The Bunsby papers Part 19

"Love," interrupted Mark, endeavoring to put in a demurrer.

"To be sure," said she, "I saw it, I knew it and well;" she continued, seeing he was about to speak. "When do you mean to talk to Aunty? You know my fifty pounds are in her hands." She was an heiress, was Bridget.

"Pounds! Aunty! yes, to be sure," replied Mark, perfectly bewildered, "but I thought Ned Riley was"----

"Peggy's sweetheart--well, we all know that," interrupted Bridget, inly enjoying the consternation that painted Mark's cheek a livid white.

"And you to be so jealous of Riley," she went on, "not to dance with me last night; I knew the reason, but the jealousy that springs from love is soon forgot, so I forgot yours."

"Peggy! _his_ sweetheart? Riley's?"

"To be sure, don't you know they are going to be married?"

"No!" vacantly replied the sorely bewildered Mark.

"Oh, yes! and now I want to tell you a pet plan of mine, if you don't think me too bold, Mark, and that is, how nice and cozy it would be, if we could only all be married on the same day."

This was too much for Mark; he couldn't endure it any longer; he started up, pushed his hat very far on his head, saying, in what he intended to be a most severe tone:

"Miss O'Conner, I don't know what could have put such an idea into your head. Marry, indeed! I've enough to do to take care of myself. No, I'm sorry to wound _your_ feelings, but I shall never marry!"

"Oh! yes, you will," said Bridget, placing her arm in his, which he disengaged, saying bitterly:

"Never! never!"

"Nonsense, I'll bet you will, and, if it was only to humor me, Mark, on the very same day that Peggy is!"

"Bridget, I didn't think I could hate a woman as I'm beginning to hate you."

"Better before marriage than after, Mr. Mark. Come, I'll bet you a new Sunday coat, against a calico gown, and that's long odds in your favor, that what I've said will come true."

"Nonsense!"

"Is it a bet?"

"Pooh! I'll bet my life, against"----

"What it's worth, Mr. Mark--just nothing at all."

"True for you, now, Bridget; true for you," and Mark suddenly quitted the house in such real sorrow that it touched for a moment even Bridget's heart; but only for a moment. Pshaw! thought she, let him fret; it will do him good, and make the joy greater when he comes to know the truth. A hunt would be nothing without hedges and ditches.

Proceeding to the window, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Ha! as I live, here comes Peg herself. She must meet Mark; what fun!

He sees her and stops short; what a quandary he's in. She sees _him_!

How the little fool blushes; now they meet. Mark doesn't take her hand.

I wonder what he's saying. 'It's a fine day,' I suppose, or something equally interesting; he pa.s.ses on, and Peg looks as scared as if she had seen a ghost."

A sudden thought at this moment seemed to strike Bridget; she clapped her hands together and laughed a little, sharp laugh, saying, "I'll do it, I will; I'll have a bit of fun with Peg, too," so she pretended to be very busy at her spinning-wheel as Peggy entered, and hanging up her, cloak and bonnet, sat down without saying a word.

"Ah! Peg," Bridget began, "is that you? Mark has just been here."

"Indeed?" replied Peggy, twisting up one pretty curl so tightly as to hurt her head.

"The blessed truth," continued the wicked little tormentor. "Did you meet him?"

A very desponding "yes," was the response.

"Well," demanded Bridget, anxiously, "did he say anything--I mean, anything _particular_?"

"He only said the weather was pleasant, and then pa.s.sed on, without ever even shaking hands with me," sadly replied Peggy.

"Mark needn't have done that; whatever happens, he ought to be civil to _you_," said Bridget, with a peculiar expression that made Peggy's heart flutter within her like a pigeon.

"Civil to me! what _do_ you mean, Bridget?"

Bridget hummed an air, and, as if suddenly wis.h.i.+ng to change the conversation, said, gaily:

"Oh! I forgot, we were to tell each other's dreams this morning. Peg, you begin, what did _you_ dream about?"

"Nothing, Bridget, I didn't sleep."

"Then you couldn't have dreamed," sagely responded the other, "but I did."

"What?"

"I dreamed that I had a beautiful new gown given to me, and by whom do you think?"

"I don't know; Ned Riley, may-be."

"Ned Riley, indeed," replied Bridget with a sneer; "not a bit of it. By a finer man than ever stood in _his_ shoes. Who but Mark Brady?"

Peg's heart sank within her.

"That wasn't all I dreamed," and she fixed her wild eyes full on Peg, in a way that made hers fall instantly, "I dreamed that I was married to him."

"To Mark?" whispered Peggy.

"_To Mark!_"

Peggy didn't utter another syllable; didn't even look up, but sat motionless and pale, very pale. Bridget couldn't understand her seeming apathy; a more acute observer would have but contrasted it with the intense emotion which she felt within--an emotion not a whit lessened as Bridget continued, with marked expression:

"I dreamed all that this blessed morning, and morning dreams, you know, _always come true_."

Peggy, still silent, seemed to be wholly occupied in demolis.h.i.+ng, piece by piece, the remnant of a faded flower which she had taken from her bosom, lingering over its destruction as though a portion of her heart went with each fragment--when Bridget suddenly started up, exclaiming, "Here comes Mark, I declare."

A painful spasm shot through Peggy's frame, yet she did not stir from her seat; the only evidence that she heard Bridget's exclamation was that her lips grew as pallid as her cheek.

"But, law, what am I thinking about? I must go and tidy my hair."

And away flew Bridget up to her room, from whence she crept stealthily down, and snugly ensconced herself behind the door. Naughty girl! to listen to what transpired.