“Mother, farewell,” said she at length—“farewell; think of me when I am far away—think of your unfortunate Nannie, and let every one that hears of my misfortune think of all the misery and all the crime that may come from one false and unguarded step.”
“O, Nannie darling,” replied her mother, “don't desert us now; sure you wouldn't desert your mother now, Nannie?”
“If my life could make you easy or happy, mother, I could give it for your sake, worthless now and unhappy as it is; but I am going to a far country, where my shame and the misfortunes I have caused will never be known. I must go, for if I lived here, my disgrace would always be before you and myself; then I would soon die, and I am not yet fit for death.”
With these words the unhappy girl passed out of the house, and was never after that night seen or heard of, but once, in that part of the country.
In the meantime that most pitiable mother, whose afflicted heart could only alternate from one piercing sorrow to another, sat down once more, and poured forth a torrent of grief for her unhappy daughter, whom she feared, she would never see again.
Those who were present, now that the distressing scene which we have attempted to describe was over, began to chat together with more freedom.
“Tom Kennedy,” said one of them, accosting a good-natured young fellow, with a clear, pleasant eye, “how are all your family at Beech Grove? Ould Goodwin and his pretty daughter ought to feel themselves in good spirits after gaining the lawsuit in the case of Mr. Hamilton's will. They bate the Lindsays all to sticks.”
“And why not,” replied Kennedy; “who had a betther right to dispose of his property than the man that owned it? and, indeed, if any one livin' desarved it from another, Miss Alice did from him. She nearly brought herself to death's door, in attending upon and nursing her sister, as she called poor Miss Agnes; and, as for her grief at her death, I never saw anything like it, except “—he added, looking at the unfortunate widow—“where there was blood relationship.”
“Well, upon my sowl,” observed another, “I can't blame the Lindsays for feeling so bittherly about it as they do. May I never see yestherday, if a brother of mine had property, and left it to a stranger instead of to his own—that is to say, my childre—I'd take it for granted that he was fizzen down stairs for the same. It was a shame for the ould sinner to scorn his own relations for a stranger.”
“Well,” said another, “one thing is clear—that since he did blink them about the property, it couldn't get into betther hands. Your master, Tom, is the crame of a good landlord, as far as his property goes, and much good may it do him and his! I'll go bail that, as far as Miss Alice herself is consarned, many a hungry mouth, will be filled many a naked back covered, and many a heavy heart made light through the manes of it.”