When the servant delivered this message, Matty grew outrageous at the means “my lady” took of crowing over her, and rushing to the door, with her face flushed with rage, roared out, “Tell the old baggage I want none of her custom; let her lay eggs for herself.”
The servant staggered back in amaze; and Matty, feeling he would not deliver her message, ran to the hole in the hedge and repeated her answer to my lady herself, with a great deal more which need not be recorded. Suffice it to say, my lady thought it necessary to pull up the glass, against which Matty threw a handful of mud; the servant jumped up on his perch behind the carriage, which was rapidly driven away by the coachman, but not so fast that Matty could not, by dint of running, keep it “within range” for some seconds, during which time she contrived to pelt both coachman and footman with mud, and leave her mark on their new livery. This was a salutary warning to the old woman, who was more cautious in her demonstrations of grandeur for the future. If she was stinted in the enjoyment of her new-born dignity abroad, she could indulge it at home without let or hindrance, and to this end asked Andy to let her have a hundred pounds, in one-pound notes, for a particular purpose. What this purpose was no one was told or could guess, but for a good while after she used to be closeted by herself for several hours during the day.
Andy had his hours of retirement also, for with praiseworthy industry he strove hard, poor fellow, to lift himself above the state of ignorance, and had daily attendance from the parish schoolmaster. The mysteries of “pothooks and hangers” and ABC weighed heavily on the nobleman's mind, which must have sunk under the burden of scholarship and penmanship, but for the other “ship”—the horsemanship—which was Andy's daily self-established reward for his perseverance in his lessons. Besides he really could ride; and as it was the only accomplishment of which he was master, it was no wonder he enjoyed the display of it; and, to say the truth, he did, and that on a first-rate horse too. Having appointed Murtough Murphy his law-agent, he often rode over to the town to talk with him, and as Murtough could have some fun and thirteen and fourpence also per visit, he was always glad to see his “noble friend.” The high road did not suit Andy's notion of things; he preferred the variety, shortness, and diversion of going across the country on these occasions; and in one of these excursions, in the most secluded portion of his ride, which unavoidably lay through some quarries and deep broken ground, he met “Ragged Nance,” who held up her finger as he approached the gorge of this lonely dell, in token that she would speak with him. Andy pulled up.
“Long life to you, my lord,” said Nance, dropping a deep curtsey, “and sure I always liked you since the night you was so bowld for the sake of the poor girl—the young lady, I mane, now, God bless her—and I just wish to tell you, my lord, that I think you might as well not be going these lonely ways, for I see them hanging about here betimes, that maybe it would not be good for your health to meet; and sure, my lord, it would be a hard case if you were killed now, havin' the luck of the sick calf that lived all the winther and died in the summer.”
“Is it that big blackguard, Shan More, you mane?” said Andy.
“No less,” said Nance—growing deadly pale as she cast a piercing glance into the dell, and cried, in a low, hurried tone—“Talk of the divil—and there he is—I see him peep out from behind a rock.”
“He's running this way,” said Andy.
“Then you run the other way,” said Nance; “look there—I see him strive to hide a blunderbuss under his coat—gallop off, for the love o' God! or there'll be murther.”
“Maybe there will be that same,” said Andy, “if I leave you here, and he suspects you gave me the hard word.” [Footnote: “Hard word” implies a caution.]
“Never mind me,” said Nance, “save yourself—see, he's moving fast, he'll be near enough to you soon to fire.”