And ye, rejoicing choristers! already
Flows forth your solemn song of consolation—
That song, which once from angels’ lips resounding
Around the midnight of the grave, was heard—
The pledge and proof of a new covenant.”
Yes! indeed, those bells almost distinctly said to the heart as they swung in the soft air of that delicious noon, “Christ our passover is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast!” They passed the church—groups of joyous children were playing in the graveyard—five or six immense chestnuts towered, coeval and almost coequal with the ancient steeple, and in these there was a rookery, now in full din—the voices of the children and the cawing of the rooks, disturbed by the sudden peal of the bells, mingled with the chime without discord to the ear. Alice’s eyes glistened for a moment when she recognised her youthful playmates; but she suddenly felt she could not laugh with them—her heart was heavy. At length they stood before the door of the brothers’ house. No signs of wakefulness had it yet exhibited.
“Let us go in, uncle, and tell them to get up,” said the little Alice.
“Let them sleep it out, the scoundrels!” was the indignant reply of James Kavanagh.
They passed on to the place of worship.
In about an hour and a half from this time the same group were on their way homewards, with hearts elevated by the imposing service which they had just been witnessing. A gloom was, notwithstanding, perceptible upon the face of James Kavanagh and of his little niece, as they walked along in company with their happy and smiling neighbours. None of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh had ever before been known to have absented himself from Sunday mass, and their absence on that most holy day was of course a subject of much wonder.