“There, there, don't agitate yourself. I know what you mean, and what you'd like me to say.”
“You do not,” rejoined the old man, querulously, “for I have n't said it yet. Nor I can't think of it now. Ah, Mat,” here his voice softened once more into its habitual key, “that was a cruel thought of me a while ago; and faith, Mr. Cashel might well suspect, if he heard it, that I was n't one of the old good blood of the Corrigans, that could talk that way of the poor; but so it is. There is n't a bad trait in a man's heart that is not the twin-brother of his selfishness. And now I'll say no more; do the best you can for us, that's all. I was going to bid you tell him that we have an old claim on the whole estate that some of the lawyers say is good,—that the Crown have taken off the confiscation in the time of my great father, Phil Corrigan; but sure he would n't mind that,—besides, that's not the way to ask a favor.”
“You must n't go on talking this way; see how hot your hand is!”
“Well, maybe it will be cold enough soon! There is another thing, Mat. You must call on Murphy, with the bill of sale of the furniture and the books, and get money to meet these bills. There they are; I indorsed them this morning. Tell Green it's no use sending me the other bills; I 'll not have means to take them up, and it would be only disgracing my name for nothing to write it on them. I 'll be longing to see you back again, Mat, and hear your tidings; so God bless you, and send you safe home to us.”
“I 'll set off to-night,” said the doctor, rising, and shaking his hand. “Your attack is passed over, and there's no more danger, if you 'll keep quiet.”
“There's another thing, Mat,” said the sick man, smiling faintly, and with a strange meaning. “Call at 28 Drogheda Street, and ask the people to show you the room Con Corrigan fought the duel in with Colonel Battley. It was only twelve feet long and ten wide, a little place off the drawing-room, and the colonel would n't even consent that we should stand in the corners. Look and see if the bullet is in the wall still. The old marquis used to have it fresh painted red every year, on the anniversary of the day. Oh, dear, oh, dear, but they were the strange times, then! ay, and pleasant times too.” And with such reflections on the past, he fell off into a dreamy half-consciousness, during which Tiernay stole from the room and left him alone.
Faint and trembling with agitation, Mary Leicester was standing all this while at the door of the sick chamber. “Did I hear aright, Doctor?” said she; “was that his voice that sounded so cheerfully?”
“Yes, my dear Miss Mary, the peril is by; but be cautious. Let him not speak so much, even with you. This is a sweet quiet spot,—Heaven grant he may long enjoy it!”
Mary's lips muttered some words in audibly, and they parted. She sat down alone, in the little porch under the eave. The day was a delicious one in autumn, calm, mellow, and peaceful; a breeze, too faint to ripple the river, stirred the flowers and shook forth their odor. The cottage, the leafy shade, through which the tempered sunlight fell in fanciful shapes upon the gravel, the many colored blossoms of the rich garden, the clear and tranquil river, the hum of the distant waterfall,—they were all such sights and sounds as breathe of home and home's happiness; and so had she felt them to be till an unknown fear found entrance into her heart and spread its darkness there. What a terrible sensation comes with a first sorrow!