The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector Part 34

She then withdrew, in accordance with the significant look which Harry gave towards the door.

"Harry," said Lindsay, holding out his hand, "you are not the son of my blood, but I declare to heaven I love you as well as if you were.

Your conduct is n.o.ble and generous; ay, and as a natural consequence, disinterested; there is no base and selfish principle in you, my dear boy; and I honor and love you as if I were your father in reality."

"Harry," said Maria, kissing him, "I repeat and feel all that dear papa has said."

"And so do I," exclaimed Charles, "and if I ever entertained any other feeling, I fling it to the winds."

"You all overrate me," said Harry; "but, perhaps, if you were aware of my private remonstrances with my mother upon her unfortunate principles and temper, you would give me more credit even than you do. My object is to produce peace and harmony between you, and if I can succeed in that I shall feel satisfied, let my mother's property go where it may. Of course, you must now be aware that I separate myself from her and her projects, and identify myself, as I said, with you all. Still, there is one request I have to make of you, father, my dear father, for well I may call you so; and it is that you will not, as an independent man and a gentleman, attempt to urge this marriage, on which you seem to have set your heart, between Charles and Goodwin's daughter. You are not aware of what I know upon this subject. She and Ferdora O'Connor are about to be married; but I will not mention what I could mention until after that ceremony shall have taken place."

"Well," said his sister, "you appear to speak very sincerely, Harry, but I know and feel that there is some mistake somewhere."

"Harry," said Lindsay, "from what has occurred this morning, I shall be guided by you. I will not press this marriage, neither shall I stoop to seek an explanation."

"Thank you, sir," replied Harry. "I advise you as I do because I would not wish to see our whole family insulted in your person."

Maria and her brother Charles looked at each other, and seemed to labor under a strange and somewhat mysterious feeling. The confidence, however, with which Harry spoke evidently depressed them, and, as they entertained not the slightest suspicion of his treachery, they left the apartment each with a heavy heart.

Harry, from this time forward, a.s.sociated more with his brother than he had done, and seemed to take him more into his confidence. He asked him out in all his sporting expeditions; and proposed that they should each procure a shooting dress of the same color and materials, which was accordingly done; and so strongly did they resemble each other, when dressed in them, that in an uncertain light, or at a distance, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the one from the other. In fact, the brothers were now inseparable, Harry's object being to keep Charles as much under his eye and control as possible, from an apprehension that, on cool reflection, he might take it into his head to satisfy himself by a personal interview with Alice Goodwin as to the incomprehensible change which had estranged her affection from him.

Still, although the affection of those brothers seemed to increase, the conduct of Harry was full of mystery. That the confidence he placed in Charles was slight and partial admitted of no doubt. He was in the habit, for instance, of going out after the family had gone to bed, as we have mentioned before; and it was past all doubt that he had been frequently seen accompanied, in his midnight rambles, by what was known in the neighborhood as the Black Spectre, or, by the common people, as the _Shan-dhinne-dhue_, or the dark old man. These facts invested his character, which, in spite of all his plausibility of manner, was unpopular, with something of great dread, as involving on his part some unholy a.s.sociation with the evil and supernatural. This was peculiarly the age of superst.i.tion and of a belief in the connection of both men and women with diabolical agencies; for such was the creed of the day.

One evening, about this time, Caterine Collins was on her way home to Rathfillan, I when, on crossing a piece of bleak moor adjacent to the town, a powerful young fellow, dressed in the truis, cloak, and barrad of the period, started up from a clump of furze bushes, and addressed her as follows:--

"Caterine," said he, "are you in a hurry?"

"Not particularly," she replied; "but in G.o.d's name, Shawn, what brings you here? Are you mad? or what tempts you to come within the jaws of the law that are gaping for you as their appointed victim? Don't you know you are an outlaw?"

"I will answer your first question first," he replied. "What tempted me to come here? Vengeance--deep and deadly vengeance. Vengeance upon the villain who has ruined Grace Davoren. I had intended to take her life first; but I am an Irishman, and will not visit upon the head of the innocent girl, whom this incarnate devil has tempted beyond her strength, the crime for which he is accountable."

"Well, indeed, Shawn, it would be only serving him right; but, in the meantime, you had better be on your guard; it is said that he fears neither G.o.d nor devil, and always goes well armed; so be cautious, and if you take him at all, it must be by treachery."

"No," said the outlaw, indignantly, "I'll never take him or any man by treachery. I know I am an outlaw; but it was the merciless laws of the country, and their injustice to me and mine, that made me so; I resisted them openly and like a man; but, bad as I am supposed to be, I will never stain either my name or my conscience by an act of cowardly treachery. I will meet this dark villain face to face, and take my revenge as a brave man ought. You say he goes well armed, and that is a proof that he feels his own guilt; yes, he goes well armed, you say; so do I, and it will not be the treacherous murderer that he will meet, but the open foe."

"Well," replied Caterine, "that is just like you, Shawn; and it is no wonder that the women were fond of you."

"Yes," said he, "but the girl that was dearer to me a thousand times than my own life has proved faithless, because there is a stain upon my name--a stain, but no crime, Caterine; a stain made by the law, but no crime. Had her heart been loyal and true, she would have loved me ten times more in consequence of my very disgrace--if disgrace I ought to call it; but instead of that--but wait--O, the villain! Well, I shall meet him, I trust, before long, and then, Caterine, ah, then!"

"Well, Shawn, if she has desalted you, I know one that loves you better than ever she did, and that would never desart you, as Grace Davoren has done."

"Ah, Caterine," replied the outlaw, sorrowfully, "I am past that now; my heart is broke--I could never love another. What proof of truth or affection could any other woman give me after the treachery of her who once said she loved me so well? She said, indeed, some time ago, that it was her father forced her to do it, but that was after she had seen him, for well I know she often told me a different story before the night of the bonfire and the shower of blood. Well, Caterine, that shower of blood was not sent for nothing. It came as the prophecy of his fate, which, if I have life, will be a b.l.o.o.d.y one."

"Shawn," replied Caterine, as if she had not paid much attention to his words, "Shawn, dear Shawn, there is one woman who would give her life for your love."

"Ah," said Shawn, "it's aisily said, at all events--aisily said; but who is it Caterine?"

"She is now speaking to you," she returned. "Shawn, you cannot but know that I have long loved you; and I now tell you that I love you still--ay, and a thousand times more than ever Grace Davoren did."

"You!" said Shawn, recoiling with indignation; "is it you, a spy, a fortune-teller, a go-between, and, if all be true, a witch; you, whose life and character would make a modest woman blush to hear them mentioned? Why, the curse of heaven upon you! how dare you think of proposing such a subject to me? Do you think because I'm marked by the laws that my heart has lost anything of its honesty and manhood? Begone, you hardened and unholy vagabond, and leave my sight."

"Is that your language, Shawn?"

"It is; and what other language could any man with but a single spark of honesty and respect for himself use toward you? Begone, I say."

"Yes, I will begone; but perhaps you may live to rue your words: that is all."

"And, perhaps, so may you," he replied. "Leave my sight. You are a disgrace to the name of woman."

She turned upon her heel, and on the instant bent her steps towards Rathfillan House.

"Shawn-na-Middogue," she said as she went along, "you talk about revenge, but wait till you know what the revenge of an insulted woman is. It is not an aisy thing to know your haunts; but I'll set them upon your trail that will find you out if you were to hide yourself in the bowels of the earth, for the words you used to me this night. _Dar manim_, I will never rest either night or day until I see you swing from a gibbet."

Instead of proceeding to the little town of Rathfillan, she changed her mind and turned her steps to Rathfillan House, the residence, as our readers are aware, of the generous and kind-hearted Mr. Lindsay.

On arriving there she met our old acquaintance, Barney Casey, on the way from the kitchen to the stable. Observing that she was approaching the hall-door with the evident purpose of knocking, and feeling satisfied that her business could be with none of the family except Harry, he resolved to have some conversation with her, in order, if possible, to get a glimpse of its purport. Not, indeed, that he entertained any expectation of such a result, because he knew the craft and secrecy of the woman he had to deal with; but, at all events, he thought that he might still glean something significant even by her equivocations, if not by her very silence. He accordingly turned, over and met her.

"Well, Caterine, won't this be a fine night when the moon and stars comes out to show you the road home again afther you manage the affair you're bent on?"

"Why, what am I bent on?" she replied, sharply.

"Why, to build a church to-night, wid the a.s.sistance of Mr. Harry Woodward."

"Talk with respect of your masther's stepson," she replied, indignantly.

"And my sweet misthress's son," returned Barney, significantly.

"Why, Caterine, I hope you won't lift me till I fall. What did I say disrespectful of him? Faith, I only know that the wondher is how such a devil's scald could have so good and kind-hearted a son," he added, disentangling himself from her suspicions, knowing perfectly well, as he did, that any unfavorable expression he might utter against that vindictive gentleman would most a.s.suredly be communicated to him with comments much stronger than the text. This would only throw him out of Harry's confidence, and deprive him of those opportunities of probably learning, from their casual conversation, some tendency of his mysterious movements, especially at night; for that he was enveloped in mystery--was a fact of which he felt no doubt whatsoever. He accordingly resolved to cancel the consequences even of the equivocal allusion to him which he had made, and which he saw at a glance that Caterine's keen suspicions had interpreted into a bad sense.

"So you see, Katty," he proceeded, "agra-machree that you wor, don't lift me, as I said, till I fall; but what harm is it to be fond of a spree wid a purty girl? Sure it's a good man's case; but I'll tell you more; you must know the misthress's wig took fire this mornin', and she was within an inch of havin' the house in flames. Ah, it's she that blew a regular breeze, threatened to make the masther and the other two take to their travels from about the house and place, and settle the same house and place upon Mr. Harry."

"Well, Barney," said Caterine, deeply interested, "what was the upshot?"

"Why, that Masther Harry--long life to him--parted company wid her on the spot; said he would take part wid the masther and the other two, and tould her to her teeth that he did not care a d.a.m.n about the property, and that she might leave it as a legacy to ould Nick, who, he said, desarved it better at her hands than he did."

"Well, well," replied Caterine, "I never thought he was such a fool as all that comes to. Devil's cure to him, if she laves it to some one else! that's my compa.s.sion for him."

"Well, but, Caterine, what's the news? When will the sky fall, you that knows so much about futurity?"

"The news is anything but good, Barney. The sky will fall some Sunday in the middle of next week, and then for the lark-catching. But tell me, Barney, is Mr. Harry within? because, if he is, I'd thank you to let him know that I wish to see him. I have a bit of favor to ask of him about my uncle Solomon's cabin; the masther's threatnin' to pull it down."

Now, Barney knew the a.s.sertion to be a lie, because it was only a day or two previous to the conversation that he had heard Mr. Lindsay express his intention of building the old herbalist a new one. He kept his knowledge of this to himself, however.

"And so you want him to change the masther's mind upon the subject.

Faith and you're just in luck after this mornin's skirmish--skirmis.h.!.+

no bedad, but a field day itself; the masther could refuse him nothing.

Will I say what you want him for?"

"You may or you may not; but, on second thoughts, I think it will be enough to say simply that I wish to spake to him particularly."

"Very well, Caterine," replied Barney, "I'll tell him so."