from the table, saying he would be likely to
be out all day, as he was preparing to get down some wheat. But Winny,
when it came to the point, could only stammer out in a feeble voice,
that she wanted to speak to him before he went.
"Now's your time, Winny dear, for I have a great dale to do before
dinner-time; an' I must be off to the men."
"Father dear, I may as well tell you at once--I'm in trouble--about
--about--about--Tom--Murdock." And she threw her arms round his neck,
and laid her cheek upon his shoulder.
"An' is that all, mavourneen? Ah, Winny, Winny, I knew it would come
to this!--mavourneen macree, I knew it would. But there, Winny jewel,
don't be crying--don't be crying; sure you know I'm not the man to
cross your wishes; no--no, my own girl, I'd neither oppose you nor
force you for 'the world; aren't you the only one I have on airth? an'
sure isn't your happiness mine, Winny dear? There, Winny, don't cry;
sure you may do as you like, mavourneen macree, you may."
Winny knew that all this was uttered under a misconception, and it
gave her but little comfort. There was _one_ part of it, however,
she would not forget.
"Oh, father," she sobbed out upon his breast, "Tom Murdock has asked
me to marry him." And the tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Why then, Winny dear, dhry up them tears; sure I know they're on my
account, at the thoughts of partin' me; but won't you be livin' at the
doore with me while I last? Isn't it what I always hoped an' prayed
for?--och, Winny, Winny, but you're the lucky girl this day, an' I'm
the lucky man, for it will add ten years to my life."
And he kissed her yielding lips over and over again. But she did not
speak; while the big tears continued to course themselves down her
pale but beautiful cheeks.
"Don't--don't, Winny asthore; don't be crying on my account; sure I
may say we'll not have to part at all. Mick an' I have it all settled,
mavourneen; he's to build you a grand new house where th' ould one
stan's, an' I'm to furnish it from top to toe; and Mick an' I will
live here, not three hundred yards from the pair of you. Oh, Winny,
Winny, but it's I is the happy man this day! There, don't be cryin', I
tell you; sure I would not gainsay you for the world;" and he kissed
her again. But still she did not speak.
"There, Winny, there; don't be sobbin' an' cryin', I tell you. Why,
what's the matther with you, Winny mavrone?"
"Oh, father, father, it never can be!" she exclaimed in broken sobs,
and clinging to his neck closer than ever.
"Nonsense, Winny! what's the matther, I say? why can't it be? Of
course you did not refuse Tom's offer?"
"I'd, father--indeed I did. I never can care for Tom Murdock; father,
I could never be happy with that man. Don't ask me to marry him."
"Is the girl mad? To be sure I will, Winny. There's but the two of you
in it an' with Mick's farm an' mine joined,--the leases are all as one
as 'free simple,'--you'd be as grand as many ladies an' gentlemen in
the county;" and he disengaged himself from her arms, and strode
toward the door.
Winny thought he was going; but he had no notion of it at so unsettled
a point. She rushed between him and the door.
"Father, don't go!" she cried; "for God's sake don't leave me that
way!"
"Winny, it's what I'm greatly surprised at you, so I am. My whole life
has been spent in puttin' together a dacent little fortun' for you; I
never had one on airth I loved but yourself an' your poor mother--God
rest her sowl! I never spoke a cross word to you, Winny jewel, since I
followed her to the grave, four days after you were born; an' now, in
my old days, when I haven't long to last, you're goin' to break my
heart, an' shorten them same. Oh, Winny, Winny, say it's only jokin'
you are, an' I'll forgive you, cruel as it was."
"No, father, I'm telling you the real truth; people seldom joke with
the tears running down their cheeks; look at them, father. I know all
you say is true; and indeed it will break my own heart to oppose you,
if you do not yield. But listen here, father dear; sure after all your
love and kindness to me for the last eighteen or twenty years, I may
say, you won't go now and spoil it all by crossing my happiness
without any necessity for it. Tom put all the grandeur and wealth
before me himself, that the joining of the two farms and marrying him
would bring to me. But it is no use, father; I never liked that man,
and I never can. Oh, don't ask me, father asthore; I'm contented and
happy as I am."
"Winny, I never found you out in a lie since you could first spake,
an' I'm sure you won't tell me one now. Listen to me, Winny. Tom
Murdock is a fine, handsome young fellow, an' well to do in the
world, with a grand education, an' fit to hould his own anywhere; and
I say he's any young girl's fancy, or ought to be, at any rate. You
an' he have been reared at the doore with each other. What you are
yourself, Winny asthore, I need not say, for every one that sees you
knows it; and well they may, for sure you spake for yourself. It
seldom happens--indeed, Winny, I never knew it--that a boy an' girl
like you an' Tom, reared at the doore that way, fail but what they
take a likin' to each other. It seems Tom done his part, both as to
the likin' an' spakin', as he ought to do in both; but you, Winny,
have done neither. Now, Winny, I can't but think that's very strange,
an' I have but the one way to riddle it. Tell me now, honestly and
plainly, is there any one that cum afore Tom in his request? Answer me
that, Winny?"
"I win, father, honestly and truly. It is not that any one has come
between me and Tom that made me refuse him. The very thing that you
say, of our being reared at the door with one another, has made me
dislike him. I have seen too much of his ways, and heard too many of
his words, ever to like him, father; there is no use in trying to make
me, for I never can."
"But, Winny jewel, you have hardly answered my question yet. Are you
secretly promised, Winny, to any other young man that you're afeard I
wouldn't like? that's the plain question. The truth now, Winny,--the
truth, Winny!"
"No, father, certainly not. Tom Murdock is the only man that ever
asked me."
"Was there ever anything betune you an' young Lennon, Emon-a-knock, as
I have heard you call him myself?"
"Never, father; Emon never spoke to me upon such a subject, and
further than that, he has paid me less compliments and spoken less to
me upon any subject than fifty young men in the parish."
It so happened, however, that the name had hightened Winny's color,
and her father, looking at her with an admiring and affectionate
smile, said:
"Fifty, Winny! well, in throth, I don't wonder at it, or a hundred an'
fifty, if they were in the parish."
Winny took advantage of his smile.
"There, father dear, don't be angry with your poor colleen; she'll do
better than to marry riches with misery. Thank God, and you, father,
she will have more than enough without coveting Tom Murdock's share."
And she held up her beautiful lips, and looked in the old man's face
with eyes swimming in tears.
Old Ned had fought the battle badly, and lost it. He bent down his
head to meet his daughter's caress, and pressed her to his heart.
"There, Winny mavourneen," he exclaimed; "I have not loved you as the
apple of my eye, since your poor mother died, for me to thwart you
now. You shall never marry Tom Murdock except with your own free will
and consent, asthore. As you say, Winny dear, we neither want nor
covet his share. But sure, Winny dear, I thought you were for him all
along."
"Oh, thank you, thank you a thousand times, father dear; that is so
like you. I knew you would not break your Winny's heart."
But Winny Cavana was too honorable, even toward the man she hated, to
tell her father of the conversation she had overheard between old
Murdock and his son at the gate. She had gained her cause without
that.