On their way to Rathcash, Winny in the first instance told the priest
that "of course her poor husband should be buried in Rathcash
chapel-yard, and, as a matter in which she could not interfere, by
Father Roche." Here she stopped, but the kind-hearted priest took her
up at once.
"Of course, my dear child," he said, "that will be quite right.
Indeed, Winny, I should not wish to be the person so soon to add that
sad ceremony to the still sadder one I was engaged in to-day."
"Before God or man, Father Farrell, you will never have cause to
regret that act. It was my own choosing after deliberate
consideration, and I was best judge of my own feelings. I _can_ be
happy now. I never _could_ be happy if it were otherwise."
"God grant it, my love," said the priest.
"But still, Father Farrell," she continued, "I have something more for
you to do for me. Will you not, like a good man, take all the
arrangement of the funeral upon yourself? I will pay every penny of
the expenses, and let them not be niggardly. Thank God, Father
Farrell, I can do so now without reproach."
The kind, sympathizing priest engaged to do everything which was
requisite in the most approved of manner. The more he reflected upon
what he had done, the less fault he had to find with himself. There
was a calm, resigned tone about all that Winny now said very different
from what he might have anticipated from his knowledge of her temper
and disposition, had the fatal moment taken place when the shot was
fired, or even subsequently before she became Edward Lennon's wife.
Bitter revenge, he thought, would have seized her soul toward the man
who had deprived her of all hope or source of happiness in this world.
Now the only time she trusted her tongue to speak of him was an
exclamation--"May God forgive him!"
They soon arrived at Rathcash house, where Father Farrell paid a long
visit to old Ned Cavana. His kindness quite gained upon the old man,
and, before he left, he acquainted him with the facts of his
daughter's position and the death of her husband.
The old man sat silent for some time after the truth had been made
known to him. Winny stood hoping for a look of encouragement and
forgiveness; but the old man gave it not. At length, with that
impatience habitual to her disposition, she rushed into his arms and
wept upon his breast.
"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "I could never be the wife of any man
living after poor Emon's death in defence of my life; ay, more than my
life, of my honor."
"But oh, Winny, Winny! to sacrifice yourself for a man so near the
grave! There was no hope for him, I heerd."
"None, father. I was aware of that. Had there been, I should have
waited patiently. I told Father Farrell here my plans, and the same
thing as swore that I would not alter them. He will now tell them to
you, father dear; and I shall lie down for a couple of hours, for
indeed I want rest of both body and mind."
She then kissed her father again and again, and blessed him, or rather
she prayed God to do so, and went to her room.
Father Farrell then explained all Winny's views to her distracted
father, observing, as he had been enjoined to do, the tenderest love
and respect for the old man; taking nothing "for granted;" but at the
same time showing the utmost confidence that all matters would still
be arranged for his daughter in the same manner he had often explained
to her to be his intention. "One step she was determined on," Father
Farrell said; "and that was to join a religious sisterhood of charity
in the north. Nothing should ever tempt her to marry."
"I'll sell this place at wance," said old Ned. "It's not a month since
I had a rattlin' bid for it; but my landlord--and he's member for the
county, you know--tould me with his own lips, that if ever I had a
mind to part with it, he'd give me a hundred pounds more for it than
any one else."
"That was Winny's wish, Ned; and that you should remove with her to
the north, where she would settle you comfortably, and where she could
see you almost every day in the week."
"Almost," repeated old Ned, sorrowfully.
"Well, perhaps every day, Ned, for that matter."
"Well, Father Farrell, I would not wish to stay here any longer afther
what has happened. I'll sell the place out an' out at wance. I have
nothing to do but to write to my landlord. I could not bear to be
lookin' across at Mick Murdock's afther what tuck place. I think my
poor Winny is right; an' that it was the Lord put it all into her
head. Athen, Father Farrell, maybe it was yourself laid it down for
the little girl?"
"No, Ned; she laid it all down for me. I was going to reason with her
at first, but she put her hand upon my mouth, and told me to stop;
that nothing should alter her plans. I considered her words, Ned, for
a while, and I gave in; not on account of her determination, but
because I thought she was right. And I think so still; even to the
marrying of Emon on his death-bed."
"Indeed, Father Farrell, you have aised my mind. Glory be to God that
guided her!"
"Amen," said the priest.
Father Farrell had now in the kindest manner dealt with old Ned
Cavana, according to Winny's wishes and instructions; so that it was
an easy matter for Winny herself on that evening, when she had joined
her father after a refreshing sleep, to explain more in detail her
intentions as regarded herself, and her wishes as regarded her
friends--those capitals of counties which were marked on the map of
her imagination.
Old Ned was like a child in her hands; and no mother ever handled her
first-born babe more fondly than Winny dealt with her poor old father.
"Ducks an' dhrakes iv it, Winny asthore; ducks an' dhrakes iv it,
Winny dear! Isn't it all your own; what do I want with it, mavrone,
but to see you happy? an' haven't you laid out a plan for both
yourself an' myself that can't be bet, Winny mavoureen?"
The old man was perfectly satisfied with the map, and studied it so
well that he had it by heart before he went to bed, and could have
told you the boundaries of all Winny's wishes to the breadth of a
hair, as he kissed her for the last time that night.
I will spare the reader a detail of the melancholy _cortège_ of poor
Emon-a-knock's funeral, which proceeded from Shanvilla to Rathcash
chapel-yard the day but one after.
Winny had expressed a wish to attend it, but had yielded to the joint
advice of Father Farrell and Father Roche to resist the impulse.
Emon-a-knock had been well and truly loved in life, and was now
sincerely regretted in death. Father Farrell, at the head of the
procession, was met by Father Roche bare-headed at the chapel-gate of
Rathcash, and the melancholy ceremony was performed amidst the silent
grief of the immense crowd around. Poor Emon's last wish was complied
with, and he now occupied his last resting-place with the Cavanas of
Rathcash.