The reader will recollect that the incidents recorded in the two last
chapters took place toward the latter end of June. We will, therefore,
have time, before the assizes come on, to let him know how far Winny's
fancy map was perfected.
For herself, then, first. She had determined to become a member of a
convent in the north of Ireland, giving up the world with all its
vanities--she knew nothing of its pomps--and devoting her time, her
talents, and whatever money she might finally possess, to religious
and charitable purposes. She had not delayed long after the magistrate
and "the chief" had left, and she had experienced a refreshing sleep,
in taking her father into her confidence to the fullest extent of her
intuitions, not only as regarded herself, but with respect to those
friends whom she had set down upon the map to be provided for.
"Father," she said, continuing a conversation, "there is no use in
your moving such a thing to me. It is no matter at what time you
project it for me; my mind is made up beyond even the consideration of
the question. I will never marry. Do not, like a dear good father that
you have ever been, move it to me any more."
"Indeed, Winny, I could not add a word more than I have already sed;
an' if that fails to bring you round, share I'm dumb, Winny
asthore. God's will be done! I'm dumb."
"It is his will I am seeking, father. What matter if we are the last
of the Cavanas, as you say? Beside, my children would not be Cavanas;
recollect that, father."
"I know that, Winny jewel; but they'd be of th' ould stock all the
same. Their grandfather would be a Cavana, if he lived to see them."
"Be thankful for what you have, father dear. There never was a large
clan of a name but some one of them brought grief to it."
"Ay, Winny asthore; but there is always wan that makes up for it by
their superior goodness. Look at me that never had but the wan, an'
wasn't she, an' isn't she, a threasure to me all the days of my life?
Look at that, Winny."
"And there is your next-door neighbor, father, never had but the one,
and instead of a treasure, has he not been a curse? Look you at that,
father."
Old Ned was silent for some moments, and Winny did not wish to
interrupt his thoughts. She hoped he was coming quite round to her way
of thinking with respect to her never "getting married;" and she was
right.
"Well, Winny asthore," he said, after a pause, "shure you're doin' a
good turn for your sowl hereafther at any rate; an' I'll be led an'
sed by your own sinse of goodness in the matther. For myself, Winny,
wheresomever you go I'll go, where I'll see you sometimes--as often as
you can, Winny. Be my time long or short, I know that you will never
see me worse, if not betther nor what I always was. But it isn't aisy
to lave this place, Winny asthore, where I'm livin' since I was the
hoith of your knee with your grandfather an' your grandmother--God
rest their sowls! There isn't a pebble in the long walk in the garden,
nor a pavin'-stone in the yard, that I couldn't place upon paper
forenent you there this minnit, and tell you the color of them every
wan. There's scarcely a blade of grass in the pasthure-fields that I
couldn't remember where it grows in my dhrames. There isn't a
furze-blossom in the big ditch but what I'd know it out iv the bud it
cum from. There isn't a thrush nor a blackbird about the place but
what I know themselves an' their whistles as well as I know your own
song from Biddy Murtagh's or Jamesy Doyle's. Not a robin-redbreast in
the garden, Winny, that doesn't know me as well as I know you; an' I
could tell you the difference between the very chaffinches--I could,
Winny, I could."
"I know all that, father dear, and I know it will not be easy to break
up all them happy thoughts in your mind. But then you know, father
dear, I could not stop here looking across at the house where that man
lived. God help me, father, I do not know what to do!"
Poor old Ned saw that she was distressed, and was sorry he had drawn
such a picture of his former happiness at Rathcash. The recollection
of these little matters had run upon his tongue, but it was not with
any intention of using them as an argument to change Winny's plans.
"Winny," he said, "I didn't mane to fret you; shure I know what you
say is all thrue. I could not stop here myself no more nor what you
could, Winny, afther what has happened. Dear me, Winny jewel, how soon
you seen through that fellow, an' how glad I am that you didn't give
in to me! But now, Winny asthore, let us quit talking of him, and
listen to what I have to say to you. 'Tis just this. My landlord, who
you know is member for the county, tould me any time I had a mind to
sell my intherest in Rathcash, that he'd give me a hundred pounds more
for it than any one else. I'll write to him tomorrow, plaise God,
about it. You know Jerry Carty? Well, he is afther offerin' me seven
hundred pounds into my fist for my good-will of the place. As
good luck would have it, I did not put any price upon it when my
landlord spoke to me about sellin' it. I can tell him now that I have
a mind to sell it, an' I won't hide the raison aidher. I can let him
know what Carty is willin' to give me for it, an' he's sure to give me
eight hundred pounds. You know, Winny, that your six hundred pounds is
in the bank b'arin' intherest for you, an' what you don't dhraw is
added to it every half year. But that's naidher here nor there, Winny,
for it will be all your own the very moment this place is sould, an',
as I sed before, you may make ducks and dhrakes iv it. Shure I know,
Winny, that'll you never see me want for a haporth while I last, be it
long or short. But, Winny dear, let us live in the wan house; that's
all I ax, mavourneen macree."
"That will be about fourteen hundred pounds in all, father."
"A thrifle more nor that, I think, Winny. Maybe you did not know how
much or how little it was, when you laid it out the way you tould me."
"No, not exactly, father; but I knew I must have been very much within
the mark; I took care of that."
"Go over it again for me, Winny dear, af it wouldn't be too much
throuble."
"Not in the least, father. You know I took Kate Mulvey first, and
determined to settle three hundred pounds upon her for a fortune
against 'she meets with some young man,' as the song says. And I
believe, father, Phil M'Dermott, the whitesmith, will be about the
man. He is very fond of Kate, but he would not marry any woman until
he had saved enough of money to set up a house comfortly and decently
upon. Three hundred pounds fortune with Kate will set them up in good
style, and I shall see the best friend I ever had happy. Then, father,
there are the Lennons, my poor dear husband's parents, whom I shall
next consider. Pat Lennon, poor Emon's father, risked his life most
manfully in my defence. Were it not for his resolute attack upon the
two men with the cart, and the obstruction he gave them, they would
have carried me through the pass long before the police and Jamesy
Doyle came up; and the probability is that you would never have seen
your poor Winny again. I purpose purchasing the good-will of that
little farm and house from which the Murphys are about to emigrate,
and settle a small gratuity upon them during their lives."
"Annuity, I suppose you mane, Winny; but it's no matther. How much
will that take, Winny?"
"About two hundred pounds, father, including the--what is it you call
it, father?'
"Annuity, Winny, annuity; I didn't think you were so--"
"Annuity," she repeated before he had got the other word out, and he
was glad afterward.
"Well, Winny, that's only five hundred out of somethin' over six."
"Then I'll give Biddy Murtagh a hundred pounds, and she must live as
cook and house-maid with Kate; and I'll lodge twenty pounds in the
savings-bank for Jamesy Doyle. Perhaps I owe him more than the whole
of them put together."
"That will be the first duck, Winny."
"How is that, father?'
"Why, it's well beyant the six hundred, Winny, which was all you were
goin' upon at first; but you may now begin with whatever we get by the
sale of Rathcash."
"Well, father, I would only wish to suggest the distribution of that,
for you know I have no call to it, and God grant that it may be a long
day until I have."
"Faix, an' Winny, af that be so, you've left yourself bare enough. But
don't be talkin' nonsense, child. What would I want with it? Won't
you take care iv me, Winny asthore? an' won't you want the most
iv it where you are agoin? an' didn't you tell me already that you'd
like me to let you give it to the charities of that religious
establishment? Shure, there's no use in my askin' you any more not to
go into it."
"None indeed, father, for I am resolved upon it. But you shall live in
the town with me, and I can take care of you the same as if I was in
the house with you. There shall be nothing that you can want or wish
for that you shall not have, and no day that it is possible that I
will not see you."
"What more had I here, Winny, except the crops coming round from the
seed to the harvest, an' the cattle, an' the grass, an' the birds in
the bushes? Dear, oh dear, yes! Hadn't I yourself, Winny asthore,
forenent me at breakust, dinner, an' supper; an' warn't you for ever
talkin' to me of an evenin', with your stitchin' or your knittin'
across your lap; an', Winny jewel, wasn't your light song curling
through the yard, an' the house, afore I was up in the mornin'? But
now--now--Winny--oh, Winny asthore, mavourneen macree! but your poor
old father will miss yourself, no matther how kind your plans may be
for his comfort. Shure, the very knowledge that you were asleep in the
house with me was a blessin'."
"Father," she said, "God bless you! I will be back with you in a few
minutes--do not fret;" and she left him, and shut herself up in her
room.
But he did fret; and he was no sooner alone than the big tears burst
uncontrollably forth into a pocket-handkerchief, which he continued to
sop against his face.
Winny had thrown herself upon her knees at the bedside, and prayed to
God to guide her. Her thoughts and prayers were too dignified and holy
for tears. But they had made a free course to the pinnacle of the
mercy-seat, and she rose with her soul refreshed by the glory which
had responded to her cry for guidance.
She returned to her father, a radiant smile of anticipated pleasure
playing round her beautiful lips. There was no sign of grief, or even
of emotion, on her cheeks.
"Father," she said, "I have been seeking guidance from the Almighty in
this matter; and the old saying that 'charity begins at home'--that is
moral charity in this instance--has been suggested to my heart. We
shall not part, father, even temporarily. Where you live, I shall
live. I have been told, father, just now, while upon my knees, that to
do all the good I have projected need not oblige me to join as an
actual member of any charitable or religious society. No, father, I
can carry out all my plans without the necessity of living apart from
you; we will therefore, father dear, still live together. But let us
remove when this place is sold to B----, where the establishment I
have spoken of is situated, and there, with my knitting or my
stitching on my lap before you in the evenings, I can carry on all my
plans in connection with the institution without being an actual
member, which might involve the necessity of my living in the house.
But, father dear, I hope you do not disapprove of any of them, or of
the distribution of the money, so far as I have laid it out."
It was then quietly and finally arranged between them that as soon as
Rathcash was sold, and the stock and furniture disposed of, they would
remove to B----, in a northern county. They there intended to take a
small house, either in the town or precincts--the latter old Ned
preferred--where Winny could join the Sisters of Charity, at least in
her acts, if not as a resident member. The money was to be disposed of
as Winny had laid out, and legal deeds were to be prepared and
perfected; and poor Winny, notwithstanding the sudden cloud which had
darkened the blue heaven of her life, was to be as happy as the
day was long.