Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl Part 12

"It seemed so easy to mortgage the land to Dan Murphy," he said, dropping his voice, "so very easy, and that money was so handy, and I thought--"

"Yes, father?" said Nora in a voice of fear. "You said these words before. Go on--it was so easy. Well?"

"Well, a month ago, child, I got a letter from Murphy's lawyer in Dublin, to say that the money must be paid up, or they would foreclose."

"Foreclose, father. What is that?"

"Take possession, child--take possession."

"A month ago you got that letter? They would take possession--possession of the land you have mortgaged. Does that mean that it would belong to Squire Murphy, father?"

"So I thought, my dear colleen, and I didn't fret much. The fact is, I put the letter in the fire and forgot it. It was only three days ago that I got another letter to know what I meant to do. I was given three months to pay in, and if I didn't pay up the whole ten thousand, with the five years' interest, they'd foreclose. I hadn't paid that, Nora; I hadn't paid a penny of it; and what with interest and compound interest, it mounted to a good round sum. Dan charged me six per cent, on the money; but there, you don't understand figures, child, and your pretty head shan't be worried. Anyhow, I was to pay it all up within the three months--I, who haven't even fifty pounds in the bank. It was a bit of a staggerer."

"I understand," said Nora; "and that was why you went the day before yesterday to see Squire Murphy. Of course, he'll give you time; though, now I come to think of it, he is very poor himself."

"He is that," said the Squire. "I don't blame him--not a bit."

"But what will you do, father?"

"I must think. It is a bit of a blow, my child, and I don't quite see my way. But I am sure to, before the time comes; and I have got three months."

"But won't he let you off, father? Must you really pay it in three months?"

"G.o.d help me, Norrie! I can't, not just now; but I will before the time comes."

"But what did he say, father? I don't understand."

"It's this, Nora. Ah, you have a wise little head on your shoulders, even though you are an Irish colleen. He said that he had sold my mortgage to another man, and had got money on it; and the other man--he is an Englishman, curse him!--and he wants the place, Nora, and he'll take it in lieu of the mortgage if I don't pay up in three months."

"The place," said Nora; "O'Shanaghgan--he wants O'Shanaghgan?"

"Yes, yes; that's it; he wants the land, and the old house."

"But he can't," said Nora. "You have not--oh! you have not mortgaged the house?"

"Bless you, Nora! it is I that have done it; the house that you were born in, and that my father, and father before him, and father before him again, were born in, and that I was born in--it goes, and the land goes, the lake yonder, all these fields, and the bit of the sh.o.r.e; all the bonny place goes in three months if we cannot pay the mortgage. It goes for an old song, and it breaks my heart, Nora."

"I understand," said Nora very gravely. She did not cry out; the tears pressed close to the back of her eyes, and scalded her with cruel pain; but she would not allow one of them to flow. She held her head very erect, and the color returned to her pale cheeks, and a new light shone in her dark-blue eyes.

"We'll manage somehow; we must," she said.

"I was thinking of that," said the Squire. "Of course we'll manage." He gave a great sigh, as if a load were lifted from his heart. "Of course we'll manage," he repeated; "and don't you tell your mother, for the life of you, child."

"Of course I will tell nothing until you give me leave. But how do you mean to manage?"

"I am thinking of going up to Dublin next week to see one or two old friends of mine; they are sure to help me at a pinch like this. They would never see Patrick O'Shanaghgan deprived of his acres. They know me too well; they know it would break my heart. I was thinking of going up next week."

"But why next week, father? You have only three months. Why do you put it off to next week?"

"Why, then, you're right, colleen; but it's a job I don't fancy."

"But you have got to do it, and you ought to do it at once."

"To be sure--to be sure."

"Take me with you, father; let us go tomorrow."

"But I have not got money for us both. I must go alone; and then your mother must not be left. There's Terence gallivanting off to England to visit his fine relations, and that will take a good bit. I had to give him ten pounds this morning, and there are only forty now left in the bank. Oh, plenty to tide us for a bit. We shan't want to eat much; and there's a good supply of fruit and vegetables on the land; and the poor folk will wait for their wages. Of course there will be more rents coming in, and we'll sc.r.a.pe along somehow. Don't you fret, colleen. I declare it's light as a feather my heart is since I told you the truth.

You are a comfort to me, Norrie."

"Father," said Nora suddenly, "there's one thing I want to say."

"What is that, pet?"

"You know Andy Neil?"

"What! Andrew Neil--that scoundrel?" The Squire's brow grew very black.

"Yes, yes. What about him? You have not seen him, have you?"

"Yes, father, I have."

"Over at Murphy's? He knew he dare not show his face here. Well, what about him, Nora?"

"This," said Nora, trembling very much; "he--he does not want you to evict him."

"He'll pay his rent, or he'll go," thundered the Squire. "No more of this at present. I can't be worried."

"But, oh, father! he--he can't pay it any more than you can pay the mortgage. Don't be cruel to him if you want to be dealt with mercifully yourself; it would be such bad luck."

"Good gracious, Nora, are you demented? The man pays his rent, or he goes. Not another word."

"Father, dear father!"

"Not another word. Go in and see your mother, or she'll be wondering what has happened to you. Yes, I'll go off to Dublin to-morrow. If Neil doesn't pay up his rent in a week, off he goes; it's men like Andrew Neil who are the sc.u.m of the earth. He has put my back up; and pay his rent he will, or out he goes."

CHAPTER IX.

EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS.

The next day the Squire and Terence went off together. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was very angry with her husband for going, as she expressed it, to amuse himself in Dublin. Dirty Dublin she was fond of calling the capital of Ireland.

"What do you want to go to Dirty Dublin for?" she said. "You'll spend a lot of money, and G.o.d knows we have little enough at the present moment."

"Oh, no, I won't, Ellen," he replied. "I'll be as careful as careful can be; the colleen can witness to that. There's a little inn on the banks of the Liffey where I'll put up; it is called the 'Green Dragon,' and it's a cozy, snug little place, where you can have your potheen and n.o.body be any the wiser."