The O'Donoghue Part 14

"We'll go down now," said the doctor; "I believe I know the whole state of the case;" and, with these words of ambiguous meaning he returned to the drawing-room.

CHAPTER X. AN EVENING AT "MARY" M'KELLY's

If sorrow had thrown its sombre shadow over the once-proud house of the O'Donoghue, within whose walls now noiseless footsteps stole along, and whispered words were spoken: a very different scene presented itself at the small hostel of Mary M'Kelly. There, before the ample fireplace, a quarter of a sheep was roasting--while various utensils of cookery, disposed upon and around the fire, diffused a savoury odour through the apartment. A table, covered with a snow-white napkin, and containing covers for a party of six, occupied the middle of the room; cups and drinking vessels of richly chased silver, silver forks and spoons, of handsome pattern, were there also--strange and singular spectacle beneath the humble thatch of a way-side cabin. Mary herself displayed in her toilet a more than usual care and attention, and wore in her becoming cap, with a deep lace border, a bouquet of tri-colored ribbons, coquettishly knotted, and with the ends falling loosely on her neck.

While she busied herself in the preparation for the table, she maintained from time to time a running conversation with a person who sat smoking in the chimney corner. Although screened from the glare of the fire, the light which was diffused around showed enough of the dress and style of the wearer to recognize him at once for Lanty Lawler, the horse-dealer. His att.i.tude, as he lolled back on one chair, and supported his legs on another, bespoke the perfection of ease, while in the jaunty manner he held the long pipe-stick between his fingers, could be seen the affectation of one who wished to be thought at home, as well as to feel so.

"What hour did they mention, Mary?" said he, after a pause of some minutes, during which he puffed his pipe a.s.siduously.

"The gossoon that came from Beerhaven, said it would be nine o'clock at any rate; but sure it's nigher to ten now. They were to come up on the flood tide. Whisht, what was that?--Wasn't that like the noise of wheels?"

"No; that's the wind, and a severe night it is too. I'm thinking, Mary, the storm may keep them back."

"Not a bit of it; there's a creek down there, they tell me, safer nor e'er a harbour in Ireland; and you'd never see a bit of a vessel till you were straight over her: and sure it's little they mind weather. That Captain Jack, as they call him, says there's no time for business like a gale of wind. The last night they were here there was two wrecks in the bay."

"I mind it well, Mary. Faix, I never felt a toast so hard to drink as the one they gave after supper."

"Don't be talking about it," said Mary, crossing herself devoutly; "they said it out of devilment, sorra more."

"Well, may be so," muttered he sententiously. "They're wild chaps any way, and they've a wild life of it."

"Troth, if I was a man, tis a life I'd like well," said Mary, with a look of resolute determination, well becoming the speech. "Them's the fine times they have, going round the world for sport, and nothing to care for--as much goold as they'd ask--fine clothes--the best of eating and drinking; sure there's not one of them would drink out of less than silver."

"Faix, they may have iron round their ancles for it, after all, Mary."

"Sorra bit of it--the jail isn't built yet, that would howld them.

What's that noise now? That's them. Oh, no; it's the water running down the mountain."

"Well, I wish they'd come any way," said Lanty; "for I must be off early to-morrow--I've an order from the ould banker here above, for six beasts, and I'd like to get a few hours' sleep before morning."

"'Tis making a nice penny you are there, Lanty," said Mary, with a quizzical look from the corner of her eye.

"A good stroke of business, sure enough, Mary," replied he, laughingly.

"What d'ye think I did with him yesterday morning? I heerd here, ye know, what happened to the grey mare I bought from Mark O'Donoghue--that she was carried over the weir-gash and drowned. What does I do, but goes up to the Lodge and asks for Sir Marmaduke; and says I, 'I'm come, sir, to offer a hundred and fifty for the little mare I sould you the other day for a hundred; 'tis only now I found out her real value, and I can get two hundred for her in Cork, the day I bring her up; and sure your honour wouldn't prevent a poor man making a trifle in the way of his trade.' 'You're an honest fellow, Lanty,' says he--divil a lie in it Mary, don't be laughing--'you're an honest fellow; and although I cannot let you have your mare back again, for she was killed last night, you shall have your own price for the four carriage-horses and the two roadsters I ordered.' With that I began blubbering about the mare, and swore I was as fond of her as if she was my sister. I wish you'd seen his daughter then; upon my conscience it was as good as a play. 'They have so much feelin', says she to her father. 'For fun,' says I to myself. 'O murther, murther. Mary, and them's the people that rules us!'"

"Omadhauns they are, the devil a' more!" interposed Mary, whose hearty contempt for the Saxon originated in the facility by which he could be imposed upon.

"That's what I'm always saying," said Lanty. "I'd rather have the chaytin' than the bayting of John Bull, any day! You'll humbug him out of his s.h.i.+rt, and faix it's the easiest way to get it after all."

"It's a mane way, Lanty," interposed Mary, with a look of pride; "it's a dirty, mane way, and doesn't become an Irishman?"

"Wait till the time comes, Mary M'Kelly," said Lanty, half angrily, "and maybe I'd be as ready as another."

"I wish it was come," said Mary, sighing; "I wish to the Virgin it was; I'm tired heerin' of the preparations. Sorra one of me knows what more they want, if the stout heart was there. There's eight barrels of gunpowder in that rock there," said she, in a low whisper, "behind yer back--you needn't stir, Lanty. Begorra, if a spark was in it, 'twould blow you and me, and the house that's over us, as high as Hungry mountain."

"The angels be near us!" said Lanty, making the sign of the cross.

"Ay," resumed Mary, "and muskets for a thousand min, and pikes for two more. There's saddles and bridles, eighteen hogsheads full."

"True enough," chimed in Lanty; "and I have an order for five hundred cavalry horses--the money to be paid out of the Bank of France. Musha, I wish it was some place nearer home."

"Is it doubting them ye are, Lanty Lawler?"

"No, not a bit; but it's always time enough to get the beasts, when we see the riders. I could mount two thousand men in a fortnight, any day, if there was money to the fore; ay, and mount them well, too: not the kind of devils I give the government, that won't stand three days of hard work. Musha, Mary, but it's getting very late; that mutton will be as dry as a stick."

"The French likes it best that way," said Mary, with a droll glance, as though to intimate she guessed the speaker's object. "Take a look down the road, Lanty, and try if you can hear any one coming."

Lanty arose from his comfortable corner with evident reluctance, and laid down his pipe with a half sigh, as he moved slowly towards the door of the cabin, which having unbarred he issued forth into the darkness.

"It's likely I'd hear any thing such a night as this," grumbled he to himself, "with the trees snapping across, and the rocks tumbling down!

It's a great storm entirely."

"Is there any sign of them, Lanty?" cried Mary, as she held the door ajar, and peeped out into the gloomy night.

"I couldn't see my hand fornint me."

"Do you hear nothing?"

"Faix I hear enough over my head; that was thunder! Is there any fear of it getting at the powder, Mary?"

"Divil a fear; don't be unasy about that," said the stout-hearted Mary.

"Can you see nothing at all?"

"Sorra a thing, barrin' the lights up at Carrig-na-curra; they're moving about there, at a wonderful rate. What's O'Donoghue doing at all?"

"'Tis the young boy, Herbert, is sick," said Mary, as she opened the door to admit Lanty once more. "The poor child is in a fever. Kerry O'Leary was down here this evening for lemons for a drink for him. Poor Kerry! he was telling me, himself has a sore time of it, with that ould Scotchman that's up there; nothing ever was like him for scoulding, and barging, and abusing; and O'Donoghue now minds nothing inside or out, but sits all day long in the big chair, just as if he was asleep. Maybe he does take a nap sometimes, for he talks of bailiffs, and writs, and all them things. Poor ould man! it's a bad end, when the law comes with the grey hairs!"

"They've a big score with yourself, I'll be bound," said Lanty inquiringly.

"Troth, I'd like to see myself charge them with any thing," said she, indignantly. "It's to them and their's I owe the roof that's over me, and my father, and my father's father before me owes it. Musha, it would become me to take their money, for a trifle of wine and spirits, and tay and tobacco, as if I wasn't proud to see them send down here--the raal ould stock that's in it! Lanty, it must be very late by this. I'm afeard something's wrong up in the bay."

"'Tis that same I was thinking myself," said Lanty, with a sly look towards the roasted joint, whose savoury odour was becoming a temptation overmuch for resistance.

"You've a smart baste in the stable," said Mary; "he has eaten his corn by this time, and must be fresh enough; just put the saddle on him, Lanty dear, and ride down the road a mile or two--do, and good luck attend you."

There never was a proposition less acceptable to the individual to whom it was made; to leave a warm fire-side was bad enough, but to issue forth on a night it would have been inhumanity to expose a dog to, was far too much for his compliance; yet Lanty did not actually refuse; no, he had his own good reasons for keeping fair with Mary M'Kelly; so he commenced a system of diplomatic delay and discussion, by which time at least might be gained, in which it was possible the long-expected guests would arrive, or the project fall to the ground on its own merits.

"Which way will they come, Mary?" said he, rising from his seat.

"Up the glen, to be sure--what other way could they from the Bay. You'll hear them plain enough, for they shout and sing every step of the road, as if it was their own; wild devils they are."

"Sing is it? musha, now, do they sing?"

"Ay, faix, the drollest songs ever ye heerd; French and Roosian songs--sorra the likes of them going at all."

"Light hearts they have of their own."