CONTINUED
From The Lamp.
ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.
BY ROBERT CURTIS.
CHAPTER XX.
For many hundred yards total silence prevailed among our pedestrians. Even Kate Mulvey seemed at a loss what first to say, or whether she ought to be the first to say anything.
Winny, seeing that her poor dog was getting on famously, was rather pleased, "since the thing did happen," that it had been brought to so satisfactory an end after all; and by whom? Her poor dog might have been killed, and would, undoubtedly, but for Emon-a-knock's fortunate arrival at the last moment, and his prompt and successful assistance. There was poor Bully-dhu now, walking to all appearances almost as well as ever, and tied up in his handkerchief. She was glad that the road had become by this time comparatively deserted, for she was timid and frightened, she knew not why. Perhaps she was afraid she might meet her father. She was thinking with herself, too, how far Emon would come with them, and who they might meet who knew them, before he turned back. Emon-a-knock's heart was wishing Kate Mulvey at "Altha Brashia," but his head was not sorry that she was one of the party, for common-sense still kept his heart in subjection.
Thus it was that silence prevailed for some time. Bully-dhu was the first to break it. Whether it was that the whiskey had got into his head, or, as the present fashion would say, that he was "screwed," I know not; but he felt so much better, and had so far recovered his strength and spirits, that he had almost pulled the handkerchief from Emon's hand, and cut an awkward sort of a rigadoon round Winny, barking, and looking up triumphantly in her face. Could it have been that while the others had been thinking of these other things, he had been deluding himself with the notion that he had been the victor in the battle?
"Poor fellow," said Winny, patting him on the head, "I do think there's nothing very bad the matter with you [{508}] after all. Emon, I am beginning to believe you."
"I hope you will always believe me, Winny Cavana," was his reply, and he again sunk into silence.
She could not think why he called her Cavana, and "yet her color rose;" I believe that is the way your experienced novelists would express it in such a case.