It was for the purpose of talking on this subject that he asked for Thady; but when he found he was not in the house, nor expected home to dinner, he was obliged to postpone what he had to say till he met him at Mary Brady's wedding.

About seven o'clock, Feemy and her lover arrived at Mrs. Mehan's little whiskey shop, where the marriage was to take place. The whole party were already there: Father John was standing with his back to a huge turf fire, in the outer room—the usual drinking room of the establishment—amusing the bystanders with jokes, apparently at the expense of the bridegroom. Mary Brady was dressed in a white muslin gown, which, though it was quite clean, seemed to have been neither mangled nor ironed, so multitudinous had been the efforts to make it fit her ungainly person. She had a large white cap on her head, extending widely over her ears; and her hair, parted on her left brow, was smeared flat over her forehead with oil: her arms were bare, and quite red, and her hands were thrust into huge white cotton gloves, which seemed to make them so ashamed of themselves as utterly to unfit them for their ordinary uses. Everyone that entered, said, "Well, Mary," or, "Well, alanna, how's yourself?" or some greeting of the kind, to which she answered only with a grin. She and her future husband seemed totally unacquainted with each other, for since he came in he hadn't spoken to her. In fact, poor Mary, as she expressed herself to Feemy, "Couldn't get her sperrits up at all, and felt quite cowed like."

Biddy, from Ballycloran, was her bridesmaid, and she, though she did not emulate the bride in her white dress, had also thrust her head into a huge cap, which, if it did not much add to her beauty, at any rate made her sufficiently remarkable to show that she was one of the principal characters of the evening.

Denis had procured himself a second-hand light brown coat, with metal buttons; this was the only attempt at wedding finery which he had made; but even this seemed to make him somewhat beside himself, and gave him a strong resemblance to that well-known martyr to unaccustomed grandeur—a hog in armour. Pat seemed to scorn the party altogether, though he was to officiate in giving away the bride; he was talking apart to Reynolds and one or two others, and seeing to the proper arrangement and distribution of the good things which were to follow the wedding. Thady was not in the place; he had not yet arrived.

"Ah! Feemy," began Father John, as she walked in, followed by Ussher, "how are you? and this is kind of you, Captain."

"Long life to you, Miss Feemy! and you, too, Captain dear," said Mary, at last excited to speak by the greatness of the occasion.

"Your honers are welcome, Miss; your honers are welcome, Captain Ussher," said Denis, forgetting that, for the present, he was only a guest himself; and then Brady, and then Shamuth na Pibu'a, the blind piper from County Mayo, "who had made the music out of his own head, all about O'Connell"—and then Biddy, and Mrs. Mehan, and all the boys and girls one after another, got up, and ducked their heads down in token of kindly welcome to the "young misthress and her lover;" and though most of those present, at other times, would have said that it was a pity their own Miss Feemy should be marrying "a born inimey of the counthry, like a Revenue officer, and a black Prothestant too," it wasn't now, when she had come to honour the wedding of one of themselves, that they would be remembering anything against her or her lover.

"Well, Mary, so the time's nearly come," said Feemy, as she sat down on the bench by the fire, that Mary, regardless of all bridal propriety, wiped down for her with the tail of her white dress; saying, as she did so, "What harum? sure won't the dust make it worse, when the dancing comes on, and—"

"Whisper, Mary."

"What is it, Miss?

"Whisper, then."

"Ah, now! you'll be at me like the rest of 'em;" and she put her big face down over Feemy's. "Are the sheets done, Mary?"

"Ah now! Miss, you're worse than 'em all!" and Mary put her big hand with the big cotton glove, with the fingers widely extended, before her face to hide the virgin blush.

"What's that, Feemy?" said Father John; "what's that I heard?"

"Go asy, now, Father John, do;" and Mary gave the priest a playful push, which nearly put him into the fire; "for God's sake, Miss, don't be telling him, now; you won't, darlint?"

"What was it, Feemy? all's fair now, you know."

"Only just something Mary was to get ready for her husband, then, Father John—nothing particular. You'll never be married yourself, you know, so you needn't ask."

"Oh! part of the fortune, was it? Trust Denis, he'll look to that; is it the pigs, eh, Denis?"

"No, Father John, it jist a'nt the pigs," said Mary.

"Come, what is it?—out with it Denis."

"Sorrow a one of me knows what you're talking about," said Denis.

"It a'nt the calf at last, Denis, is it?"

"Bad luck to it for a calf!" exclaimed McGovery; and then, sidling up to the priest, "you wouldn't be setting all the boys laughing at me, Father John, and thim sthrangers, too."

"Well, well, Denis, but why didn't you tell me the whole?"

When Ussher had first entered, Brady had come up, expressly to welcome him; and there was something in his extreme servility which made Ussher fear all was not quite right. But Ussher had become habituated to treat the servility of the poor as the only means they had of deprecating the injuries so frequently in his power to inflict; he had, too, from his necessity of not attending to their supplications, acquired a habit of treating them with constant derision, which they well understood and appreciated; and the contempt which he always showed for them was one of the reasons why he was so particularly hated through the country. Though now a guest of Brady's, he could not help showing the same feeling. Moreover, Ussher, who as far as the conduct of man to man is concerned had nothing of treachery about him, strongly suspected Pat's true character, and was therefore less likely to treat him with respect.

"Thank you, Brady, I'll do very well; don't you expect Mr. Thady here?"

"Is it the young masthur, Captain? In course we do. Mary wouldn't be married av he warn't to the fore."

"Indeed! I didn't know you'd so much respect for Mr. Macdermot as that."

"Is it for the masthur, Captain?"

"For the matter of that, Brady, you wouldn't much mind how many masters you had if they all paid you, I'm thinking."

"And that's thrue for you, Captain," said Pat, grinning in his perplexity, for he didn't know whether to take what Ussher said for a joke or not.

"Keegan, now, wouldn't be a bad master," said Ussher.

"And what puts him in your head, Captain Ussher?"

"Only they say he pays well to a sharp fellow like you."

"'Deed I don't know who he pays. They do be saying you pay a few of the boys too an odd time or two yourself."

"Is it I? What should I be paying them for?"

"Jist for a sight of a whiskey still, or a little white smoke in the mountains on a fine night or so. They say that same would be worth a brace of guineas to a boy I could name."

"You're very sharp, Mr. Brady; but should I want such assistance, I don't know any I'd sooner ask than yourself."

"Don't go for to throuble yourself, for I don't want to be holed of a night yet; and that's what'll happen them that's at that work, I'm thinking; and that afore long—not that I'm blaming you, for, in course, every one knows it's only your dooty."

"You're very kind; but when will Mr. Thady be here?"

"'Deed I wonder he a'nt here, Captain; but war you wanting him?"

"Not in particular. Is it true the brothers of those poor fellows I took up at Loch Sheen are here to-night?"

"They is, both of 'em; there's Joe Reynolds, sitting behind there—in the corner where I was when you and Miss Feemy come in."

"It's lucky he wasn't with his brother, that's all: and he'd better look sharp himself, or he'll go next."

"Oh, he's a poor harmless boy, Captain. He never does nothing that way: though, in course, I knows nothing of what they do be doing; how should I?"

"How should you, indeed! though you seem to be ready enough to answer for your friend Reynolds. However, I don't want to be taking any more of the boys at Drumleesh; so if he is a friend of yours, you'd better warn him, that's all:" and he walked away.

"And it's warning you want yourself, Captain, dear," said Pat to himself; "how clever you think yourself, with your Mr. Keegan and your spies, and your fine lady Miss, there; but if you a'nt quiet enough before Christmas, it's odd, that's all."

They were called into the inner room now, as Father John was going to perform the ceremony; and such marshalling and arranging as he had!—trying to put people into their proper places who would be somewhere else—shoving down the forms out of the way—moving the tables—removing the dishes and plates; for the supper was to be eaten off the table at which the couple were to be married. And though all the company had probably been at weddings before, and that often, they seemed new to the proceedings.

"Denis, you born fool, will you come here, where I told you? and don't keep the mutton spoiling all night;" and he shoved McGovery round the table.

"Mary Brady, if you wish to change the ugly name that's on you this night, will you come here?" and he seized hold of the young woman's arm and dragged her round; "and who's wanting you, Biddy?" as the girl followed close behind her principal.

"Shure, Father John, a'nt I to be bridesmaid then?"

"You, bridesmaid, and Miss Feemy to the fore! stay where you are. Come, Feemy."

"Oh! Father John, I a'nt bridesmaid."

"Oh! but you will be; and, as Thady a'nt here, Captain Ussher 'll be best man; come round, Captain,"—and Ussher came round. "And mind, Captain," he added, whispering, "when I come to 'salute nostra'—those are the last words—you're to kiss the bride; you are to kiss her first, and then you'll be married yourself before the year's out."

"But I am not all ambitious that way."

"Never mind, do as I tell you; and don't forget to have a half-crown in your hand, or so, when I bring the plate round. Come, Pat, where are you? you've to give her away."

"She'll jist give herself away, then, Father John; by dad, she's ready and willing enough!"

"Do as I tell you, and don't stand bothering. You want to keep those shiners in your pocket—I know you;" and Brady, shamed into compliance, also went into his place.

"Now, Denis, the other side of her, boy; why, you're as awkward to marry as shoeing a colt."

"Why then, Father John, that's thrue; for I shod many a colt, and never was married."

"You'll not be so long, avick; and may be you'll know more about it this time next week. But here's the plate; what do you mean to give the bride? you must put something handsome here for Mary."

"Faix then I forgot about that;" and he put his hand into his pocket and forked out half-a-crown, which, with a sheepish look, he put in the plate.

"Half-a-crown, indeed, for a tradesman like you! There's Corney Dolan there, who don't seem to have a coat that fits him too well, would do more for his wife, if it was God's pleasure he was to have one this night."

"Well, there;" and Denis put down another half-crown. This money, which is always put down just before the marriage, is a bridal present to the bride, and becomes her exclusive property.

"Well, Mary, you must be getting the rest of it from him another time."

"Let her alone for that, yer riverence," said Corney Dolan—who considered that Father John's allusion to his coat privileged him to put in his joke—"let her alone for that; she knows how to be getting the halfpence, and to hoult them too."

"It's a great deal you're knowing about it, I'm thinking, Mr. Dolan," retorted Denis; "it's a pity you couldn't keep the hoult of any yerself."

"Wisht, boys! how am I to marry you at all, if you go on this way? Come, Mary, off with that glove of yours; now for the ring, Denis:" and Mary hauled away at the glove, which the heat of her hand prevented her from pulling off.

"Drat it for a glove, then!"

"Ah, alanna, gloves come so nathural to your purty hand, they don't like to lave it at all."

At last, however, Mary got her hands ready for action; the ring was in the plate with the two half-crowns; Father John was standing between the two matrimonial aspirants; Ussher and Feemy were close behind Mary, and Brady was sitting down on the right hand of Denis; and the priest opened his book and began.

The marriage ceremony took about five minutes; but during this time Father John found occasion to whisper Ussher to come up close to the bride; and then, after hurrying over a great part of the service almost under his breath, he pronounced the final words—salute nostra—in a loud voice, adding at the same time to Ussher, "Now, my boy!"

Ussher, in obedience to the priest's injunction, seized hold of the bride at one side, to kiss her; while McGovery, determined to vindicate his own right, pounced on her on the other; justly thinking that the first kiss she should have after her wedding ought to be given to her by her lawful married husband.

But, alas! both aspirants were foiled, and Mary got no kiss at all. She, in her dismay at the energy of the two aspirants, ducked her head down nearly to the level of the table, and Denis, in his zeal and his hurry, struck Ussher in the face with his own forehead with no slight force. The Captain retreated, half-stunned, and not very well pleased with the salute he had received; and Denis was so shocked at what he had done, that he forgot his wife—and, apparently even the pigs and the money—in his regrets and apologies.

"Egad, Captain," said Father John, "that's more of a kiss than I meant to get you; why, you're as awkward, McGovery, as a bullcalf. Who'd have thought to see you butting at the Captain, like an old goat on his hind legs!"

"Faix then, yer riverence, I didn't intend to be trating the Captain in that way; but any way the Captain's head is 'amost as hard as my own, for the flashes isn't out of my eyes yet."

"Never mind," said Ussher; "and if you always take care of your wife the same way, my good fellow, you'll be sure she'll not come to any harm, for want of looking after."

In the meantime Mary had escaped from the salute intended for her, and was, with the aid of Biddy, Mrs. Mehan, and sundry others of her visitors, engaged in extricating two legs of mutton, a ham, and large quantities of green cabbages from the pots in which they had been boiling in the outer room.

"God bless you, Sally dear, and will you drain them pratees? they'll be biled to starch. And Mrs. Mehan, darling, my heart's broke with the big pot here, will you lend me a hand? good luck to you then. There's Denis and Pat, bad manners to them, they'd see me kilt with all the bother, and stand there doing nothing under the sun."

And poor Mary McGovery, as we must now call her, toiled and groaned under the labours of her wedding day till the perspiration ran from under her wedding cap; and her wedding-dress gave manifold signs of her zeal in preparing the wedding-supper.

Whilst Mary was dishing the mutton, &c., Father John was employed in the not less important business of collecting his dues.

Between McGovery and Pat Brady he had succeeded in getting two thirty-shilling notes, which lay in the bottom of the plate, and formed a respectable base for the little heap of silver which he would collect; and if he did not get as much as the occasion would seem to warrant, the deficiency arose from no delicacy in asking, or want of perseverance in urging.

"Now, Captain, you're the only Protestant among us; show these Catholics of mine a liberal example—show them what they ought to do for their priest,"—here Captain Ussher put a couple of half-crowns in the plate. "There, boys, see what a Protestant does for me. Well, Feemy, I never ask the ladies, you know, but I shan't let Thady off; though he ain't here, I shall settle that in the rent."

"Oh, yes, Father John; make Thady pay for himself and me; Mrs. Brennan has got all my money."

"But where's Thady, Feemy dear? I hope you and he are good friends now."

"Oh yes, Father John; that is, I didn't see him since morning."

"But will he be here to-night?"

"He said he would; but you'd best ask Pat, he knows most about him."

This conversation took place in an under tone, and the priest walked on with his plate.

"Come, Mr. Tierney, how's yourself? I see you're waiting there, quite impatient, with your hands in your pocket. It's nothing less than a crown piece, I'll go bail."

"'Deed then, crown pieces a'nt that plenty in the counthry, these days, Father John; the likes of them"—and he put half-a-crown in the plate—"are scarce enough."

The speaker was an old man, rather decently dressed in knee-breeches and gaiters; he was one of those who, even in bad times, manage by thrift and industry to get, among the poor, the reputation of comparative wealth.

"And that's true for you, Mr. Tierney, and thank you kindly; they do however say, that however scarce they are in the country, you've your share of them."

"Go on, Father John, go on, you do be saying more than you know."

And by degrees the priest went through them all. From most of them he got something; from some a shilling, from some only sixpence; some few gave nothing at all: these in general endeavoured to escape observation behind the backs of the donors, but Father John let none of them off; and those who were unprepared, and who alleged their poverty, and their inability, he reproved for their idleness, and hinted rather strongly that their visits to Mrs. Mulready's, or similar establishments, were the cause of their not being able to do what he called their duty by their priest.

Standing in a corner, at the further end of the room, and resting against a wall, was Joe Reynolds: as Father John had a bad opinion of this man, and as he was not a parishioner of his, he was returning without speaking to him, when Joe said,

"You're in the right of it, Father John, not to be axing such a poor divil as me; you know, betwixt them all, they've not left me the sign of a copper harp."

"I know, Reynolds, you're too fond of Mrs. Mulready's to have much for your own priest, let alone another."

"Faix then, Father John, you shouldn't spake agin mother Mulready, for she's something like your riverence; and a poor boy with an empty pocket will get neither comfort nor good words from either of ye."

Father John did not think it to be consistent with his dignity to answer this sally; so he returned to the other end of the room, carefully counting as he went, and pocketing the money which he had collected. In the meantime the bride, with such assistance as she could get, had succeeded in putting the supper on the table: a leg of mutton at the top, reclining on a vast bed of cabbage; a similar dish at the bottom; and a ham, with the same garniture, in the middle. The rest of the table was elegantly sprinkled with plates of smoking potatoes; and what knives and forks and spoons and plates could be spared from the head of the table, where a few were laid out with some little order for the more aristocratic of the guests, were collected together in a heap. At first, no one seemed inclined to sit down; every one was struck with a sudden bashfulness, till Father John, taking up the knife and fork at the top of the table, called McGovery to bring his wife to supper.

"Now, Denis, my man, don't be thinking of those two pigs, but bring your better half with you, and let's see how you can behave as a married man."

"Come, Miss Feemy," said Mary, "if you and the Captain now would jist sit down, and begin—there's a dear, Miss, do."

"Oh, Mary, nobody must sit down before you, to-night."

"Never mind me, Miss,—if I could only get you and the Captain seated; yer honer," and she turned round with a curtsey to Ussher, "there's Denis and Pat there will do nothing in life to help me!" and the poor woman seemed at her wit's end to know how to arrange her guests.

At last, however, Ussher and Feemy sat down at one side of the priest, Denis and his wife at the other, and by degrees the table got quite full; so much so, that when the boys saw one another taking their seats, they were as eager as before they had been slow; and they hustled each other at the bottom of the table, till they were so crowded that they hadn't room to use their arms. Pat sat at the bottom, and he and the priest emulated each other in the zeal and celerity with which they cut up and distributed the joints before them.

At Pat's end of the table plates were scarce, and the boys round him took the huge lumps of blood-red mutton in their fists, and seemed perfectly independent of such conventional wants as knives and forks, in the ease and enjoyment with which they dispatched their repast. At last Brady had done all to the joint that carving could do, and having kept a tolerably sufficient lion's share for himself, he passed the bone down the table, which was speedily divided into as many portions as nature had intended that it should be.

Matters were conducted in a rather more decorous manner among the aristocrats at Father John's end of the table—though even here they were carried on in a somewhat rapid and voracious fashion. The priest helped Feemy and Ussher, Mary and her husband; and then remarking that he had done all the hard work of the evening, and that he thought it was time to get a bit himself, he filled a moderate plate for his own consumption, and passed the joint down to be treated after the same manner as its fellow.

As long as the eating continued there was not much said; but when the viands had disappeared, and the various bottles came into requisition, the clatter of tongues became loud and joyous; and though the first part of the entertainment had to all appearance come to a rather too speedy termination for want of material to carry it on, there seemed, from the quantity of whiskey produced, little chance of any similar disappointment in what the greater portion of the guests considered the more agreeable part of the entertainment.

"Well, Denis," said Father John, "I believe I've done all I can this time; and as I know you'll want to be looking after the cow that's in calf—no, not the cow, but the pigs—I'll be off."

"Folly on, Father John, folly on; it's always the way with yer riverence—to be making yer game of a poor boy like me! But you're not going out of this till you've dhrunk Mary's health here, and heard a tune on the pipes, any way."

"Not a drop, Denis, thank ye," and Father John got up; "and now, boys and girls, good night, and God bless you—and behave yourselves."

"Faix, then, yer riverence," said Joe Reynolds from the bottom of the table, "you may tell by the way the boys take to the bottle, that they'll behave themselves dacently and discreatly, like Christians."

"Indeed, then, Reynolds, where you are, and the whiskey with you, I believe there's likely to be little discretion but the discretion of drunkenness,—and not much of that."

"Thank ye, Father John, and it's you have always the kind word for me."

"But, Father John," began Mary, "you're not really going to go without so much as a tumbler of punch?"

"Not a drop, Mary, my dear; I took my punch after dinner—and I can't stand too much. Good night, Feemy—you'll stay and have a dance I suppose; good night, Captain Ussher."

And Father John got up from table, and went out of the room. As soon, however, as Denis saw that he was really going, he rose and followed him out of the door.

"Sit down, Denis, sit down—don't be laving your company such a night as this."

"But I want to have jist a word with yer riverence."

"Well, what is it?"

"Jist step outside then, Father John."

"Well, Denis; is it anything about Betsy Cane? or has Ginty come home, and is he wanting the pigs?"

"No, but would you just step outside here, Mr. McGrath; where those long-eared ruffians won't be hearing me?" and he and the priest walked a little distance from the door of Mrs. Mehan's house.

"I'm afeard, Father John, them born divils from Drumleesh and Mohill, as Pat brought here to-night, are maning more than good to Captain Ussher."

"And what makes you think that, Denis?"

"Why, Father John, Mary was saying that Pat towld her a lot of his own frinds would be up with him, and that if they war talking together, she and those as are with her dancing and the like, warn't to be disturbing them; and then I knows them boys is very mad with the Captain about that whiskey business up at Loch Sheen; and then Joe Reynolds and Jack Byrne are in it, and their brothers are two of them as war sazed and are now in Ballinamore Bridewell;—and I know there is something of the sort going on through the counthry; and faix, Father John, I wouldn't for money that anything happened, and I in it the while; for a poor boy is always made to be mixed up in them affairs, if by bad luck he is anywhere near at the time."

"But what do you think they'd do to the Captain to-night, Denis?"

"Faix then, yer riverence, I don't know what they'd be doing,—murther him, maybe."

"God forbid! But, Denis, those men from Drumleesh could hardly know Captain Ussher was going to be at the wedding to-night."

"Oh! yer riverence, they'd know it well enough from Pat Brady."

"But you don't think your wife's brother would join a party to murder Ussher?"

"Why then, Father John—I think it's just he that would be putting the others up to it."

"Good gracious, Denis! and what would he get by such deeds as that? Isn't he comfortable enough."

"It isn't them as is poorest, is always the worst. But any how, Father John, if you'd come back, and yer riverence wouldn't mind for the onst jist sitting it out—jist dhrinking a dhrop at an odd time, or colloguing a bit with owld Mr. Tierney, till we get the Captain out of that, shure they'd never be doing anything out of the way as long as yer riverence is in it."

"It isn't here—in the house, where there are so many together—they'd attack him, even if they meant to do so; and I don't think they mean it to-night; but it's on his way home—and my going back would not in any way prevent that. But why don't you at once tell Captain Ussher, and warn him that you fear he is not safe among those fellows at night."

"That's jist what I did then; but he's so foolish, and so bowld, there's no making him mind what one would say. I did tell him, Father John, that I was afeared that there would be some lads in it wouldn't be his well-wishers. But he laughed at me, and towld me there were none of the boys through the counthry war so fond of him as those Reynoldses and Byrnes, and all them others down at Drumleesh."

"Well, Denis, and what can I do more; if he laughs at you, why wouldn't he also laugh at me?"

"Why, yer riverence, you and he are frinds like; besides, he wouldn't trate the like of you as he would such a one as I; why I believe he don't think the poor are Christians at all."

"It's true enough for some of them; but what would you have me do? I couldn't walk back to Mohill by his horse's side;—and I tell you if they attack him at all, it will not be at the house there, but on his way home."

"'Deed then. Father John, any way I wish he was well out of that."

"It seems, Denis, it's yourself you're thinking of, more than the Captain."

"Shure, and why wouldn't I—and I just married? A purty thing for me just now, to be took up among a lot of blackguard ruffians for murthering a king's officer."

"Well, Denis, I won't go back now,—it would look odd and do no good; so do you go back and drink a tumbler of punch with the men, and dance a turn or two with the girls, as you should on your wedding night; and by and by I'll come down again as if to see what was going on—and to walk home with Miss Feemy. The Captain must go back to Ballycloran for his horse; and if he can be persuaded that there is any danger, he can go up and sleep at the cottage; for I tell you, if they mean to hurt him at all, it's on the road home to Mohill they'd make the attempt. Do you go in and say nothing about it, and I'll be down by and by."

Father John walked away towards his house, and Denis McGovery went back with a heavy heart to dance at his own wedding; for though his solicitude for the "king's officer" would not have been of the most intense kind, had he thought that he was to be murdered anywhere else, he had a great horror at the idea of any evil happening to that important personage, when it could in any way affect his own comfort.

When Denis returned into Mrs. Mehan's big kitchen, the amusements of the evening—dancing and drinking—were on the point of commencing. Shamuth of the pipes, the celebrated composer and musician, was sitting in the corner of the huge fireplace, with a tumbler of punch within reach of his hand, preparing his instrument,—squeaking, and puffing, and blowing in the most approved preparatory style. Mary was working and toiling again for the benefit of her guests—carrying kettles of boiling water into the inner room—emptying pounds of brown sugar into slop-basins and mugs—telling the boys to take their punch—taking a drop herself now and again, with some one who was wishing her health and happiness, and comfort with the man she'd got—inciting the girls to go and dance—and scolding her brother and husband, because, "bad manners to them, divil a hand they'd lend to help her, and she with so much to do, and so many to mind."

"And now, Miss Feemy, if you'd only get up and begin, dear, the others would soon folly; come, Captain Ussher—would yer honer jist stand up with Miss Feemy?"

"Oh, no, Mary,—you're the bride you know; Captain Ussher must dance with you first."

"Oh! laws, Miss, but that'd be too much honour intirely."

"No, Mrs. McGovery, but it's I that'll be honoured; so if you will be good enough to stand up with me, I shall be glad to shake a foot with you:" and the gallant Captain led Mary into the middle of the floor.

"But, Captain, dear, sorrow a sup of dhrink did I see you take this blessed evening; shure then you'll let me get you a glass of wine before we all begin, jist to prevent your being smothered with the dust like; shure, yer honour hasn't taken a dhrop yet."

"I won't be so long, Mary; but I won't have the wine yet, I'll wash the dust out with a tumbler of punch just now. Here's your husband, you must make him dance with the bridesmaid."

"I'm afraid then he ain't much good at dancing."

"Oh! but he must try.—Come, McGovery, there's Biddy waiting for you to take her out; and here's Shamuth waiting—you don't think, man, he'd begin till you're ready."

"Come, Denis," said his gentle spouse, "I never see sich a man; can't ye stand up and be dancing, and not keeping everyone waiting that way?"

"Mind yourself, Mary, and you'll have enough to mind. Come, Biddy, alanna, let us have a shake together, all for luck;" and the happy husband led forth Biddy of Ballycloran—she with the big cap—who was only now beginning to regain the serene looks, which had been dispelled by Father John's not permitting her to act as bridesmaid.

And now Shamuth—his preparatory puffs having been accomplished—struck up "Paddy Carey" with full force and energy. As this was the first dance, no one stood up but the two couple above named; there were therefore the more left to admire the performance, and better room left for the performers to show their activity.

"Faix then, Mary," said one, "it's yerself that dances illigant—the Lord be praised—only look to her feet."

"Well, dear—Denis, shure no one thought you were that good at a jig; give him a turn, Biddy—don't spare him—he's able for you and more."

"Ah! but see the Captain, Kathleen; it's he that could give the time to the music; a'nt he and Mary well met?—you must put more wind into the pipes, Shamuth, before they're down."

"But if you want to see the dancing, wait till Miss Feemy stands up—it's she that can dance; you'll stand up with the Captain, Miss Feemy, won't you?"

"Indeed I will, Corney, if he asks me."

"Axes you! ah, there's little doubt of that; it's he that's ready and willing to ax you, now and always."

"Ah! Mr. McGovery, shure man, you're not bait yet! you wouldn't give in to Biddy that soon?"

Poor Denis was giving signs of having had enough of the amusement. There was a tolerably large fire on the hearth, near which he had been destined to perform his gyrations—which, if not very graceful, had, at any rate, been sufficiently active; and the exertion, heat, and dust were showing plainly on his shining countenance.

"Ah! Mr. McGovery," panted Biddy, "shure you're not down yet, and I only jist begun!"

"Indeed, then, Biddy, I am, and quite enough I've had, too, for one while. Here, Corney, come and take my place;" and Denis deposited a penny in a little wooden dish by the piper's side.

"By dad, Denis," said Corney, "you'll sleep to-night, any ways—to look at you."

"That's jist what he won't, then; for it'll be morning before he's in bed, and Mary'll have too much to say to him, when he is there, to let him sleep."

"Never mind, boys; do you dance, and I'll get myself a dhrink, for I'm choked with the dust;—and here's Mr. Thady. Why, Mr. Thady, why didn't you come in time for the supper, then?"

Just as Denis McGovery gave over dancing, Thady entered the house, having anything but a wedding countenance. He had been, since the time we parted from him after his interview with Keegan, lying in the stable, smoking. He had eaten nothing, but had remained meditating over the different things which conspired to make his heart sad.

His father's state—the impossibility of carrying on the war any longer against the enmity of Flannelly and Keegan—his own forlorn prospects—the insult and blow he had just received from the overbearing, heartless lawyer—but, above all, Feemy's condition, and his fears respecting her, were too much for him to bear. After his sister and Captain Ussher had left Ballycloran, he had gone up to the house and had swallowed a couple of glasses of raw whiskey, to drive, as he said to himself, the sorrow out of his heart; and he had now come down to seek the friends whom Brady had recommended to him, and determined, at whatever cost, to revenge himself, by their aid, against Keegan, for the insults he had heaped upon him, and against Ussher for the name which, he believed, he had put upon his sister.

It was with these feelings and determinations that Thady had come down to McGovery's wedding; and, as he entered the room, Ussher and Feemy were just standing up to dance.



CHAPTER XIII.

HOW THE WEDDING PARTY WAS CONCLUDED.

When Thady entered the room where the party was dancing, the welcomes with which he was greeted by McGovery and his wife prevented him from immediately seeking Pat Brady, as he had intended; for he was obliged to stop to refuse the invitations and offers which he received, that supper should be got for him. And it was well for those that made the offers that he did refuse them; for every vestige of what was eatable in the house had been devoured, and had he acceded to Mary's reiterated wishes that he would "take jist the laste bit in the world," it would have puzzled her to make good her offer in the most literal sense of the words.

Luckily, however, Thady declined her hospitality, and was passing through to the inner room when he was stopped by Ussher, who, as we have before said, was standing up to dance with Feemy. The last time the two young men had met was at the priest's house, when, it will be remembered, Thady had shown a resolution not to be on good terms with the Captain, and subsequent events had not at all mollified his temper; so when Ussher good-humoredly asked him how he was, and told him he wanted to speak to him a word or two as soon as he should have tired Feemy dancing, or, what was more probable, Feemy should have tired him, Thady answered him surlily enough, saying that if Captain Ussher had anything to say to him, he should be within, but that he didn't mean to stay there all night, and that perhaps Captain Ussher had better say it at once.

"Well, Macdermot, perhaps I had; so, if your sister 'll excuse me, I won't be a minute.—Just step to the door a moment, will you?" and Thady followed him out.

"Well, Captain Ussher, what is it?"

"I don't know why it is, Macdermot, but for the last two or three days you seem to want to quarrel with me; if it is so, why don't you speak out like a man?"

"Is that what you were wanting to say to me?"

"Indeed it was not; for it's little I care whether you choose to quarrel or let it alone; but I heard something to-night, which, though I don't wholly believe it, may like enough be partly true; and if you choose to listen, I will tell you what it was; perhaps you can tell me whether it was all false; and if you cannot, what I tell you may keep yourself out of a scrape."

"Well."

"McGovery tells me that he thinks some of the boys that are here to-night are come to hold some secret meeting; and that, from the brothers of the two men I arrested the other day being in it, he thinks their purpose is to revenge themselves on me."

"And if it war so, Captain Ussher, what have I to do with it?"

Ussher looked very hard at Thady's face, but it was much too dark for him to see anything that was there.

"Probably not much yourself; but I thought that as these men were your father's tenants, you might feel unwilling that they should turn murderers; and as I am your father's friend, you might, for his sake, wish to prevent them murdering me."

"And is it from what such a gaping fool as McGovery says, you have become afraid that men would murder you, who never so much as raised their hand agin any of those who are from day to day crushing and ruining them?"

"If I had been afraid, I should not have come here. Indeed, it was to show them that I am not afraid of coming among them without my own men at my back that I came here. But though I am not afraid, and though it is not what McGovery says I mind—and he is not such a fool as some others—nevertheless I do think, in fact, from different sources, I know, that there is something going on through the country, which will bring the poor into worse troubles than they've suffered yet; and if, as I much think, they've come here to talk of their plans to-night, and if you know that it is so, you're foolish to be among them."

"Is that all you've to say to me, Captain Ussher?"

"Not quite; I wanted to ask you, on your honour, as a man and an Irishman, do you know whether there is any conspiracy among them to murder or do any injury to me?" Ussher paused for a moment; and as Thady did not answer him, he went on—"and I wanted to warn you against one who is, I know, trying his best to ruin you and your father."

"Who is that, Captain Ussher? I believe I know my own friends and my own inimies," said Thady, who thought the revenue officer alluded to Keegan.

"Answer my question first."

"And suppose I don't choose to answer it?"

"Why, if you won't answer it, I cannot but think you are aware of such a conspiracy, and that you approve of it."

"Do you mean to say, Captain Ussher, that I have conspired to murdher you?"

"No, I say no such thing; but surely, if you heard of such a scheme, or thought there was such an intention in the country, wouldn't you tell me, or any one else that was so doomed, that they might be on their guard?"

"You're very much frightened on a sudden, Captain."

"That's not true, Macdermot; you know I'm not frightened; but will you answer the question?"

Thady was puzzled; he did not know what to say exactly. He had not absolutely heard that the men whom he was going to meet that night, and whom he knew he meant to join, intended to murder Ussher; but Brady had told him that they were determined to have a fling at him, and it was by their promise to treat the attorney in the same way, that Thady had been induced to come down to them. It had never struck him that he was going to join a body of men pledged to commit murder—that he was to become a murderer, and that he was to become so that very night. His feeling had been confined to the desire of revenging himself for the gross and palpable injuries with which he had been afflicted, whilst endeavouring to do the best he could for his father, his sister, and his house. But now—confronted with Ussher—asked by him as to the plots of the men whom he was on the point of joining, and directly questioned as to their intentions by the very man he knew they were determined to destroy, Thady felt awed, abashed, and confused.

Then it occurred to him that he had not, at any rate as yet, pledged himself to any such deed, or even in his mind conceived the idea of such a deed; that there was no cause why he should give his surmises respecting what he believed might be the intentions of others to the man whom, of all others—perhaps, not excepting the lawyer—he disliked and hated; and that there could be no reason why he should warn Captain Ussher against danger. Though these things passed through Thady's mind very quickly, still he paused some time, leaning against the corner of an outhouse, till Ussher said,

"Well, Macdermot, surely you 'll not refuse to answer me such a question as that. Though—God knows why—we mayn't be friends, you would not wish to have such ill as that happen to me."

"I don't know why you should come to me, Captain Ussher, to ask such questions. If you were to ask your own frinds that you consort with, in course they would feel more concerned in answering you than I can. Not that I want to have art or part in your blood, or to have you murdhered—or any one else. But to tell you God's holy truth, if you were out of the counthry intirely, I would be better plased, as would be many others. And since you are axing me, I'll tell you, Captain Ussher, that I do think the way you do be going on with the poor in the counthry—dhriving and sazing them, and having spies over them—isn't such as is likely to make you frinds in the counthry, except with such as Jonas Brown and the like. And though, mind you, I know nothing of plots and conspiracies among the boys, I don't think you're over safe whilst staying among thim you have been trating that way; and if they were to shoot you some night, it's no more than many would expect. To tell you the truth, then, Captain Ussher, I think you'd be safer anywhere than at Mohill."

Thady considered that he thus made a just compromise between the faith he thought he owed to the men with whom he was going to league himself, and the duty, which he could not but feel he ought to perform, of warning Ussher of the danger in which he was placed.

Ussher felt quite satisfied with what Thady had said. He was not at all surprised at his expressions of personal dislike, and he felt confident, from the manner in which young Macdermot had spoken of his perilous situation, that even if any conspiracy had been formed, of which he was the object, there was no intention to put it into immediate operation, and that, at any rate in Macdermot's opinion, no concerted plan had yet been made to attack him. A good many reasons also induced Ussher to think that he stood in no danger of any personal assault. In the first place, though the country was in a lawless state—though illicit distillation was carried to a great extent—though many of the tenants refused to pay either rent, tithes, or county cesses till compelled to do so—the disturbances arising from these causes had not lately led to murder or bloodshed. He had carried on his official duties in the same manner for a considerable time without molestation, and custom had begotten the feeling of security. Moreover, he thought the poor were cowed and frightened. He despised them too much to think they would have the spirit to rise up against him. In fact, he made up his mind that Thady's intention was to frighten him out of the country, if possible, and he resolved that he would not allow anything he had heard on the subject either to disturb his comfort, or actuate his conduct.

"Well, Macdermot, that's fair and above board—and what I expected, though it's neither friendly nor flattering; and I am not vexed with you for that; for if you don't feel friendly to me you shouldn't speak as if you did, and therefore I'm obliged to you. And I will say that if I am to be shot down, like a dog, whilst performing my duty to the best of my ability, at any rate, I won't let the fear of such a thing frighten me out of my comfort before it happens. And now if you'll let me say a word or two to you about yourself—"

"I'm much obliged to you, Captain Ussher, but if you can take care of yourself, so can I of myself."

"Why how cranky you are, man! If you hate me, hate me in God's name, but don't be so absurd as to forget you're a man, and to act like a child. I listened to you—and why can't you listen to me?"

"Well, spake on, I'll listen."

"Mind, I don't pretend to know more of your affairs than you would wish me; but, as I am intimate with your father, I cannot but see that you, in managing your father's concerns, put great confidence in the man within there."

"What! Pat Brady?"

"Yes, Brady! Now if you only employed him as any other farm servant, he would not, probably, have much power to injure you; but I believe he does more than that—that he collects your rents, and knows the affairs of all your tenants."

"Well?"

"I have very strong reason to think that he is also in the employment, or at any rate in the pay, of Mr. Keegan, the attorney at Carrick."

"What makes you think that, Captain Ussher?"

"I could hardly explain the different things which make me think so; but I'm sure of it; and it is for you to judge whether, if such be the case, your confidence will not enable him, under the present state of affairs at Ballycloran, to do you and your father much injury. He is also, to my certain knowledge, joined in whatever societies—all of them illegal—are being formed in the country; and he is a man, therefore, not to be trusted. I may add also that if you listen too much to his advice and counsels, you will be likely to find yourself in worse troubles than even those which your father's property brings on you."

"Don't alarm yourself about me; I don't be in the habit of taking a servant's advice about things, Captain Ussher."

"There's your back up again; I don't mean to offend you, I tell you; however, if you remember what I have said to you, it may prevent much trouble to you:"—and Ussher walked into the house.

"Prevent throubles," soliloquised Thady; "there is no way with me to prevent all manner of throuble—I believe I'll go in and get a tumbler of punch;"—and determined to adopt this mode of quieting troubles, if he could not prevent them, he followed Ussher.

Ussher was now dancing with Feemy, and the fun had become universal and incessant; there were ten or twelve couple dancing on the earthen floor of Mrs. Mehan's shop. The piper was playing those provocative Irish tunes, which, like the fiddle in the German tale, compel the hearers to dance whether they wish it or no; and they did dance with a rapidity and energy which showed itself in the streams of perspiration running down from the performers' faces. Not much to their immediate comfort a huge fire was kept up on the hearth; but the unnecessary heat thus produced was atoned for by the numerous glasses of punch with which they were thereby enabled to regale themselves, when for a moment they relaxed their labours.

This pleasant recreation began also to show its agreeable effects in the increased intimacy of the partners and the spirit of the party. All diffidence in standing up had ceased—and now the only difficulty was for the aspirants to get room on which to make their complicated steps; and oh, the precision, regularity, and energy of those motions! Although the piper played with a rapidity which would have convinced the uninitiated of the impossibility of dancing to the time, every foot in the room fell to the notes of the music as surely as though the movements of the whole set had been regulated by a steam machine. And such movements as they were! Not only did the feet keep time, but every limb and every muscle had each its own work, and twisted, shook and twirled itself in perfect unison and measure, the arms performed their figure with as much accuracy as the legs.

"Take a sup of punch now, Miss Tierney; shure you're fainting away entirely for the want of a dhrop." The lady addressed was wiping, with the tail of her gown, a face which showed the labour that had been necessary to perform the feat of dancing down the whole company to the tune of the "wind that shakes the barley," and was now leaning against the wall, whilst her last partner was offering her punch made on the half and half system: "Take a sup, Miss Tierney, then; shure you're wanting it."

"Thank ye, Mr. Kelly, but I am afther taking a little jist now, and the head's not sthrong with me afther dancing;" she took the tumbler, however. "Faix, Mr. Kelly, but it's yourself can make a tumbler of punch with any man."

"'Deed then there's no sperrits in it at all—only a thrifle to take the wakeness off the water. Come, Miss Tierney, you didn't take what'd baptize a babby."

"It'd be a big babby then; one like yerself may be."

"Here's long life to the first you have yerself, any way, Miss Tierney!" and he finished the glass, of which the blushing beauty had drunk half. "Might a boy make a guess who'd be the father of it?"

"Go asy now, masther Morty,"—the swain rejoiced in the name of Mortimer Kelley. "It'll be some quiet, dacent fellow, that an't given to chaffing nor too fond of sperrits."

"By dad, my darling, and an't that me to a hair's breadth?"

"Is it you a dacent, asy boy?"

"Shure if it an't me, where's sich a one in the counthry at all? And it's I'd be fond of the child—and the child's mother more especial," and he gave her a loving squeeze, which in a less energetic society might have formed good ground for an action for violent assault.

"Ah don't! Go asy I tell you, Morty. But come, an't you going to dance instead of wasting your time here all night?" and the pair, re-invigorated by their intellectual and animal refreshment, again commenced their dancing.

Whilst the fun was going on fast and furious among the dancers, those in the inner room were not less busily engaged. Brady was still sitting in the chair which he had occupied during the supper, at the bottom of the table, though he had turned round a little towards the fire. At the further end of it Thady was seated, with a lighted pipe in his mouth, and a tumbler of punch on the shelf over the fireplace. Joe Reynolds was seated a little behind, but between Thady and Pat Brady; and a lot of others were standing around, or squatting on the end of the table—leaning against the fireplace, or sitting two on a chair, wherever two had been lucky enough to secure one between them. They were all drinking, most of them raw spirits—and all of them smoking. At the other end of the room, three or four boys and girls were standing in the door-way, looking at the dancing, and getting cool after their own performances; and Denis McGovery was sitting in the chair which Father John had occupied, with his head on the table, apparently asleep, but more probably intent on listening to what was going on among them at the other end of the room, whom he so strongly suspected of some proposed iniquity. The noise, however, of the music and the dancing, the low tones in which the suspected parties spoke, and the distance at which they sat, must have made Denis's occupation of eaves-dropping difficult, if not impracticable.

Thady had just been speaking, and it was evident from the thickness of his voice that the whiskey he had drunk was beginning to have its effects on him. Instead of eating his dinner, he had been drinking raw spirits in the morning, to which he was not accustomed; for though when cold, or when pressed by others, he could swallow a glass of raw whiskey with that facility which seems to indicate an iron throttle, he had been too little accustomed to give way to any temptation to become habitually a drunkard. Now, however, he was certainly becoming tipsy, and, therefore, more likely to agree to whatever those around him might propose.

"Asy, Mr. Thady!" said Pat; "there's that long-eared ruffian, McGovery, listening to every word he can catch. Be spaking now as if you war axing the boys about the rint."

"And isn't it about that he is axing?" said Joe. "But how can he get the rint, or we be paying it, unless he gives us his hand to rid the counthry of thim as robs us of our manes, and desthroys him and us, and all thim as should be frinds to him and the owld Masther, and to Ballycloran?"

"You know, all of ye, that I never was hard on you," continued Thady, "when, God knows, the money was wanted bad enough at Ballycloran. You know I've waited longer for what was owed than many a one has done who has never felt what it was to want a pound. Did I ever pull the roof off any of you? And though queer tenants you've most of you been, an't the same set on the land now mostly that there was four years ago? There's none of you can call me a hard man, I think; and when I've stuck to you so long, it isn't now I'll break away from you."

"Long life to you, Mr. Thady!" "Long life to yer honer—and may ye live to see the esthate your own yet, and not owe a shilling!" "It's thrue for the masther what he says; why should he turn agin his own now? God bless him!" Such were the exclamations with which Thady's last speech was received.

"And I'll tell you what it is," and he now spoke in a low thick whisper, "I'll tell you what's on my mind. Those that you hate, I don't love a bit too well. You all know Hyacinth Keegan, I think?"

"'Deed we do—may the big devil fetch him home!"

"Well, then, would you like him for your landlord, out and out? such a fine gentleman as he is!"

"Blast him for a gintleman!" said Joe; "I'd sooner have his father; he war an honest man, more by token he war no Protestant; he sarved processes for Richard Peyton, up by Loch Allen."

"Well then," continued Thady, "if you don't like him, boys, I can tell you he don't like you a bit better; and if he can contrive to call himself masther at Ballycloran, as I can tell you he manes to try, it's not one of you he'll lave on the land."

"Did he tell you that himself, Mr. Thady?" whispered Brady. Now though young Macdermot was nearly drunk—quite drunk enough to have lost what little good sense was left to him, after being fool enough to come at all among those with whom he was at present drinking—still what Ussher had said about his follower was not forgotten, and though he did not absolutely believe that Brady was a creature of Keegan's, what he had heard prevented his having the same inclination to listen to Pat, or the same confidence in what he said.

"Faith then, he told me so with his own mouth; and it isn't only the others 'd be going, but you'd have to walk yourself, masther Pat."

"And why wouldn't I? D'ye think I'd be staying at Ballycloran afther you war gone, Mr. Thady?"

"Don't be making any vows, Pat; maybe you wouldn't be axed, and maybe, av you war, you wouldn't refuse to ate yer bread, though it war Keegan paid for it."

"That the first mouthful may choke me that I ever ate of his paying for!"

"Well, however, boys, Hyacinth Keegan will sthrip the roof off every mother's son of you if he ever conthrives to put his foot in Ballycloran; but, by God, he never shall! Mind, boys, he can never do that till he can lay his hands on the owld man; and where'll you all be, I wonder, to let him or any one he sends do that, or take a sod of turf, or a grain of oats off the land either?"

"By dad, you're right, Mr. Thady," said one of them. "Shure wouldn't we have him in a bog-hole, or as many as he'd send; and then they might take away what they could carry in their mouths."

"I'll tell you what, Sir," said Joe Reynolds, and he laid his hand on Thady's knee, and leant forward till his mouth was near the young man's ear—so near, that not only could not McGovery overhear his words, but of the whole party round the fire, only Brady and Byrne, besides Thady himself, could catch what he said; "I'll tell you what, Sir, Keegan shall never harum you or yours, if you'll be one of us—one of us heart and sowl; and I know you will, and I know it's not in you to put up with what they're putting on you; an' dearly he'll pay for the blow he strik you, an' the word he said—surely, Mr. Thady!" And he whispered still lower into his ear, "Let alone the esthate, an' the house, an' all that, you'd niver put up with what he has been about this day, paceable an' in quiet?"

"You're thrue in that, Joe, by G——d!"

"Well then, won't we see you righted? Let the bloody ruffian come to Ballycloran, an' then see the way he'll go back again to Carrick. Will you say the word, Mr. Thady? Will you join us agin thim that is as much, an' a deal more, agin you than they are agin us?"

"But what is it you main to do?"

"That's what you'll know when you've joined us; but you know it isn't now or here we'd be telling you that which, maybe, would put our necks in your hand. But when you've taken the oath we've all taken, we'll be ready then not only to tell you all, but follow you anywhere."

The young man paused.

"Isn't it enough for you to know that our inimies is your inimies—that thim you wishes ill to, we wishes ill to? Isn't Keegan the man you've most cause to hate, an' won't we right you with him? Don't we hate that bloody Captain that is this moment playing his villain's tricks with your own sisther in the next room there? and shure you can't feel very frindly to him. By the holy Virgin, when you're one of us, it's not much longer he shall throuble you. If you can put up with what the likes of them is doing to you—if you can bear all that—why, Mr. Thady, you're not the man I took you for. But mind, divil a penny of rint 'll ever go to Ballycloran agin from Drumleesh; for the matter's up now;—you're either our frind or our inimy. But if, Mr. Thady, you've the pluck they all says you have—an' which I iver see in you, God bless you!—it's not only one of us you'll be, but the head of us all; for there isn't one but 'll go to hell's gate for your word; an' then the first tinant on the place that pays as much as a tinpenny to Keegan, or to any but jist yourself—by the cross! he may dig his own grave."

What Thady immediately said does not much signify; before long he had promised to come over to Mrs. Mulready's at Mohill with Pat Brady, on an appointed night, there to take the oath of the party to whom he now belonged.

Though it was agreed that the secret determinations of the party were not to be divulged to him until he had joined them there, it nevertheless was pretty clearly declared that their immediate and chief object was the destruction of Ussher, and, if possible, the liberation of the three men who had lately been confined in Ballinamore Bridewell, for the malt that had been seized in the cabin by Loch Sheen. However, to prevent the evil arising from this carelessness in the performance of their duties as conspirators, Thady was requested to swear on a cross made with the handles of two knives, that he would not divulge anything that had occurred or been said in that room that night—with which request he complied.

By the time this was done most of them were drunk, but none were so drunk as poor Macdermot. His intoxication, moreover, was unfortunately not of that sort which was likely to end in quiescence and incapability. It was a sign of the great degradation to which Macdermot had submitted, in joining these men, that in talking over the injuries which Ussher had inflicted on them all, he had quietly heard them canvass Ussher's conduct to his sister, and that in no measured terms. This had gone much against the grain with him at first, because he could not but strongly feel that, in abusing Ussher, they were equally reproaching Feemy. But the fall of high and fine feelings, when once commenced, is soon accomplished, even when the fall is from a higher dignity than those of Thady's had ever reached; and though, a few hours since, he would have allowed no one but Father John, even to connect his sister's name with Ussher, he had soon accustomed himself to hear the poorest tenant on his father's property speak familiarly on the subject, when urging him to join them in common cause against his enemy. But though he had so far sacrificed his sister's dignity in his drunken conversation with these men, he was not the less indignant with the man whose name they had so unceremoniously joined with hers; and he got up with the resolution to inform Ussher that the intercourse between him and Feemy must immediately cease. The spirits he had taken gave him a false feeling of confidence that he should find means to carry his resolution into effect without delay.

When he got into the outer room, Ussher and Feemy were not there. The dancing and drinking were going on as fast as ever; Shamuth, the piper, was in the same seat, with probably not the same tumbler of punch beside him, and was fingering away at his pipes as if the feeling of fatigue was unknown to him; and Mary, the bride, was still dancing as though her heart had not been broken all the morning with the work she had had to do. Biddy also, the Ballycloran housemaid, was in the seventh heaven of happiness—for hadn't she music and punch galore? and though the glory of her once well-starched cap was dimmed, if not totally extinguished by the dust and heat, her heart was now too warm with the fun to grieve for that, especially when such a neat made boy as Barney Egan was dancing foranenst her. It did not, however, add to her happiness, when, after being addressed once or twice in vain, she heard her young master's voice.

"Biddy—d'ye hear, and be d——d to you!—is your misthress gone home?"

"'Deed, Mr. Thady, I think she be."

"And why the divil, then, a'nt you gone with her? d'you mane to be dancing here all night?"

Now Thady was in general so very unobservant—so little inclined to interfere with, if he could not promote, the amusements of his dependants—moreover, so unaccustomed to scold—that Biddy and the others round her soon saw that something was the matter.

"What are you staring at, you born fool? If Miss Feemy's gone up to Ballycloran, do you follow her."

Thady's thick voice, red face, and sparkling eyes showed that he was intoxicated, and Biddy, if not preparing to obey him—for the temptation to stay was too strong—was preparing to pretend to do so, when Mary McGovery, by way of allaying Macdermot's wrath, said,

"I don't believe then, Mr. Thady, that Miss Feemy's gone home, at all at all. I think she and the Captain is only walked down the lane a bit, jist to cool themselves, for sure it's hot work dancing—"

Thady did not stop to ask any more questions, but hurried out of the door, and turning away from Ballycloran, walked as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him towards Mohill; and, unfortunately, Ussher and Feemy were strolling down the lane in that direction.

When Pat Brady saw Macdermot hurry out of the house, he said to his sister, "Begad! Mary, you'd better hurry down the lane—if Captain Ussher and Miss Feemy is in it—jist to take care of her; for he and the masther 'll have a great fight of it this night. The masther's blood's up, and the two'll be slating one another afore they're parted."

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Mary, "why don't you go yourself, Pat? Mr. Thady's taken a dhrop, and maybe he'll be hurting Miss Feemy or the Captain. Denis, dear,"—her husband came in the room just then,—"there's a ruction between the Captain and Mr. Thady; in God's name go and bring away Miss Feemy!"

Ussher and Feemy had not been out of the house many minutes; it was a beautiful mild moonlight night in October, and as the girl had said, they had come out to cool themselves after the heat and noise and dirt of the room in which they had been dancing. Myles was in one of his best humours; he had persuaded himself that he had no real danger to fear from the men who, as he was told, were so hostile to him. Feemy, too, had looked very pretty and nice, and had not contradicted him; and whereas what Thady had drunk had made him cross, Ussher had only just had enough to make him good-humoured. Feemy too was very happy; she had contrived to forget her brother's croaking and Father John's warning, or at least the misery which they had occasioned her, and was very happy in Ussher's good-humour. It were bootless to repeat their conversation, or to tell how often it was interrupted by some unchided caress on the part of Ussher. Feemy, however, had not forgotten her resolution, and was bringing up all her courage to make some gentle hint to Myles on the subject on which she had promised Father John to speak to him, when her heart sunk within her, on hearing her brother's voice calling to her from behind.

"Good heaven, Myles, there's Thady! what can he be wanting here?"

Ussher's arm fell from the fair girl's waist as he answered, "Never fear, dear, don't you speak to him; leave him to me." By this time, Thady had nearly joined them.

"Is that you, Feemy, here at this hour? What the d—— are you doing there, this time of night? Here, take my arm, and come home; it's time you had some one to mind you, I'm thinking."

Feemy saw that her brother was intoxicated, and was frightened; she turned, though she did not take his arm, and Ussher turned too.

"Your sister's not alone, Macdermot; as I'm with her, I don't think you have much cause to fear, because she is about a mile from Ballycloran."

"May be, Captain Ussher, you're being with her mayn't make her much safer; at any rate you'll let me manage my own affairs. I suppose I can take my sisther to her own home without your interference," and he took hold of his sister's arm, as if to drag it within his own.

"Good heavens, Thady, what are you afther? shure an't I walking with you; don't be dragging me!"

"It appears to me, Macdermot," said Ussher, "that though your sister was in want of no protector before you came, she is in great want of one now."

"She wanted it thin, and she wants it now, and will do as long as she's fool enough to put herself in the way of such as you; but, by G——d, as long as I'm with her, she shall have it!" and he dragged her along by the arm.

"But, Thady," said the poor girl, afraid both of her brother and her lover, and hardly knowing to which to address herself; "but, Thady, you're hurting me, and I'll walk with you quiet enough. I was only getting a little cool afther the dancing, and what's the great harm in that?"

"Well—there," and he let her go, "I'm not hurting you now; it's very tender you've got of a sudden, when I touch you. Captain Ussher, if you'll plaze to go on, or stay behind, I'll be obliged, for I want to spake to Feemy; and there's no occasion in life for my throubling you to hear what I've to say."

"You can say what you like, Macdermot, but I shan't leave you; for though Feemy's your sister, you're not fit to guide her, or yourself either, for you're drunk."

"And there you lie, Captain Ussher! you lie—that's what you're used to! but it's the last of your lies she'll hear."

"Ah! you're drunk," replied Ussher, "besides, you know I'd not notice what you'd say before your sister; if, however, you're not so very drunk as to forget what you've called me to-morrow morning, and would then like to repeat it, I'll thrash you as you deserve."

"Then, by Jasus, you'll have your wish! you asked me to-night if I had a mind to quarrel with you, and now I'll tell you, if I find you at Ballycloran schaming agin, you'll find me ready and willing enough."

"That's where you'll find me to-morrow morning then, for I'll certainly come to ask your sister how she is, after the brutal manner you've frightened her this night; and then perhaps you'll have the goodness to tell me what you mean by what you call 'schaming.'"

"I'll tell you now, then; it's schaming to be coming with your lies and your blarney afther a girl like Feemy, only maning to desave her—it's schaming to go about humbugging a poor silly owld man like my father,—and it's the higth of schaming and blackguardness to pretend to be so frindly to a family, when you know you're maning them all the harum in your power to do. But you'll find, my fine Captain, it an't quite so asy to play your thricks at Ballycloran as you think, though we are so poor."

Feemy, when the young men had begun to use hard words to one another, had commenced crying, and was now sobbing away at a desperate rate.

"Don't distress yourself, Feemy," said Ussher, "your brother 'll be more himself to-morrow morning; he'll be sorry for what he has said then—and if he is so, I am not the man to remember what any one says when they've taken a little too much punch."

They had now come near enough to Mrs. Mehan's to see that there were a number of people outside the door. As soon after Thady's departure as Denis McGovery and the rest had been able to make up their minds what it would be the best to do in the emergency of the case, Denis and his wife sallied forth; the former to carry home whichever of the combatants might be slaughtered in the battle, and Mary to give to Feemy what comfort and assistance might be in her power. Pat Brady prudently thought that under all circumstances it would be safest for himself to remain where he was. The married pair, however, bent on peace if possible, and if not, on assuaging the horrors of war, had barely got into the road, when they encountered Father John returning to the wedding party.

"Oh, and it's yer riverence is welcome agin this blessed evening. God be praised that sent you, for it's yerself 'll be wanted, I'm afeard, and that immediately."

It was some time before the priest could learn what was the matter. At last he discovered that Ussher and Feemy had gone out walking,—that Thady had got drunk, and had gone after them; and he was inquiring whether he had gone towards Mohill, or towards Ballycloran, which none of them knew, when the three came in sight.

Father John instantly walked up to them, and if he had learnt it from nothing else, soon discovered from Feemy's tears, that something was the matter.

"How are you, Thady?" he said, putting out his hand to take the young man's, which was given with apparent reluctance; "how are you? is there anything wrong, that Feemy is crying so?"

"Oh, you know, Father John, there is a d——d deal wrong, and I've jist told the Captain what it is, that's all. I'll not have the girl humbugged any longer, that's all."

"There must be a great deal wrong, Thady, when you'd curse that way before me."

"I can't be picking my words now, for priest or parson."

They were now surrounded by the whole crowd out of the house, who were staring and gaping, and absolutely shocked at Thady's impudence to his friend and priest. Feemy was sobbing, and on Ussher offering her his arm to take her from the crowd, took it.

"By G——d!" exclaimed Thady, "if you touch that ruffian's arm again, I'll niver call you sisther, or shall you iver call me brother; so now choose betwixt us."

Feemy dropped her hand from Ussher's arm, but turning to the priest, she said, "For heaven's sake take him away, Father John, he's drunk!"

"Drunk or sober, you may choose now; it's either me or him; but if you disgrace yourself, you shall not disgrace me!"

Father John took Feemy's arm on his, and telling the people to go back to their dancing, laid his hand on Thady's shoulder, and said,

"At any rate, Thady, come a little out of this; if you must speak to your sister in that way, you don't wish all the parish to hear what you're saying."

"What matthers, Father John; what matthers? Shure they've all heard too much already;—don't they all say she's the blackguard's misthress?"

"Oh, Thady, how can you repeat that word of me?" sobbed the poor girl.

"Why did you let them say it? Why don't you tell the man that's blackening your name while he's desaving you, to be laving you now, and not following you through the country like a curse?"

By this time the whole party, consisting of Father John, the two young men, and Feemy, were walking on rapidly towards Ballycloran. Feemy was crying, but saying nothing. Ussher was silent, although Thady was heaping on him every term of abuse he could think of;—and Father John was in vain attempting to moderate his wrath. Thus they continued until they came to the avenue leading up to the house, and on Ussher's proceeding with them through the gate, Thady put himself in the way, stopping him.

"You'll not come a step in here, Captain, if I know it; you might follow us along the road, for I couldn't help it,—but, by G——d, you don't come in here!"

"Nonsense, man; do you think I'll stop out for a drunken man's riot? let me pass."

"Set a foot in here, you blackguard, and I'll stretch you!"

Thady had an alpine in his hand, and was preparing to strike a blow at the Captain, exactly on the spot where Keegan had struck him, when the priest pushed his burly body in between them. "I'll have no blows, boys, at any rate while I'm with you; put your stick down, Thady," and he forced the young man's stick down; "run up to the house, Feemy, and get to bed; I'll see you in the morning." Feemy, however, did not move. "Now, Captain Ussher, I am not saying a word on the matter, one way or other, for I don't well know how the quarrel began,—but do you think it's well to be forcing your way in here, when the master desires you not?"

"But, Mr. McGrath, I've yet to learn that this drunken fellow is master here; besides, I suppose it is not a part of his project to rob me of my horse, which is in his father's stable."

Thady was at length persuaded to allow Ussher to go to the stables for his horse, and the Captain, after what had passed, did not now wish to go into the house. He was, however, going up to Feemy to shake hands with her, when the priest caught him by the arm, saying,—

"Why would you anger a drunken man, and that too, when the feeling in his heart is right? I'll tell you what, Captain, if what that young man fears is true, you're almost as much worse than him as vice is than virtue."

"Spare me your sermon now, Father John; if I see you to-morrow I'll hear it in patience," and he galloped down the avenue.

Thady and Feemy went into the house, and we hope each got to bed without further words; and Father John walked slowly home, thinking of all the misery he saw in store for his parishioners at Ballycloran.



CHAPTER XIV.

DENIS M'GOVERY'S TIDINGS.

As soon as he had finished his breakfast on the morning after the night's events just recorded, Father John took his hat and stick, and walked down to Drumsna, still charitably intent on finding some means to soften, if he could not avert, the storm which he saw must follow the scenes he had witnessed on the previous evening. Ussher would have considered it want of pluck to stay away because Thady had told him to do so; Feemy also would encourage his visits, and would lean more to her lover than her brother—especially as her father, if it were attempted to make him aware of the state of the case, would be sure to take Feemy's part. Father John felt it would be impossible to induce the old man to desire Ussher to discontinue his visits, and he was confident that unless he did so, the Captain would take advantage of the unfortunate state of affairs at Ballycloran, and consider himself as an invited guest, in spite of the efforts Thady might make to induce him to leave it. But what the priest most feared was, that the unfortunate girl would be induced to go off with her lover, who he knew under such circumstances would never marry her; and his present object was to take her out of the way of such temptation. Father John gave Feemy credit for principles and feelings sufficiently high to prevent her from falling immediately into vice, but he at the same time feared, that with the strong influence Ussher had over her, he might easily persuade her to leave her home, partly by promising at some early time to marry her, and partly by threatening her with desertion. He thought that if she were at present domiciled at Mrs. McKeon's, Ussher might then be brought to hear reason, and be made to understand that if he was not contented to propose for and marry Feemy, in a proper decent manner, he must altogether drop her acquaintance.

He was not far wrong in the estimate he formed of both their characters. Though Ussher loved Feemy, perhaps as well as he was ever likely to love any woman, circumstances might easily have induced him to give her up. It was the impediments in the way, and the opposition he now met with, which would give the affair a fresh interest in his eyes. He certainly did not intend to marry the poor girl; had she had sufficient tact, she might, perhaps, have persuaded him to do so; but her fervent love and perfect confidence, though very gratifying to his vanity, did not inspire him with that feeling of respect which any man would wish to have for the girl he was going to marry. I do not say that his premeditated object had been to persuade her to leave her home, but Father John was not far wrong in fearing, that unless steps were taken to prevent it, it would be the most probable termination to the whole affair.

With regard to Feemy, he was quite right in thinking that her love of Ussher was strong enough to induce her to take almost any step that he might desire; and that that love, joined to her own obstinacy and determined resistance to the advice of those to whom she should have listened, was such as to render it most unlikely that she should be induced to give him up; but though he so well understood the weakness of her character, he was not aware of, for he had had no opportunity of trying, its strength.

As long as Feemy had her own way, as at the present time she had, she would, as we have seen, yield entirely to her strong love; but this was not all; had circumstances enabled her friends to remove her entirely out of Ussher's way, and had they done so, her love would have remained the same; her passion was so strong, that it could not be weakened or strengthened by absence or opposition. When Father John calculated that by good management Ussher might be brought to relinquish Feemy, he was right, but he was far from right, when he thought that Feemy could be taught to forget him. She literally cared for no one but him; her life had been so dull before she knew him, and so full of interest since—he so nearly came up to her beau ideal of what a man should be, for she had seen, or at any rate had known, no better—he so greatly excelled her brother and father, and was so much better looking than young Cassidy, and so much more spirited than Frank McKeon, that to her young heart he was all perfection.

She had lately been vexed, tormented, and even frightened; but her fear was merely that Ussher did not love her as she did him—that he might be made to leave her; and she was learning to hate her brother for opposing, as she would have said, the only source of her happiness. As to being induced by prudence or propriety to be cool to her lover—as to taking the first step herself towards making a breach between them—nothing that her brother or the priest had said, nothing that they could ever say, could either make her think of doing so, or think that it could be advisable, or in any way proper, that she should do so. For this strong feeling Father John did not give our heroine credit; but he still felt that she was headstrong enough to make it a very difficult task for him to manage her in any way. But as his charity was unbounded, so were his zeal and courage great.

His present plan was to induce his friend, Mrs. McKeon, to ask Feemy to come over and spend some time with her and her daughters at Drumsna. There were difficulties in this; for, in the first place, although Feemy and the Miss McKeons had been very good friends, still the reports which had lately been afloat, both about her and the affairs of her family, might make Mrs. McKeon, a prudent woman, unwilling to comply with the priest's wishes—though indeed it was not often that she contradicted him in anything; then, after he had talked Mrs. McKeon over, when he had aroused her charitable feelings and excited the good nature, which, to tell the truth, was never very dormant in her bosom, he had the more difficult task of persuading Feemy to accept the invitation. Not that under ordinary circumstances she would not be willing enough to go to Mrs. McKeon's, but at present she would be likely to suspect a double meaning in everything. Father John had already mentioned Mrs. McKeon's name to her, in reference to her attachment to Ussher; and it was more than probable that if he now brought her an invitation from that lady, she would perceive that the object was to separate her from her lover, and that she would obstinately persist in remaining at Ballycloran.

As Father John was entering Drumsna, he met his curate, Cullen, and McGovery, who, considering that he had only been married the evening before, and that if he had not been dancing himself, he had been kept up by his guests' doing so till four or five in the morning, had left his bride rather early; for, according to custom, he had slept the first night after his wedding at his wife's house, and, though it was only ten o'clock, he had been on a visit to Father Cullen, with whom he was now eagerly talking.

On the previous evening, when feigning to be asleep, he had managed to overhear a small portion of what had passed between Thady, Joe Reynolds, and the rest; but what he had overheard had reference solely to Keegan; for when they began to speak of Ussher, everything had been said in so low a voice, that he had been unable to comprehend a word. He had contrived, however, to pick up something, in which Ballycloran, rents, Keegan, and a bog-hole were introduced in marvellous close connection, and he was not slow in coming to the determination that he had been wrong when he fancied that Ussher was the object against whom plots were being formed, and that Keegan was the doomed man; but what was worse still, he was led to imagine that the perpetrators of Mr. Keegan's future watery grave were instigated by young Macdermot! He was well aware that Flannelly and Keegan, for they were all one, had the greater portion of the rents out of Ballycloran, and he now plainly saw that the more active of this firm was to be made away with, while collecting, or attempting to collect, the rent.

Denis was puzzled as to what he should do; his conscience would not allow the man to be murdered without his interference; he had no great love for Mr. Keegan, and his sympathies were not more strongly excited than they had been when he thought Ussher was to be the victim. Should he tell Mr. Keegan? that would be setting the devil in arms against his wife's brother—against his wife's brother's master—and against his wife's brother's master's tenants; this was too near cutting his own throat, to be a line of action agreeable to Denis. Then it occurred to him to have recourse again to Father John: but Father John had made light of his former warning. Besides, the fact of his having been wrong in his last surmises, would have thrown stronger doubts on those he now entertained. Father John too was always quizzing him, and Denis did not like to be quizzed. After much consideration, McGovery resolved to go to Father Cullen, and disclose his secret to him; Father Cullen was a modest, steady man, who would neither make light of, or ridicule what he heard; and if after that Keegan was drowned in a bog-hole, it would be entirely off Denis's conscience.

When Father John met the pair, they had just been discussing the subject; Cullen was far from making light of it; for, in the first place, he believed every word McGovery told him, and in the next, he was shocked, and greatly grieved, that one of his own parishioners, and one also of the most respectable of them, should be concerned in such a business: he felt towards Keegan all the abhorrence which a very bigoted and ignorant Roman Catholic could feel towards a Protestant convert, but he would have done anything to prevent his meeting his death by the hands, or with the connivance, of Thady Macdermot.