The Martins Of Cro' Martin Volume I Part 62

Priests may denounce and politicians declaim, but the Irish peasant, nurtured with all the prejudices of race and religion, never throws off his veneration for the little flock, who, like a brave garrison in a besieged land, hold manfully together round the banner of their Faith!

How striking is this in remote parts of the country, where the reformed religion has made little progress, and its followers are few in number!

It was Sunday; the gates of Cro' Martin Park were open to admit all who might repair to the church. When the Martins were at home, Lady Dorothea used to give to these occasions somewhat of the state of a procession.

The servants wore their dress liveries; two carriages were in waiting.

She herself appeared in a toilet that might have graced a court chapel; and a formal ceremoniousness of speech and demeanor were ordained as the becoming recognition of the holy day. Trained to these observances by many a year, Mary could scarcely comprehend the strange sensation she felt as she walked along to church, unattended and alone. It was a bright day of early summer, with a soft wind stirring the leaves above, and rippling pleasantly the waters of the lake. The perfume of the new hay floated through the thin air, with the odor of the whitethorn and the meadow-sweet; the birds were singing merrily; and through this gay carol came the mellow sound of the little bell that summoned to prayer.

There was a delicious sense of repose in the stillness around, telling how, amid the cares and contentions of life, its wealth seekings, and its petty schemes there came moments when the better instincts were the victors, and men, in all the diversities of their rank and station, could meet together to kneel at one altar, and unite in one supplication. As she went, little glimpses were caught by her of the distant country beyond the demesne; and over all there reigned the same tranquillity; the sound of voices, far away, adding to the effect, and making the silence more palpable. "How peaceful it is," thought she, "and how happy it might be! Could we but bridle our own pa.s.sions, restrain our mean jealousies, and curb the evil promptings of our own hearts, what blessings might grow up amongst them! But for objects not worth the attaining,--ambitions of no value when won,--and my uncle might still be here, strolling along, perhaps, with me at this very moment, and with me drinking in this calm repose and soothing quietness."

Before her, at some little distance on the path, went the three daughters of the village doctor; and, though well and becomingly attired, there was nothing in their appearance to warrant the reproach Lady Dorothea had cast upon their style of dress. It was, indeed, scrupulously neat, but simple. The eldest was a girl of about sixteen, with all the gravity of manner and staid expression that belongs to those who stand in the light of mothers to younger sisters. The housekeeper of her father's little home, the manager of all within its humble household, his secretary, his companion, Ellen Cloves had acquired, while little more than a child, the patient and submissive temper that long worldly trial confers. They lived perfectly to themselves; between the society of the castle and that of the farmers around there was no intermediate territory, and thus they pa.s.sed their lives in a little circle of home duties and affections, which made up all their world.

Mary Martin had often wished it in her power to show them some attentions; she was attracted by their gentle faces and their calm and happy demeanor. Had her aunt permitted, she would have frequently invited them to the castle, lent them books and music, and sought companions.h.i.+p in their intercourse. But Lady Dorothea would not have heard of such a project; her theory was that familiarity with the peasant was so far safe that his station was a safeguard against any undue intimacy; while your half-gentry were truly perilous, for if you condescended to civility with them, they invariably mistook it for a friends.h.i.+p. Dr. Cloves dined every Christmas-day at the great house; but so did Mr. Scanlan and all the other heads of departments. It was a very grand and solemn festival, where neither host nor guest was happy; each felt that it was but the acquaintance of an hour, and that with the moment of leave-taking came back all the cold reserve of the day before.

"Good-morning, Miss Cloves; good-day, Jane, and little Bessy," said Mary, as she overtook them.

"Good-morning to you, Miss Martin," said Ellen, blus.h.i.+ng with surprise at seeing her alone and on foot.

"I trust the doctor is not ill? I don't see him with you," said Mary, anxious to relieve her momentary embarra.s.sment.

"Papa has been sent for to Knocktiernan, Miss Martin. They 're afraid that a case of cholera has occurred there."

"May G.o.d forbid!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mary, with deep emotion; "we have great distress and poverty around us. I hope we may be spared this scourge."

"It is what papa feared always," rejoined Ellen, gravely; "that want and dest.i.tution would bring on the malady."

"Have you heard who it is is ill?"

"Simon Hanley, the carpenter, Miss Martin; he worked at the castle once--"

"Yes, yes I remember him; he made me my first little garden-rake. Poor fellow! And he has a large family. Your father will, I trust, have seen him in time. Knocktiernan is but four miles of a good road."

"Papa went by the Mills, Miss Martin, for shortness, for he was on foot."

"Why did he not ride?"

"He has sold Bluebell,--the pony, I mean, Miss Martin."

Mary's face became crimson with a blush that seemed to burn through the forehead into her very brain, and she could only mutter,--

"I 'm sorry I did n't know; my carriage and pony were in the stable. If I had but heard of this--" and was silent.

They had now reached the entrance to the little churchyard, where the few members of the small flock lingered, awaiting the arrival of the clergyman. Amidst many a respectful salutation and gaze of affectionate interest, Mary walked to the end of the aisle, where, shrouded in heavy curtains, soft-cus.h.i.+oned and high-panelled, stood the castle pew.

It must be, indeed, hard for the rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. The very appliances of his piety are the offshoots of his voluptuous habits; and that his heart should feel humble, his ha.s.sock must be of down! It was not often that the words of the pastor were heard within that solemn, small enclosure with the same reverent devotion. Mary was now alone there; her mind no longer distracted by the petty incidents of their coming, her proud station seemed to have vanished, and she felt herself but as one of an humble flock, supplicating and in sorrow!

Dr. Leslie had heard of the terrible visitation which menaced them, and made it the subject of his sermon. The fact of his own great age and fast declining strength gave a deeper meaning to all he said, and imparted to the faltering words of his benediction the solemnity of a farewell.

"You are a little fatigued to-day, doctor," said Mary, as he came out of church. "Will you allow me to offer you my arm?"

"Willingly, my dear Miss Mary. But this is not our road."

"Why so?--this is the path to the vicarage."

"They 've made some change, my dear; they 've altered the approach."

"And you came round by the avenue,--a distance of two miles?" cried she, deep crimson with shame.

"And kept you all waiting; but not very long, I trust," said he, smiling benevolently. "But come, talk to me of yourself, and when I am to come and see you."

"Oh, my dear Dr. Leslie, you must not think that I--that my uncle--" She stopped, and he pressed her hand gently, and said,--

"Do not speak of it; do not give importance to things which are trifles, if we have but good temper to leave them so. Is to-morrow a free day with you; or when shall I hope to find you at leisure?"

"My dear doctor, every day will be so in future; all my functions have ceased here. I am to be nothing in future."

"I had heard something of that, and I said to myself, 'Now will Mary Martin display her real character. No longer carried away by the mere enthusiasm of her great power and her high station, not exalted to herself by the flatteries around her, we shall see whether the sterling qualities of her nature will not supply higher and greater resources than all the credit at a banker's!' I never undervalued all you did here, Mary Martin; I saw your n.o.ble purpose, even in failures; but I always felt that to make these efforts react favorably on yourself, there should be something of sacrifice. To do good was a luxury to you; and it was a luxury very easy to purchase. You were rich, you were powerful; none controlled you. Your benefits were acknowledged with all the enthusiasm of peasant grat.i.tude. Why should you not be beneficent?

what other course of conduct could bring you one half the pleasure?

For the future, it is from another source you must dispense wealth; but happily it is one which there is no exhausting, for the heart exercised to charity has boundless stores. Let these be your riches now. Go amongst the people; learn to know them,--rather their friend than their benefactor,--and believe me that all the gold you have scattered so generously will not have sown such seeds of goodness as the meek example of your own n.o.ble submission to altered fortune. There, my dear," said he, smiling, "I 'll say no more, lest you should tell me that I have preached half an hour already. And I may come to-morrow, you say?"

"What a happiness it will be for me to speak to you!" said Mary, ardently. "There are so many things I want to say,--so much on which I need advice."

"I 'm but little practised in the ways of the world," said he, with a gentle sigh, "but I have ever found great wisdom in an honest purpose; and then," added he, more warmly, "it is a fine philosophy that secures us against humiliation, even in defeat!"

They now walked along for some time without speaking, when a sudden angle of the path brought them directly in front of the castle. They both halted suddenly, struck, as it were, by the aspect of the s.p.a.cious and splendid structure, all silent and deserted. The doors were closed, the windows shuttered,--not a living creature moved about the precincts,--and the lone flagstaff on the tower unfurled no "banner to the breeze." Even the trimly kept parterres were beginning to show signs of neglect, and tangled flowers fell across the gravel.

"What a lonely home for _her!_" muttered the old doctor to himself; then suddenly exclaimed, "Here comes some one in search of you, Miss Martin."

And a servant approached and whispered a few words in her ear.

"Yes, immediately," said she, in reply.

She entreated the old man to rest himself for a while ere he continued his walk homeward; but he declined, and with an affectionate farewell they parted,--he towards the vicarage, and she to re-enter the castle.

There is no need to practise mystery with our reader; and he who had just arrived, and was eager to see Miss Martin, was only Maurice Scanlan! As little use is there also in denying the fact that Mary was much annoyed at his inopportune coming. She was in no mood of mind to meet either him or such topics as he would certainly discuss.

However, she had, so to say, given him a permission to be admitted at all times, and there was no help for it!

These same people that one "must see," are very terrible inflictions sometimes. They are ever present at the wrong time and the wrong place. They come in moments when their presence is a discord to all our thoughts; and what is to the full as bad, they don't know it,--or they will not know it. They have an awful amount of self-esteem, and fancy that they never can be but welcome. A type of this cla.s.s was Maurice Scanlan. Thrust forward by the accidents of life into situations for which nothing in his own humble beginnings seemed to adapt him, he had, like all the other Maurice Scanlans of the world, taken to suppose that he was really a very necessary and important ingredient in all affairs.

He found, too, that his small cunning served to guide him, where really able men's wisdom failed them,--for so it is, people won't take soundings when they think they can see the bottom; and, finally, he conceived a very high opinion of his faculties, and thought them equal to much higher purposes than they had ever been engaged in.

Since his last interview with Mary Martin, he had never ceased to congratulate himself on the glorious turn of his affairs. Though not over-sanguine about others, Maurice was always hopeful of himself. It is one of the characteristics of such men, and one of the greatest aids to their activity, this ever-present belief in themselves. To secure the good opinion he had already excited in his favor was now his great endeavor; and nothing could so effectually contribute to this, as to show an ardent zeal and devotion to her wishes. He had read somewhere of a certain envoy who had accomplished his mission ere it was believed he had set out; and he resolved to profit by the example. It was, then, in the full confidence of success, that he presented himself on this occasion.

Mary received him calmly, almost coldly. His presence was not in harmony with any thought that occupied her, and she deemed the task of admitting him something like an infliction.

"I drove over, Miss Mary," said he, rather disconcerted by her reserve,--"I drove over to-day, though I know you don't like business on a Sunday, just to say that I had completed that little matter you spoke of,--the money affair. I did n't sleep on it, but went to work at once; and though the papers won't be ready for some days, the cash is ready for you whenever you like to draw it."

"You have been very kind and very prompt, sir," said she, thankfully, but with a languor that showed she was not thinking of the subject.

"He said five per cent," continued Scanlan, "and I made no objection; for, to tell you the truth, I expected he'd have asked us six,--he's generally a hard hand to deal with."