"Mistress Leary?" said the vulgar-looking hag before me, "lift here five
year ago."
The vendor of cabbages did not know where Mrs Leary had gone. Neither
did I; and this knowledge, or rather absence of knowledge, produced
within me a train of reflections that were new and peculiar.
I turned out of the house, and walked mechanically up the street. A
familiar name met my half-vacant gaze. It was painted on a sign, over
the door of a cheese-monger's shop--Michael Brady.
I remembered that Mrs Brady, the wife of the man whose name I saw, was
the intimate acquaintance and friend of my mother. Perhaps, I might
learn something from her; but what, I almost feared to ascertain.
I went into the shop, and found Mrs Brady seated among her cheeses.
She did not look a day older than when I last saw her. When asked, if
she remembered ever having seen me before, she gazed at me for some
time, and made answer in the negative.
I was not astonished at her reply. I could easily understand her
stupidity; my appearance must have greatly altered since she had seen me
last.
"Do you remember the name of Rowland Stone?" I asked.
"What! the little Rolling Stone?" she exclaimed, gazing at me again. "I
do believe you are," said she, "Now when I look at you, I can see it is.
How you have changed!"
"What has become of my mother?" I cried out, too impatient to listen
longer to her exclamatory reflections.
"Poor woman!" answered Mrs Brady, "that's what I have wished to know
for many years."
I was called upon to exercise the virtue of patience--while trying to
obtain from Mrs Brady what information she could give concerning my
family. With much time spent and many questions put, I obtained from
her the following particulars:
After my departure, Mr Leary became very dissipated, and used to get
drunk every day. Whenever he sold anything out of the shop, he would go
to a public-house, and stay there until the money obtained for the
article was spent. He would then return, abuse my mother, beat the
children, take something else out of the shop; and pawn it for more
money to spend in drink or dissipation. This game he had continued,
until there was nothing left in the establishment that Mr Leary could
sell for a shilling.
The neighbours remonstrated with my mother for allowing him to proceed
in this manner; but the deluded woman seemed to think that everything
done by her husband was right; and was even offended with her friends
for interfering. No arguments could persuade her that Mr Leary was
conducting himself in an improper manner. She appeared to think that
the drunken blackguard was one of the best men that ever lived; and that
she had been exceedingly fortunate in obtaining him for a husband!
When Mr Leary had disposed of everything in the shop, and had spent the
proceeds in drink, he absconded--leaving my mother, brother and sister
to suffer for the necessaries of life.
Instead of being gratified at getting clear of the scoundrel, my mother
was nearly heart-broken to think he had deserted her!
Her first thought was to find out where he had gone. He had served his
apprenticeship in Liverpool; and my mother had reasons to believe that
he had betaken himself thither. The house in which she resided, had
been leased by my father for a long term. At the time Mr Leary
deserted her, the lease had several years to run. Since the time when
it had been taken, rents in the neighbourhood had greatly risen in
value; and my mother was able to sell the lease for ninety pounds.
Obtaining this sum in cash, she left Dublin with her children; and
proceeded to Liverpool to find Mr Leary, as Mrs Brady said, that she
might give him the money to spend in drink!
My mother's friends had advised her to remain in Dublin; and told her
that she should be thankful her husband had deserted her; but their
advice was either unheeded, or scornfully rejected. In spite of all
remonstrance, she took her departure for Liverpool; and Mrs Brady had
never heard of her again.
I was intensely interested in what was told me by Mrs Brady. For
awhile, I believed that my poor beguiled parent deserved her fate,
however bad it may have been; and I was half inclined to search for her
no more. But when I came to reflect that nearly five years had elapsed
since she left Dublin, I fancied that, if unfortunately successful in
finding Mr Leary, she might by this time have recovered from her
strange infatuation concerning him. Though for her folly, she deserved
almost any fate Mr Leary might bring upon her, I believed it to be my
duty to see her once more. Besides, I had a strong desire to renew the
rudely broken links of affection, that had existed between myself and my
sister and brother.
When a boy, I was very proud of having a sister like little Martha, she
was so kind, affectionate, and beautiful. And William, too, I
remembered him with a brother's fondness. Although my mother had acted
ever so foolishly, it was not the less my duty to look after her.
Perhaps, for her unaccountable delusion, she had been by this time
sufficiently punished. It was my desire to find her, if possible, and
learn if such was the case. She was my mother, and I had no other wish
than to act towards her as a son. I determined, therefore, to proceed
to Liverpool.
I may confess that something more than duty summoned me thither--
something even stronger than filial affection. It was the design of
visiting Mrs Hyland--or, rather her daughter. I knew there would be
danger to my happiness in again seeing Lenore; and I strove to
strengthen my resolution by the belief that I was acting under a call of
duty.
I had been with Captain Hyland when he died. I alone saw his eyes
closed in death, and alone followed him to the grave. Why should I not
visit his wife and child?
I could fancy that that pressure of the hand given me by the Captain in
his dying struggle, was a silent command to me--to carry to them his
last blessing.
Besides, Mrs Hyland had been very kind to myself; and during my sojourn
in Liverpool, had made her home to me both welcome and pleasant. Why
should I refrain from seeing her again--simply because her daughter was
beautiful? I could think of no sufficient reason for denying myself the
pleasure. The dread of its leading to pain was not enough to deter me;
and I resolved to renew my acquaintance with Lenore.
Before leaving Dublin, I tried to get some information that would aid me
in my search after Mr Leary and my relatives; but was unsuccessful.
None of Mr Leary's former acquaintances could give me any intelligence
as to what part of the city of Liverpool he might be found in. I could
only learn that my mother, before leaving, had some knowledge to guide
her, which had probably been obtained, sometime or other, from Mr Leary
himself.
In my search, therefore, I should have no other traces than such as
chance might throw in my way.
Volume One, Chapter X.