“Heavenly father! I hope Alick is safe,” exclaimed Mrs. Purcel, getting pale.
“Well, Cannie,” inquired the proctor, quite coolly, and as if it was a matter of mere business, “what was the consequence? I hope nobody was hurt?”
“Why, that his son Fergus, sir—that fine young man that everybody was fond of—”
“Good God!” exclaimed the proctor, now really shocked at what he supposed the pedlar was about to say; “what is it you are goin' to tell us? I hope in God—”
“What is this!” exclaimed John; “heavens, Mary, you have spilled all the tea!”
“Mary, my child,” exclaimed the mother, running to her; “what ails you?—in God's name, what is the matter?”
“A sudden faintness,” replied the girl, recovering herself as if by an effort; “but it is over, and I—I am better.”
“His son Fergus, sir—I hope Miss Mary is betther, sir—that his son Fergus and his father, by all accounts, gave them a warmer reception than they expected.”
“But was none of O'Driscol's family hurt nor anybody else?” asked Purcel.
“No, sir, it seems not—and indeed I'm main glad of it.”