CHAPTER XXXVII. A DARK DAY
A mild, soft day, with low-lying clouds, and rich odors of wild-flowersrising from the ground, a certain dreamy quiet pervading earth and skyand sea, over which faint shadows lingered lazily; some drops of thenight dew still glittered on the feathery larches, and bluebells hungdown their heads, heavy with moisture; so still the scene that the plashof the leaping trout could be heard as he rose in the dark stream. Andyet there was a vast multitude of people there. The whole surface of thelawn that sloped from the cottage to the river was densely crowded, withevery age, from the oldest to very infancy; with all conditions, fromthe well-clad peasant to the humblest "tramper" of the high-roads.Weariness, exhaustion, and even hunger were depicted on many of theirfaces. Some had passed the night there; others had come long distances,faint and footsore; but as they sat, stood, or lay in groups around,not a murmur, not a whisper escaped them; with aching eyes they lookedtowards an open window, where the muslin curtain was gently stirred inthe faint air.
The tidings of Mary Martin's illness had spread rapidly: far-away glensdown the coast, lonely cabins on the bleak mountains, wild remote spotsout of human intercourse had heard the news, and their dwellers hadtravelled many a mile to satisfy their aching hearts.
From a late hour of the evening before they had learnt nothing of herstate; then a few words whispered by old Catty to those nearest the doortold "that she was no better,--if anything, weaker!" These sad tidingswere soon passed from lip to lip; and thus they spent the night, prayingor watching wearily, their steadfast gaze directed towards that spotwhere the object of all their fears and hopes lay suffering.
Of those there, there was scarcely one to whom she was not endeared bysome personal benefit. She had aided this one in distress, the other shehad nursed in fever; here were the old she had comforted and cheered,there the children she had taught and trained beside her chair. Hergentle voice yet vibrated in every heart, her ways of kindness were inevery memory. Sickness and sorrow were familiar enough to themselves.Life was, at least to most of them, one long struggle; but they couldnot bring themselves to think of _her_ thus stricken down! She! thatseemed an angel, as much above the casualties of such fortune as theirsas she was their superior in station,--that _she_ should be sick andsuffering was too terrible to think of.
There was a stir and movement in the multitude, a wavy, surging motion,for the doctor was seen to issue from the stable-yard, and lead his ponytowards the bridge. He stopped to say a word or two as he went. Theywere sad words; and many a sobbing voice and many a tearful eye toldwhat his tidings had been. "Sinking,--sinking rapidly!"
A faint low cry burst from one in the crowd at this moment, and therumor ran that a woman had fainted. It was poor Joan, who had come thatnight over the mountain, and, overcome by grief and exhaustion together,had at last given way.
"Get a glass of wine for her, or even a cup of water," cried out threeor four voices; and one nigh the door entered the cottage in search ofaid. The moment after a tall and handsome girl forced her way throughthe crowd, and gave directions that Joan might be carried into thehouse.
"Why did ye call her my Lady?" muttered an old hag to one of the mennear her; "sure, she's Henderson's daughter!"
"Is she, faith? By my conscience, then, she might be a better man's!She's as fine a crayture as ever I seen!"
"If she has a purty face, she has a proud heart!" muttered another.
"Ayeh! she'll never be like _her_ that's going to leave us!" sighed ayoung woman with a black ribbon in her cap.
Meanwhile Kate had Joan assisted into the cottage, and was busilyoccupied in restoring her. Slowly, and with difficulty, the poorcreature came to herself, and gazing wildly around, asked where she was;then suddenly bursting out in tears, she said,--"Sure, I know well whereI am; sure, it's my own self, brought grief and sorrow under this roof.But for _me_ she 'd be well and hearty this day!"
"Let us still hope," said Kate, softly. "Let us hope that one so dearto us all may be left here. You are better now. I 'll join you againpresently." And with noiseless footsteps she stole up the stairs. As shecame to the door, she halted and pressed her hands to her heart, as ifin pain. There was a low murmuring sound, as if of voices, from within,and Kate turned away and sat down on the stairs.
Within the sick-room a subdued light came, and a soft air, mild andbalmy, for the rose-trees and the jessamine clustered over the window,and mingled their blossoms across it. Mary had just awoke from ashort sleep, and lay with her hand clasped within that of a large andwhite-haired man at the bedside.
"What a good, kind doctor!" said she, faintly; "I'm sure to find youever beside me when I awake."
"Oh, darlin', dear," broke in old Catty, "sure you ought to know who heis. Sure it 's your own--"
"Hush! be silent!" muttered the old man, in a low, stern voice.
"Is it Tuesday to-day?" asked Mary, softly.
"Yes, dear, Tuesday," said the old man.
"It was on Thursday my poor uncle died. Could I live till Thursday,doctor?"
The old man tried to speak, but could not.
"You are afraid to shock me," said she, with a faint attempt to smile,"but if you knew how happy I am,--happy even to leave a life I lovedso well. It never could have been the same again, though--the spell wasbreaking, hardship and hunger were maddening them--who knows to whatcounsels they 'd have listened soon! Tell Harry to be kind to them,won't you? Tell him not to trust to others, but to know them himself; togo, as I have done, amongst them. They 'll love him _so_ for doing it.He is a man, young, rich, and high-hearted,--how they 'll dote upon him!Catty used to say it was my father they 'd have worshipped; but that wasin flattery to me, Catty, you always said we were so like--"
"Oh dear! oh dear! why won't you tell her?" broke in Catty. But a severegesture from the old man again checked her words.
"How that wild night at sea dwells in my thoughts! I never sleep but todream of it. Cousin Harry must not forget those brave fellows. Ihave nothing to requite them with. I make no will, doctor," said she,smiling, "for my only legacy is that nosegay there. Will you keep it formy sake?"
The old man hid his face, but his strong frame shook and quivered in theagony of the moment.
"Hush!" said she, softly; "I hear voices without. Who are they?"
"They're the country-people, darlin', come from Kiltimmon and beyondKyle-a-Noe, to ax after you. They passed the night there, most of them."
"Catty, dear, take care that you look after them; they will be hungryand famished, poor creatures! Oh, how unspeakably grateful to one'sheart is this proof of feeling! Doctor, you will tell Harry how _I_loved _them_ and how _they_ loved _me_. Tell him, too, that this bondof affection is the safest and best of all ties. Tell him that their oldlove for a Martin still survives in their hearts, and it will be hisown fault if he does not transmit it to his children. There's some onesobbing there without. Oh, bid them be of good heart, Catty; there isnone who could go with less of loss to those behind. There--there comethe great waves again before me! How my courage must have failed me tomake this impression so deep! And poor Joan, and that dear fond girlwho has been as a sister to me,--so full of gentleness and love,--Kate,where is she? No, do not call her; say that I asked for her--that Iblessed her--and sent her this kiss!" She pressed a rose to her hot,parched lips as she spoke, and then closing her eyes seemed to fall offto sleep. Her breathing, at first strong and frequent, grew fainter andfainter, and her color came and went, while her lips slightly moved, anda low, soft murmur came from them.
"She's asleep," muttered Catty, as she crouched down beside the bed.
The old man bent over the bed, and watched the calm features. He satthus long, for hours, but no change was there; he put his lips to hers,and then a sickly shuddering came over him, and a low, deep groan, thatseemed to rend his very heart!
Three days after, the great gateway of Cro' Martin Castle opened toadmit a stately hearse drawn by six horses, all mournfully caparisoned,shaking with plumes
and black-fringed drapery. Two mourning-coachesfollowed, and then the massive gates were closed, and the sad pageantwound its slow course through the demesne. At the same moment anotherfuneral was approaching the churchyard by a different road. It was acoffin borne by men bareheaded and sorrow-struck. An immense multitudefollowed, of every rank and age; sobs and sighs broke from them as theywent. Not an eye was tearless, not a lip that did not tremble. At thehead of this procession walked a small group whose dress and bearingbespoke their class. These were Barry Martin, leaning on Repton;Massingbred and the two Nelligans came behind.
The two coffins entered the churchyard at the same instant The uncleand the niece were laid side by side in the turf! The same sacred wordsconsigned them both to their last bed; the same second of time heard thedank reverberation that pronounced "earth" had returned "to earth." Akind of reverential awe pervaded the immense crowd during the ceremony,and if here and there a sob would burst from some overburdenedheart, all the rest were silent; respecting, with a deference of truerefinement, a sorrow deeper and greater than their own, they neveruttered a word, but with bent-down heads stole quietly away. And nowby each grave the mourners stood, silently gazing on the little moundswhich typify so much of human sorrow!
Barry Martin's bronzed and weather-beaten features were a thought paler,perhaps. There was a dark shade of color round the eyes, but on thewhole the expression conveyed far more of sternness than sorrow. Such,indeed, is no uncommon form for grief to take in certain natures. Thereare men who regard calamity like a foe, and go out to meet it in aspirit of haughty defiance. A poor philosophy! He who accepts it aschastisement is both a braver and a better man!
Repton stood for a while beside him, not daring to interrupt histhoughts. At length he whispered a few words in his ear. Barry startedsuddenly, and his dark brow grew sterner and more resolute.
"Yes, Martin, you must," said Repton, eagerly, "I insist upon it. Goodheavens! is it at such a time, in such a place as this, you can harbor athought that is not forgiveness? Remember he is poor Godfrey's son, thelast of the race now." As he spoke, passing his arm within the other's,he drew him gently along, and led him to where a solitary mourner wasstanding beside the other grave.
Barry Martin stood erect and motionless, while Repton spoke to the youngman. At first the words seemed to confuse and puzzle him, for helooked vaguely around, and passed his hand across his brow in evidentdifficulty.
"Did you say here, in this country? Do I understand you aright?"
"Here, in this very spot; there, standing now before you!" said Repton,as he pushed young Martin towards his uncle.
Barry held out his hand, which the young man grasped eagerly; and then,as if unable to resist his emotions longer, fell, sobbing violently,into the other's arms.
"Let us leave them for a while," said Repton, hurrying over to whereMassingbred and the Nelligans were yet standing in silent sorrow.
They left the spot together without a word. Grief had its own part foreach. It is not for us to say where sorrow eat deepest, or in whichheart the desolation was most complete.
"I'd not have known young Martin," whispered Nelligan in Repton's ear;"he looks full twelve years older than when last I saw him."
"The fast men of this age, sir, live their youth rapidly," replied theother. "It is rarely their fortune to survive to be like me, or heavenknows what hearts they would be left with!"
While they thus talked, Massingbred and Joe Nelligan had strolled awayinto the wood. Neither spoke. Massingbred felt the violent tremblingof the other's arm as it rested on his own, and saw a gulping effort bywhich more than once he suppressed his rising emotion. For hours theythus loitered along, and at length, as they issued from the demesne,they found Repton and Mr. Nelligan awaiting them.
"Barry Martin has taken his nephew back with him to the cottage," saidRepton, "and we 'll not intrude upon them for the rest of the evening."
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II) Page 37