Fardorougha, The Miser Part 47

"Biddy, that is the spot where he first told me that he loved me, and where I first acknowledged mine to him."

She would then pull out from her heart the locket which contained his rich brown hair, and, after kissing it, sit and weep on the spot which was so dear to her.

Biddy's task, then, was to recount to the unhappy girl such anecdotes as she remembered of him; and, as these were all to his advantage, we need scarcely say that many an entertainment of this kind she was called upon to furnish to her whose melancholy enjoyment was now only the remembrance of him, and what he had once been to her.

"I would have been in a convent long before now, Biddy," said she, a few days before Flanagan's trial, "but I cannot leave my father and mother, because I know they could not live without me. My brother John has declined Maynooth lest I should feel melancholy for want of some person to amuse me and to cheer me; and now I feel that it would be an ungrateful return I should make if I entered a convent and left my parents without a daughter whom they love so well, and my brother without a sister on whom he doats."

"Well, Miss," replied Biddy, "don't be cast down; for my part I'd always hope for the best. Who knows, Miss, but a betther lave may be turned up for you yet? I'd hould a naggin' that G.o.d nivir intinded an innocent creature like you to spind the rest of your life in sadness and sorrow, as you're doin'. Always hope for the best."

"Ah, Biddy," she replied, "you don't know what you speak of. His sentence is one that can never be changed; and as for hoping for the best how can I do that, Biddy, when I know that I have no 'best' to hope for. He was my best in this world; but he is gone. Now go in, Biddy, and leave me to myself for a little. You know how I love to be alone."

"May G.o.d in heaven pity you, Miss Oona," exclaimed the poor girl, whilst the tears gushed from her eyes, "as I do this day! Oh, keep up your heart, Miss, darlin'! for where there's life there's hope."

Little did she then dream, however, that hope would so soon restored to her heart, or that the revolution of another year should see her waiting with trembling delight for the fulness of her happiness.

On the evening previous to Bartle Flanagan's execution, she was pouring out tea for her father and mother, as was usual, when her brother John came home on his return from the a.s.sizes. Although the smile of affection with which she always received him lit up her dark glossy eyes, yet he observed that she appeared unusually depressed, and much more pale than she had been for some time past.

"Una, are you unwell, dear?" he asked, as she handed him a cup of tea.

She looked at him with a kind of affectionate reproof in her eyes, as if she wondered that he should be ignorant of the sorrow which preyed upon her.

"Not in health, John," she replied; "but that man's trial, and the many remembrances it has stirred up in my mind, have disturbed me. I am very much cast down, as you may see. Indeed, to speak the truth, and without disguise, I think that my heart is broken. Every one knows that a breaking heart is incurable."

"You take it too much to yourself, a lanna dhas," said her mother; "but you must keep up your spirits, darlin'--time will work wonders."

"With me, mother, it never can."

"Una," said John, with affected gravity, "you have just made two a.s.sertions which I can prove to be false."

She looked at him with surprise.

"False, dear John?"

"Yes, false, dear Una; and I will prove it, as I said. In the first place, there is a cure for a breaking' heart; and, in the next place, time will work wonders even for you."

"Well," said she, a.s.suming a look of sickly cheerfulness, "I should be very ungrateful, John, if I did not smile for you, even when you don't smile yourself, after all the ingenious plans you take to keep up my spirits."

"My dear girl," replied John, "I will not trifle with you; I ask you now to be firm, and say whether you are capable of hearing--good news."

"Good news to me! I hope I am, John."

"Well, then, I have to inform you that this day Bartle Flanagan has confessed that it was not Connor O'Donovan who burned our haggard, but himself. The sheriff has written to inform the Government, so that we will have Connor back again with a name and character unsullied."

She looked at him for a moment, then at her parents; and her cheek still got paler, and after a slight pause she burst into a vehement and irrepressible paroxysm of grief.

"John, is this true?" inquired his father.

"Vic va hoiah! John--blessed mother!--thrue?--but is it, John? is it?"

"Indeed, it is, mother--the villain, now, that he has no hope of his life, confessed it this day!"

"G.o.d knows, darlin'," exclaimed the Bodagh's warm--hearted wife, now melting into tears herself, "it's no wondher you should cry tears of joy for this. G.o.d wouldn't be above us, a cushla oge machree, or he'd sind brighter days before your young and innocent heart."

Una could not speak, but wept on; the grief she felt, however, became gradually milder in its character, until at length her violent sobbings were hushed; and, although the tears still flowed, they flowed in silence.

"We will have him back, sartinly," said the Bodagh; "don't cry, dear, we'll have him here again with no disateful villain to swear away his life."

"I could die now," said the n.o.ble--minded girl; "I think I could die now, without even seeing him. His name is cleared, and will be cleared; his character untainted; and that is dearer to me even than his love.

Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" she fervently exclaimed; "and when all the world was against him, I was for him; I and his own mother--for we were the two that knew his heart best."

"Well," said John, smiling, "if I brought you gloomy news once, I believe I have brought you pleasant news twice. You remember when I told you he was not to die."

"Indeed, John, dear, you are the best brother that ever G.o.d blessed a sister with; but I hope this is not a dream. Oh, can it be possible!

and when I awake in the morning, will it be to the sorrowful heart I had yesterday? I am bewildered. After this, who should ever despair of the goodness of G.o.d, or think that the trial he sends but for a time is to last always?"

"Bridget," said the gracious Bodagh, "we must have a gla.s.s of punch; an'

upon my reputaytion, Oona, we'll drink to his speedy return."

"Throth, an' Oona will take a gla.s.s, herself, this night," added her mother; "an' thanks be to Goodness she'll be our colleen dhas dhun again--won't you have a gla.s.s, asth.o.r.e machree?"

"I'll do anything that any of you wishes me, mother," replied Una.

She gave, as she uttered the words, a slight sob, which turned their attention once more to her, but they saw at once, by the brilliant sparkle of her eyes, that it was occasioned by the unexpected influx of delight and happiness which was acc.u.mulating around her heart.

"Mother," she said, "will you make the punch for them to--night?

I cannot rest till I let poor Biddy Kulty know what has happened.

Cleared!" she added, exultingly, "his name and character cleared!"

The beautiful girl then left the room, and, short as was the s.p.a.ce which had elapsed since she heard her brother's communication, they could not help being struck at the light elastic step with which she tripped out of it. Brief, however, as the period was, she had time to cast aside the burthen of care which had pressed her down and changed her easy pace to the slow tread of sorrow.

"G.o.d help our poor colleen dhas," exclaimed her mother, "but she's the happy creature, this night!"

"And happy will the hearth be where her light will s.h.i.+ne," replied her father, quoting a beautiful Irish proverb to that effect.

"The ways of Providence are beautiful when seen aright or understood,"

observed her brother. "She was too good to be punished, but not too perfect to be tried. Their calamitous separation will enhance the value of their affection for each other when they meet; for pure and exalted as her love for him is, yet I am proud to say that Connor is worthy of her and it."

That night her mother observed that Una spent a longer time than usual at her devotions, and, looking into her room when pa.s.sing, she saw her on her knees, and heard her again sobbing with the grateful sense of a delighted heart. She did not again address her, and they all retired to happier slumbers than they had enjoyed for many a night.

Our readers have already had proofs of Una's consideration, generosity, and common delicacy. Her conduct at the approach of her lover's trial, and again when he was about to leave her and his country forever, they cannot, we are sure, have forgotten. When her brother had shown the official communication from the Castle, in which government expressed its intention of bringing Connor and his parent's home at its own expense, the Bodagh and his wife,--knowing that the intended husband of their daughter possessed no means of supporting her, declared, in order to remove any shadow of anxiety from her mind, that O'Donovan, after their marriage, should live with themselves, for they did not wish, they said, that Una should be separated from them. This was highly gratifying to her, but beyond her lover's welfare, whether from want of thought or otherwise, it is not easy to say, she saw that their sympathy did not extend. This troubled her, for she knew how Connor loved his parents, and how much any want of comfort they might feel would distress him. She accordingly consulted with her ever faithful confidant, John, and begged of him to provide for them, at her own expense, a comfortable dwelling, and to furnish it, as near as might be practicable in the manner in which their former one had been furnished. She also desired him to say nothing to their parents about this, "for I intend," she added, "to have a little surprise for them all."

About the time, therefore, when the vessel in which they were to arrive was expected, a snug, well--furnished house, convenient to the Bodagh's, amply stored with provisions, and kept by a daughter of Nogher M'Cormick, awaited them. Nothing that could render them easy was omitted, and many things also were procured, in the shape of additional comforts, to which they had not been accustomed before.

At length the arrival of the much wished-for vessel was announced, and John O'Brien, after having agreed to let Una know by letter where the Bodagh's car should meet them, mounted the day coach, and proceeded to welcome home his future brother-in-law, prepared, at the same time, to render both to him and his parents whatever a.s.sistance they stood in need of, either pecuniary or otherwise, after so long and so trying a voyage.

The meeting of two such kindred spirits may be easily conceived. There were few words wasted between them, but they were full of truth and sincerity.

"My n.o.ble fellow," said O'Brien, clasping Connor's hand, "she is at home with a beating heart and a happy one, waiting for you."