“O, indeed, Harry, you may rest assured that I shall do so. Poor, dear Charles, what would become of us all if we lost him—and Alice Goodwin, too—O, she would die. Now, go, dear Harry, and leave him to me.”
Harry left the room apparently in profound sorrow, and, on going into the parlor, met Barney Casey in the hall.
“Barney,” said he, “come into the parlor for a moment. My father is out, and my mother is upstairs. I want to know how this affair happened last night, and how it occurred that you were present at it. It's a bad business, Barney.”
“Devil a worser,” replied Barney, “especially for poor Mr. Charles. I was fortunately goin' down on my kalie to the family of poor disconsolate Granua (Grace), when, on passing the clump of alders, I heard screams and shouts to no end. I ran to the spot I heard the skirls comin' from, and there I found Mr. Charles, lyin' as if dead, and Grace Davoren with her hands clasped like a mad woman over him. The strange men then joined us, and carried him home, and that's all I know about it.”
“But, can you understand it, Barney? As for me, I cannot. Did Grace say nothing during her alarm?”
“Divil a syllable,” replied Barney, lying without remorse; “she was so thunderstruck with what happened that she could do nothing nor say anything but cry out and scream for the bare life of her. They say she has disappeared from her family, and that nobody knows where she has gone to. I was at her father's to-day, and I know they are searchin' the country for her. It is thought she has made away with herself.”
“Poor Charles,” exclaimed his brother, “what an unfortunate business it has turned out on both sides! I thought he was attached to Miss Goodwin; but it would appear now that he was deceiving her all along.”
“Well, Mr. Harry,” replied Barney, dryly, or rather with some severity, “you see what the upshot is; treachery, they say, seldom prospers in the long run, although it may for a while. God forgive them that makes a practice of it. As for Master Charles, I couldn't have dreamt of such a thing.”
“Nor I, Barney. I know not what to say. It perplexes me, from whatever point I look at it. At all events, I hope he may recover, and if he does, I trust he will consider what has happened as a warning, and act upon better principles. May God forgive him!”
And so ended their dialogue, little, indeed, to the satisfaction of Harry, whom Barney left in complete ignorance of the significant exclamations by which Grace Davoren, in the alarm of the moment, had betrayed her own guilt, by stating that Shawn-na-Middogue had stabbed the wrong man.