“Be calm, my young friend,” said the worthy pastor; “I cannot wonder you feel deeply—but command yourself.” He pressed Edward's hand as he spoke and left him, for he knew that an agony so keen is not benefited by companionship.
Mr. Bermingham was there by appointment to perform the burial service, and he had not left Edward's side many minutes when a long wild whistle from the waters announced the arrival of the boat and raft, and the retainers ran down to the river, leaving the pine-torch stuck in the upturned earth, waving its warm blaze over the cold grave. During the interval which ensued between the departure of the men and their reappearance, bearing the body to its last resting-place, Mr. Bermingham spoke with Edward O'Connor, and soothed him into a more tranquil bearing. When the coffin came within view he advanced to meet it, and began the sublime burial-service, which he repeated most impressively. When it was over, the men commenced filling up the grave. As the clods fell upon the coffin, they smote the hearts of the dead man's children; yet the boys stood upon the verge of the grave as long as a vestige of the tenement of their lost father could be seen; but as soon as the coffin was hidden, they withdrew from the brink, and the younger boys, each taking hold of the hand of the eldest, seemed to imply the need of mutual dependence:—as if death had drawn closer the bond of brotherhood.
There was no sincerer mourner at that place than Edward O'Connor, who stood aloof, in respect for the feelings of the children of the departed man, till the grave was quite filled up, and all were about to leave the spot; but then his feelings overmastered him, and, impelled by a torrent of contending emotions, he rushed forward, and throwing himself on his knees before Gustavus, he held up his hands imploringly, and sobbed forth, “Forgive me!”
The astonished boy drew back.
“Oh, forgive me!” repeated Edward—“I could not help it—it was forced on me—it was—”
As he struggled for utterance, even the rough retainers were touched, and one of them exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. O'Connor, it was a fair fight!”
“There!” exclaimed Edward—“you hear it! Oh, give me your hand in forgiveness!”
“I forgive you,” said the boy, “but do not ask me to give you my hand to-night.”
“You are right” said Edward, springing to his feet—“you are right—you are a noble fellow; and now, remember my parting words, Gustavus:—Here, by the side of your father's grave, I pledge you my soul that through life and till death, in all extremity, Edward O'Connor is your sworn and trusty friend.”