“They're the country-people, darlin', come from Kiltimmon and beyond Kyle-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 hungry and famished, poor creatures! Oh, how unspeakably grateful to one's heart is this proof of feeling! Doctor, you will tell Harry how I loved them and how they loved me. Tell him, too, that this bond of affection is the safest and best of all ties. Tell him that their old love for a Martin still survives in their hearts, and it will be his own fault if he does not transmit it to his children. There's some one sobbing there without. Oh, bid them be of good heart, Catty; there is none who could go with less of loss to those behind. There—there come the great waves again before me! How my courage must have failed me to make this impression so deep! And poor Joan, and that dear fond girl who 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 I blessed 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 off to sleep. Her breathing, at first strong and frequent, grew fainter and fainter, and her color came and went, while her lips slightly moved, and a 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 sat thus 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, that seemed to rend his very heart!
Three days after, the great gateway of Cro' Martin Castle opened to admit a stately hearse drawn by six horses, all mournfully caparisoned, shaking with plumes and black-fringed drapery. Two mourning-coaches followed, and then the massive gates were closed, and the sad pageant wound its slow course through the demesne. At the same moment another funeral was approaching the churchyard by a different road. It was a coffin borne by men bareheaded and sorrow-struck. An immense multitude followed, of every rank and age; sobs and sighs broke from them as they went. Not an eye was tearless, not a lip that did not tremble. At the head of this procession walked a small group whose dress and bearing bespoke 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 uncle and the niece were laid side by side in the turf! The same sacred words consigned them both to their last bed; the same second of time heard the dank reverberation that pronounced “earth” had returned “to earth.” A kind of reverential awe pervaded the immense crowd during the ceremony, and if here and there a sob would burst from some overburdened heart, all the rest were silent; respecting, with a deference of true refinement, a sorrow deeper and greater than their own, they never uttered a word, but with bent-down heads stole quietly away. And now by each grave the mourners stood, silently gazing on the little mounds which 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 the whole the expression conveyed far more of sternness than sorrow. Such, indeed, is no uncommon form for grief to take in certain natures. There are men who regard calamity like a foe, and go out to meet it in a spirit of haughty defiance. A poor philosophy! He who accepts it as chastisement is both a braver and a better man!
Repton stood for a while beside him, not daring to interrupt his thoughts. At length he whispered a few words in his ear. Barry started suddenly, and his dark brow grew sterner and more resolute.
“Yes, Martin, you must,” said Repton, eagerly, “I insist upon it. Good heavens! is it at such a time, in such a place as this, you can harbor a thought that is not forgiveness? Remember he is poor Godfrey's son, the last 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 was standing beside the other grave.
Barry Martin stood erect and motionless, while Repton spoke to the young man. At first the words seemed to confuse and puzzle him, for he looked vaguely around, and passed his hand across his brow in evident difficulty.