Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 43

_Mabel._ I said nothing.--What could I say?

_Omen._ I wish I'd been with you, Mabel.

_Mabel._ I'm glad you were not, Owen.

_Owen._ Well, what did he say next?

_Mabel._ I tell you he said nothing, but cleared his throat and hemmed, as he does often.

_Owen._ What, all the way to the well and back, nothing but hem, and clear his throat?

_Mabel._ Nothing in life.

_Owen._ Why, then, the man's a fool or a rogue.

_Mabel._ Oh, don't say that, any way. But there's my mother coming in from the field. How weak she walks! I must go in to bear her company spinning.

_Owen._ And I'll be in by the time I've settled all here.

[_Exit MABEL._

_OWEN, solus._

Oh! I know how keenly Mabel feels all, tho' she speaks so mild. Then I'm cut to the heart by this behaviour of Gilbert's:--sure he could not be so cruel to be jesting with her!--he's an Englishman, and may be he thinks no harm to jilt an Irishwoman. But I'll show him--but then if he never asked her the question, how can we say any thing?--Oh! the thing is, he's a snug man, and money's at the bottom of all,--and since Christy's to have the new inn, and Miss Gallagher has the money!--Well, it's all over, and I don't know what will become of me.

_Enter Mr. ANDREW HOPE._

_Mr. H._ My gude lad, may your name be Larken?

_Owen._ It is, sir--Owen Larken, at your service--the son of the widow Larken.

_Mrs. H._ Then I have to thank your family for their goodness to my puir brother, years ago. And for yourself, your friend, Mr. Christy Gallagher, has been telling me you can play the bugle?

_Owen._ I can, sir.

_Mr. H._ And we want a bugle, and the _pay's_ fifteen guineas; and I'd sooner give it to you than three others that has applied, if you'll list.

_Owen._ Fifteen guineas! Oh! if I could send that money home to my mother! but I must ask her consint. Sir, she lives convanient, just in this cabin here--would you be pleased to step in with me, and I'll ask her consint.

_Mr. H._ That's right,--lead on, my douce lad--you ken the way.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Kitchen of the Widow LAKKEN'S Cottage._

_A Door is seen open, into an inner Room._

_MABEL, alone, (Sitting near the door of the inner room, spinning and singing_[1].)

[Footnote 1: This song is set to music by Mr. Webbe.]

Sleep, mother, sleep! in slumber blest, It joys my heart to see thee rest.

Unfelt in sleep thy load of sorrow; Breathe free and thoughtless of to-morrow; And long, and light, thy slumbers last, In happy dreams forget the past.

Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest; It joys my heart to see thee rest.

Many's the night she wak'd for me, To nurse my helpless infancy: While cradled on her patient arm, She hush'd me with a mother's charm.

Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest; It joys my heart to see thee rest.

And be it mine to soothe thy age, With tender care thy grief a.s.suage, This hope is left to poorest poor, And richest child can do no more.

Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest; It joys my heart to see thee rest.

_While MABEL is singing the second stanza, OWEN and ANDREW HOPE enter.

Mr. HOPE stops short, and listens: he makes a sign to OWEN to stand still, and not to interrupt MABEL--while OWEN approaches her on tiptoe._

_Mr. H._ (_aside_) She taks my fancy back to dear Scotland, to my ain hame, and my ain mither, and my ain Kate.

_Owen._ So Mabel! I thought you never sung for strangers?

[_MABEL turns and sees Mr. HOPE--She rises and curtsies._

_Mr. H._ (_advancing softly_) I fear to disturb the mother, whose slumbers are so blest, and I'd fain hear that lullaby again. If the voice stop, the mother may miss it, and wake.

_Mabel._ (_looking into the room in which her mother sleeps, then closing the door gently_) No, sir,--she'll not miss my voice now, I thank you--she is quite sound asleep.

_Owen._ This is Mr. Andrew Hope, Mabel--you might remember one of his name, a Serjeant Hope.

_Mabel._ Ah! I mind--he that was sick with us, some time back.

_Mr. H._ Ay, my brother that's dead, and that your gude mither was so tender of, when sick, charged me to thank you all, and so from my soul I do.

_Mabel._ 'Twas little my poor mother could do, nor any of us for him, even then, though we could do more then than we could now, and I'm glad he chanced to be with us in our better days.

_Mr. H._ And I'm sorry you ever fell upon worse days, for you deserve the best; and will have such again, I trust. All I can say is this--that gif your brother here gangs with me, he shall find a brother's care through life fra' me.

_Owen._ I wouldn't doubt you; and that you know, Mabel, would be a great point, to have a friend secure in the regiment, if I thought of going.

_Mabel._ _If!_--Oh! what are you thinking of, Owen? What is it you're talking of going? (_Turning towards the door of her mother's room suddenly._) Take care, but she'd wake and hear you, and she'd never sleep easy again.

_Owen._ And do you think so?

_Mabel._ Do I think so? Am not I sure of it? and you too, Owen, if you'd take time to think and feel.

_Owen._ Why there's no doubt but it's hard, when the mother has reared the son, for him to quit her as soon as he can go alone; but it is what I was thinking: it is only the militia, you know, and I'd not be going out of the three kingdoms ever at all; and I could be sending money home to my mother, like Johnny Reel did to his.