“I never remember to have shed tears before in my life,” said he, “nor could I have done so then, if I were not looking on that pale, cold face, which I had seen so often lighted up with smiles; on those compressed lips, from which came so many words of kindness and affection; and felt within my own that hand that never till now had met mine without the warm grasp of friendship.”
Poor Dan! he was my father's chief mourner,—I had almost said his only one. Several came and asked leave to see the body. Many were visibly affected at the sight. There was decent sorrow on every countenance; but of deep and true affliction MacNaghten was the solitary instance.
It was late on the following evening as MacNaghten, who had only quitted the rooms for a few minutes, found on his return that a stranger was standing beside the body.
“Ay,” muttered he, solemnly, “the green and the healthy tree cut down, and the old sapless, rotten trunk left to linger on in slow decay!”
“What! Curtis, is this you?” cried MacNaghten.
“Yes, sir, and not mine the fault that I have not changed places with him who lies there. He had plenty to live for; I nothing, nor any one. And it was not that alone, MacNaghten!” added he, fiercely, “but think, reflect for one moment on what might have happened had they condemned and executed me! Is there a man in all Ireland, with heart and soul in him, who would not have read that sentence as an act of Government tyranny and vengeance? Do you believe the gentry of the country would have accepted the act as an accident, or do you think that the people would recognize it as anything else than a murder solemnized by the law? And if love of country could not stimulate and awake them, is it not possible that fears for personal safety might?”
“I have no mind for such thoughts as these,” said MacNaghten, sternly; “nor is it beside the cold corpse of him who lies there I would encourage them. If you come to sorrow over him, take your place beside me; if to speculate on party feuds or factious dissensions, then I beg you will leave me to myself.”
Curtis made him no reply, but left the room in silence.
There were some legal difficulties raised before the funeral could be performed. The circumstances of Rutledge's death required to be cleared up; and Fagan—to whom my father had made a full statement of the whole event—underwent a long and close examination by the law authorities of the Castle. The question was a grave one as regarded property, since if a charge of murder could have been substantiated, the whole of my father's fortune would have been confiscated to the Crown. Fagan's testimony, too, was not without a certain disqualification, because he held large liens over the property, and must, if the estate were estreated, have been a considerable loser. These questions all required time for investigation; but, by dint of great energy and perseverance, MacNaghten obtained permission for the burial, which took place with strict privacy at the small churchyard of Killester,—a spot which, for what reason I am unaware, my father had himself selected, and mention of which desire was found amongst his papers.
Fagan accompanied MacNaghten to the funeral, and Dan returned to his house afterwards to breakfast. Without any sentiment bordering on esteem for the “Grinder,” MacNaghten respected him generally for his probity, and believed him to be as honorable in his dealings as usury and money-lending would permit any man to be. He was well aware that for years back the most complicated transactions with regard to loans had taken place between him and my father, and that to a right understanding of these difficult matters, and a satisfactory adjustment of them, nothing could conduce so much as a frank intercourse and a friendly bearing. These were at all times no very difficult requirements from honest Dan, and he did not assume them now with less sincerity or willingness that they were to be practised for the benefit of his poor friend's widow and orphan.