“Felix dear,” said he in a voice low, hollow, and full of terror, “what ails you? Is the pain coming back?”
Felix spoke not for about a minute, during which time he had become quite collected. Then with an affectionate look towards his brother, he replied—
“God bless you, Hugh, for the words you have said to me! Poor Alley? Hugh, God bless you! Would Maura consent? Will you consent, agra, to it, Maura dear?”
Maura, who had been all this time weeping, now advanced, and, smiling through her tears, embraced him tenderly. “Yes, Felix, darling, an' I'm only heart-broken, that ever Hugh or myself refused to consent, or ever set ourselves against it.”
The boy's eyes sparkled with a light more brilliant than had ever shone from them before: his whole face became animated, and the cloud of sorrow which had rested on his pale brow melted away before the effulgence of reviving hope. In a few minutes he arose and expressed his determination to proceed and keep his appointment. Hugh and Maura requested to accompany him, and the latter begged to be allowed the privilege to give the bride away.
“Maura,” said Felix, “will you desire the servants to have a decent dinner prepared, and we'll eat it here. I intend, if you and Hugh will let me, to bring her home at once!”
“Och, God help the poor boy!” exclaimed Maura—“yes, darling, all that must be done.”
When ready to depart, he again put his hand to his head—“It comes on here,” said he, “for about a minute or so—this confusion—I think I'll tie a handkerchief about my head. It 'ill be an asy thing for me to make some excuse, or I can take it off at the chapel.”
This was immediately acquiesced in; but at Hugh's suggestion a car was prepared, a horse yoked in a few minutes, and Felix, accompanied and supported by his brother and sister, set out for Mass. On arriving at the “green,” he felt that his short journey had not been beneficial to him; on the contrary, he was worse, and very properly declined to go into the heated atmosphere of the chapel. A message by his sister soon brought the blushing, trembling, serious, yet happy-looking girl to his side. Her neat white dress, put on with that natural taste which is generally accompanied by as clear sense of moral propriety, and her plain cottage bonnet, bought for the occasion, showed that she came prepared, not beyond, but to the utmost reach of her humble means. And this she did more for Felix's sake than her own, for she resolved that her appearance should not, if possible, jar upon the feelings of one who, she knew, in marrying her, had sacrificed prospects of wealth and worldly happiness for her sake. At sight of her, Felix smiled, but it was observed that his face, which had a moment before been pale, was instantly flushed, and his eye unusually bright. When he had kissed her, she replied to the friendly greetings of his brother and Maura with the most comely dignity, well suited to her situation and circumstances. Then turning to the elected husband of her heart, she said—
“Why thin, Felix, but it's little credit you do me this happy morning, coming with your night-cap on, as if you weren't well;” but as she saw the smile fade from his lips, and the color from his cheek, her heart sank, and “pallid as death's dedicated bride,” with her soft blue eyes bent upon his changing color and bandaged head, she exclaimed, “God be merciful to us! Felix dear, you are ill—you are hurted! Felix, Felix darling, what ails you? What is wrong?”