Vexed as I was with the idea of passing the night
in this horrid place, there was no help for it:
so I took up my portmanteau and followed the landlady
to a small room, if it deserved the appellation, which
had been built after the cottage, and a door broken
through the wall into it. Ceiling there was none,
it had only lean-to rafters, with tiles over head.
I took a seat on the only stool that was in the room,
and leant my elbow on the table in no very pleasant
humour, when I heard the girl say, “And why
don’t you let him go on to the castle? Sure
the chaise is in the yard, and the horses are in the
stable.”
“There’s orders ’gainst it, Kathleen,”
replied the landlady. “Mr M’Dermott
was here this blessed day, and who can deny him?”
“Who is he then?” replied the girl.
“An attorney with a warrant against Sir Henry;
and, moreover, they say that he’s coming to’strain
upon the cattle of Jerry O’Toole for the tithes.”
“He’s a bould young chap, at all events,”
replied the girl, “to come here all by himself.”
“Oh! but it’s not till to-morrow morning,
and then we’ll have the troops here to assist
him.”
“And does Jerry O’Toole know of this?”
“Sure enough he does; and I hope there’ll
be no murder committed in my house this blessed night.
But what can a poor widow do when M’Dermott
holds up his finger? Now, go light the fire, Kathleen,
and see if the poor young man wants anything; it’s
a burning pity that he shouldn’t have something
to comfort him before his misfortunes fall upon him.”
Kathleen made no reply. The horror that I felt
at this discourse may easily be imagined. That
it was intended that I should meet with foul play
was certain, and I knew very well that, in such a desolate
part of the country, the murder of an individual,
totally unknown, would hardly be noticed. That
I had been held up to the resentment of the inhabitants
as a tithe collector and an attorney with a warrant,
was quite sufficient, I felt conscious, to induce
them to make away with me. How to undeceive them
was the difficulty.
No hopes of rising next
morning alive, as a last chance—I get
into bed.
Kathleen came in with fuel to light the fire, and
looking rather hard at me, passed by, and was soon,
busy blowing up the turf. She was a very handsome
dark-eyed girl, about nineteen years of age, stout
and well made. “What is your name?”
said I.
“Kathleen, at your service, sir.”
“Listen to me, Kathleen,” said I, in a
low voice. “You are a woman, and all women
are kind-hearted. I have overheard all that passed
between your mistress and you, and that M’Dermott
has stated that I am a tithe collector and an attorney,
with a warrant. I am no such thing. I am
a gentleman who wishes to speak to Sir Henry de Clare
on a business which he does not like to be spoken
to about; and to show you what I say is the truth,
it is about the daughter of his elder brother, who
was killed when hunting, and who is supposed to be
dead. I am the only evidence to the contrary;
and, therefore, he and M’Dermott have spread
this report that I may come to harm.”
