About two hours later in the day "the chief" arrived to "visit the
scene," as he was bound to do before he made his report.
He was received courteously and with respect by Winny Cavana, who
showed him into the parlor. He considerately began by regretting the
unfortunate and melancholy occurrence which had taken place; but of
course added, the satisfaction it was to him, indeed that it must be
to every one, that the perpetrators had been secured, particularly the
principal mover in the sad event.
Winny made no remark, and "the chief" then requested her to state in
detail what had occurred from the time the men broke into the house
until the shot was fired which wounded the man. She seemed at first
disinclined to do so; but upon that gentleman explaining that she
would be required to do so on her oath, when the magistrate called to
take her information, she merely sighed, and said:
"I suppose so; indeed I do not see why I should not."
She then gave him a plain and succinct account as far as their conduct
to herself was concerned, and referred him to her father and the
servants for the share they had taken toward them.
He then obtained from old Cavana, Biddy Murtagh, and Jamesy Doyle what
they knew of the transaction; and thus fully primed and loaded for his
report, he left, telling Winny Cavana "the stipendiary magistrate had
left home the day before, but that he would be back the next day; and
she might expect an official visit from him, as he would make
arrangements with him that she should not be brought from her home,
when no doubt the prisoners would be remanded for the doctor's report
of the wounded man."
The morning after "the chief" had been at Rathcash house, Winny
Cavana, almost immediately after breakfast, told Jamesy Doyle to get
ready and come with her to Shanvilla. She was anxious to ascertain
from personal knowledge how poor Emon was going on. She was distracted
with the contradictory reports which Biddy Murtagh brought in from
time to time from the passers-by upon the road. Winny had little, if
any, hope at all that Edward Lennon would survive. She had been
assured by Father Farrell, in whose truth and experience she placed
the greatest confidence, that it was _impossible_, although he might
linger for a few days. The doctor, too, had pronounced the same solemn
doom. Her thoughts as she hastened toward Shanvilla were full of awe
and _determination_. She had spent the night, the entire night, for
she had never closed an eye, in laying down a broad short map of her
future life, and it was already engraven on her mind. She had been
clever in drawing such things at the school where she had him been
educated, and her thoughts now took that form.
Her poor father while he lived; herself before and after his death;
the Lennons one and all; Kate Mulvey, Phil M'Dermott, Jamesy Doyle,
Biddy Murtagh, and Bully-dhu were the only spots marked upon the map;
but they were conspicuous, like the capital towns of counties. There
was but one river on the map, and it could be traced by Winny's tears.
It was the great river of "the Past," and rose in the distant
mountains of her memory which hemmed in this map of her fancy. It
flowed first round old Ned and the Lennons, who were bounded by Winny
on the north, south, east, and west. It passed by Kate Mulvey and Phil
M'Dermott, and thence passing by Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and
Bully-dhu, it emptied itself into the Irish ocean of Winny's
affectionate heart.
Winny knew that she would meet Father Farrell at Emon's bedside; he
scarcely ever left it; and she knew that he would not deceive
her as to his real state. She knew, too, that he would not refuse her
a sincere Christian advice and counsel upon the sudden resolve which
had taken possession of her heart.
Father Farrell saw her coming from Emon's window, and went to meet her
at the door. They stood in the kitchen alone. The poor father and
mother had been kept out of Emon's room by the priest, and were
bewailing their fate in their own room.
"I am glad you are come, Winny, dear," said he. "The poor fellow has
not ceased to speak of you and pray for you from the first, when he
does transgress his orders not to speak at all."
"How is he, oh, how is he, Father Farrell?"
"Stronger just now, but dying, Winny Cavana. Let nothing tempt you to
deceive yourself. He has been so much stronger for the last hour or so
that I was just going to send my gig for yon. He said it would soothe
his death-bed, which he knows he is on, Winny, to see you and have
your blessing."
"He shall have my blessing, and I shall claim every right to give it
to him. Father Farrell," she added, solemnly, but with a full,
untrembling tone, "will you marry me to Edward Lennon?"
The priest almost staggered back from her for a moment.
"Yes, Father Farrell, you have heard aright, and I solemnly and
sincerely repeat the question. Listen: You must know that never on
this earth will I wed any other. I shall devote myself and the greater
portion of any wealth I may possess to the church for charitable
purposes after Edward Lennon, my future husband--future here and
hereafter--is dead. I wish to call him husband by that precious right
which death will so soon rob me of. Even so, Father Farrell; give me
that right, short though it be. It will enable me legally to provide
for his honest, stout-hearted father and his broken-hearted mother,
without the lying lips of slander doubting the motive. Oh, Father
Farrell, it is the only consolation left me now to hope for, or in
your power to bestow."
The priest was struck dumb. Her eyes, her breath, pleaded almost more
than her words.
Father Farrell sat down upon a form.
"Winny Cavana," he said, "do not press me--that is, I mean, do not
hurry me. The matter admits of serious consideration, and may not be
altogether so unreasonable or extraordinary as it might at first
appear. But I say that it requires consideration. Walk abroad for a
few minutes and let me think."
"No, father. You may remain here for a few minutes and think. Let me
go in and see my poor Emon."
"Yes, yes, you shall; but I must go in along with you, Winny. I can
come out again if I find that more consideration is necessary."
Winny saw that she had gained her point. They then entered the room,
and Emon cast such a look of gratitude and love upon Winny as calmed
every doubt upon the priest's mind, for he was afraid that Emon
himself would object, and that the scene would injure him.
Winny was soon at Emon's side, with his hand clasped in hers.
"You are come, Winny dear, to bid me a final good-by--in this world,"
he murmured. "God bless you for your goodness and your love for me!"
"I am come, Emon dear, to fulfil that love in the presence of heaven,
and with Father Farrell's sanction--am I not, Father Farrell?"
"I never doubted it, Winny dear."
"And you shall not doubt it now. You shall die declaring it. Emon--
Emon, my own Emon-a-knock, I am come to claim the promise you gave me
to make me your wife."
"Great God, Winny I are you mad?--she not mad. Father Farrell?"
"No, Emon dear, she really is not mad. She will devote herself and her
whole future life to charity and the love of a better world than this.
She can do that not only as well, but better, in some respects, as
your widow than otherwise. I have considered the matter, and I cannot
see that there are any just reasons to deny her request."
"Then I shall die happy, though it be this very night. But oh, Winny,
Winny, think of what you are about; time will soften your grief, and
you may yet be happy with ano--"
"Stop, Emon dear--not another word; for here, before heaven and Father
Farrell, I swear never shall I marry any one in this world but you.
Here, Father Farrell, begin; here is a ring you gave me yourself,
Emon, and although not a wedding-ring it will do very well--we will
make one of it."
Father Farrell then brought in Emon's father and mother, and married
Winny Cavana to the dying man.
She stooped down and kissed his pallid lips. Big drops of sweat burst
out upon his forehead, and Father Farrell saw that the last moment was
at hand. Winny held his hand between both hers, and said, "Emon, you
are now mine--mine by divine right, and I resign you to the Lord." And
she looked up to heaven through the roof, while the big tears rolled
down her pale cheeks.
"Winny," said Emon, in a solemn but distinct voice, "I now die happy.
For this I have lived, and for this I die. I cannot count on even
hours now; my moments are numbered. I feel death trembling round my
heart. But you have calmed its approach, Winny dear. Your love and
devotion at a moment like this is the happiest pang that softens my
passage to the grave. I can now claim a right to what you promised me
as a favor--my portion of your space in Rathcash chapel-yard. God
bless you, Winny dear!--Good-by--my--wife!"
Yes, Emon had lived and had died for the love of her who was _now his
widow_.
As Emon had ceased to speak, a bright smile broke over his whole
countenance, and he rendered his last sigh into the safe-keeping of
his guardian angel, until the last great day.
Winny knew that he was dead, though his breath had passed so gently
forth that he might have been only falling asleep. She continued to
hold his hand, and to gaze upon his still features, while Father
Farrell's lips moved in silent prayer, more for the living than the
dead.
"Come, Winny," he at last said, "you cannot remain here just at
present. Come along with me, and I will bring you in my gig to your
father's house, where I will tell him all myself."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Father Farrell," she said, turning
resignedly with him. "Tell poor Pat Lennon what has happened; their
pity for me as a companion in their grief may help to soften their
own. Tell him, of course, Father Farrell, that I shall take all the
arrangements of the funeral upon myself--God help them and me!"
As they came from the dead man's room they met Pat Lennon in the
kitchen, and Winny, throwing her arms round his neck, caught the big
salt tears which were rolling down his face upon her quivering lips.
"I have a right to call you father now," she exclaimed. "You have lost
a son, but I will be your daughter," and she kissed him again and
again.