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The Emigrants Of Ahadarra, a novel by William Carleton |
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Chapter 23. Harry Clinton's Benevolence Defeated |
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_ CHAPTER XXIII. Harry Clinton's Benevolence Defeated --His Uncle's Treachery--The Marriage of Kathleen and Edward Burke Determined on
"By the way, uncle, you must excuse mo for asking you a question or two." "Certainly, Harry. Did I not often desire you never to hesitate asking me any question you wish? Why should you not?" "This, however, may be trenching a little upon the secrets of your--your--profession." "What is it?--what is it?" "You remember the seizure you made some time ago in the townland of Ahadarra?" "I do perfectly well." "Now, uncle, excuse me. Is it fair to ask you if you know the person who furnished you with information on that subject. Mark, I don't wish nor desire to know his name; I only ask if you know it?" "No, I do not." "Do you not suspect it? It came to you anonymously, did it not?" "Why, you are raking me with a fire of cross-examination, Harry; but it did." "Should you wish to know, uncle?" "Undoubtedly, I wish to know those to whom we are indebted for that fortunate event." "Don't say we, uncle; speak only for yourself." "I should wish to know, though." "Pray have you the letter?" "I have: you will find it in one of the upper pigeon holes; I can't say which; towards the left hand. I placed it there yesterday, as it turned up among some other communications of a similar stamp." In a few moments his nephew returned, with the precious document in his hands. "Now, uncle," he proceeded, as he seated himself at the table, "you admit that this is the letter?" "I admit--why, you blockhead, does not the letter itself prove as much?" "Well, then, I know the scoundrel who sent you this letter." "I grant you he is a scoundrel, Harry; nobody, I assure you, despises his tools more than I do, as in general every man does who is forced to make use of them. Go on." "The man who sent you that letter was Hycy Burke." "Very likely," replied the cool old Still-Hound; "But I did not think he would ever place us--" "You, sir, if you please." "Very well, me, sir, if you please, under such an important obligation to him. How do you know, though, that it was he who sent it?" His nephew then related the circumstance of his meeting with Nanny Peety, and the discovery he had made through her of the letter having been both written and sent by Hycy to the post-office. In order, besides, to satisfy his relative that the getting up of the still was a plan concocted by Hycy to ruin M'Mahon, through the, medium of the fine, he detailed as much of Hycy's former proposal to him as he conveniently could, without disclosing the part which he himself had undertaken to perform in this concerted moment. "Well, Harry," replied the old fellow after a pause, "he's a d--d scoundrel, no doubt; but as his scoundrelism is his own, I don't see why we should hesitate to avail ourselves of it. With respect, however, to M'Mahon, I can assure you, that I was informed of his intention to set up a Still a good while before I made the capture, and not by anonymous information either. Now, what would you say if both I and Fethertonge knew the whole plot long before it was put in practice?" As he spoke, he screwed his hard keen features into a most knavish expression. "Yes," he added; "and I can tell you that both the agent and I forwarned M'Mahon against suffering himself to engage in anything illegal--which was our duty as his friends you know--hem!" "Is that possible?" said his nephew, blushing for this villianous admission. "Quite possible," replied the other; "however, as I said, I don't see why we should hesitate to avail ourselves of his villany." "That is precisely what I was about to say, sir," replied his nephew, still musing on what he had heard. "Right, Harry; the farm is a good thing, or will be so, at least." "The farm, sir! but I did not speak with reference to the farm." "Then with reference to what did you speak?" "I meant, sir, that we should not hesitate to avail ourselves of his villany, in setting M'Mahon right with the public as far as we could." "With the whole public!--whew! Why, my good young man, I thought the days of giants and windmills had gone by." "Well, sir," continued the nephew, "at all events there is one thing you must do for me. I wish you to see old Gerald Cavanagh, and as far as you can to restore his confidence in the honesty and integrity of young M'Mahon. State to him that you have reason to know that his son has a bitter enemy in the neighborhood; that great injustice had been done to him in many ways, and that you would be glad that a reconciliation should take place between the families." "And so I am to set out upon the wild goose chase of reconciling a wench, and a fellow, without knowing why or wherefore." "No, sir--not at all---I will make Cavanough call upon you." "I don't understand this," replied the uncle, rubbing behind his ear; "I don't perceive; but pray what interest have you in the matter?" "Upon my honor, uncle, none in life, unless an anxiety to serve poor M'Mahon. The world is down upon him about that vote which, considering all the circumstances, was more creditable to him than otherwise. I know, however, that in consequence of the estrangement between him and Miss Cavanagh, he is bent on emigrating. It is that fact which presses upon him most. Now will you oblige me in this, uncle?" "Let Cavanagh call upon me," he replied, "and if I can say anything to soften the old fellow, perhaps I will." "Thank you, uncle--thank you--I shall not forget this kindness." "Well, then," said his uncle, "I am going down to Fethertonge on a certain matter of business, you understand, and--let me see--why, if Cavanagh calls on me tomorrow about eleven, I shall see him at all events." Young Clinton felt surprised and grieved at what his uncle had just hinted to him; but on the other hand, he felt considerably elated at the prospect of being able to bring about a reconciliation between these two families, and with this excellent motive in view he went to Cavanagh, with whom he had a private conversation. Having been made aware by M'Mahon himself of Cavanagh's prejudice against him, and the predilections of himself and his wife for an alliance into Burke's family, he merely told him that his uncle would be glad to see him the next day about eleven o'clock, upon which the other promised to attend to that gentleman. Old Clinton, on his way to Fethertonge's, met that worthy individual riding into Ballymacan. "I was going down to you," said he; "but where are you bound for?" "Into town," replied the agent; "have you any objection to ride that way?" "None in the world; it is just the same to me. Well, how are matters proceeding?" "Not by any means well," replied the other, "I begin to feel something like alarm. I wish we had those M'Mahons out of the country. Vanston has paid that d--d goose Chevydale a visit, and I fear that unless the Ahadarra man and his father, and the whole crew of them, soon leave the country, we shall break down in our object." "Do you tell me so?" said the gauger, starting; "by Jove, it is well I know this in time." "I don't understand." "Why," continued. Clinton, "I was about to take a foolish step to-morrow morning, for the express purpose, I believe, of keeping him, and probably the whole family in the country." He then detailed the conversation that he had with his nephew, upon which Fethertonge convinced him that there was more in the wind with respect to that step, than either he or his nephew, who he assured him was made a cat's paw of in the business, suspected. "That's a deep move," said the agent, "but we shall defeat them, notwithstanding. Everything, however, depends upon their leaving the country before Chevydale happens to come at the real state of the case; still, it will go hard or we shall baffle both him and them yet." Whether Clinton Was sure that the step urged upon him by his nephew was the result of a generous regard for M'Mahon, or that the former was made a mere tool for ultimate purposes, in the hands of the Ahadarra man, as he called him it is not easy to determine. Be this as it may, when the hour of eleven came the next morning, he was prepared to set his nephew's generosity aside, and act upon Fethertonge's theory of doing everything in his power to get the whole connection out of the country, "Ha," he exclaimed, "I now understand what Harry meant with respect to their emigration--'It is that fact which presses upon him most.' Oh ho! is it so, indeed! Very good, Mr. M'Mahon--we shall act accordingly." Gerald Cavanaugh had been made acquainted by his wife on the day before with the partial revival of his daughter's affection for Bryan M'Mahon, as well as with the enthusiastic defense of him made by Finigan, two circumstances which gave him much concern and anxiety. On his return, however, from Clinton's, his family observed that there was something of a satisfactory expression mingled up with a good deal of grave thought in his face. The truth is, if the worthy man thought for a moment that the ultimate loss of M'Mahon would have seriously injured her peace of mind, he would have bitterly regretted it, and perhaps encourage a reconciliation. This was a result, however, that he could scarcely comprehend. That she might fret and pine for a few months or so was the worst he could calculate upon, and of course he took it for granted, that the moment her affection for one was effaced, another might step in, without any great risk of disappointment. "Well, Gerald," said his wife, "what did Ganger Clinton want with you?" Gerald looked at his two daughters and sighed unconsciously. "It's not good news," he proceeded, "in one sense, but it is in another; it's good news to all my family but that girl sittin' there," pointing to Kathleen. Unfortunately no evil intelligence could have rendered the unhappy girl's cheek paler than it was; so that, so far as appearances went, it was impossible to say what effect this startling communication had upon her. "I was down wid Misther Clinton," he proceeded; "he hard a report that there was about to be a makin' up of the differences between Kathleen there and Bryan, and he sent for me to say, that, for the girl's sake--who he said was, as he had heard from all quarthers, a respectable, genteel girl--he couldn't suffer a young man so full of thraichery and desate, as he had good raisons to know Bryan M'Mahon was, to impose himself upon her or her family. He cautioned me," he proceeded, "and all of us against him; and said that if I allowed a marriage to take place between him and my daughter, he'd soon bring disgrace upon her and us, as well as himself. 'You may take my word for it, Mr. Cavanagh,' says he, 'that is not a thrifle 'ud make me send for you in sich a business; but, as I happen to know the stuff he is made of, I couldn't bear to see him take a decent family in so distastefully. To my own knowledge, Cavanagh,' said he, 'he'd desave a saint, much less your innocent and unsuspectin' daughter.'" "But, father," said Hanna, "you know there's not a word of truth in that report; and mayn't all that has been said, or at least some of what has been said against Bryan, be as much a lie as that? Who on earth: could sich a report come from?" "I axed Mr. Clinton the same question," said the father, "and it appears that it came from Bryan himself." "Oh, God forbid!" exclaimed Hanna; "for, if it's a thing that he said that, he'd say anything." "I don't know," returned the father, "I only spake it as I hard it, and, what is more, I believe it--I believe it after what I hard this day; everybody knows him now--man, woman, an' child, Gheernah! what an escape that innocent girl had of him!" Kathleen rose up, went over to her father, and, placing her hand upon his shoulder, was about to speak, but she checked herself; and, after looking at them all, as it were by turns, with a look of distraction and calm but concentrated agony, she returned again to her seat, but did not sit down. "After all," she exclaimed, "there has been no new crime brought against him, not one; but, if I acted wrongly and ungenerously once, I won't do so again. Hanna, see his sister Dora, say I give him the next three weeks to clear himself; and, father, listen! if he doesn't do so within that time, take me, marry me to Edward Burke if you wish--of course Hycy's out of the question--since you must have it so, for the sooner I go to my grave the better. There's his last chance, let him take it; but, in the mean time, listen to me, one and all of you. I cannot bear this long; there's a dry burning pain about my heart, and a weight upon it will soon put me out of the reach of disappointment and sorrow. Oh, Bryan M'Mahon, can you be what is said of you! and, if you can, oh, why did we ever meet, or why did I ever see you!" Her sister Hanna attempted to console her, but for once she failed. Kathleen would hear no comfort, for she said she stood in need of none. "My mind is all dark," said she, "or rather it is sick of this miserable work. Why am I fastened upon by such suffering and distraction? Don't attempt at present to console me, Hanna; I won't, because I can't be consoled. I wish I knew this man--whether he is honest or not. If he is the villain they say he is, and that with a false mask upon him, he has imposed himself on me, and gained my affections by hypocrisy and deceit, why, Hanna, my darling sister, I could stab him to the heart. To think that I ever should come to love a villain that could betray his church, his country, me--and take a bribe; yes, he has done it," she proceeded, catching fire from the force of her own detestation of what was wrong. "Here, Hanna, I call back my words--I give him no further warning than he has got: he knows the time, the greater part of it is past, and has he ever made a single attempt to clear himself? No, because he cannot. I despise him; he is unworthy of me, and I fear he ever was. Here, father," she said with vehemence, "listen to me, my dear father; and you, my mother, beloved mother, hear me! At the expiration of three weeks I will marry Edward Burke; he is a modest, and I think an honest young man, who would not betray his religion nor his country, nor--nor--any unhappy girl that might happen to love him; oh, no, he would not--and so, after three weeks--I will marry him. Go now and tell him so--say I said so; and you may rest assured I will not break my word, although--I may break--break my heart--my heart! Now, Hanna, come out and walk, dear--come out, and let us chat of other matters; yes, of other matters; and you can tell me candidly whether you think Bryan M'Mahon such a villain." Struck by her own words she paused almost exhausted, and, bending down, put her face upon her hands, and by a long persevering effort, at length raised her head, and after a little time appeared to have regained a good deal of composure; but not without tears--for she had wept bitterly. On that night she told her sister that the last resolution she had come to was that by which she was determined to abide. "You would not have me like a mere girl," she said, "without the power of knowing my own mind--no; let what may come I will send no messages after him--and as sure as I have life I will marry Edward Burke after the expiration of three weeks, if Bryan doesn't--but it's idle to talk of it--if he could he would have done it before now. Good-night, dear Hanna--good-night," and after many a long and heavy sigh she sank to an uneasy and troubled slumber. The next morning Gerald Cavanagh, who laid great stress upon the distracted language of his daughter on the preceding night paid an early visit to his friend, Jemmy Burke. He found the whole family assembled at breakfast, and after the usual salutations, was asked to join them, which invitation, however, having already breakfasted, he declined. Hycy had of late been very much abroad--that is to say he was out very much at night, and dined very frequently in the head-inn of Ballymacan, when one would suppose he ought to have dined at home. On the present occasion he saluted honest Gerald with a politeness peculiarly ironical. "Mr. Cavanagh," said he, "I hope I see you in good health, sir. How are all the ladies?--Hannah, the neat, and Kathleen--ah, Kathleen, the divine!" "Troth, they're all very well, I thank you, Hycy; and how is yourself?" "Free from care, Mr. Cavanagh--a chartered libertine." "A libertine!" exclaimed the honest farmer; "troth I've occasionally heard as much; but until I heard it from your own lips divil a word of it I believed." "He is only jesting, Mr. Cavanagh," said his brother; "he doesn't mean exactly, nor indeed at all, what you suppose he does." "Does he mean anything at all, Ned?" said his father, dryly, "for of late it's no aisy matther to understand him." "Well said, Mr. Burke," replied Hycy; "I am like yourself, becoming exceedingly oracular of late--but, Mr. Cavanagh, touching this exquisite union which is contemplated between Adonis and Juno the ox-eyed--does it still hold good, that, provided always she cannot secure the corrupt clod-hopper, she will in that ease condescend upon Adonis?" "Gerald," said the father, "as there's none here so handy at the nonsense as to understand him, the best way is to let him answer himself." "Begad, Jemmy," said Cavanagh, "to tell you the truth, I haven't nonsense enough to answer the last question at any rate; unless he takes to speakin' common-sense I won't undhertake to hould any further discourse wid him." "Why will you continue," said his brother in a low voice, "to render yourself liable to these strong rebuffs from plain people?" "Well said, most vituline--Solomon secundus, well said." "Hycy," said his mother, "you ought to remimber that every one didn't get the edi cation you did--an' that ignorant people like your father and Gerald Kavanagh there can't undhercomestand one-half o' what you say. Sure they know nothing o' book-lamin', and why do you give it them?" "Simply to move their metaphysics, Mrs. Burke. They are two of the most notorious metaphysicians from this to themselves; but they don't possess your powers of ratiocination, madam?" "No," replied his father; "nayther are we sich judges of horseflesh, Hycy." Hycy made him a polite bow, and replied, "One would think that joke is pretty well worn by this time, Mr. Burke. Couldn't you strike out something original now?" "All I can say is," replied the father, "that the joke has betther bottom than the garran it was made upon." Edward now arose and left the parlor, evidently annoyed at the empty ribaldry of his brother, and in a few minutes Hycy mounted his horse and rode towards Ballymacan. It is not our intention here to follow Gerald Cavanagh in the account, unconsciously one sided as it was, of the consent which he assured them Kathleen had given, on the night before, to marry their son Edward. It is sufficient to say, that before they separated, the match was absolutely made by the two worthies, and everything arranged, with, the exception of the day of marriage, which they promised to determine on at their next meeting. _ |
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