Fardorougha, The Miser Part 16

"Oh, faith, that alters the case extremely. Now, Una, this--all this promising that has pa.s.sed between you and Connor O'Donovan is all folly.

If you prove to be the good obedient girl that I hope you are, you'll put him out of your head, and then you can give back to one another whatever promises you made."

This was succeeded by a silence of more than a minute. Una at length arose, and, with a composed energy of manner, that was evident by her sparkling eye and bloodless cheek, she approached her father, and calmly kneeling down, said slowly but firmly:

"Father, if nothing else can satisfy you, I will give back my promise; but then, father, it will break my heart, for I know--I feel--how I love him, and how I am loved by him."

"I'll get you a better husband," replied her father--"far more wealthy and more respectable than he is."

"I'll give back the promise," said she; "but the man is not living, except Connor O'Donovan, that will ever call me wife. More wealthy! more respectable!--Oh, it was only himself I loved. Father, I'm on my knees before you, and before my mother. I have only one request to make--Oh, don't break your daughter's heart!"

"G.o.d direct us," exclaimed her mother; "it's hard to know how to act. If it would go so hard upon her, sure--"

"Amen," said her husband; "may G.o.d direct us to the best! I'm sure G.o.d knows," he continued, now much affected, "that I would rather break my own heart than yours, Una. Get up, dear--rise. John, how would you advise us?"

"I don't see any serious objection, after all," replied the son, "either you or my mother can have to Connor O'Donovan. He is every way worthy of her, if he is equal to his character; and as for wealth, I have often heard it said that his father was a richer man than yourself."

"Afther all," said the mother, "she might be very well wid him."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, then," said the Bodagh--"let us see the ould man himself, and if he settles his son dacently in life, as he can do if he wishes, why, I won't see the poor, foolish, innocent girl breaking her heart."

Una, who had sat with her face still averted, now ran to her father, and, throwing her arms about his neck, wept aloud, but said nothing.

"Ay, ay," said the latter, "it's very fine now that you have everything your own way, you girsha; but, sure, you're all the daughter we have, achora, and it would be too bad not to let you have a little of your own opinion in the choice of a husband. Now go up stairs, or where you please, till we see what can be done with Fardorougha himself."

With smiling face and glistening eyes Una pa.s.sed out of the room, scarcely sensible whether she walked, ran, or flew, while the others went to renew the discussion with Pardorougha.

"Well," said the miser, "you found out, I suppose, that she can't do widout him?"

"Provided we consent to the marriage," asked the Bodagh, "how will you settle your son in life?"

"Who would I settle in life if I wouldn't settle my only son?" replied the other; "who else is there to get all I have?"

"That's very true," observed the Bodagh; "but state plainly what you'll do for him on his marriage."

"Do you consint to the marriage all of yees?"

"That's not the question," said the other. "Divil a word I'll answer till I know whither yees do or not," said Fardorougha. "Say at once that you consint, and then I'll spake--I'll say what I'll do."

The Bodagh looked inquiringly at his wife and son. The latter nodded affirmatively. "We do consent," he added.

"That shows your own sinse," said the old man. "Now what fortune will you portion your colleen wid?"

"That depinds upon what you'll do for your son," returned the Bodagh.

"And that depinds upon what you'll do for your daughter," replied the sagacious old miser.

"At this rate we're not likely to agree."

"Nothin's asier; you have only to spake out; besides it's your business, bein' the colleen's father."

"Try him, and name something fair," whispered John.

"If I give her a farm of thirty acres of good land, stocked and all, what will you do for Connor?"

"More than that, five times over; I'll give him all I have. An' now when will we marry them? Throth it was best to make things clear," added the knave, "and undherstand one another at wanst. When will we marry them?"

"Not till you say out openly and fairly the exact amount of money you'll lay down on the nail--an' that before even a ring goes upon them."

"Give it up, acushla," said the wife, "you see there's no screwin' a promise out of him, let alone a penny."

"What 'ud yees have me do?" said the old man, raising his voice. "Won't he have all I'm worth? Who else is to have it? Am I to make a beggar of myself to please you? Can't they live on your farm till I die, an' thin it'll all come to them?"

"An' no thanks to you for that, Fardorougha," said the Bodagh. "No, no; I'll never buy a pig in a poke. If you won't act generously by your son, go home, in the name of goodness, and let us hear no more about it."

"Why, why?" asked the miser, "are yees mad to miss what I can leave him?

If you knew how much it is, you'd snap--; but G.o.d help me! what am I sayin'? I'm poorer than anybody thinks. I am--I am; an' will starve among you all, if G.o.d hasn't sed it. Do you think I don't love my son as well, an' a thousand times better, than you do your daughter? G.o.d alone sees how my heart's in him--in my own Connor, that never gave me a sore heart--my brave, my beautiful boy!"

He paused, and the scalding tears here ran down his shrunk and furrowed cheeks, whilst he wrung his hands, started to his feet, and looked about him like a man encompa.s.sed by dangers that threatened instant destruction.

"If you love your son so well," said John, mildly, "why do you grudge to share your wealth with him? It is but natural and it is your duty."

"Natural! what's natural?--to give away--is it to love him you mane? It is, it's unnatural to give it away. He's the best son--the best--what do you mane, I say?--let me alone--let me alone--I could give him my blood, my blood--to sich a boy; but, you want to kill me--you want to kill me, an' thin you'll get all; but he'll cross you, never fear--my boy will save me--he's not tired of me--he'd give up fifty girls sooner than see a hair of his father's head injured--so do your best, while I have Connor, I'm not afraid of yees. Thanks be to G.o.d that sent him!" he exclaimed, dropping suddenly on his knees--"oh, thanks be to G.o.d that sent him to comfort an' protect his father from the schames and villainy of them that 'ud bring him to starvation for their own ends!"

"Father," said John, in a low tone, "this struggle between avarice and natural affection is awful. See how his small gray eyes glare, and the froth rises white to his thin shrivelled lips. What is to be done?"

"Fardorougha," said the Bodagh, "it's over; don't distress yourself--keep your money--there will be no match between our childhre."

"Why? why won't there?" he screamed--"why won't there, I say? Havn't you enough for them until I die? Would you see your child breakin' her heart? Bodagh, you have no nather in you--no bowels for your _colleen dahs_. But I'll spake for her--I'll argue wid you till this time to-morrow, or I'll make you show feelin' to her--an' if you don't--if you don't--"

"Wid the help o' G.o.d, the man's as mad as a March hare," observed Mrs.

O'Brien, "and there's no use in losin' breath wid him."

"If it's not insanity," said John, "I know not what it is."

"Young man," proceeded Fardorougha, who evidently paid no attention to what the mother and son said, being merely struck by the voice of the latter, "young man, you're kind, you have sinse and feelin'--spake to your father--don't let him destroy his child--don't ax him to starve me, that never did him harm. He loves you--he loves you, for he can't but love you--sure, I know how I love my own darlin' boy. Oh, spake to him--here I go down on my knees to you, to beg, as you hope to see G.o.d in heaven, that't you'll make him not break his daughter's heart! She's your own sister--there's but the two of yees, an' oh, don't desart her in this throuble--this heavy, heavy throuble!"

"I won't interfere farther in it," replied the young man, who, however, felt disturbed and anxious in the extreme.

"Mrs. O'Brien," said he, turning imploringly, and with a wild, haggard look to the Bodngh's wifs, "I'm turnin' to you--you're her mother--Oh think, think"--

"I'll think no more about it," she replied. "You're mad, an' thank G.o.d, we know it. Of coorse it'll run in the family, for which reasing my daughter 'ill never be joined to the son of a madman."

He then turned as a last resource to O'Brien himself. "Bodagh, Bodagh, I say," here his voice rose to a frightful pitch, "I enthrate, I order, I command you to listen to me! Marry them--don't kill your daughter, an'

don't, don't, dare to kill my son. If you do I'll curse you till the marks of your feet will scorch the ground you tread on. Oh," he exclaimed, his voice now sinking, and his reason awaking apparently from exhaustion, "what is come over me? what am I sayin'?--but it's all for my son, my son." He then rose, sat down, and for more than tweny minutes wept like an infant, and sobbed and sighed as if his heart would break.

A feeling very difficult to be described hushed his amazed auditory into silence; they felt something like pity towards the unfortunate old man, as well as respect for that affection which struggled with such moral heroism against the frightful vice that attempted to subdue this last surviving virtue in the breast of the miser.

On his getting calm, they spoke to him kindly, but in firm and friendly terms communicated their ultimate determination, that, in consequence of his declining to make an adequate provision for the son, the marriage could by no means take place. He then got his hat, and attempted to reach the road which led down to the little lawn, but so complete was his abstraction, and so exhausted his faculties, that it was not without John's a.s.sistance he could reach the gate which lay before his eyes.

He first turned out of the walk to the right, then crossed over to the left, and felt surprised that a wall opposed him in each direction.