Chapter 13

"An' what would ye do that for? It's the truth I'm tellin' ye, darlint. The very first minute I seen ye on the doorstep the heart leapt out o' me breast. You're my choice, mavourneen, though I don't so much as know your name yet."

Elleney gazed at him timidly. He was a pleasant-looking young fellow, and his eyes were very kind. She turned quite pale because of the rapid beating of her heart. What a wonderful thing it was that the prize over whom all her rich cousins had been disputing should have fallen to her share--to her, poor little penniless Elleney.

"It's too good of you entirely," she was beginning in a tremulous voice; "but I don't think you ought to go disappintin' your father and me a'nt."

But before she could proceed further in her little speech the narrow door which gave access to the house was thrown open and Mary Nolan appeared upon the scene.

"Elleney, you're to--" she was beginning, when she suddenly stopped, and, to use her own expression, "let a yell" that brought her aunt and cousins in tumult to the scene.

"I couldn't for the life o' me help it," she explained as they crowded round her. "When I had the door opened who did I see but himself"--designating Brian--"with his impident arm round Elleney's waist--the bould little scut!"

"Sure, I didn't ax him to put it there," protested Elleney, beginning to cry; "I didn't rightly know what he was doin'."

"Ladies," said the suitor, "don't disthress yourselves. There wasn't a ha'porth of harm in it--me arm was in the right place. I come here by my father's wish an' with your consent, ma'am, to choose one o' your family for my wife. Me clargy wouldn't let me marry the whole of yez, so I have to be content with one, an' I'm after choosin' this one."

Juliana laughed shrilly and ironically, and Henrietta clapped her hands together; the rest stood round with stony faces, except Nanny, who cast a dubious and compassionate glance at Elleney.

"Lord save us!" ejaculated Mrs. McNally, when she had recovered her wits, "I never thought o' such a thing. I had a right to have told ye--it's a mistake. Me poor young man, come away with me an' I'll tell ye."

"No mistake at all, ma'am," Brian was beginning, with a bright backward glance at Elleney; but Mrs. McNally clutched him by the arm, looking so much disturbed the while, that the words died on his lips, and he suffered himself to be drawn along the passage and into the parlour. The others also melted away with many scornful murmurs and withering glances, all except Nanny, who hurled herself round the counter and caught Elleney in her arms.

"Ye poor misfortunate innicent!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't ye tell him ye weren't rightly one o' the family?"

"He didn't give me time," faltered Elleney; adding with more spirit, "Besides, what matter if it's me he likes the best?"

"Bless us an' save us!" groaned Nanny; "sure how can ye get married when ye haven't so much as a one pound note o' your own?"

"Do you think he didn't know?" gasped Elleney, looking very blank.

"Not a know," responded Nanny, with decision. "My mother had a right to have told him, but some way not one of us dreamed of him thinkin' of you. Sure, girl alive, if _he_ was willin' itself, his father 'ud never agree to his havin' ye."

"I s'pose not," said Elleney; "but ye don't know all he's afther sayin' to me, Nanny."

"Och, divil doubt him!" exclaimed Nanny, with a vexed laugh. "Sure, that's the way they all does be goin' on. If ye had more sense, Elleney, me dear, ye'd know how to be up to them. Whisht!--here's m'mah!"

Poor Mrs. McNally's heavy foot was now heard hastening along the passage, and in another minute she entered--alone, her kind face was all puckered up with concern, and at first sight of it Elleney knew exactly how matters stood. She disengaged herself from Nanny and went quietly up to her aunt.

"I hope you explained to him that I didn't rightly understand what he was sayin'," she observed with a certain childish dignity that took the others by surprise. "It was all a mistake, of course, but there's no great harm done."

"Not a bit of harm at all, me dear," groaned Mrs. McNally. "Not a bit of harm in the world--only for the disappointment."

"No disappointment," returned Elleney; her eyes were steady, though that red under-lip of hers would quiver; "no disappointment, a'nt, I hope. He'll be sure to pick out one of the girls, won't he?"

"I b'lieve so," answered Mrs. McNally, propping herself against the counter. "He's afther tellin' me his father 'ud be the death of him if--"

"Sure that's all right," interrupted her niece. "Nanny, you ought to go and see to him."

"Do, Nanny," said the mother. "He was askin' for you."

"Then he may ask away," retorted Nanny. "Do ye remember the story o' the Connaught woman who said 'Purse, will ye have him?' when the fellow made up to her for her money. My purse says 'No.' Let him try Juliana. Is that the bar bell ringing?"

"Aye, it is; ye'd best be off an' see what's wanted. Bridget and Mary is so taken up with that young fellow I declare they don't know whether they're on their heads or their heels."

"Aye, indeed," cried Anna Maria with her jolly laugh. "I seen them prancin' round him like a couple o' goats, as old as they are."

She vanished, and Mrs. McNally also went away.

Some time later Pat Rooney entered the shop, bearing a large tray of newly-baked loaves. His face wore a solemn, not to say sulky, expression, and he looked neither to right nor to left. Before he had finished piling up the loaves in their allotted corner, however, a suspicious sound attracted his attention, and he turned reluctantly round. A small figure was crouching in the darkest angle of the "dress department," with its apron over its head.

"Is it cryin' ye are?" said Pat sternly.

For all answer Elleney sobbed afresh.

The young man drew nearer, and Elleney tilted up one elbow as a hint to him to keep his distance.

"Bedad, ye have no right to be cryin'," remarked Pat in a withering tone. "It was the other way wid ye altogether when I looked in through the door a while ago, on my way back from me dinner. If I hadn't seen it wid me own two eyes," he added with scornful severity, "I wouldn't have believed it was you that was in it at all."

Elleney jerked down her apron, and looked up with eyes that blazed beneath their swollen lids.

"How dar' ye speak to me that way?" she cried.

Pat snorted: "To be sure I've no right to say a word at all," he returned, with wrathful irony. "A poor fellow like meself has no call to have any feelin's--but ye might have knocked me down with a feather when I seen that strange chap with his arm about your waist."

"Oh Pat!" gasped Elleney, and overcome with shame and woe, she burst into fresh tears, and buried her face in the unresponsive folds of a linsey-woolsey petticoat which dangled from a peg beside her.

Pat immediately melted.

"Amn't I the terrible ould ruffian to go upsettin' ye that way!" he groaned remorsefully. "There now, Miss Elleney, don't mind me. I'm not meself to-day. I'm a regular ould gomeril. Sure it had to come sooner or later. It's meself knew very well I'd have to stan' by and see ye carried off some fine day by whoever was lucky enough to get ye. Some fellows has all the luck in this world, and maybe they're no better nor others that hasn't any luck at all."

But Elleney scarcely heeded the latter part of this speech; it seemed to her she could never lift up her head again. Pat knew--Pat had seen!

"Oh dear," she sobbed inarticulately, after a pause, "I think I'll die with the shame of it. I don't know how I come to let him do it at all, but I didn't rightly know--I didn't think--an'--an' he said he was so fond of me an' 'twas me he wanted for his wife."

"Faith," retorted Pat, "it's himself's the gentleman doesn't let the grass grow under his feet--an' why would he? Well, alanna," he continued in an altered tone, "don't be frettin' yourself anyway. Bedad, I wouldn't blame--"

"Ah, but I blame myself," interrupted Elleney, wringing her poor little hands. "I'll--I'll never look up again afther the disgrace he's afther puttin' on me. Sure 'twas all a mistake--he thought I was one of the family, an' when me a'nt tould him the way it is with me, he just tossed me away the same as an ould shoe. I b'lieve he's makin' up to Juliana now."

Pat emitted a kind of roar, but, before he could ventilate his feelings further, the door communicating with the house was quickly opened and Mr. Brian Brennan walked in.

"Are ye there, darlint?" he inquired, in a tone of melancholy tenderness; "I'm just come to tell ye the poor case I'm in--"

"Then ye'll be in a poorer case in something less than no time if ye don't behave yourself, me brave young gentleman!" cried a choked voice in his ear, and almost before he could realise what was taking place, Brian Brennan found his six-foot length laid low upon the dusty shop floor, while his beautiful head of hair rolled aimlessly about amid a collection of boots and tin buckets. Pat Rooney was sitting on his chest, his knees pinioning his arms, and clutching each of his broad shoulders with a vigorous hand. He was not half the size of the prostrate giant, but love and fury lent him unnatural strength. His flour-bedecked face worked convulsively, his eyes gleamed under their powdered lashes.

Elleney uttered a stifled scream, and then stood transfixed with horror.

"Ye passed your word to Miss Elleney a while ago that it was her ye'd have for your wife," said Pat firmly. "Are ye goin' to stick to your promise or are ye not?"

"Get up out o' that, ye ruffian," spluttered Brian. "What business is it of yours anyway?"

"Ruffian yourself!" said Pat. And he heaved up Mr. Brennan's shoulders a little way, and then loosed his hold suddenly, so that the fine curly head bumped once more against the tin pails. "Will ye gi' me a straight answer, or will ye not?"

"I'll pay ye out for this when I get upon my legs!" growled Brian. "As for that young lady, she knows very well I can't--"

"Ye can't what?" cried Pat, rolling a threatening eye at him.

"I can't keep my word," said Mr. Brennan, with as much dignity as was compatible with his position.

"Ye mean ye won't, I s'pose," remarked Pat, with ominous calm.

"Well, then, I won't!" shouted Brian, heaving himself up at the same time with a futile attempt to rid himself of his adversary.

"Ah!" retorted Pat, tightening his grasp on the powerless shoulders, and repeating his previous manoeuvre with such success that his victim saw a multitude of stars. "Ye won't, won't ye? No; but ye will!--I tell ye, ye will! Ye will, me fine gentleman!"

With each reiteration of the phrase the unfortunate Brian's head received fresh damage, and Pat, who was warming to his work, had just announced that he was going to give Mr. Brian the finest thrashing he ever had in his life, when Elleney, who had hitherto been petrified with alarm and amazement, rushed to the rescue.

"In the name o' goodness, Pat Rooney," she cried, in a voice that trembled as much with anger as with fear, "get up this minute! It's outrageous--altogether outrageous!"

"Never fear, Miss Elleney, asthore!" cried Pat triumphantly, baring his arms the while for action. "Run away out o' this while I tache him manners! The dirty spalpeen! He'll not have it all his own way, anyhow. I'll give him a trimmin'!"

"I forbid ye, Pat, to do any such thing!" cried Elleney, almost with a shriek. "I declare I'm ashamed o' my life! Who gave you leave to go mixin' up my name?--makin' so little of me? Oh dear! oh dear!" and the poor child began to sob again. "What have I done to be disgraced an' tormented that way!"

Her blue eyes were drowned in tears, her pretty cheeks blanched.

Pat sat back on his prostrate foe, and stared up at her with astonished concern. Elleney sobbed louder than before, and Brian, raising his voice, uttered a forcible expression of opinion.

"Bless us an' save us!" exclaimed a voice in the passage, and the door, being thrown wide open, revealed the portly form and scandalised face of no less a person than Mrs. McNally herself.

"Who is it that's cursin' an swearin' that way?" she began, but broke off abruptly as she realised the scene within.

"Oh, a'nt, me heart's broke entirely!" cried Elleney, running to her, and hiding her face on her ample shoulder.

Pat cleared his throat diffidently, insensibly relaxing his grip the while, so that, with a slight effort, Brian was enabled to roll him on to the floor, and to rise, looking very sheepish.

"Was it fightin' the two of yez was?" said Mrs. McNally severely. "Sure, that's a disgrace. Look at your coat all over dust, Mr. Brennan, and the big lump on your forehead risin' up the size of an egg!"

Brian squinted over his shoulder to ascertain the condition of his coat, but being unable to carry out the rest of Mrs. McNally's injunctions and survey the lump on his own forehead, he passed his hand over it instead, and turned towards Pat with an expression of virtuous indignation.

"That fellow there was near bein' the death of me," he exclaimed.

"Musha! what is it all about at all?" queried Mrs. McNally. "Elleney, quit cryin' an' tell me what happened ye? What was that impident fellow Pat doin' rollin' Mr. Brennan on the floor?"

Elleney shook her head, and wept, and nearly throttled her aunt, but entered on no explanation.

Quick steps were now heard in the passage, and Anna Maria burst in.

"What in the world is Elleney cryin' for?" she exclaimed; "an' goodness gracious! look at Mr. Brennan, the show he is! Is it up the chimney ye were? For the matter of that Pat isn't much better. What's all this, m'mah?"

"I'm sure I couldn't tell ye, me dear," returned her mother. "I can't get a word o' sense out of any of them. Brian Brennan here says that Pat is afther bein' the death of him."

"Ah, then now," cried Anna Maria sarcastically, "isn't he very delicate, the poor fellow, to be so near made an end of by a little fellow half his size!"

"I was took by surprise," explained Mr. Brian, with dignity, "or I could easy have settled him with one finger."

"Well, but what call had ye to go doin' it, Pat?" insisted Anna Maria. "'Twasn't your place to go knocking a visitor down, I think."

"I'm very sorry, miss, if ye think I'm afther takin' a liberty," returned Pat firmly; "but I'd knock any man down who went to insult Miss Elleney."

Elleney dropped her arms from her aunt's neck and whisked round, her blue eyes blazing through her tears.

"I'll thank ye not to be mixin' yerself up with my business at all, Pat Rooney. Nobody asked you to meddle."

"Was it Mr. Brennan ye were cryin' about, me poor child?" said Mrs. McNally, in a compassionate but distinctly audible whisper.

Brian shot a melting glance towards her.

"Upon me word," he was beginning plaintively, when Elleney interrupted him with a little shriek of exasperation, and a stamp of her foot.

"Oh dear, oh dear, everything is contrairy this day! I'd have ye to know, Mr. Brennan, that I'd be long sorry to cry for you--if ye was to go down on your two knees I'd never have ye! I know the kind o' young man ye are now, an' I'll not fret after ye. I couldn't help cryin' at first at the disrespectful way ye were afther treatin' me, but I wouldn't have anything to say to ye now for the whole world."

"Well done!" cried Pat approvingly, while Anna Maria giggled.

"Maybe there's others that thinks different," said Brian in a nettled tone.

"Oh yes," put in Anna Maria quickly, "her elders and betters--was that what you were goin' to say? Juliana's to be had, Mr. Brian. She'd be a mother to ye."

"Upon me word, Nanny," said Mrs. McNally, "it doesn't become ye to be talkin' that way of your elder sister."

"Sure, what harm?" responded Nanny blithely. "All I said was she'd be a mother to him. Sure, what could be better than that?"

Brian, with all his faults, was gifted with a sense of humour, and looked at Anna Maria with a twinkle in his eye.

"Bedad," he said, "I've that much respect for Miss Juliana I'd be afraid o' me life to ask her to put up with me."

"Well, there's Bridget then," said Nanny. "Bridget's a fine girl, an' she's got a fine fortun', an' the whole of us knows that's what _you're_ lookin' afther, Mr. Brian."

"I wouldn't say that altogether," said Brian, stammering a little. "Yous all know the way it is with me. 'Tis me father that's makin' the match for me, and I have to choose one of the family. No one can feel more sorry nor I do for the unfort'nate mistake I'm afther makin'; I went altogether too quick, and I was very much to blame. I'm sure I ax Miss Elleney's pardon."

Elleney made a little inarticulate rejoinder, and turned away. Pat looked daggers at his whilom victim, and Mrs. McNally, folding her arms, looked sternly round.

"The less said about some things the better," she remarked. "Mr. Brian, I'll trouble ye to go into the parlour--ye'd best go with him too, Nanny; all the girls are there."

"Will ye step up to the show-room?" said Nanny, with a giggle.

"Troth," returned Brian, who was now in some measure recovering his self-possession, "I think the best o' the stock is what I'm afther seein' in the shop."

He followed her out of the room, and a slight scuffle was presently heard in the passage. Mrs. McNally solemnly closed the door, and came back to Pat and Elleney, who stood looking equally downcast and confused.

"I'd like to know, Pat Rooney," she said, gazing at the young man sternly, "what talk at all this is between you and me niece? What business is it o' yours to interfere? I don't understand it at all, Elleney--I'm very much put about--"

"It's no fault of Miss Elleney's, ma'am," said Pat quickly. "She'd nothin' to say to it at all. I forgot meself altogether. When I seen that fellow makin' little of a chance that I'd give the two eyes out o' my head for--"

"O Pat, whisht for goodness sake!" interrupted Elleney. "Ye oughtn't to be talkin' like that."

"Sure I know that very well, Miss Elleney, darlint--I know I might just as well be cryin' for the moon. But the murder's out now, an' 'pon me word I'm glad of it. I couldn't stop here the way I am--I'd go mad altogether. I'll throuble ye to look out for another boy, Mrs. McNally, ma'am--I wish to leave in a week's time."

Mrs. McNally gasped.

"Isn't it the great fool you are, Pat Rooney, to go give up your good place for a stupid notion like this? Ye know Miss Elleney 'ud never demean herself to you."

"Ay, ma'am, I know she looks on me as the dirt under her feet."

"Then stop where ye are," said Mrs. McNally, comfortably. "You're a very good boy when you don't let your wits go wool-gatherin'. As for my niece, she's no notion of encouragin' any nonsense--have ye, Elleney?"

Elleney's long lashes were downcast, and she nervously twisted her apron.

"Sure ye haven't, dear?" said her aunt persuasively. "Tell the poor foolish fellow that ye haven't, an' then he'll be puttin' it altogether out of his head."

Elleney raised her eyes and looked at Pat, and then dropped them again.

"He's the only one in the wide world that cares for me," she said, with a quivering lip.

"Bless us and save us!" gasped Mrs. McNally. "If that's the way it is, Pat, ye'd best be off with yourself."

Pat turned as red as a cherry, and then as white as his own flour.

"Miss Elleney, dear," he whispered, "d'ye know what ye're sayin'? D'ye know I'm such a great big fool that I'm beginning to think the most outrageous nonsense. I'll be beginnin' to think soon, me jewel, that ye might some day be gettin' a bit fond o' me, an' maybe say Yes when I ax ye a question. Sure ye didn't think of that, alanna?"

"Will ye whisht, ye impident fellow?" cried Mrs. McNally angrily. "Of course she thought o' no such thing."

Elleney turned her sweet eyes deprecatingly towards her aunt, and murmured very faintly--

"I don't know--I--I think I did."

* * * * *

Half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. McNally entered the parlour with a dubious, almost timid, expression on her good-natured face. Most of her family was gathered round the hearth, talking in muffled tones, and with gloomy countenances. Behind the window-curtain Brian Brennan and Anna Maria were tittering together. Mrs. McNally jerked her thumb inquiringly over her shoulder, and raised her eyebrows.

"Is that the way it is?" she whispered.

"You'd better ask them," returned Juliana, with her nose in the air.

Bridget sniffed audibly.

"She reg'larly thrun herself at his head," said Mary spitefully.

"Did I indeed?" said Nanny, emerging from behind the window-curtain. "Brian here could tell yous a different story. He's been beggin' an' prayin' this half-hour, an' I haven't give him an answer yet."

"Ah, but you will!" said Brian, with an ingratiating smile.

"If I do then it 'ull be for the sake of servin' you out. Ye never heard the like of the life I'll be leadin' ye. Ye'll only be sorry once, an' that'll be for ever."

"I'll risk that," said Brian gallantly.

"Well, well, well," said Mrs. McNally, clapping her hands; "so it's to be you, Nanny! 'Pon me word it rains weddin's this evenin'. I don't know whether I'm on me head or me heels. There's Elleney, now--nothin'll serve her but to go takin' up with Pat Rooney."

"Pat Rooney!" exclaimed Anna Maria, while the rest of the family echoed the name in varying tones of shrill disapproval.

"Aye, indeed," said Mrs. McNally, dropping into a chair.

"Pat Rooney. Her mind's made up, it seems, and 'pon me word, though I thought she'd have looked higher, I can't altogether blame the girl. Sure what sort of a husband can she expect, and her without a penny? An old widower maybe, or maybe a fellow with one leg. Pat's gettin' good wages, an' the two of them were talkin' o' takin' that little thatched cabin just out of the town--"

"A cabin!" said Juliana, and began to turn up her eyes, and to make a strange clucking noise in her throat.

"For goodness' sake, Ju, don't be goin' off in highsterics," cried Nanny quickly. "Sure what matter if 'tis a cabin itself! I'll engage she'll keep it as clean as a new pin--and she's a great hand at her needle, so she is. Sure she'll be able to do dressmakin' for the quality."

"An' of course," said Mrs. McNally, casting a deprecating glance round at the irate faces, "we mustn't forget she doesn't rightly belong to the family. Tis no disgrace to us at all, an' really an' truly, girls, I'm almost glad to think she's comfortably settled."

"To be sure," said Bridget, "she's no relation at all to any of us. A little girl that me a'nt took in out of charity. Why wouldn't she marry the baker--"

"My blessin' to her!" said Mary sourly.

Juliana left off clucking, and smiled sarcastically. "She isn't breakin' her heart after you, Mr. Brian, at any rate," she remarked. "She wasn't long in getting over her disappointment."

"I must say I didn't think she'd make so little of herself," he returned, drawing himself up.

"How d'ye like that, Nanny?" said Juliana spitefully. "I declare Mr. Brian's quite upset."

"Ah, the poor fellow, is he?" said Anna Maria, whose good-humour was imperturbable. "I declare I'll have to get married to him now if it's only to comfort him."

And thereupon she burst into a hearty laugh, in which Brian Brennan joined.

IN ST. PATRICK'S WARD