The farmer groaned heavily ere he replied; and then it was in a broken, sunken voice—“We’re ruined, Alley! an’ robbed, an’ I desarve it! The vilyen has not only taken our child from us, but robbed us of one hundhred pounds! See, here is the desk, bruck open, and the pocket-book empty, an’ she did it at his instigation!”
This was blow on blow! Mrs Costigan was a weak and delicate woman. She fell senseless to the ground, and was borne to her bed, from which she never rose again.
And thus was Dennis Costigan’s treachery rewarded. He had brought a wretch to his house for the purpose of introducing him as an admirer to his honest neighbour’s daughter, without once inquiring into his character or circumstances; and the young fellow had cleverly turned the visit to account; for instead of portionless Kate Kavanagh, he carried off young and pretty Mary Costigan, and her hundred pounds!
It is certain our barony Forth farmer felt this triple blow most severely, and the more so from his consciousness that he deserved it, and prepared the way for his misfortunes himself. But he was doomed to feel his lapse from honour and fair dealing yet more acutely, when on the day of his wife’s death he was accosted by his neighbour Miles Kavanagh, as he was droopingly wandering about his fields, shunning the crowds collected at the wake.
“Misther Costigan,” began Miles abruptly—for the Irish peasant feels too warmly to take time to shape his gratulations or condolences with the go-about refinements of delicacy—“I am sorry for yer thrubble this day, an’ the more so bekase Mrs Costigan was ever the kind and friendly naibur, that never changed from hot to could like others. [Dennis winced.] I also heerd ov yer loss in other respects, but that loss will be soon made up, plaise God. In the main time, Misther Costigan, ye might want a thrifle of ready cash for the expinses ov the wake an’ berrin’; an’ as I’ve scraped together a matther ov a few pounds for the rint, but which is not called for yet, I’d be very glad to lind it to a friend, an’ may be you’d take it, an’ ye may pay me whin you plaise. Faix, sitch poor men as me ought never to keep money long in the house for fear ov the vilyens ov rogues.”
Dennis Costigan was unable to speak, and without accepting the money he motioned his honest neighbour away, and turned off abruptly. But Miles Kavanagh was not a man to be deterred from doing a kind action.
“Hut-tut! Mr Costigan,” he continued, “don’t turn away from an ould naibur an’ friend. You think now that I bear a grudge to ye on account ov that vilyen ye brought down to court my Kate. I know all, ye see; an’ if I do, I freely forgive ye. Fathers, an’ ’specially rich fathers sitch as you, are a little partiklar, I suppose, about who their sons would marry, an’ it’s all right. But Dennis Costigan ought to have known us betther! He ought to have known that neither I nor my child would seek to enther any man’s family against his will, for he never seen any mean or disaivin’ ways in us. But all’s forgiven an’ forgotten now; so don’t be the laist suspicious ov us, but take the money that I freely offer, if you want it, an’ you’ll make a poor man an’ naibur happy. Turn about, man, an’ let us live in paice an’ good will while we’re on the earth together.”
Dennis Costigan stood, perpendicular as a poplar, with his back to Miles Kavanagh while he was speaking, and the latter thought, from the stiffness of the farmer’s air, that he had nerved himself up to break sooner than bend, and that he was determined to retain his sturdy pride to the last, and perhaps to cut with him altogether. To Miles’s surprise, however, when he ceased speaking, portly Dennis wheeled right about, still perpendicular, seized the hand of his honest friend, and, as if the mere touch of a sympathising friend communicated a softness he was unused to, he wept aloud! yes, wept! and they were the first bitter tears he had ever shed.
“But for the sake of human nathur, which I am glad to see so good,” said Dennis Costigan afterwards, “I’d most rather ye’d have abused me; I could have borne it betther!”
Well, months passed over, and still the “belle o’ the barony” was making sad havoc with the hearts of the beaus. She had already all the trades enlisted under her banner, and it was a nice question whether she would spare one bachelor in an entire parish, or not. Fathers and mothers still complained, and the girls prayed that Kate Kavanagh were married, and out of the way. Matters were daily growing worse and worse, “confusion worse confounded,” in the country round.