“God’s blessing be upon thee, fair maiden!” said the Howlet, with deep feeling.
“Thou canst bless, then!” said Charley Stewart gravely, after Rosa was gone.
“I can pray to God to bless!” replied the Howlet; “and, unlike the men of this world, a God of all goodness will not refuse to listen to such a prayer, because it comes from the heart of a poor outcast, the scorn of this heartless world, clothed in rags, and starving for food. And who should I pray for, if I did not pray for blessings on that angel?”
“She is an angel, Howley!” cried Charley, with ecstacy—“an angel in soul as well as in form. See how she comes tripping with her basket and pitcher, as if she hardly trod the earth!”
The old woman fastened her long hands greedily on the viands.
The old woman fastened her long hands greedily on the viands, the moment they came within her reach, her eyes glaring wide, and shutting alternately, and her ravenous hunger urged her to devour her food so fast, that it was fearful to behold her; and then, as she did so, she went on muttering in her whistling voice, “The holy Virgin bless thee, my fair maiden!—Och! och! what pain it is to swallow. Three days have I been denied food by my flinty-hearted fellow creatures! yet may God, in his mercy, forgive them!—Three days! three whole days! The blessing of Heaven, its best blessings on thee, thou angel!—Och, such pain! Thou shalt be a landed lady yet! Och, och! Thou shalt marry a man with a knight’s spur at his heel! Och! such a pang at my heart! Och! oh!”—
Rosa and Charley Stewart, who had both been swallowing her words, with as much avidity as she had been devouring the food that had been given her, now both started up in dire alarm, and ran towards the old woman. Her eyes rolled dreadfully for a moment, and then they became fixed; the basket she held dropped from her hands; her arms and limbs stretched themselves out in rigid convulsion; her head fell stiffly back on the bank, and, when they essayed to raise it up, they found that she was dead.
It was many a long day before Rosa MacDermot could shake off the horrible impression which this scene had made upon her young mind, so far as to be able to recall it with anything approaching to tranquillity. Charley, however, had often pondered deeply on the words which had fallen from the old woman, and he was impatient till the time did come, when he felt that he might venture to allude to them.
“Charley,” said Rosa anxiously, and tenderly taking his hand, as they were one day sitting together on their favourite spot; “something grieves thee in secret. Thou wert not wont to conceal a thought from me; why shouldst thou do so now? Why shouldst thou deny me my share of that sadness, which, being thine, ought to belong to both of us?”