The Colleen Bawn by Richard Lloyd Fitzgerald

CHAPTER III.

The restless slumber of the yet unawakened debauchee had continued, and the evidentlyunhappy young person whom he addressed when he first came on board (to whose manifest disgust, in common with the great majority of the other passengers, he had described the drunken orgies of the previous night) now sat listlessly musing on the scene which I have described and seemed racked with the agonising thoughts which, no doubt, surged in her drooping and afflicted heart. After the lapse of a few minutes, I ventured gently to approach, and having briefly gazed with tender compassion on her lovely countenance, now bedewed with tears, I asked if I could, in any way, be of service to her. Awakened, as it were, suddenly from a feverish dream, she turned her dark and streaming eyes towards the youth who had politely tendered his devoirs, and had endeavoured, with look and gesture, to inspire with confidence the young female who evidently stood so much in need of consolation. "Pray, young friend," I said, "excuse me for this intrusion, and for thus venturing to address you. I can no longer conceal that I see the cause of your distress; yonder restless sleeper is, no doubt, connected to you by some tie which causes these bitter tears to flow." "Ah, kind sir," she replied, "you have guessed right: That man, that br—— (she suddenly restrained herself, as if a tender thought, had curbed her just indignation) is my husband. A few days only have passed since I left my darling uncle's house with him, after pledging his word and honour that he would always love me; and it was but yesterday that the holy Father joined our hands in marriage." Such was the artless, simple, yet true description, which was at once confidingly given by this interesting young creature to one who, a few minutes before, was a perfect stranger to her. Despairing, as she evidently was, of any sympathy from the man, for whose love she had sacrificed all the blessings and comforts of a happy home, she felt glad that she had found one to whom she might venture to unburden the load of care which was then crushing her young and guileless heart. How could she respect the vile wretch who the very day after he had led her to believe she was his lawful wife, and had solemnly pledged himself to love and cherish her, had, as already described, gloried in his shame, in the presence of the company, who were now witnesses of his degradation. As soon as I ascertained that I had won her confidence, and felt assured that in her desolate and forlorn condition it was a manifest relief to her to have gained a friend who would sympathize with her in her sorrow, I at once entered into a familiar conversation with her and learned, in a short time, the source of that misery, which, in an unguarded moment, she had been led into.

The heartless villain of our tale (who, as before described, was sleeping off the effects of his brutal debauchery) had, while on a sporting excursion, apparently by accident, but with deep design, sought shelter at the humble abode of Elly's uncle, and with the most perfect nonchalance knocked at the cottage door. The shades of night were then gathering round, and as the mansion of an aristocratic friend with whom he was staying on a visit was many miles distant, he made that an excuse to ask for the old man's hospitality, which, with the characteristic generosity of the Irish peasant, was at once freely tendered to him. "Here, Elly dear," cried the venerable and unsuspecting owner of the humble dwelling, "this gentleman who has just knocked at our door seems very wet and cold; sure 'tis hard to think his honour can put up with our poor fare, but we'll .give him at all events a 'Cead Mile Failthe.<4>' Put down some turf on the fire, darling, and warm some water for him, and if he'll just sit in the room there for a moment, I'll bring him dry shoes and stockings, which perhaps he will put up with for the present." In a shorter time than I have taken to describe it, this office of kindness was performed, and no sooner had our sportsman thus exchanged his wet hose for a comfortable dry pair, than he threw himself in a lounging attitude into a rustic armchair, and enjoyed a cheerful fire, enlivened by native bog-deal which might vie with the Yule log of ancient days. The aged host was well supported in his hospitable exertions to provide for all the necessities of the duine uasal<5>; and while he bustled about to provide a decent spread, little Elly was busy in getting ready a spatchcock and a rasher, in a miraculously short time a steaming pot of potatoes was prepared to add to the repast, to which their guest now applied himself with a gusto that a London alderman might have envied. While all the master's wants were thus abundantly supplied, his servant Stephen, sat roasting himself at the hob, was not neglected; a large plate of bacon and cabbage, with plenty of potatoes was placed before him, to which, no doubt, he did ample justice. While they were thus discussing the plain but comfortable meal which generous hearts had provided for them, Elly stole quietly away, and, having determined to give up her own little bedroom for the night to the duine uasal who had honoured, them with his presence, she placed a pair of snow-white sheets on the couch, and made everything as tidy as circumstances would admit of. When our gallant hero had finished his meal, he thanked the kind old man with the most plausible heartiness for the abundant provision he had made for all his wants; and having, with the most winning smiles (which no man was more capable of assuming at pleasure) paid many elegant compliments to the charming maid who had, gracefully waited upon him, he retired to rest for the night, and was soon buried in a deep sleep.