Chapter 2

“If she abused him, she only did it for his good, and because she loved him; an' good right she had to love him, for a better brother never breathed the breath of life. Wasn't he a mere boy, only one-and-twenty years come next Lammas; and surely it stood to reason that he wanted sometimes to be checked and scolded too. He had neither father or mother to guide him, poor boy; and who would guide him, and advise him too, if his own sister wouldn't do it? Only one-and-twenty, and six feet in his shoes; but no _punhial_, no cabbage upon two pot-sticks, like some she knew, that were ready enough to give boy a harsh word when they ought to look nearer home, and--may-be--but she said nothing--as God forbid that she'd make or meddle with any neighbor's character; but still, may-be, they'd find enough to blame at home, if they'd open their eyes to their own failings, as well as they do to the failings of their neighbors.”

Another circumstance also strongly characteristic of the woman's heart, was evinced in the high and vigorous tone she assumed towards Hugh, whenever, in any of his dark moods, he happened to take Felix to task. These fierce encounters, however, never occurred in Felix's presence; for she thought that to take his part then, would remove, in a great degree, the 'vantage ground on which she stood with reference to himself. Difficult, indeed, was the part she found herself compelled to play on those delicate occasions. She could not, as a moralist and disciplinarian, proverbially strict, seem in any degree to countenance the charges brought by Hugh against Felix; nor, on the other hand, was it without a command of temper and heroic self-denial, rarely attained, that she was able to keep, her indignation against Hugh pent up within decorous and plausible limits. During the remonstrance of the latter, she usually pushed the charges against Felix into the notorious failings of Hugh himself, and this she did in a tone of irony so dry and cutting, that Hugh was almost in every case, as willing to abandon the attack as he had been to begin it.

“Ay, indeed,” she would proceed--“troth an' conscience, Hugh, avourneen”--avourneen being pronounced with a civil bitterness that was perfectly withering--“troth an' conscience, Hugh, avourneen, it's truth you're speaking, and not only that, Hugh darling, but he's as dark as the old _dioul_ betimes, so he is, and runs into such fits of blackness and anger, for no reason--Hugh, _dheelish_, for no reason in life, man alive. Are, you listening, Hugh? for it's to you I'm speaking, dear--for no reason in life, acushla, only because he's a dirty, black bodagh, that his whole soul and body's not worth the scrapings of a pot in a hard summer. Did you hear me, Hugh jewel? Felix, go out, avourneen, ye onbiddable creature, and look after them ditchers, and see that they don't play upon us to-day, as they did on Saturday.”

Felix, who understood the sister's irony, went out on every such, occasion with perfect good will, and indulged in an uncontrollable fit of laughter at her masked attack upon his brother.

No sooner was he gone than Hugh either fled at once, or gathered himself up against the vehement assault he knew she was about to make upon him.

“Why then, Hugh O'Donnell, ar'n't you a dirty, black bodagh, to go to open upon the poor boy for no reason in life? What did he do that you should abuse him, you nager you? and it's well known that you're a nager, and that your heart's in the shillin'. Oh! it's long before you'd go to fair or market and bring home the best gown, or shawl, or mantle in it to the only sister you have, as he does. Ay, ar'n't you the cream of a dirty, black bodagh, for to go to attack the poor boy only for speaking to a dacent and a purty girl that hasn't a stain upon her name, or upon the name of one of her seed, breed, or generation, you miserly nager. I wouldn't say that before him, because I want to keep him under me; but where, I say, could you get so fine a young slip as poor Felix is'? My soul to the dev--God pardon me! I was going to say what I oughtn't to say: but I tell you, Hugh, that you must quit of it; he's the only brother we have, and it's the least we should be kind to him.”

During this harangue poor Hugh's flush of passion usually departed from him. As we said, he loved his only brother; and so vivid were Maura's representations of his virtues, that Hugh, his passion having subsided, was usually borne away by the pathos with which she closed her observations respecting him. A burst of tears always concluded the dialogue on her part, and deep regret on the part of Hugh; for, in fact, the charges against Felix were such only as none except they themselves in the very exuberance of their affection, would think of bringing against him.

The reader is already acquainted with the allusion made by Maura to the “dacent and purty girl that hasn't a stain upon her name, or upon the name of one of her seed, breed, or generation.” This “purty” girl is no other than Alley Bawn Murray; and although Maura, from a sheer spirit of contradiction, spoke of her to Hugh in a favorable point of view, yet nothing could be more obstinately bitter than her opposition to such a match on the part of Felix.

This, however, is human nature. To those who cannot understand such a character, we offer no apology--to the few who do, none is necessary.

The courtship of Alley Bawn and Felix had arrived, on the fair-day of Ballaghmore, to a crisis which required decision on the part of the wooer. They went in, as we have shown the reader, to a public-house. Their conversation, which was only such as takes place in a thousand similar instances, we do not mean to detail. It was tender and firm on the part of Felix, and affectionate between him and her. With that high pride, which is only another name for humility, she urged him to forget her, “if it was not plasin' to his frinds. You know, Felix,” she continued, “that I am poor and you are rich, an' I wouldn't wish to be dragged into a family that couldn't respect me.”

“Alley dear,” replied Felix, “I know that both Hugh and Maura love me in their hearts; and although they make a show of anger in the beginnin', yet they'll soon soften, and will love you as they do me.”

“Well, Felix,” replied Alley, “my mother and you are present; if my mother says I ought----”

“I do, darling,” said her mother; “that is, I can't feel any particular objection to it. Yet somehow my mind is troubled. I know that what he says is what will happen; but, for all that--och, Felix, aroon, there's something over me about the same match--I don't know--I'm willin' an' I'm not willin'.”

They arose to depart; and as both families lived in the beautiful village of Ballydhas, which we have already described to the reader, of course their walk home was such as lovers could wish.

Evening had arrived; the placid summer sun shone down with a mild flood of light upon Ballaghmore and the surrounding country. There was nothing in the evening whose external phenomena could depress any human heart. The ocean lay like a mirror, on which the beams of the sun glistened in magnificent shafts, in whatsoever position you looked upon it. Not a wave or a ripple broke the expansive sheet, that stretched away till it melted into the dipping sky; yet to the ear its mysterious and deep murmurs were audible, and the lonely eternal sobbing of the awful sea, struck upon the heart of the superstitious mother with a sense of fear and calamity. Felix and Alley went before them, and the conversation which we are about to detail, took place between herself and her youngest daughter.

“Susy, darlin',” said she, “you see the happy pair before us; but why is it, acushla, that my heart is sunk when I think of their marriage? Do you hear that _say_? There's not a wave on it, but still it's angry, if one can judge by its voice. Darlin' it's a bad sign, for the same say isn't always so. Sometimes it is as asy as a sleepin' baby, and sometimes, although its waves are quiet enough, it looks like a murderer asleep. Now it breathes heavily avourneen, as if all was not right. Susy, darlin', I'm afeard, I say, that it's a bad sign.”

“Mother dear,” replied Susy, “what makes you speak that way? Sure it wouldn't be the little-sup o' punch that Felix made you take that 'ud get into your head!”

“No, darlin'! Look at the pair before us; there they go, the pride, both o' them, God knows, of the whole parish; but still when I think of the bitterness of Felix's friends, Susy, I can't help being afeard. His brother Hugh is a dark man, and his sister Maura is against it. God pity them! It's a cruel world, acushla, when people like them can't do as they'd wish to do. But, Susy, you're a child, and knows nothing at all about it.”

Felix and Alley walked on, unconscious of me ominous forebodings which the superstition of the affectionate woman prompted her to utter. The arrangements for their marriage were on that night concluded, and the mother, after some feebly expressed misgivings, at which Felix and Alley laughed heartily, was induced, to consent that on the third Sunday following they should be joined in wedlock. Had Felix been disposed to conceal his marriage from Hugh and Maura, at least until the eve of its occurrence, the publishing of their banns in the chapel would have, of course, disclosed it. When his sister heard that the arrangements were completed, she poured forth a torrent of abuse against what she considered the folly and simplicity of a mere boy, who allowed himself to be caught in the snares of an artful girl, with nothing but a handsome face to recommend her. Felix received all this with good humor, and replied only in a strain of jocularity to every thing she said.

Hugh, on the other hand, contented himself with a single observation. “Felix,” said he, “I won't see you throw yourself away upon a girl that is no fit match for you. If you can't take care of yourself, I will. Once for all, I tell you that this marriage must not take place.”

As he uttered these words his dark brows were bent, and his eyes flashed with a gleam of that ungovernable passion for which he was so remarkable. Felix, at all times peaceable, and always willing to acknowledge his elder brother's natural right to exercise a due degree of authority over him, felt that this was stretching it too far. Still he made no reply, nor indeed did Hugh allow him time to retort, had he been so disposed. They separated without more words, each resolved to accomplish his avowed purpose.

The opposition of Hugh and Maura to his marriage, only strengthened Felix's resolution to make his beloved and misrepresented Alley Bawn, the rightful mistress of his hearth, as she already was of his affections. Nay, his love burned for her with a purer and tenderer flame, when he looked upon the artless girl, and thought of the cruel hearts that would make her a martyr to a spirit so worldly-minded and selfish. Their deep-rooted prejudice against her poverty, he delicately concealed from her, together with the length to which their opposition had gone. As for himself, he acted precisely as if the approaching marriage had their full sanction; he saw Alley every day, became still more deeply enamored, and heard his sister's indignant remonstrances without uttering a single syllable in reply.

At length the happy Sunday morning arrived, and never did a more glorious sun light up the beautiful valley of Ballydhas than that which shed down its smiling radiance from heaven upon their union. Felix's heart was full of that eager and trembling delight, which, where there is pure and disinterested love, always marks our emotions upon that blessed epoch in human life. Maura, contrary to her wont, was unusually silent during the whole morning; but Felix could perceive that she watched all his emotions with the eye of a lynx. When the hour of going to chapel approached, he deemed it time to dress, and, for that purpose, went to a large oaken tallboy that stood in the kitchen, in order to get out his clothes. It was locked, however, and his sister told him at once, that the key, which was in her possession, should not pass into his hands that day. “No,” she continued, “nor sorra the ring you'll put on the same girl with my consent. Aren't you a purty young omadhaun, you spiritless creature, to go to marry sich a _niddy-nauddhy_, when you know that the best fortunes in the glen would jump at you! Yes, faiks! to bring home that mane, useless creature, that hasn't a penny to the good! A purty farmer's wife she'll make, and purtily she'll fill my poor mother's shoes, God be good to her! A poor, unsignified, smooth-faced thing, that never did a dacent day's work out of doors, barring to shake up a cock of hay, or pull the growing of a peck of flax! Oh! thin, mother darlin', that's in glory this day! but it's a purty head of a house he's puttin' afther you; and myself, too, must knock under to the like of her, and see her put up in authority over my head. Let me alone, Felix; your laughing wont pass. The sorra kay you'll get from me to-day.”

Felix, who was resolved to procure the key, saw that there was nothing for it but a little friendly violence. A good-humored struggle accordingly commenced between them--good-humored on his side, but bitter and determined on the part of Maura. Finding it difficult to secure the key, even by violence, Felix was about to give up the contest, and force the lock at once, when Hugh entered.

“What's all this?” he inquired. “What racket's this? Is it beating your sister you are? Is the young headstrong profligate beating you, Maura, eh?”

“No, Hugh, not that; but he wants the kay to deck himself up for marrying that pot of his. God knows, I'd rather he did beat me than do what he's going to do.”

“Felix,” said his brother, “I'm over you in place of your father, and I tell you that it'll cost me a sore fall, or I'll put a stop to this day's work. A purty bridegroom you are, and a 'sponsible father of a family you'll make! By my sowl, it's a horsewhip I ought to take to you, and lash all thoughts of marriage out of you. What a hurry you are in to go a shoolin' (to become the rustic _chevalier d'industrie_). You had betther provide yourself the bag and staff at once, for if you marry this portionless, good-for-nothing hussy----”

Felix's eye flashed, and, for the first time in his life, he turned a fierce glance upon his brother.

“She's no hussy, Hugh; and if another man said it----” he paused, for it was but the 'hectic of a moment.'

“You'd knock him down, I suppose,” said Hugh. “Why don't you speak it out? Why, Maura, he's a man on our hands, and I suppose he'll be a bully to-morrow, or next day, and put us all under his feet, and make us all knuckle down to his poppet of a wife.”

“Hugh,” said Felix, “I am willin to forget and forgive all the harshness ever you showed me, and to remimber nothing but your kindness, and you wor kind, to me; you're my brother--my only, and my eldest brother, and I beg it as a favor to one that loves you both, that you'll not interfere in my marriage this day.”

“So far only,” replied Hugh, “that I'll stop it for good an' all. You'll get no clothes out of this press to-day. In ten years or so you may be thinkin' of it. There's Madge M'Gawley, take her, with all my heart; a girl that has fifty pounds, five cows, and threescore sheep: ay, an' a staid sober girl. To be sure she's no beauty, an' not fit for 'gintlemen' that must have purty faces, and empty pockets. I say again, Felix, I'll put an end to this match.”

This was too much for Felix's patience. After several unsuccessful remonstrances, and even supplications very humbly expressed, a fierce struggle ensued between the brothers which was only terminated by the interference of the two servant-men, who with some difficulty forced the elder out of the house, and brought him across the fields towards his own home. Maura then gave up the key, and the youthful bridegroom was soon dressed and prepared to meet his “man,” and a few friends whom he had invited, at the chapel. His mind, however, was disturbed, and his heart sank at this ill-omened commencement of his wedding day.

“Maura,” said he, when about to leave the house, “I'm heavy at heart for what has happened. Will you say that you forgive me, dear, before I go? and tell Hugh that I forgive him everything, and that the last words I said before I went, wor--'that the blessin' of God may rest upon him and his,' and upon you too, Maura, dear.”

These expressions are customary among Irish families when a marriage is about to take place; but upon this occasion they came spontaneously from a generous and feeling heart. Felix saw with sorrow that his brother and sister had not blessed him, and he resolved that his part of a duty so tender should not remain unperformed.

Maura, who suddenly averted her face when he addressed her, made no reply; but after he had departed from the threshold, her eyes followed him, and the tears slowly forced their way down her cheeks.

“It's no use,” said she, “it's no use, I love him, I love my kind brother in spite of every thing. May God bless you Felix! may God bless you, and all you love! God forgive me for opposin' the boy as I did; and God forgive Hugh! but he thinks it would be all for Felix's good to stop his marriage with Alley Bawn.”

Felix, who heard neither his sister's blessing nor the expression of the affection she bore him, passed on with hasty steps through the fields. He had not gone far, however, when he saw his brother walking towards him; his arms folded, and his eyes almost hidden by his heavy brows; sullen ferocity was in his looks, and his voice, as he addressed him, was hollow with suppressed rage.

“So,” said he, “you will ruin yourself! Go back home, Felix.”

“For God's sake, Hugh, let me alone, let me pass.”

“You will go?” said the other.

“I will, Hugh.”

“Then may bad luck go with you, if you do. I order you to stay at home, I say.”

“Mind your own business, Hugh, and I'll mind mine,” was the only reply given him.

Felix walked on by making a small circuit out of the direct path, for he was anxious not only to proceed quickly, as his time was limited, but above all things, to avoid a collision with his brother.

The characteristic fury of the latter shot out in a burst that resembled momentary madness as much as rage. “Is that my answer?” he shouted, in the hoarse, quivering accents of passion; and with the rapid energy of the dark impulse which guided him, he snatched up a stone from a ditch, and flung it at his brother, whose back was towards him. Felix fell forward in an instant, but betrayed after his fall no symptoms of motion--the stillness of apparent death was in every limb. Hugh, after the blow had been given, stood rooted to the earth, and looked as if the demon which possessed him had fled the moment the fearful act had been committed. His now bloodless lips quivered, his frame became relaxed, and the wild tremor of horrible apprehension shook him from limb to limb. Immediately a fearful cry was heard far over the field's, and the words--“Oh! yeah! yeah, yeah, Felix, my brother, agra, can't you spake to me?” struck upon the heart of Maura and the servant-men, with a feeling of dismay, deep and deadly.

“O God!” she exclaimed, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, “O God! my boy, my boy--Felix, Felix, what has happened to you?”

Again the agonized cry of the brother was heard loud and frantic.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, Felix, are you dead? brother, agra, can't you speak to me?”

With rapid steps they rushed to the spot; but, ah! what a scene was there to blast their sight and sear the brain of his sister, and indeed of all who could look upon it. The young bridegroom smote down when his foot was on the very threshold of happiness, and by the hand of a brother?

Hugh, in the mean time, had turned up Felix from the prone posture in which he lay, with a hope--a frenzied, a desperate hope of ascertaining whether or not life was extinct. In this position the stricken boy was lying, his brother, like a maniac, standing over him, when Maura and the servants arrived. One glance, a shudder, then a long ghastly gaze at Hugh, and she sank down beside the insensible victim of his fury.

“What,” said Hugh, wildly clenching his hands, “Mother of glory, have I killed both? Oh, Felix, Felix! you are happy, you are happy, agra, brother; but for me, oh, for me, my hour of mercy is past an' gone. I can never look to heaven more! How can I live,” he muttered furiously to himself, “how can I live? and I daren't die. O God! O God! my brain's turnin'. I needn't pray to God to curse the hand that struck you dead, Felix dear, for I feel this minute that His curse is on me.”

Felix was borne in, but no arm would Hugh suffer to encircle him but his own. Poor Maura recovered and although in a state of absolute distraction, yet she had presence of mind to remember that they ought to use every means in their power to restore the boy to life if it were possible. Water was got, with which his face was sprinkled; in a little time he breathed, opened his eyes, looked mournfully about him, and asked what had happened him. Never was pardon to the malefactor, nor the firm tread of land to the shipwrecked mariner, so welcome as the dawn of returning life in Felix was to his brother. The moment he saw the poor youth's eyes fixed upon him, and heard his voice, he threw himself on his knees at the bedside, clasped him in his arms, and with an impetuous tide of sensations, in which were blended joy, grief, burning affection, and remorse, he kissed his lips, strained him to his bosom, and wept with such agony, that poor Felix was compelled to console him.

“Oh! Felix, Felix,” exclaimed Hugh “what was it I did to you? or how could the devil out of hell tempt me to--to--to--oh! Felix agra, say you're not hurted--say only that you'll be as well as ever, an I take God and every one present to witness, that from this minute till the day of my death, a harsh word 'll never crass my lips to you. Say you're not hurted, Felix dear! Don't you know, Felix, in spite of my dark-temper's putting me into a passion with you sometimes, that I always loved you?”

“Yes you did, Hugh,” replied Felix, “an' I still knew you did. I didn't often contradict you, because I knew, too, that the passion would soon go off of you, and that you'd be kind to me again.”

“Yeah, yeelish,” said the other, while the scalding tears flowed profusely down his cheeks, and the deep sobs almost choked him. “Oh, yeah, yeelish! what could come over me! As judgment's before me, he was the best brother ever God created--you were, Felix darling--you were, you were!” He again pressed him to his heart, and kissed his lips with an overwhelming fulness of remorse and love.

“An' another thing, Felix dear--but first tell me are you gettin' betther?”

“I am,” replied the youth, “my head is a little confused, but I have no pain.”

Hugh raised his hands and streaming eyes to heaven.

“Thanks, thanks, oh thanks an' praise be to God for that news! thanks an' praise be to you, blessed Father, for what he has said this minute, for it takes the weight, the dead crushin' weight that lay on my heart, off it. And now, Felix jewel, here, alanna, lay over your head upon my breast, an' I'll hould you anything I whisper into your own ear what 'll make you as stout as ever--keep away all of yees--the nerra one o' ye 'll hear it but himself. Sure, Felix dear,” he continued, in a lower voice, “sure I'm willin' that you should marry your own Alley Bawn. An' listen, sure, I'll give her a portion myself--I'm able to do it an' I will too.”