The Macdermots of Ballycloran

by Anthony Trollope

"Not alone!" said Father John.

"Not now," said the governor. "When brought back capitally condemned, he was of necessity put into the condemned cell; and when once there, no visitor may be left alone with him."

"How is he to receive—how am I to perform the sacred duties of my profession?"

"When the prisoner is about to confess, the turnkey will step outside the door, which you can close. You know, Father John," continued the governor, "it is not from my own heart I give these orders; you know I would give him every indulgence I could; but you also know that I must obey the rules of my office, and they imperatively forbid that any visitor shall be left alone with a condemned prisoner."

"I know it isn't your fault; and if it must be so, it must. But will you desire the man to be sent for, for Macdermot will be expecting me?"

In a minute or two the gaoler arrived with his huge keys, and, with a palpitating heart, Father John followed him to the condemned cell.

The priest, during his walk from Drumsna, had made up his mind exactly as to what he would say on seeing Thady; how he would mix pity with condolence; how he would use such words as might strengthen him in his determination to bear his sufferings with resignation; how he would teach him to forget the present in the thoughts of his future prospects. But when the iron door was opened, and he saw Macdermot seated on the one small stone seat in the wall beneath the high, iron-barred window; when his eye rested on the young man's pale and worn face, he forgot all his studied phrases and premeditated conduct, his acute grief overcame his ideas of duty, and falling on the prisoner's bosom, he sobbed out, "My boy—my boy—my poor murdered boy!"

It would be useless to attempt to describe at length the scene between them. Father John remained with him nearly the whole of that day,—the patient, silent turnkey leaning up against the corner of the cell during the whole time. For a long time Thady was the most tranquil of the two; but at length the priest regained his composure, and was able to listen to the various requests of his friend, and to say all that could be said to comfort and strengthen him.

Thady's first request was that he might see his father. This, Father John felt, would be impracticable, and if accomplished would only be in the highest degree painful. Larry was now so perfectly a lunatic, and at the same time so resolute in his determination not to put himself in the way of being arrested by Keegan, that it would be impossible either to make him understand the fate which awaited his son, or to induce him, by any means short of force, to leave his own room. Besides, were a meeting to be effected, the idiotical father would probably not cease to abuse his son, and would certainly not comprehend his tenderness and affection. It was difficult to tell the son that his father had so utterly lost his intellects as to be unable to be brought to see him; but even this was better than allowing him to think that he was to see him, and then deceive him.

Thady bore this blow even worse than Father John had expected that he would do; it made him feel so desolate—so alone in the world! Stupid and cross as his father had been for years past—cruel and unjust as he had been on the last time they met,—still, the long time which had passed since that meeting, and the manner in which the interview had been passed by Thady, made him forget his father's treatment, and only remember that he was his last surviving relative. He submitted, however, to Father John's advice, and consented not to urge his request.