CHAPTER II.
WHAT THE PIPER DID.
It was in the summer of 1809, that, for the first time since both ofthem were children and schoolmates, Remmy Carroll spoke to Mary Mahony.Often had he seen her at the dance, which without his aid could not be,but in which, alas, _he_ could not join--a dancing piper being almost asanomalous as a hunting archbishop! Often had he admired the naturalgrace of her movements. Often had he been struck by the bewitchingmodesty of mien and motion which had the power of suddenly changing therakish, rollicking gallantry of her followers (for she was a reigningtoast) into a most respectful homage. Often had he noticed her atchapel, whither she came to pray, while others flaunted and gazed as ifthey had come only to see and to be seen. Often had he followed her veryfootsteps, at a distance--for the very ground on which she trod washallowed to this humble lover--but never yet had he dared to hope.
The shortest way from Fermoy to Carrigabrick is by the banks of theBlackwater, and this way, on Whitsunday, 1809, was taken by Mary Mahonyand a merry younger cousin of hers on their homeward route. There arestiles to be crossed, and deep drains to be jumped over, and even apretty steep wall to be climbed.
Remmy Carroll, who knew that they would thus return home, had followedthe maidens afar off,--sighing to think, as they crossed the stiles,with a world of gentle laughter, that he must not dare to think ofproffering them any assistance. With all his love--perhaps, indeed,because of it--he had hitherto been careful to avoid the chance of evena casual notice from the subject of his untold passion, _She_ waswealthy, _he_ was poor; and, therefore, he shrunk from the object of hisunuttered passion. Her feelings towards him at this time were ratherkind than otherwise. She knew, what all the parish were unacquaintedwith, that Remmy devoted the greater portion of his earnings, not onlyto the support of a bed-ridden old aunt, who had neither kith norkin save himself in the wide world, but even to the procuring for herwhat might be esteemed rather as luxuries than mere comforts. Whatevermight be the deficiencies in Remmy Carroll's wardrobe, his old auntnever went without "the raking cup of tay" morning and evening. Was itbecause she had noticed how carefully Remmy Carroll avoided her, thatthe bright eyes of Mary Mahony rested upon him with some degree ofinterest, and that she even liked to listen to and encourage herfather's praises of his conduct towards his aged relative, for whosecomfortable support he sacrificed dress--the natural vent for youthfulvanity in both sexes?
Mary and her merry cousin went on, through the fields, until theyreached the most difficult pass. This was a deep chasm separating twomeadows. A deep and rapid stream flowed through the abyss, whirlinglypouring its strong current into the Blackwater. The maidens lightly andlaughingly tripped down the steps which were rudely cut on the side ofthe chasm. It was but a quick, short jump across, Hark!--a suddenshriek! He cleared the wall at a bound--he dashed across the meadow--inone minute he was plunging down the abyss. He saw that Mary's cousin hadsafely reached the other side, where she stood uselessly wringing herhands, and screaming in an agony of despair, while Mary (precipitatedinto the deep and swollen stream, her foot having slipped) was in theact of being hurried into the eddies of the Blackwater. There was notime for delay. He plunged into the stream, dived for the body, whichhad just then sunk again, and, in less time than I have taken to tellit, had placed his insensible but still lovely _treasure trove_ on thebank which he just quitted. The other maiden no sooner saw that hercousin had been rescued than--according to womanly custom in such cases,I presume--_she_ immediately swooned away, leaving poor Remmy to takecare of Mary Mahony.
With the gentlest care he could employ, he exerted his best skill torestore her, and, in a short time, had the inexpressible delight ofseeing her open her eyes. It was but for a moment; she glanced wildlyaround, and again closed them. Soon the bloom returned to her cheek--andnow she felt, though she saw not, that she lay supported in the arms ofRemmy Carroll; for, as he leant over her, and her breathing came softlyand balmily upon his face, his lips involuntarily were pressed to hers,and the maiden, through whose frame that stolen embrace thrilled, with anew and bewildering sensation, might be forgiven, if, at that moment,she intuitively knew who had thus brushed the dewy sweetness from herlips; might be forgiven, if, from that epoch, there gushed into herheart a feeling more kind, more deep, more pervading, than ordinarygratitude.
By this time, the pretty cousin had thought proper to recover; nor hasit yet been accurately ascertained whether, indeed, she had or had notbeheld the oscular proceeding which I have mentioned. Now, however, shehastened to pay the feminine attentions, more suitable to the situationof a half-drowned young lady, than those which Remmy Carroll hadattempted to bestow. He had the satisfaction, however of carefullytaking Mary Mahony across the stream in his arms. Nay, before hedeparted, she had softly whispered her gratitude; and in her tone andmanner, there was that which breathed hope to him, even against hope.Though he quitted them, he loitered about while they remained in sight,and just as Mary Mahony was vanishing through the stile which openedinto her father's lands, she turned round, saw her deliverer watchingher at a distance, and she kissed her hand to him as she withdrew.
From that hour the current of his life flowed on with a fresherbound--the fountain of hope welled out its sparkling waters, for thefirst time, from its depths. To the world--to no living soul, would hehave dared to avow his new-born feeling, that Mary Mahony might one daybe his own. Within his heart of hearts it lay, and with it was theconsciousness, that to win her he must merit her. _How_, he knew not;but the resolve is much.
Three months glided on. Carroll continued to pursue his calling as amusic-maker, and not a wedding nor christening passed by, or,indeed, could pass by, without the assistance of his "professional"powers. But he now became what a young and gay Irishman seldom is--ahoarder of his earnings. He laid aside much of the wild and recklessmirth which had made him, despite his poverty, the king of good fellows.Remmy was, in many respects, above the generality of his class; for hehad got a tolerably good education; he was quick at repartee, and notwithout a certain manly grace of manner; his conversation was nevergarnished with expletives; he had a good voice, and could sing withconsiderable effect; he was an adept in fairy lore and romantic legends;and he was accustomed to retail news from the newspapers to a wonderingauditory, so that the marvel was how he could be "such a janiusentirely." Hence his popularity with all classes. But now, as I havesaid, he laid aside all mirth that might involve outlay. His mannersbecame sedate, almost grave,--nay, if we dared to apply such high wordsto a man of such low degree as an Irish piper, it might be added, that acertain degree of quiet dignity became blended with his speech andactions. Like the wedding guest described by Coleridge, he seemed "asadder and a wiser man." Such a change could not pass unobserved, andwhile one-half the circle of his acquaintance shook their heads, andominously whispered, "Sure the boy must be fairy-struck," the fairermoiety suggested that the alteration must have been produced byLove, though even their sagacity and observation failed to ascertain theobject of his passion.
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