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only put you wrong if I was to strive “ More power to you, sir ; you never
to know nothing of me, but that my “ Indeed I do not know what it is
name is Thompson, that I have come you mean, Patrick, nor what your master from Dublin, and that you rode with can mean by coming here in this way;” me to show me the way from Kilkenny and so saying, in a tone that indicated to Ross." some sense of being offended, as well
“ You wouldn't suspect me, sir, of as grieved and perplexed, the
tellin anything ?"
young lady turned away to execute her uncle's
“ No, not suspect ; I rely on your commands.
fidelity-on your affection for me, but “ There now, may be I haven't put what I fear is, that without intending
at present discretiou is everything, and my fut in it,” said Patrick, soliloquiz; it, you may say more than you ought ing ; " why the divil couldn't I hould
to say. I am sure you would be as my tongue, and leave my master to tell his own story, whatever it is, for sorry for it yourself as I should be, if it's little enough of it I know, though I should be prevented from accomplish
by any thing that was heard from you it's no use lettio an to be such an omad
ing my escape.” thaun, as to be runnin away from one
« Wouldn't I die sooner ?" rejoined doesn't know what. But how cute Patrick with earnestness ; " but sure she is, never purtending to guess why I know it's far easier for an Irishhe should come here, when all the country side knows how the young but even that same I'll do, wit the help
man to fight than to hould his tongue, master was smit, and gev up all his o God, barrin it's the priest himself ould wild tricks for her sake. It's a
that bids me spake.” pity her relations isn't all the real qua
“ And would you betray me to a lity, but only making their money in trade--it's out o' the mother's blood, and with an air of anxiety and indigna
priest ?" said the young man hurriedly, they say, she has that illegant look,
tion. but purty and simple, too, as a child.
“ There's no betrayin' sir, in what An' where's the great harm of trade either? After all, this is a mighty, servant, gravely:
one says to one's clargy,” replied the dacent comfortable looking place, an'
“ Well, Patrick,” said his master, it all come by thrade. I hope, though,” with a sigh, we cannot discuss this now, he continued, taking up again the reins but be discreet, and be ready very of the horses—" I hope they don't early in the morning, if I have occasion mane to lave me an' the horses out
for you." here all night ; we want bit an' sup as • Never fear
replied well as our betthers."
Patrick, I wont pay their bed the Here his soliloquy was interrupted compliment of stayin in it after dayby his master, who, coming out into light, any how.” the hall, directed him to go round to
The young gentleman now returned the stables, and put up the horses, and into the parlour to old Mr. Ewing, then to betake himself to the kitchen, upon whom his conversation after Miss where Mr. Ewing had ordered him to Ewing left the room had made a very be taken care of.
favourable impression, though it afford“ Thim is the most sinsible wordsed very little information as to the you spoke to-day, sir,” said Patrick ; cause of his eagerness to take ship
no offinse to whatever you said be- without delay from New Ross. You fore. You'll stay here to-night, sir ?" were so good, sir," said the stranger,
Yes, I have determined upon “ as to send to order refreshment for that.”
me, will you permit me to postpone it
until your usual hour of supper ? and “ I am sure Miss Ewing must have in the mean time, if you will allow me, been much surprised, and I scarcely I shall go to my chamber, as I have dare venture to hope that she has not something to write, which I must do been much offended by that which must without delay."
have appeared to her myvery unaccount" I thought refreshment needful for able appearance and conduct this eventhee, after thy long ride," replied his ing. I fear that I may possibly add to bost, * but if thou dost indeed prefer that offended feeling by the liberty I to wait, and would rather dispatch thy take in writing this letter, but even business at once, a resolution for which with that consciousness, I cannot bear thou dost deserve praise, be it as thou that my conduct should remain unexwilt ; I will myself conduct thee to thy plained. I dare not attempt to dechamber."
scribe the agony of the thought that With these words he led his guest you might despise me. You have seen to a chamber as comfortable and neat to what the necessity of circumstances as even a much more fastidious traveller has driven me. I entreat you o liscould have desired, and pointed out to ten to the brief account of these cirhim, with courteous but Quaker-like ex. cumstances which I shall attempt to aetness,where every convenience that he give. might be likely to stand in need of was " You, perhaps, do not remember to be found. Writing materials, which, I can never forget the occasion on in these days, formed part of the ordina- which we first met, very shortly after qy furnishing of bed-chambers in gen- you arrived from England. That tlemen's houses, were the only things meeting, and the subsequent meetings that were to be added to the conve. which made your aunt's house an earthniences of the apartment.
ly paradise to me, wrought in me an - Thou hast two hours for thy business utter change. I became another man. before our supper time," said the mild New thoughts — new feelings — new and attentive host ; we shall the views opened upon me. Nobler, better, send for thee, and hope by that time wiser aims were set before me by the thou wilt have finished.” He received gentlest and most unconscious of mowith evident pleasure the earnest and nitors. The impetuosity—the waygrateful thanks of the young gentleman, wardness—the contempt for that which and withdrew.
I ought to have respected—all the The stranger, as soon as he was faults which were destroying me were alone, threw himself upon a seat, and by your society—by pondering in decovering his face with his hands, thus lightful admiration on your disposition meditated—“ What will she, what can and your accomplishments, made obshe think of me now?-I must seem vious to me. You have beheld me an impostor in the sight of one who, this evening enduring the disgrace of more than any other in the whole previous errors—it is to you I owe it, world I desired might think well—think that I am not now proceeding in a more than well of me! O! fatal result guilty and desperate career. of folly—where shall I now look for “ It is probable that you may have the honor that I might have won—the heard, that at an early age, after havlove that, perhaps, I might have inspir. ing lost my father, I was sent to school ed—bad I but deserved it ? All now to England, where a naturally impeis lost to me, a fugitive and a criminal! tuous temper was not improved, but But she must not deem me worse than rather made worse, by the tyranny I am, I cannot hope to speak with her, which, in great schools, one class is nor to express myself as I ought, even permitted to exercise over another :if I could—I will write, and trust for from thence I went to Cambridge, an opportunity of giving into her own where, for an offence against the disband an explanation of my present si- cipline of the University, which I then tuation. There is no time to be lost, thought of very trifling moment, or let me at once set about it.” He rose, rather of no moment at all, I was sewent to the writing table, and exerting verely censured. I left Cambridge in all the self-command he possessed, to disgust, and returned to my home in repress the agitation of his mind, ra- Ireland, where an indulgent mother pidly wrote the following letter : was easily persuaded that I had acted
with becoming spirit in refusing to
cise over me. He made me painfully submit to the harshness of College dis- sensible, that neither my house, nor cipline. The fortune which my father ny purse, nor my time, was my own-had left me, made it unnecessary for me he commanded all when it so pleased to choose a profession as a means of him, and I saw, with deep indignaliving, and having a taste for reading, tion that he used me as a convenience. and political disquisition, I soon found It was at this time that you came enough, and, ere long, alas! too much to reside at your aunt's house in our to engross my time and attention.
neighbourhood-the result I have alAlthough a Protestant myself, I ready attempted to describe to you. deemed it just, or at all events gene- That which I had begun to perceive rous, to exhibit the utmost liberality of to be a course of hazard and of guilt, sentiment towards my Roman Catholic soon became to me immeasurably disneighbours. I cultivated the acquaint- gusting. Do you think this was a ance of the Roman Catholic clergyman, mere reaction of caprice—the mere and through him became intimate with fickleness of one whom passion and his brother, who had shortly before re not reason guided? Ob ! do not think turned from abroad. He, too, had been My understanding was convinced intended for the ecclesiastical profession, that there were far better-far more but for some reason which I never heard honest, far more honourable pursuits, explained, he had not taken orders. than those of a political conspirator, He was exceedingly well informed, par- and if I felt with all the sweet intenticularly on subjects connected with sity of passion, that life could also political discussion, and no man could give more exquisite delights than the use his information with better effect; gratification of fierce and turbulent he was equally subtle in reasoning, and ambition, deem me not, therefore, to earnest in declamation. His persua- have for this alone repented me of my sive powers were irresistible—at least guilt. The calm good sense, enshrined I found them so, and he soon obtained in feminine gentleness, which you posa complete mastery over my opinions sessed, taught me what was right, while and actions. It was then he revealed it inspired feelings that now I do not to me certain views of great political dare to dwell upon. changes to be wrought in the first in “ But I must proceed. I endeavourstance, by secret associations, and in ed to disunite myself from my political process of time by open force. My associates, and had to bear first the folly, or his eloquence, was such, that ridicule, and then the reproaches of what I heard, though it astonished, it the man who had led me into the did not deter me. On the contrary, I conspiracy. Against all this your sothought it a noble enterprise, and ad- ciety, which I then had the happiness mired the depth of deliberation with frequently to enjoy, sustained me. You which the plan had been marked out, left our neighbourhood to come here, from the first suggestions of popular dis- and the thoughts and feelings which content, to the final overthrow of the you left with me, sustained me still. existing powers and privileges. I need Moylan-for that was the name of my not tell how I was led ou, step by step, tyrant, and you may remember him-a to take a leading part in the secret dark, quick-eyed man, who in comconspiracy that even then was at work pany was either totally silent, or the among the people. Without at all leader of the conversation. Moylan committing himself
, (as I now per- bore more and more hardly upon me. ceive, but did not then,), my false At last I resented his intrusion, and friend led me into taking the oaths of we openly quarrelled. I knew that I confederacy, and attending the secret did so at my peril, but I still thought meetings, which made me a criminal in that, considering the part he himself the sight of the law. I soon saw that had had in leading me into the political I had gone too far. Even if the appa. conspiracy, he would not dare to derent ruffianism of those with whom I nounce me to the government. There found myself associated, had not taught I deceived myself—ten days ago I me this, I should have learned it from learned, with consternation and shame the tyranny which he who had so en- unutterable, that information had been tangled me, now attempted to exer- given against me, and that officers were
ordered to apprehend me. Since those sitting with him took any parthen I have been a fugitive-a cri- ticular interest in each other, he did minal flying from the officers of jus- not observe anything out of the usual tice>I have no course but that of course. In spite of the unfortunate escaping out of the country. I have circumstances which hung over young been to Dublin and beyond it, hoping Trevor, the presence of one whose to advise with my uncle, who is a favourable opinion he so ardently declergyman, but I found he was absent sired to win, led him to put forth all in England. My steps were traced, his powers of conversation; and alby information which I have no doubt though sobered and saddened in all Moylan must have furnished, and I his remarks, compared with what he could not embark from Dublin. I had been when Miss Ewing had last thank him for that, for it has led me met him, he certainly appeared to no here, and I shall once more see you disadvantage upon this occasion, espebefore I leave this country, perhaps cially in the sight of the good old for ever. I know not what informa. Quaker, “I would thou wert not in tion may have been forwarded even to such haste," said the old man ; "we this place, and therefore I have ob- would gladly lodge thee for a few days, tained a letter of introduction to your and show thee all that is to be seen in uncle as for another person. Pardon this neighbourhood. My niece could this poor degrading deceit to which show thee many delightful views about I am redueed. I hope it will be the last. this place which she has led me to. I
“ And now farewell. Once more did not know half the beauties by which forgive me—forgive me for thus telling I was surrounded until she taught me, you all that my bursting heart will not old as I am, to perceive them. This allow me to restrain, and yet I do not is the benefit of education in matters tell you all-no, it would be idle and of taste. I wish that thou couldst stay presumptuous daring to do that now. and accompany us in some of our little I did once fondly indulge the hope, excursions. I should be pleased to that extricated from the fatal errors hear thy remarks." into which I had plunged, I might not He did not perceive the deep sigh unworthily visit this house, to pour with which his guest assured him it out with trembling solicitude those was impossible. "I must depart," he vows which now must burn untold with- said, “ early in the morning.” ** Well," in the heart of a miserable exile.- returned the old man, “ if it must beso, Alas! the agonising thought of what I shall get thee an early breakfast, and might have been contrasted with that go into Ross with thee: but I must get which is ! I can now only ask your for thee one of Mary's drawings; it pity-you will not refuse me that~I will show thee one of the views which venture to hope that you will not.
I wished thee to see.” * Where I shall go, I know not; but If you will excuse me, uncle, I will wherever I go, remembrance of you say good night," said the young lady, shall dwell with me—the one sad, rising to go away. sweet thought of an otherwise tasteless “ Ah, Mary,” replied the old man, existence. May Heaven ever bless you “ thou art afraid of thy praises; and so with its choicest blessings. Farewell. it is best; I love thee all the better;"
« HENRY Trevor." and he kissed her forehead : “thou The stranger bad scarcely finished art a good child; good night: but I this letter, which, hurriedly as it was must show our guest thy pretty sketch” written, had many pauses between, —and so saying, he walked into a rewhen be was summoned to the cess, wliere his portfolio lay upon an supper-table. Had Mr. Ewing been oldfashioned desk, to seck the drawing. a younger man, or one more accus Mr. Trevor," said the young lady, tomed to society, he might have disco- in a low tone, “good night. Your vered something to excite his curiosity appearance here in this way is, to say in the peculiar manner of his guest the least of it, surprising: you must towards his niece, and in the unusual judge whether it is right. reserve which distinguished her de “For Heaven's sake, Miss Ewing," meanor; but, solely on hospitable cares he replied, “ do not condemn me until intent, and altogether unconscious that you have heard—I mcan read my ex
planation of this strange appearance his imagination again became busy here: it is in this letter ; will you with the extravagance of a dream. He receive it? Oh, do not refuse," he thought that while Miss Ewing played earnestly added, banding her the letter and sung at the piano, he sat upon 2 wbich he had written. “ I have been stool at her fect, gazing in her face. most unfortunate."
Suddenly that face became illuminated " I shall read it, certainly," said the by a smile of more than human beauty young lady, taking the letter. " Good and kindliness, and, bending down to
wards him, she asked him, in a voice “Good night,” he replied, and stood of more exquisite sweetness than his gazing where she had been, until re- waking ears had ever enabled him to called to recollection by the old man enjoy, whether there was any song he calling for his admiration of the draw- loved particularly, that she might sing ing, which, after some search among it for him. He tried to reply, but found statistical tables, botanical plates, and he could not speak : she frowned at plans of cottage architecture, which bis apparent apathy : he tried to rise loaded his portfolio, he had succeeded to put the song before her; but he in finding. A more willing and atten- could not move. A cloud now filled tive auditor no man could have desired the room, hiding, by its dismal obthan old Mr. Ewing found in his guest scurity, the object of his admiration, while he dilated upon the skill and from his sight: at last it seemed to taste of his niece. “I perceive,” he explode with a loud noise ; the light said, “ that thou dost well understand returned in an instant, but the lady and enjoy works of taste and art. I was gone! He again awoke, and permeet with few who so readily appre- ceived the early dawn brightening the hend what I feel regarding such things. long lines of thin grey cloud in the But it is high time that thou shouldst east. Resolved not to tempt the return think of repose, as thou dost intend an of more dreams, he arose and went to early departure tomorrow morning" the window. The half-dispelled darkTo this the stranger agreed, and the ness, and the fresh breeze of the mornnew friends parted for the night. ing, blowing aside, as it were, the heavy
The fatigue and agitation of the day curtains of the night, seemed to harhad their usual effect upon young monize with the seriousness of his spirit. Trevor. He was soon asleep, but his He became refreshed and invigorated rest was disturbed by the fantastic as he inhaled the air, and the strange workings of the mental impressions unearthly impression which a vivid and which had occupied him while awake. agitating dream leaves upon the mind He dreamed that he was travelling in soon passed away, a carriage, with Miss Ewing by his By the time the sun had risen he side. They were going to be married, was dressed, and bad walked out into and he was intoxicated with happiness. the garden. He looked at the neat He turned to address to her some rap- and peaceful dwelling, and thought turous speech, when she interrupted how happy a life might be led in such him by remarking on the curious cir an abode, with a companion so good cumstance that a policeman was driving and so gentle as she was who occupied his the carriage, and another sitting by his thoughts. The flowers he looked upon side. He then perceived that they were probably of her training-the were driving him to prison. He dashed ground he walked on had been trod open the carriage door to jump out and by her a thousand times, and would be escape, when his companion uttered again—but where would he be ? would a loud shriek. At this he awoke : the there be any remembrance of him, to shriek still seemed to be sounding in connect him with that quiet abodehis ears : he started up in bed : he that garden, and those Aowers, when listened; but all was still, save the the minutes which he should spend in beating of his own heart, and the heavy gazing upon them had passed away ? sweep of the night wind through the With such thoughts as these dwelling trees of the garden, upon which his on his heart, he entered, almost unchamber opened.
consciously, a little summerhouse at After an interval of bitter and per- the end of one of the walks; an exclaplexing thought, he again slept, and mation of surprise roused him from