Read Ebook: The Chautauquan Vol. 04 October 1883 by Chautauqua Institution Chautauqua Literary And Scientific Circle Flood Theodore L Editor

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Ebook has 1021 lines and 30816 words, and 21 pages

"Miss," she said indignantly, "servants aint dogs, nor cats either. I am ashamed of you, Miss."

"Is Papa come back?" I asked again, with all the insolence of conscious security.

If Sarah had dared, I should then have got a sound slap or box on the ear, but I knew well enough she would not dare: her predecessor had been dismissed for presuming to threaten me with personal chastisement, so she swallowed down her resentment to reply, rather sharply, "No, Miss, the Doctor is not come back, Miss."

I looked at the two tea-cups, and said haughtily, "I'll have my tea alone."

Sarah became as crimson as the ribbons in her cap, gave me a spiteful look, laughed shortly, and vindictively replied. "No, Miss, you'll not have tea alone, Miss. Mr. O'Reilly is come, and as he is not an unfort'nate servant, perhaps you won't mind taking tea with him, Miss."

I sulked on hearing the news.

Cornelius O'Reilly was the friend and countryman of my father, who had known him from his boyhood, and helped to rear and educate him. He came down every autumn to spend ten days or a fortnight at Rock Cottage. He never failed to bring me a present; but this did not render his visits more welcome to me. Whilst he was in the house, I was less petted, less indulged, and, above all, less noticed by my father. It was this I could not forgive the young man.

On noticing the unamiable look with which I heard the news of his arrival, Sarah indignantly exclaimed, "You ought to blush, Miss, you ought, for being so jealous of your poor Pa! Do you think he is to look at nobody but you? Suppose he were to marry again?"

"He won't, you know he won't," I interrupted, almost passionately; "and you know he said you were not to say it."

This was true; for Sarah, once feeling more than usually "aggravated" with me, had chosen to inform me "that if my Pa went every day to see Miss Murray, it was not all because she was poorly, but because he was going to marry that lady; and that I and her nephew William were to be got rid of by being sent to school as soon as the wedding was over."

She spoke positively. I believed her, and took the matter so much to heart that my father perceived it, learned the cause, and, after relieving me with the assurance that he was quite determined never to marry a second time, and that I was to be his only pet and darling, called in Sarah, and in my presence administered to her a short and severe reprimand, which she resentfully remembered as one of my many offences. Being now beaten on this point, she sharply observed, "Well, Miss, is it a reason, because our Pa won't marry again, that we are to be rude to our Pa's friend?"

I did not answer.

"I am sure he is kind," she continued, "it's in his face."

No reply.

"I never saw a better-tempered looking gentleman."

I was obstinately silent.

"Nor a handsomer one," persisted Sarah, on whom the young Irishman's appearance seemed to have produced a strong impression; "there is not one like him from Ryde to Leigh."

She spoke pointedly. I felt myself redden.

"He is not half so handsome as Papa," I replied indignantly.

"Right, Margaret," observed a good-humoured voice behind us; and Cornelius O'Reilly, who had overheard the latter part of our discourse, entered the parlour as he spoke.

Sarah uttered a little scream, then hung down her head in maidenly distress; to recover from her confusion, and perhaps to linger in the room, she began to shift and rattle the tea-things, whilst Cornelius, sitting down by the table, signed me to approach. I did do so,--not very graciously, I am afraid. He took both my hands in one of his, and resting the other on my head, looked down at me with a smile. I had often seen him before, yet when I look back into the past, I find that from this autumn noon, as I stood before him with my hands in his, dates my first clear and distinct recollection of Cornelius O'Reilly.

He was then about twenty, tall, decided in manner and bearing, and strikingly handsome, with heavy masses of dark wavy hair, which he often shook back by a hasty and impatient motion. His face was characteristic, frank, and proud, with a broad brow, ardent hazel eyes, full and brilliant as those of the hawk, and arched features, which, though neither Greek nor Roman, impressed themselves on the memory as vividly as any ancient type. His look was both kind and keen; his smile pleasant and perplexing. Every one liked it, but few understood it rightly: it was so ready for raillery, so indulgent, and withal so provokingly careless. Like the face, it expressed a mobile temper, ingenuous in its very changes; a mind that yielded to every impression, and was mastered by none.

Such was then Cornelius O'Reilly; not that he seemed so to me, but the gaze of childhood is as observant as it is unreflecting, and I unconsciously noted signs of which I knew not how to read the meaning.

"Well, Margaret, how are you?" asked Cornelius, after a sufficiently long silence.

"Very well, thank you," I replied in a low tone, and making a useless effort to disengage my hands from his grasp. Without seeming to notice this, he continued, nodding at a brown-paper parcel on the table--

"There is a cake, which my sister Kate sends you, with her very kind love."

I saw Sarah turning up her eyes in admiration, and this induced me to make a reply which I am ashamed to record, it was so ungracious:

"I never eat cake," I said.

"Miss!" began Sarah.

"And I have brought you this," interrupted the young man, drawing forth a book from his pocket. He held it before my eyes; it had a bright cover, with a gilt title; the temptation was strong, but not stronger than my stubborn pride.

"Papa gives me books," I replied.

"Oh! very well," smilingly answered Cornelius; "I shall give him this to give to you."

His good-humoured forbearance began to make me feel penitent, when again Sarah interfered with an unlucky "For shame, Miss!"

"She is only shy," kindly said Cornelius.

"Oh! Sir, it is sly we are," replied Sarah with a prim smile; "if we durst, we'd scamper away through that open door; ay, that we would!" she added, emphatically nodding her head at me. "We are very unkind, Sir."

"Not at all," observed Cornelius, taking my part; "Margaret is very fond of me, only she does not like to say so. Are you not, my dear?" he added with provoking confidence.

"No," was my reply, more frank than civil.

"Indeed you are, and the proof of it is that of your own accord you are going to give me a kiss."

I was astounded at the audacious idea. I never kissed any one but my father. Alas! I fear I thought myself and my childish caresses very precious things indeed. Cornelius laughed, and stooped; but as he gently released my hands at the same time, I eluded the caress, and darted through the open door up the dark staircase. Sarah wanted to rush after me. Cornelius interfered, and again said I was shy.

"Shy, Sir! shy!" echoed Sarah with a short, indignant laugh, "bless you, Sir, it is pride: she is as proud as Lucifer, and as obstinate, too. I could beat that child to death, Sir, and not make her kiss me. No one knows how she has tried my feelings. I am naturally fond of children, and I have been in families where young ladies used to doat on me, and scarcely care for their Mas, much less for their Pas; but with Miss Margaret it is just the reverse. You may wait on her, scold, praise, coax; it is all one: she cares for no one but for her Pa--of whom she is as jealous as can be, Sir; and if she doesn't like you, Sir, why she won't like you, and there's an end of it."

He laughed, as she paused, out of breath at the volubility with which she had spoken. I waited not to hear more, but softly stole up to my room. I feared neither darkness nor solitude; besides the moon had risen, and her pale, mild light fell on the floor. So I sat down by my bed, laid my head on the pillow, and, as I thus faced the window, I looked at the open sky beyond it, and watched a whole flock of soft white clouds slowly journeying towards the west. I thought to remain thus until I should hear the well-known tramp of my father's horse coming down the stony road, but unconsciously my eyes closed and I fell fast asleep.

How long I slept I cannot tell. I know that I had a fearful dream, which I have never been able to remember, and that I woke with the cold dews on my brow and an awful dread at my heart. I looked up trembling with terror; a large dark cloud was passing over the moon; in my room there was the gloom of midnight, but not its silence. Unusual tumult filled our quiet home; I listened and heard the voices of strange men, and above them that of Sarah, rising loud in lamentation, and exclaiming, "Oh! my poor master!"

My next remembrance is, that standing on the steps of the staircase, I looked down at something passing below; that a sharp current of cold air came from the open front door, beyond which I caught sight of a starry sky; that on the threshold of the parlour stood, with their backs to me, three men in coarse jackets; and that, looking beyond them in the room, I saw Sarah weeping bitterly, and holding a flickering light, whilst Cornelius O'Reilly bent over my father, who sat in his chair motionless and deadly pale. He said something; Cornelius looked at Sarah; she laid down the light, came out, shut the door, and all vanished like a vision lost in sudden obscurity. And a vision I might have thought it, but for the subdued speech that followed. Sarah was sobbing in the dark passage.

"Come, girl, don't take on so," said a man's voice, speaking low, "where's the use? Any one can see it is all over with the poor doctor."

"Oh! don't," incoherently exclaimed Sarah, "don't."

"He said so himself, and he ought to know. 'It is all over with me, Dick,' says he, when we picked him up from where that cursed horse had thrown him; 'take me home to die,' says he, 'take me home to die.'"

Sarah moaned; the other two men said nothing; had they but uttered a word, I should have remembered it, for I still seem to hear distinctly, as if but just fallen from the lips of the speaker, not merely the words, but the very intonations of that voice to which, standing on the dark staircase, I then listened in all the stupor of grief. Scarcely had it ceased, when the parlour door opened; Cornelius, looking very sad and pale, appeared on the threshold, and, raising his voice, called out, "Margaret!"

I sprang down at once; in a second I was by my father, with my arms round his neck, my cheek to his. He bore no sign of external injury; but his brow was ashy pale; his look was dim; his lips were white. He recognized me, for he looked from me to Cornelius, with a glance that lit suddenly. The young man laid his hand on my shoulder; tears ran down his face, and his lips trembled as he said, "May God forsake me when I forsake your child!"

My father made an effort; he raised himself on one elbow.

"Tell Kate--" he began; but the words that should have followed died away in a mere incoherent murmur: he sank back; there was a sound of heavy breathing; then followed a deep stillness. I felt the hand of Cornelius leaning more heavily upon my shoulder. "Sarah!" he said, looking towards the door, and speaking in a whisper.

She came forward, took my hand, and led me away. She wept bitterly; I looked at her, and shed not one tear. I know not what I felt then; it was dread, it was agony, stupor, and grief.

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