The Heir of Kilfinnan: A Tale of the Shore and Ocean

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The boy spoke boldly and proudly, as he again drew down the sleeve of his shirt.

Many years before, when the red mark on Dermot’s arm had first been seen by the neighbours, it was suggested that it was evidently placed there as a sign from heaven that he should become a priest, and that in all probability he would rise to be a bishop, if not a cardinal. When, however, Dermot grew a little older, and the idea was suggested to him, he indignantly refused to accept the offers made him. In the first place, nothing would induce him to leave his mother, and in the second, he had no ambition to become like Father O’Rourke, for whom it must be confessed, that at a very early age the boy had entertained a considerable antipathy. Even with the widow, though she was ignorant and superstitious, Father O’Rourke had never been a favourite; still when she could get so far as the chapel, she went to hear mass, and attended confession, as did her neighbours. The feeling which governed her was fear, rather than love for the parish priest. Father O’Rourke was excessively indignant at being thus addressed by the young fisher-boy. He turned from him, however, to his mother, and began to pour out his abuse on her head. He had not proceeded far, however, when Dermot again sprang to his feet.

“Father O’Rourke!” he exclaimed; “you may say what you like to me; you may curse me, and if you like you may threaten me with excommunication even, but do not lift up your tongue against my poor old mother. There are things a man can bear and some he ought not to bear, and I tell you, boy as I am, I will not have her spoken against. Your words may frighten her, and she may fancy that your curses may fall upon her head, but I tell you when uttered against a poor helpless widow, they will fall back on him who dares to speak them. There, Father O’Rourke, I have had my say, and I defy you.”

The priest had never before been spoken to in this manner by one of his flock, and he found no words to reply. At first he felt inclined to anathematise both the widow and her son, but doubts as to the effects it might produce upon Dermot restrained him, or perhaps a better feeling came into his heart.

“Very well, boy, remember I have warned you,” he exclaimed, “I have told you that by going to that Protestant minister, you may be led to turn heretic, and forsake our holy faith, and if you should, do not forget the heavy curses that will follow you. I do not wish you ill, nor do I wish your mother ill, but I cannot stand by and see one of my flock carried the downward way to destruction.”

Having thus delivered himself, Father O’Rourke left the hut and took the path up the steep glen, which led inland from the sea.

Often Dermot’s mind reverted to the days when the castle was inhabited, and he thought of the beautiful and kind ladies he had seen there, and of the fair little girl who had smiled so sweetly when she spoke to him. He felt the immeasurable distance between them and him, and yet he longed for their return, that he might gaze on them at a distance, and again hear their voices. He was generally too much occupied to go to the castle to inquire when the Earl was likely to return, because when not engaged in fishing, he was constantly at the house of Mr Jamieson. More than once he had ventured to ask him whether he thought the Earl was likely to come back again, but the minister replied that he was ignorant of the Earl’s movements, and had not heard that any orders had been received at the castle to make preparations for the reception of the family. The time was approaching when they had come on the previous year, and Dermot, though he scarcely acknowledged his feelings to himself, became more and more anxious for their arrival. After leaving Mr Jamieson, though the round was a long one, and he had to prepare his nets for the day’s fishing, he could not resist the temptation of going to the castle before he returned home. From his frequent visits during the previous summer, he was not a stranger there, and the housekeeper, pleased with his good looks and his unaffected manner, was not sorry to see him.

“Wait a bit, boy, wait a bit, and I think I can tell you when the ladies will come back and make another likeness of you,” she said, putting her hand on his head. “Ah! they will spoil you if we don’t take care, but do not be led away by them, boy. They look upon you, likely enough, as they do upon a pet dog, or any other animal, and when they are away, it is little they trouble their heads about you.”

These remarks were made in kindness by good Mrs Rafferty. She had heard all about the boy, and knew very well that if it became the custom to have him up at the castle, and to make much of him, as she thought was likely to be the case, he would inevitably be spoiled.

“When you come we will buy your fish, no fear of that, and take my advice, get a supply of the finest you can by to-morrow or the day after, and may be when you come there will be mouths enough at the castle to eat them.”