ivi III MRS.t IAMES! >adlo ( * 1 1 1 , * ' i. ;■: '^jiiiPjilij • ' . . '. ,s \\ « ■■ ■ ''/'■ i < ':^%tefc**^* ' ' ' ' I ■ ■'. '-■ • '■':'■■' ':''' ' ':. ws F '^V ,, 1 ' :• Sfij, .,f/< ".;... ':; .■ M : |: " ' % ^»|/ ( gjy£ • .' :' ! " irlll: 1 ' !:::::: ■'^:-.'- ■ «*•:-■,•;'■.■// is 1 // THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE; OR, RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH BOROUGH. By MRS. J. SADLIER, AUTHOEESSOF '• DLAKES AND FLANAGANS ;" " WIM.IK BURKE}" «' > LIGHTS ;" " THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS ;" "EMNOB FBKSTON "BESSY CONWAY '" "THE OONFEBBIOBW OF AN APOSTATE ;" "CON O'REGAN ;" "OLD AND NEW \" "THE HKKMIT OF THE ROCK." NEW YORK: P. J. KENEDY, EXCELSIOR CATHOLIC PUBLISHING HOUSE, 5 Barclay St. 1899. DA ,S3x Copyright, D. A J. SADLIER & CO. 1885. BOSTOH COLLEGE LIBRARY O^WT HIU. MA 02W ■ C E8 ? y DEDICATION To those of my many Drogheda friends whom the reaper Death, and the vicissitudes of fifty years have left remaining- amid the historic scenes I have here faintly sketched— and also to the me- mory of those others who have long since passed to the unseen world— in token of my undying remem- brance of the pleasant days, and weeks, and months spent amongst them in the sunny years of my life's spring-time, these few "Reminiscences" of their ancient and honored borough are cordially and gratefully dedicated. M. A. Sadliek. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE; OR, RECOLLECTIONS OF AN LUSH BOROUGH. CHAPTER I. Let people say what they will of modern improve- ments, and the advantages of modern progress, there are few amongst us who do not love to contemplate the relics of past ages, monuments of a time, or times long anterior to the rise of " modern progress," and boasting none of the " modern improvements." Few American-born readers can realize to themselves the antique character of an old European town dating from the medieval times, the quaint, queer, yet simple and substantial edifices of the older parts contrasting oddly with the newer and more ornamentative portions, the growth of later years. Comparatively few of these old fortified boroughs are now to be seen in the British islands, at least, in anything like their original aspect. Of those which still arrest the traveller's at- tention in journeying through Ireland, one of the old- 10 THE OLD UOUSE BY THE BOYNE. est and quaintest of the ancient " walled towns is undoubtedly Drogheda, for more ages than history cares to count a place of foreign and domestic import- ance, and now favorably known amongst Irish sea- ports as a commercial and manufacturing town se cond to none of its size in the kingdom. Situated on the £>Gyne River, biU two or three miles from the Irish Sea, partly in Louth and partly in Meath, two of the richest and most fertile counties in Ireland, Drogheda enjoys to-day as great advantages for trade and commerce as of old it did for the maritime de- fence of the surrounding district. Of the strong walls and fortifications that once encompassed the old borough little now remains, but that little serves to show how well the stout burghers of Drogheda (or Trcdagkj as it was anciently called) knew how to protect their hearths and homes. Detached portions of the walls are still to be seen here and there, espe- cially in the neighborhood of St. Mary's Church in the south-eastern part of the town, where within the limits of the ancient graveyard a strong bastion speaks to the new generation of the days when Crom- well's cannon thundered on the adjoining walls, and there made the breach (still shown) by which that mo!;ster of cruelty poured his iron-hearted psalm- feingers into the town to butcher the inhabitants without mercy. Then looking eastward towards the sea, on the highest ground north of the river, rises still in formidable strength, with its two flanking towers, St Lawrence's Gate, looking down in gloomy THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 11 grandeu:* over the steep and narrow street whicn bears its name, guarding the approach to the Tholsel ur Town Hall, which stands near the junction of Lawrence street and West street with Shop street and Peter street; the latter two forming the line from the bridge to the North Barracks and St. Peter's Church, ever memorable as the scene of the burning of over two thousand of the first citizens of Drogh- eda (who had taken shelter within it) by order of Oliver Cromwell. The West Gate at the opposite extremity of the town has all but disappeared in the lapse of time, and so, too, with Sunday Gate, the northern approach to the old borough in the days of its primeval strength. Here and there within the ancient boundaries may still be seen the remains of many civil^ ecclesiastical and monastic buildings of the old time, such as Mary'g Abbey, a Carmelite foundation near the modern church of that name already mentioned, appropriated to Protestant worship, — M ^gdalen's Steeple, the time- honored remains of a stately Dominican Church, of old connected with an Abbey of the same order. Then, just within the West Gate, stand the ruins cf an old Observantine friary, called "The Old Abbey." The dilapidated remains of the Grey Friary form a picturesque object on the high ground in the north- eastern part of the town, and on the south side, but a short distance from the river, some faint traces may still be seen of what was once a Priory and Hospital of the Knights of St. John. Other relics of the mon 12 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. astic institutions of long-past ages are still to be seen in various parts of the town, but in a state of such utter dilapidation as only to be distinguished on a near approach. One of these is the old friary of St Lawrence, a little way outside Lawrence's Gate, sur . rounded by a very ancient burying-ground called "The Cord" — a singular designation, the origin of which is now lost in the night of time.* The Tholsel itself, a gloomy, dark-faced building, situate in West street, near the corner of Shop street, is a curious, but by no means attractive specimen of the civil architecture of the Middle Ages, and no one can look on its massive stone walls, and deeply-set win- dows, without reverting in thought to the stormy strife of those by-past times, and the sturdy burgesses who of old assembled for " law and justice" within its walls. Antiquity is, indeed, stamped on the town and all around it, but there is scarcely any local. ty, any nook or corner within or without the walls where modern buildings, civil, military, commeicial and ecclesiasti- cal, are not to be seen rising up in strange contrast to the hoary monuments around them, striking illustra- * One of our earliest recollections of Drogheda was the peril- ous ascent, from an adjoining tombstone, of the jagged frag- ment of wall which alone remains of the old friary, in order to procure a b>anch of the ivy that festoons its top, to bear back in triumph to our home away north in " green vallied Brpffhy,' ; as a momento of our first visit to the old historic borough, Tlio sunshine was bright that summer morning, clothing even the old gray ruin and its ivy crown with solemn beauty. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNE. 13 ti «ss, one and the other, of the busy, active, progres- sive Present, anil the calm, sluggish, stern, mysterious Past. So to-day, and even twenty years ago, when last we looked on the well-remembered scene, the banks of the Boyne, whore it threads its way between two counties, through the heart of Drogheda, were thickly studded with spinning-mills, corn-mills, and all the other huge fabrics in which modern progress has encased the complicated machinery that does her mighty will in catering for man's use and comfort, Barracks of spacious dimensions adorn the northern and southern extremities of the town; the northern ;ii the head of Peter street as already indicated, the southern on the lofty eminence known as Mill-Mount, commanding from a massive circular tower on the fort, a magnificent view of the river, the town, and the adjoining country, rich in Irish fertility. Through all this motley assemblage oftheoldand the new, the civil, the military, the secular, and the ecclesiastical, flows on the silvery Boyne, dividing the northern from the southern portions of " the County of the Town of Drogheda," as the old records have it, and as the natives of the place are still proud to call it. Fraught with a thousand historic associations, and a wealth of poetry all its own, the beautiful "bride of Lough Raiuor" winds her way through the heart of the old borough to swell the waters of the Irish Sea over thti white strand of Bettystown and Mornington. The town of Drogheda is decidedly an old town, and all is old about it. Its people are old — old in 14 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. their lineage, to a great extent Norman, — and old in their contempt for what is new and showy, and pre- tentious. Passing through the streets, you will re- cognize above the shop-doors, and on door-plates, the names of the knightly Norman famil.es >\ho were actors in the earliest authentic history of Drogheda — the De Verdons (minus only the ih ), the Gernons, the Pentlands, the Whites, the Dardises, the Faulkneis, the Simcocks, and many other ancient families are still represented in the old borough, and the Norman is still the staple and dominant element in the popula- tion. Then, again, the simple, old-time faith of the townspeople has happily lost none of its positive, straightforward Catholicity, and Drogheda, the Gate of the North, is to-day what it has been ever since the Reformation crossed the Channel, one of the most thoroughly Catholic towns in Ireland. When the ceremonies of religion were proscribed by law in the northern province, and the poverty to which Ulster Catholics were reduced left them only thatched cabins wherein to worship God, the ritual of the Church was still carried out within the walls of Drogheda, and thither, as on pilgrimag \ went the northern Catho- lics, year by year at Paschal time, to witness the reli- gions solemnities they might never see at home, Drogheda was in those days, even but two genera- tions back, the Home of Ulster, and happy were they who from Cavan, Monaghan, Fermanagh, or Armagh, could go to spend Holy Week in Drogheda. There the r^l'^i^us communities always maintained thep THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BGYNB, 13 ground, and even now the old borough has a sort of monastic character shared by few in Ireland, and by none north of itself. Though stripped of the wealth and power they once enjoyed, and thrown for support on the charity and piety of the townspeople, the Franciscans, the Dominicans, and the Augustinians still haunted the vicinity of their ancient Abbeys in and around the borough, assisting the secular clergy in ministering to the spiritual wants of the people, and in return for the shelter and protection afforded them, within the strong old town, and the pious offerings of the faith- ful which supplied their humble wants, " the friars" gave their benison to the place, and whilst edifying the people by their simple and useful lives and the practice of all virtue, they perpetuated amongst them tli.it spirit of piety, and (hose genuine Catholic in- stincts which made Drogheda the good old Catholic town that we have described it. Amongst such a people, and in such a place, it may well be supposed that old social customs, too, would survive the lapse of time, in defiance of modern in- novation. Such is really the case, and, perhaps, with the single exception of Gal way, no other city or town in Ireland retains so many of the old-time cus- toms, or so much of the good old cheerful spirit in which they had their origin. With some of these peculiarities the reader will make acquaintance in the course of our simple story, to which we must now address ourselves, having sufficiently (as we hope) 16 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. indicated the manner of place where its scene ia Laid. Some fifty years ago thero stood (and may still, for aught we know) on the steep shoie of the Boyne, just over the Bettystown road which vinds close hy the river side, an old gray house whose venerable front was thinly shaded by a few spreading trees? chiefly ash and sycamore, whose growth appeared to have been coeval with the house itself, judging by their brown gnarled branches and the grotesque forms their trunks had assumed in the lapse of years. A long flight of narr >w stone steps led from the low porch with its two rustic benches to the road and the river, by a wicket gate opening on the green margined footpath that skirts "the dusty highway." A some- what dilapidated stone wall ran along the base of the almost precipitous slope in front of the house, and a sort of straggling fence of flowering shrubs ran up the steep ascent in parallel lines on either side the steps. Here and there from amid the sparse herbage rose a stunted white-thorn, a prickly furze, or a laurel — the shining green of the latter contrasting well in sum- mer's brief day with the delicate white blossoms of the one and the rich yellow of the other, and in win- ter giving life to the bleak hill side where only the hardy evergreen could live. The house that crowned the steep was as old and as weather-beaten as house could be, and be inhabited with comfort. It consisted of two stories, surmounted by a high pitched roof of elates, which might, from their appearance, have dated THE OLD nOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. 17 from that very indefinite period " the Wars of Ire- land," yet whole and sound withal, as though neglect, at least, had not aided the work of time in defacing and disfiguring the old fabric. The windows were few high, and narrow, with the quaintest of old archi- traves, and leaden casements with small lozenge-shaped panes that seemed as if meant to exclude as much of the sunlight as possible from the interior of the man- sion — for mansion it was, though not a large one. The hall-door was of dark oak curiously panelled. and, like the windows, deeply set in the massive stone wall. It was a gloomy dwelling, as one would say on a first glance, and yet there was that about it which invited a closer examination, and suggested a certain degree of curiosity as to who might be its inmates. People are apt to associate mystery and romance with old houses, Mf only they look like having "a history," and this one did, though the building and all about it had little claim to beauty, and not much to t iste or elegance. Sombre and somewhat stately, it looked, in its dark decay, like what it was, the an- cestral home of a family that had once held high place amonist the old Norman settlers on the Boyne side, impoverished now and of small account amongst tho thriving, money-making burghers of the new age, It is late autumn; the short day is drawing to a close, and the lights are coming out in the town and along the river, the wind is blowing from the sea, and dark masses of clouds are drifting over the firma- ment, whose blue is still seen at intervals far up in the 18 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0YNE. eenith. Dim through the gray light that was fast changing into darkness, might be seen a solitary female figure ascending the steps to our old house, with the quick elastic foot of youth, her figure wrapped in a gray cloak, the hood of which was thrown over her head and drawn closely around her face. Reaching the door, she paused a moment, as though arranging something in her mind, then raised her hand to the grim black knocker representing a grotesque human face, and knocked as one who should be speedily admit- ted, smiling at some quaint conceit as the sound re- verberated in hollow echoes through the old man- sion. " Thank God !" said, in a subdued voice, the old woman, who, with candle in hand, came to the door. " Thank God you're come back safe, Miss Rose I Dear me ! if there isn't the candle gone out !" " Safe ! why should I not come back safe ? What did you suppose was going lo happen to me?" " Oh ! then, it's hard to say, Miss, hard to say ! it's ill walkin' at nightfall out of doors, and Baltray is a wild place, at the best. But wait a minute, Miss, till I go and light the candle." A merry laugh was the lady's answer as she tripped along the flagged hall, and opened a door at the fur- ther end, from which a warm cheerful glow streamed out for a moment on the dark walls. " The Lord save us !" muttered old Nancy, as she groped her way through a smaller passage branching (?ff from the hall to the rear portion of the building, THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNB. 19 * long as I'm in the place, I never can get over tha fear of it. An' to see Miss Rose there, how little sli9 minds it. Dark an' light, night an' day, all's one to her !" The room that Rose Ackland entered was a sort of parlor, large, though not lofty, and scantly, but com- fortably furnished ; the furniture being of that anti- quated style which might be expected in such a place, some of it showing but too plainly the many, many years it had been in use. There was no carpet on the dark oaken floor, with the exception of a piece some eight or ten feet square in front of the wide, grateless fireplace, in which some logs of wood were burning on brazen dogs, shedding that ruddy glow over the nearer parts of the old room which painters love to catch in their home-pictures. There was no other light in the room. Two persons sat by the fire; one a gentleman advanced in years, the other a lady many years younger, yet no longer young, whose pale, subdued features looked wan in the firelight, yet fair and sweet withal. Her eyes were on her knitting, but not her thoughts, and every mome t the shadow was growing deeper on her brow, when Rose's entrance dispelled the cloud and drew an ex- clamation of pleasure even from the silent old man whose look had been moodily fixed on the flickering blaze before him. A large, portly looking cat which had been dozing in luxurious ease on the arm of hia chair roused herself, too, and bounded from her perch to welcome the new arrival. 20 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " How long you staid, Rose !" said the elder lady re* proachfully ; " we began to fear that something must be wronsr, and I could se ircely persuade your grand- papa from going to .meet you. Indeed, my child, you ought to be more careful !" " Careful, Aunt Lydia ! careful of what ?" said Rose^ as, having kissed her grandfather, and laid aside her' cloak and bonnet, she sat down by her matronly aunt, and stooped to fondle the dignified tabby who was rubbing against her skirts, pairing her welcome home. " Why, careful of your life, — of your health, my dear, — not to speak of propriety/' " No nerd to speak of propriety, I should hope, my sage aunt !" and Rose's dark eyes twinkled mirth, fully. "They are all very proper people ac Baltray- and I hope you consider me both proper and sedate.' She tried hard to look sedate, at which her aunt smiled, and tapped her cheek, whilst her grandfather laughed, a low, quiet laugh peculiar to himself. " You may as well let her alone, Lydia ; you see she grows wilder and more wilful as she grows older. But what news from Baltray, Rosey ? How did you find old Mabel ?" " Much better in body, grandpa, but sorely troubled in mind." " Indeed ? why, what's the matter with her ?" " Anything wrong with Barney ?" ''• No, aunt, Barney is doing very well, indeed. But you will laugh when you hear the cause of Mabel's THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 21 trouble. She has "been dreaming of late about us here, anil is quite sure that something is going to happen. She bid me tell you, aunt, in particular, that she heard the Banshee keening every night for the last three—-" "Non-ense, Rosey !" said Miss Ackland, lowering her voice with an anxious look at her father, who was somswhat deaf, "how can you rattle on so ? — I won- der at you to repeat such silly stuff." " Well, but, aunt! she told me to tell you, and Ira sure I didn't think it was any harm. And she gave me another message for you, 1 ' she added, pouting, " but I suppose I must not tell it." The aunt smiled, a shade of something like curios- ity appearing on her calm face. " You may as well finish when once you began, only speak lower. What was Mabel's other message for me ?" " That last nig'it, as she lay between sleeping and waking, one that you used to know came and stood beside her bed, and a smile on his face for all the world as if he was alive and well." " Child, child, what have you been saying?" cried the old man, pointing to his daughter, and Rose, turn- ing quickly, saw that her aunt had fallen back in her chair pale and trembling. Rose, in great trepidation, began to apologize, but her aunt, recovering her com- posure, rose with a forced smile, and saying it was al- most time for tea, kissed the rosy cheek of the won- dering girl, and left the room. In vain did Rose look to her grandfather for explanation ; he had fallen 22 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE 30YNE. into one of his musing fits, and seemed wholly uncon« scions of her presence. There was a comical look of bewilderment on Rose's face, as she stood gazing on the door by which her aunt had retreated. "Mes- sage, indeed!' said she, half aloud, "well, I'm sure Mabel may deliver her own messages for me, for the time to come ! But, deai me ! who'd have thought that my stately Aunt Lydia should be so overoome by the. 'silly stuff' she blamed poor me for repeating! Well ! miracles will never cease !" When the little family met at tea half an hour later, there was not a trace of emotion on Miss Ack- land's lace ; a shade paler than her wont she might have been, but her manner was just the same as usual, calm, self-possessed, and what some might consider, cold — the very opposite of Rose's bright, gushing, superabundant vivacity. Rose, with her black eyes round, full, sparkling, her rosy cheeks, and wavy brown hair, her rounded girlish figure, somewhat in- clining to the " plump,'' and the careless buoyancy of spirit which defied all rules of conventional manner- ism, was the very personification of life's blithe spring- time, whilst her aunt, tall, shapely, dignified, though rather handsome not particularly so, and sad-browed withal, was like autumn, — early autumn, — her smile, when she did smile, bright and cheering as the sun that lights? October woods and makes a glory of their gorgeous beauty. As for the old gentleman, the father of one and the grandfather of the other, ha seemed to have reached that, perhaps, enviable stage THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BQYNE. 23 of existence when life's cares are but half felt, and life's pleasures but half enjoyed — the dimness of age was settling down on his senses, and although his face, once strikingly handsome, still retained traces of superior intelligence, and his tall figure had lost but little of its original height, Mr. Ackland looked the old man he was, with the weight of threescore years and ten bowing down his once stalwart frame. His long hair, " sil ver'd o'er with age," and parted in the middle, hung down on either side his head, giving to his strongly-marked Norman features that venerable aspect so becoming in age. Beside the old gentle- man, on a high chair that had probably been Rose's when a baby, and regularly set at table for the pur- pose, sat Tib the cat, watching demurely the progress of the meal of which she always had her due appor- tionment, for Mr. Ackland would by no means trust the feeding of his favorite to old Nancy, who was known to regard her with no friendly feelings, for reasons known to herself, and not altogether unknown to others. There was comfort within the quiet dwelling, and around the plain but neatly-served tea-table of the Acklands. The room which served them as a gen- eral salle-a-mangcr, was smaller than the one in which we first saw them, with an ol d -fish i one d grate and a coal fire in the fireplace, and directly opposite an arched recess, in which stood a heavy mahogany side- board, as old apparently as itself. Red moreen cur- tains were drawn down over the one window of the 24 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. room, shutting out the dark night and thetcwling winds that were abroad on land and water. " How snug it is in here, ' said Rose, glancing around with that sense of comfort which belongs of right and by force of contrast to the winter evening, " but it is a wild night on sea, and I fear we shall hear of shipwrecks to-morrow. Do you know, aunt, I have never got over the fear of high wind since the night of the great storm." " I wonder you remember it so well, Rosey," said her aunt, speaking with apparent effort, for some sad memory seemed uppermost in her mind at the mo- ment ; "you were but a little child at the time ; it was the year before your poor mamma's death." " Oh ! don't I remember it for all that ? Indeed I do!" " What do you remember, Rose ?' inquired Mr. Ackland, who had caught but the one word. Unlike most deaf persons he never laised his voice in speak- ing; his tones were, if anything, lower and more subdued than in former years, before that first symp- tom of advancing age had come upon him. " What did you say yon remembered ?" "The night of the great storm, granlpapa, a ni^ht like this always makes me think of it." "Ah! that was an awful night," said the old man dreamily, as though endeavoring to recall the time and the scene ; " yes, I, too, remember it well. But" — and his eye shone with something of its former fi» e, u tremendous as the storm was our Fair Trader THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 25 weathered it. Wasn't it great of the little captain and his saucy craft lo keep afloat in such weather, when the sea was covered with wrecks, and the noblest ships that sailed the channel went down head foremost ? ha ! and she the only Drogheda vessel out that night ! eh, Lydia ?" " It was certainly something to boast ot, papa," 6aid Miss Ackland, pleased to see her father's interest excited, and desirous of keeping it up. "I dont wonder that the merchants of Drogheda presented Captain B with such a substantial testimonial in token of their admiration." " / was one of the first to move in getting it up," said Mr. Ackland, and he drew himself up with the harmless vanity of an old man. "So I have often heard, papa, and, indeed, I remem- ber it well myself. The Trader was popular before, but it was that night that made her reputation and that of her active, spirited little captain, of whom I have heard you speak many a time." Nancy now r appeared to " remove the tea-things," m answer to Miss Ackland's ring, and Rose could not help laughing at the scowling look she cast on the cat, and the mattered comments on her being allowed at the table all as one as a Christian, which she knew could not reach " the master's" ears. " God grant he mayn't be sorry for it when it's too J&te ! ' said she, half to the ladies, half to herself, as she rriade her exit with the tea-tray, after darting another angry look at the unconscious object of ber singulai aversion. CHAPTER n. The old house was somewhat dull at times for Rose Ackland's liking ; not but what she was happy — happy in the love and gentle companionship of hei aunt, and the doting fondness of her grandfather whose darling she was, as may well be supposed ; moreover, she had never known a gayer life than that she led with them, and she knew no reason, therefore, why she should desire a change. She w T as happy, too, in the regular routine of her daily life, and in its unbroken peace forgot its dullness and monotony. Hers was not a nature wherein there lie depths un- seen of mortal eye, depths which, like the pool of Bethesda, await their time to be troubled, stirred into good or evil ; bright, cheerful, transparent, she was born to make joy around her, and to be made glad and joyous ; gloom and discontent were alike unknown to her, and care she had never known, so could not realize. Brought up by her aunt in the sweet and soothing regularity of a Christian life, surrounded only by the good and the refined, she had never seen the dark side of life, or of human nature, and passion she knew not even by name. Yet bright, calm, and peace* THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 27 fill as her life was, and little as she knew of the world without, there were times, as we have said, when the gloom and the silence of the old house chilled her buoyant spirit, and she started at the echo of her own footfall, through the tenantless rooms and along the narrow, dimly-lighted corridors, that ran around the winding staircase ascending from the centre of the hall to the topmost story. When of an evening her aunt lapsed into thoughtful silence, as often happened, and her grandpapa dozed in his arm-chair, Rose would have recourse for a while to her piano, but she socn tired of playing when no one listened, and then she was fain to go t^o the kitchen, and have a chat with old Nancy, who having been in the family since long, long before she was born, knew all about her mother, and the good old days when Mr. Ackland was Mayor of Droghada, and his house " great for company. 1 ' In the altered circumstances of the family, Nancy was the only one that j^mained of a goodly retinue of ser- vants, and although the old woman never lost sight of what the Acklands had been, and never presumed, to any great extent, on her long and faithful service, still it was natural that she should feel herself, and be treated by the family, as something more than an ordinary domestic. That old kitchen of Nancy's, though large and stone-floored, was the cleanest and cheeriest of kitch- ens, a very picture of domestic comfort, and so Rose thought when, leaving her grandfather and aunt at their chess or backgammon, she stole off to the kitchen^ 28 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. and took a chair placed by Nancy near the fire, that bleak winter's night after her visit to Baltray. , She was scarcely seated when the cat made her appear- ance, and took her station in the chimney corner op- posite, not, however, without an energetic protest oa the part of Nancy, who could with difficulty be per- suaded to let her remain there. 11 She's as wise as any Christian," said she, " the Lord forgive me for evenin' a Christian to a cat — but, sure, it's no wonder," and she lowered her voico to a whisper, " it's the devil's own wit she has, the Lord save us !" " Why, Nancy," cried Rose with her merry laugh, " how hard you are upon poor Tab ! What in the world makes you hate her so ?" "Oh! I'll tell you that another time — when she's not to the fore. It isn't safe talkin about the likes of her an' them listenin.' You were down at B iltray, Miss Rosey — what way is Mabel ?" " Prelty well — for her, you know — but fretting her- self to death on account of a dream she had." " A drame !" cried Nancy, much excited ; she was given to dreaming herself; " ah then, what was the drame about!" " Well, that is more than / can tell you ; she bid me tell Aunt Lydia that she had dreamed of some- body she used to know, and the best of it was, that as soon as I told my aunt, thinking, to be sure, that sho would laugh at the old creature's sending her such a message, she got as pale as death, and cama THE OLD £103 SB BY THE BOYXB. 2l> near fainting, I believe. I declare she frightened me almost out of my wits." "Was it a man or a woman she seen in the drame— that's Mabel, I mane ?" " A man, for I noticed she said ' he: But, my good- ness ! what of that ? I'm sure /dream about all sorts of things, and people, too, and it never troubles me in the least." Ah! Go I help your wit, poor child!" said Nancy in a very serious tone, shaking her head the while, '• it's little you know about trouble in drames or out o' them. Your time's to come yit, — astore, it's all be- fore you." "What's before me?" said Rose, turning quickly, her curiosity somewhat excited by the old woman's manner still more than her words. "What do you mean, Nancy?" " I mane, dear, that when you have lived as long, an' come through as much as your aunt, — but God forbid you'd ever do that !" she muttered in an under tone— "you d maybe be as feard of the drames that come by night as she is now. 1 ' " As she is ?'' cried Rose, much surprised ; " why, you don't mean to speak so of my aunt, do you? Ha3 she had so much trouble in her life ? I know all about grandpapa's losses in trade, and all that, and how my poor papa and mamma died within a year of each other. I have often heard my aunt speak of those things, but in a quiet, gentle way,— I never saw lier so overcome as she was to-night when I gave her 30 THE OLD HOUSE BY Till: BOYNE. Mabel's message. What can it mean ?" Ami a shade of thought, ail unusual, flitted over the bright girlish face. She was silent a moment, so was Nancy, but when Rose at last lifted her eyes to the old woman standing by her side, she was struck by the look of conscious intelligence that was in her keen gray eyes. " Nancy !" she said, laying hold of her arm, " you know it all— you can tell me. I ne\/ er thought of that. You have known my aunt so long!" "Ah' God's blessiir be about her, sure I seen her a weeny little thing not so high as the table ! Ay !'* she added, as if to herself, "I knew her when she was as merry as a kid, an' as happy as the day was long. An' no wonder she would — ah ! no wonder. Well! it's a quare world, anyhow! — och ! didn't I know them all — all — didn't I know kitty too, — an : many's the bright silver crown he gave me! Oh sure, sure, it was a pity they didn't come together, for there never was a couple better matched, a 1' so every one said !" "But you talk of him, Nancy ? Now, I want to know who lie was, and all about him. Tell me — there's a good Nancy." Nancy could never resist the young lady s coaxing — no, never, and she made up her mind to tell her all she knew herself of Miss Ackland's early life ; with that intention, she squatted beside her on the floor in that attitude so familiar to an old Irishwoman of her class when she sets herself for a. shanachus, her hands clasped tightly round her knees. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 31 " Miss Rose," she began, " your aunt wasn't always the same as you see her now. Well ! now, only look at that cat," dropping her voice very low, " see how she watches me; I'll engage, now, she umlherstand* every word I'm sayinV " Oh, dear me, Nancy, don't- mind the cat — do g. m .Lr; ■ 32 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. was to happen in the long run ! Tall an' Landsoma he was, too, with his beautiful head of light-coloi ed hair, an' a light complexion, too, an' the purtiest smile you ever seen on a man's face. An' the voice he had — why, you'd love to hear him talkin', Miss Rose, even if you didn't know him, at all. Well! well! it's a quare way things goes on in this wicked world, when the likes of him 'id be trated in the way he was." " What way was he treated, Nancy ? Or who was he, at all ?" " That's what I'm goin' to tell you, Miss Rose, if you'll only have patience." " What are you going to tell her, Nancy ?" Both started, and looked round in blank dismay ; it was Miss Ackland w T ho spoke, and the icy coldness of her tone, and the stony x severity of her look some- how reminded Rose, disconcerted as she was, of the handsome, fair-haired, dashing cavalier to whose praises she had been so eagerly listening, and made her sympathize with that unknown individual in the " treatment" he might possibly have received. Nancy was on her feet in a moment, but somehow she for- got to answer the question put to her. Miss Ackland looked from one to the other, and she smiled a bitter, inward smile, all unlike her own. Then she laid her hand kindly on her niece's head— • " Rose, my dear, go to your grandpapa, he is rather low in spirits to-night, so try and make him laugh, as I know you can." THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE 33 " Yes, A j at Lydia !" and Rose tripped away, taking Tab in her arms. It was not till the parlor door was heard closing after admitting her niece, that Miss Ackland spoke to Nancy; then she said — u Nancy, what were you tell- ing Miss Rose, just now ?" " Nothing at all only — only — now, don't look at me that way, Miss Ackland, and Til tell you the truth. The dear child wanted to know who it was that Mabel had been dramin' about, that her message troubled you so much " " Troubled me so much ? — Nancy, you forget your- self!" " Well ! I didn't mane to say that, Miss Ackland, but now that it's out, let it go. I'm sure its no wondher it would trouble you to hear of him that's " " Nancy, I have one thing to tell you, oi?ce for all," interrupted Miss Ackland more sternly than her old domestic had ever heard her speak — "I do not wish you to speak to Mis> Rose of — of," her lip trembled, and her voice faltered — " of the person you allude to. When I deem it proper that she should know the sad story of my life, I will tell her myself. To hear it now would only throw a cloud over her young life, without serving any good purpose. Some day I may tell her all, but not now — oh ! not now— and, remember, Nancy' what I say to you— never breathe a word of anything relating to him — to me— 34 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. in those long-past days. But, tell me, how much doet she know ?" " Nothing, Miss, nothing worth speaking of — only that there was such a person." " Not his name ?" " No, Miss Ackland ; nothing at all only what I tell you." " It is well; see that it continue so." The lady then went on to speak of some house- hold matters on which she had come to consult Nancy, and no further allusion was made to the for- bidden topic. When Miss Ackland left the kitchen, the old woman stood a moment looking after her, then shook her head, and muttered to herself — " That's the world all over ! — Out o' sight, out o' mind !" Simple, soft-hearted old Nancy ! much you knew about it ! Miss Ackland thought it a strange coincidence that for the first time in years long her father had that evening reverted to the same perio 1 of her life which had been the subject of Nancy's gossip. The stranger it was, too, because it was tacitly avoided by both father and daughter in their most private and confi dential intercourse. The allusion w T as slight and casual, it is true, but even so it had stirred the depths of a lonely and widowed heart. " Oh, Ralph !" she murmured, as on her way back from the kitchen she passed the parlor door, and turned into a dark room adjoining, the window of which in daylight com- manded a view of the river's course down to Mom THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 33 Ington, and a glimpse of the more distant sea — " oh, Ralph ! Ralph Melville ' why does your memory haunt me still ? cruel ! you pursue me even from th'3 grave ! — The grave !" and she shuddered, — as leaning against the side of the deep recess of the window she looked out on the gloomy night, and the troubled waters far below, revealed ever and anon by the forked lightning's lurid glare, — 'The grave! ah! my poor Ralph ! not even the mournful comfort is mine to know that you sleep in hallowed earth ! Bnt why, why can I not forget the dismal past? Why does that mournful voice echo forever in my heart — why is ever before my eyes that last, sad, reproachful lo >k ? — Oh my God ! why can I not forget ?" She was aroused from her painful reverie by the blithe cheery voice of Rose singing in the parlor a song, that her grandfather loved — : ' The Canadian R >at-Song." Silently Lydia listened, the tears stream- ing down her cheeks. It was Ids song, the first she had heard him sing, and the scene rose vividly before her, so vividly that all the long lapse of years, the weariness, the pain that lay between was forgotten, that happy eve ing was back again, and the sea for the while gave up its dead to live and love as of old, in the prime of youth and health. Suddenly a dull heavy sound reached Lydia's ear, amid the roar of winds and the surging of waters, It was the signal gun of some ship in distress, — out Bt sea, but near the coast Forgetting the life-long sorrows whi-h a moment before had absorbed her 36 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. every thought and feeling, Miss Ackland started a\ the* ominous sound, and opening the window, leaned out ; again, over the increasing storm, boomed forth the signal gun, nearer and more distinct than before, awaking the sullen echoes of rock and river, and roll- ing by on the wintry blast. Hastily closing the win- dow, Miss Ackland hurried to the parlor, at the door of which she was met by Rose pale and trembling. The old man, too, had left his seat, and stood in a listening attitude, a troubled, anxious look on his aged countenance. "Oh! Aunt ydia, where can it be?'' cried Rose, grasping her aunt's arm. Mr. Ackland looked the same question. " I fear, papa, it is bearing down on the rocks near Clogher." " Clogher, did you say, Lydia ? — Now, God forbid P "It is somewhere near there, I very much fear, papa !" " Oh ! grandpapa, there it is again, that awful sound ! nearer, nearer still !" " Can nothing be done, papa ?" said Miss Ackland anxiously. " God knows, child, God knows. Get me my hat, Rosey, I mu?t have a look at the night, and the lie of that vessel.'' The hat and cloak were brought, and Mr. Ackland! sallied forth, followed by all his " womankind," for Nancy, too, had heard the signals of distress, and, ter- rified, rose from her prayers by the fiieside to join THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 37 the family group on the esplanade in front of the house. Shot after shot was now booming through the air in quick succession, denoting the increasing peril of the mariners. " Well, papa ?" inquired Miss Ackland, when they had all stood a moment silent whilst the old man's practised eye scanned the dismal scene. " You were right, Lydia, the sound comes from the direction of Clogher, and wo betide any vessel that is driving before the wind to-night off that rocky ridge, for the gale is a fierce northeaster." " But, papa, don't you think some boats will put off to try and save the crew ?" " I much fear that no boat could live to-night in such a sea as that which sweeps round the Head. Still, they're a hardy set of fellows those Clogher fish- ermen, and I'm sure they'll do it, if men can." " God grant it !" was the fervent prayer of all the hearts in that group of anxious watchers. " If they could only make the Tower,* now, and get over the bar/' said Mr. Ackland, ' the Raltray men wouldn't have such a sea to bre >st, and they might save some lives God bless us all, it's a fearful night ! Many a stout craft will go down in the storm, if it be not the mercy of God ! See the fiery glare that shines through the darkness out on the deep ! Lydia ! do you still hear the gun ? My old ears are so dull of hearing!" * Maiden Tower, which stands on the beach at Mornington, Dear the month of the Boyne. 58 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Yes, there it is again — but the intervals are longer — perhaps — perhaps efforts are being made to save the crew !" " Ah ' my child, I fear little can be done — but let us go in," added the old man sadly, " we can do no- thing, anyhow !" " We can pray, papa, and that will still be some- thing." " Indeed," said Rose, " I have been praying ever since we came out, and so has Nancy." It was true enough, for the latter was telling her beads with great devotion. So the little family adjourned to the lighted parlor, and they all knelt to supplicate Mary the Star of the Sea to assist all distressed mariners that night, and more especially those who were in danger of perishing, almost within their sight. " If it be not Thy holy will that they should be saved, O Lord '." prayed Miss Ackland with bowed head and clasped hands, " have mercy, at least, on their poor souls, and prepare them for eternity Long they all knelt and prayed, while the storm raged without, but in vain they listened for the signal-gun ; it reached their ears no more. Next morning the family were all astir early ; the storm had subsided, and the pale wintry sun was ris- ing from the blue sea-wave in the golden east. Not slow was the news in reaching the old house on the hill. A foreign merchantman had gone to pieces on the rocks near Clogher Head. And the crew? what of them?" THE OLD HOUSE BY ThE BOYNE. 39 11 Most of them were saved, partly by the efforts of the Clogher fishermen, partly by swimming, and clambering up the rocks." " Thank God for that, anyhow !" said old Nancy with pious fervor, as she hastened with the welcome tidings to the room where the family were just sit- ting down to breakfast. Rose clapped her hands joyfully. " Oh dear ! I'm so glad ! I thought they were all drowned, and that would have been such a pity ! — oh ! I'm sure the Blessed Virgin heard our prayers ! I know she di I 1" "What is that. Lylia?' in j lira I Mr. Ackland , " any news from the coast ?" " Yes, papa," Miss Ackland said, in that slightly elevi.ted tone which her father's infirmity required, " the ship went to pieces on the rocks this side of Clogher Head, but nearly all the crew were saved." "Thank (Jo- 1 , child, thank God ! there is nothing bad, they say, but mi rht be worse. I shall walk into town by and by to try and find out what became of the poor fellows." "Ami I think, papa, if you 11 send us out a car, Rose and I will drive down to Chgher and see how matters are there. I am most anxious to know all about the shipwreck, and see if anything is being done for those of her crew who were saved." "Very well, my dear, I will send Connor"— (the car-driver usually employed by the family). A little while after, the tall thin form of old George Ack T an 1 — 40 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE EOYXE. familiar enough to the good people of Drogheda — might be seen walking, gold-beaded canj in hand, through Lawrence's Gate, and down Lawrence, street and Shop street, on bis way to the office of an old friend and former partner on the Quay, where he ex- pected to get the desired information. Long before he reached his destination, he knew all that was known in Drogheda, for every one he passed in the streets was talking of the wreck of the good ship San Pietro of Leghorn, near Clogber Head, that the crew were all saved except a few, and that the captain was already in town making arrangements for the temporary accommodation of his men. Some of the townspeople had been already to the scene of the disaster, bringing with them ample supplies of every- thing necessary for the immediate relief of the sur- vivors. When Mr. Ackland returned home to his three o'clock dinner, he was met in the hall by his grand- daughter, all a-glow with life and health, and brim- ful of intelligence. " God bless the child !" was the old man's inward ejaculation as the cheering vision burst on his age-dimmed eyes. " Well, Rosey, my pet, what news have you for me ? What of the San Pietro .?" " Oh ! grandpapa, we saw all the poor sailors. Al most every house in Clogber has some of them for tht present, but you know what poor accommodations they have for anybody there." "I know, my child, but they will not be long left THE OLD HOUSE BY TUli BO\'N£. 11 Lo the Clogher people's care; I believe they will be brought into town this afternoon." By this time the old gentleman had laid aside, with Rose's assistance, his overcoat, hat, and stick, and had ensconced himself snugly in his arm-chair in front of the parlor fire. Rose drew a tabouret and placed herself at his side. " Grandpapa,-" said she, " do you know there was one passenger on board the San Pietro ?" '• Yes ? — A supercargo, I suppose, or some friend of the captain?" "No, grandpapa, the sailors didn't know anything about him ; but he is a gentleman, that's certain, by his appearance — Aunt Lydia said she was sure he was." "Well, and what then?' " Why nothing, grandpapa, only Aunt Lydia said she couldn't think of leaving him in such a place, and he quite ill, too, so she got Tom Madigan to put a bed m a cart and take him up here." " Oli ! that's how it is, is it ? So your aunt has brought him home?" " Yes, papa," said Miss Ackland, who now entered to announce dinner, "I knew you would not object to my doing so, and I know when you see the poor young man you will be glad I did. He was quite insensible when I found him in MadigaiLS cottage, and might have died there soon for want of proper care." The old man's lip quivered, and a tear moistened his eyelids — " Humph, that's so like you, Lydia, you 12 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. never calculate cost or trouble >vLen an) one requires your assistance. No, my daughter, I do not object to what you have done, so long as you are willing to undertake this new responsibility. Come, let us go \o ilinner." Kind, benevolent old man, type of patri- archal age, and of all the broad sympathy with his jlaA which marks the true gentleman. Rich -was George Ackland in the midst of that poverty to which honor and honesty had voluntarily consigned him. Rich in the esteem and respect of the com- munity in which he lived and of which he had once been a leading and prominent member. He belonged to an old Protestant family, but had become a Catho- lic a little before his mai riage with the daughter of another old Norman family, the Chesters, then and now occupying a high position amongst the Catholic gentry of Louth. Like most converts to the faith Mr. Ackland was a practical, zealous Catholic, illus trating faithfully in his life the beautiful precepts of the religion he had embraced, and whilst looked up to by Catholics with proud affection, commanded even from Protestants the respect due to an honorable and high-minded gentleman, never so high amongst them as since the repeated failures of large mercan- tile houses with whom he was connected had involved his affair? in irretrievable ruin. Such was old Georga Ackland. CHAPTER III. Two weeks had passed before the young stranger w is pronounced out of danger, and another week be- fore he was permitted to leave his bed. His life had been in imminent danger from concussion of the brain, the eftect of his having been dashed by a wave against a jutting fragment of rock on the night of the shipwreck. His perilous position on the ledge where he was thrown had been fortunately discovered by one of the sailors in time to rescue h:m before the re- turning wave should carry him to certain death. During his illness, he bad been assiduously tended by Miss Ackland and old Nancy, the former, especially, spending great part of her time in the sick-room. The most perfect quiet being declared necessary for the patient's recovery, neither Mr. Ackland nor Rose was admitted to the room until after the object of the family's charitable care had been pronounced out of danger, and was sitting up. It had been a source of some anxiety to Miss Ackland how she was to com municate with her patient when once his reason began to return ; she had naturally supposed that he could speak no English, and her kn— 1 'dge of foreign Ian s 44 TUB OLb t*„.$E BY TUh BOYNE. guages was unluckily limited to French. Her plea- sure, then, was equal to her surprise when, in the lelirium which supervened on the lethargic stupor of the first twenty-four or thirty hours, the disjointed sentences that reached her ears from his parched lips were as often English as Italian — though sometimes i mixture of both. Her mind once made easy on Oiat score, she devoted herself with renewed assiduity to the duties of her self-imposed charge, and looked hopefully forward to the satisfaction of seeing her cares rewarded by the perfect recovery of her inter- esting patient, for such he really was. As for the young stranger himself, his first return to consciousness was like that of a person awaking from a dream. Near a window within sight of wheie he lay sat Miss Ackland knitting, her graceful head bent forward, and her delicate profile clearly marked against the dark wall beyond. The sweet face was already familiar to him, for all through that long feverish dream, he had seen it by his bed, and bend- ing over him with loving kindness like that of a pitying angel, or a fond mother, as he murmured now softly to himself. From the lady's face, the young man's eyes wandered round the room; it was old and dark, at least so it seemed to him in the subdued light which struggled through the half-closed win- dow. A few pictures, religious pictures, he could see, hung on the walls, and opposite the foot of hig bed, a crucifix, under which was a holy- water font. The sight of these familiar objects drew tears often- t THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0YNS. 45 der remembrance from the young man's eyes, and raised bis heart for a moment to the Divine Tower who had, he felt, preserved him from a great danger though as yet he knew not how. A cursory glance at the furniture of the room, old and plain and well worn, revealed to him clearly the fact that the dwell- ing was not the abode of wealth or luxury, though it •as evidently was, of religion and charity. So he lay musing a little while, unwilling to disturb the deli- cious languor that follows the departure of pain, and mirks the first stage of convalescence. He turned his eyes again on the lady at the window, wondering who and what she might be, and watched as in a pleasant tranquil dream, the motion of her fingers, and the glinting of the needles in the dim light. From the present his thoughts wandered to the past, and in die hah" conscious state of his mind, he could fancy that he saw again the mother who was no longer amongst the living, siting by her window in that far-off sou hern city by the blue waters of the Mediterranean. At last the lady rose, laid down her knitting and approached his bed, softly, noiselessly; the spell was broken, but the reality was still pleasant, and romantic enough to excite interest and curiosity in a youthful mind. Great and very agreeable was Miss Ackland's sur- prise when on bending, as usual, over her patient, she saw him fully awake, the light of reason shining in his eyes, and in the faint smile that brightened the wan, wasted features. (6 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Thank God !" was Miss Ackland's first fervent ejaculation. " God and you, lady !'' the youth rephed in his faint low accents. "I owe you much — very, very much gratitude. It seems as though I had been long asleep and dreaming. But pray tell me where I am 9" " You are in Drogheda, or, at least, very near it, and we of this house 1 ' — she paused, then smiling added — " we are honest people, I assure you. You left the brigands behind you in Italy So rest con- tent for the present, and in due time you shall know all. I must go now and get you some little nourish- ment. The fever being gone, we must try and build vou up again." The little delicacies which Miss Ackland wished to prepare for her patient, were not so easily pro- cured as one might expect. The item of expense was one of the points on which Nancy and her mis- tress oftenest disagreed. She thought Miss Ackland too generous by half, considering the altered circum- stances of the family, and it was her practice to re- mind her on all manner of occasions that " charity begins at home." The old woman had grumbled audi- bly enough at the bringing of the young stranger to the house. " That's always the way with Miss Ack- land — she never thinks of the expense. Now here'll be docthor's bills to be paid, an' other expenses to the back o' that, an' I suppose it must all come out of the poor masthers pocket, an' God he knows, there's too ti;e old house by the boyne. 47 much to c mxe out . "it already. Well! some people 'ill Dever be wise I ' To do Nancy justice, however, she soon began to take an interest in the poor young stranger, and waa quite willing to sit up with him in her turn, no mat ter how hard she had worked all day. Anything that depended on herself to do for him, or that did not imply expense to the family, was all right in Nancy's estimation, but when most inclined to pity the young gentleman '• lyin 1 on 4 the broad of his ' back in a strange country, far away from his own," she still never went to the length of approving of Miss Ackland's "layin out money in handfuls on one who wasn't a drop's blood to her or hers, — an 1 sure what matter, if they could only afford it?" On the present occasion, however, Nancy was so rejoiced to hear of the change for the better in their patient, that she made no very strenuous objection to the wine- whey which her mistress came to prepare, con- soling herself with the comfortable assurance that the worst was over, and the tax on the family resour- ces would, in all probability, soon cease. During the few days that elapsed before the young stranger was allowed to leave his bed, he was left oftener alone, the necessity for constant attendance no longer existing. Mr. Ackland was now a regular visitor to the sick-room, and although Rose had not yet been permitted formally to make his acquaintance, he was not unaware that such a person belonged to the household Through the half-open door he had 18 THE oL^ ..J., i. bT THE BOYNE. sometimes caught glimpses of a female figure which he knew was not that of his kind lady-nurse ; he had heard, too, the distant sound of a clear voice trolling some merry lay as only youth's lightsome heart can, and once when he lay " between waking and sleep- ing," thinking of nothing in particular, but listening dreamily to the winds that whistled shiiliy round the old mansion, the room-door w r as softly opened, ana a bright, girlish face appeared for a moment regarding him with a look half arch, half inquisitive lie had barely time to look his surprise when the face van- ished, and the door closed, much to his chagrin, for he began to feel the e final of convalescence, and to long for some other society than that of the grave and thoughtful Miss Ackland, and her venerable parent. Some days after, when he was up and sitting in an arm-chair near the fire which was now every day made in his room, he was roused from a fit of abstrac- tion by the stealthy opening of the door, and a sup- pressed giggling laugh outside, followed by the en- trance into the room of a large cat oddly enough attired in an old woman's deep- bordered cap with a ruffle round her neck, the rest of her goodly bulk in the dress which nature gave her. The ludicrous sight, all the more so from the dignified gravity with which the animal stopped short and surveyed him from under her strange head -gear, made the youth burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, the first he had had since he left Leghorn. His merriment was evidently shared by some one outside, and he THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 49 was tempted to try his strength in a journey to the door, when a face was thrust in very different from that which he expected to see. It was, in fact, that of old Nancy, his assistant-nurse, and evidently in no good humor was she ihen, as, callijig the cat to her, she darted out of the room, without so much as look' ing in his direction. In the passage outside he heard her voice in no gentle tone calling after some One. "Ah, then, wait till I catch you, Miss Rosey ! — if I don't be up to you for puttin' my cap an' frill on that unlucky cat ! Ay ! you may laugh, but it's no laugh- in' matther to me, for a stitch o' them things 'ill never go on me. As sure as I'm a livin' woman I'll tell your aunt ! now !" It was only when the voice had died away in the distance that the young man ventured to laugh at the droll scene, the first part of which had evidently been intended for his special amusement, while Nancy's inopportune appearance, he shrewdly suspected, was not purely accidental, her anger at the base use to which her finery was applied, being decidedly the best part of the entertainment. One thing he had learned from old Nancy's vehement objurgation, to wit, that the young lady's name was Rosey — " Miss Rosey she called her," he said to himself, and he kept repeat- ing the name over and over as a sort of vocal link between him and the world outside the quaint, yet snug chamber which was, for the present, virtually his prison. A sort of indirect acquaintance had thus sprung up between the two young people that was 50 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNB. undoubtedly very piquant and pleasing to one pep haps to both ; for it was something new to Rosa Ackland to have one of her own age, of either sex, to play off her pranks on, or to share in her almost childish amusements. Still, when a few days after, Giacomo, as Miss Ack- land and her father had learned to call the young stranger, made his first appearance in the parlor, a little before the usual hour for the family dinner Kose, introduced by her aunt, curtsied as demurely as though she had never made him laugh, or laughed with him. Giacomo, of course, followed her example, and bowed politely as to a person then met for the first time. " My niece has had little experience in tending the sick," observed Miss Ackland, " and, being none of the most sedate, I kept her away from you, Giacomo, fearing her intrusion might seriously interfere with the doctor's orders regarding quiet. I believe you have not made her acquaintance before ?" Giacomo replied in the negative, — Rose must have her word, too : " No, Aunt Lydia, he didu't make my acquaintance, but he made Tab's." "How is that, child?" " Why, she paid him a visit the other day en grange toilette I — ask Nancy if she didn't." The old woman was in the room, at the moment, putting fresh wood on the fire. She shook her head, nnd then her fist, at her young mistress, but declined further answer, and left the room laughing; Nancy's THE OLD riOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 51 anger was never of long duration, least of all with 11 Miss Rosey." That sprightly damsel, now called on for an ex- planation, gave it right willingly, to the no small amusement of her grandpapa, for whose benefit it was told over again. Such trifles amuse youth and age,- — the young and the very old ! Miss Ackland smiled, — she seldom laughed — and gently rebuked her niece for such childish folly. " Yet, after all," she added, in a low voice, when Rose's back was turned, u yet, after all, Giacomo, I like to see young people enjoying themselves in their own way, and I am often thankful to see how well our Rose manages to amuse herself even in this lonely old house of ours, with no other society than that of her old grandpapa and her elderly maiden aunt." " Elderly !" the youth could not help repeating, as he caught the arch smile that flitted over the fair fea- tures of the speaker. "Yes, eldeily," she replied, catching his meaning, and she gently shook her head, " elderly, there's no denying. But there is papa moving bis chair towards you. Talk to him while I go and see if dinner is ready. Be sure you raise your voice a little — a very little will do — so that he can hear you. I suppose you are aware that dear papa's hearing is not so good as it has been ?" Giacomo replied in the affirmative, and Miss Ackland left the room. Now Mr. Ackland was by no means inquisitive, he seldom or never manifested any of that curiosity in 62 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. the affairs of others which is supposed to be charao* t eristic of old people. But it was very natural, and. indeed, very prudent that he should wish to know something of the connections and antecedents of the youth whom circumstances had thus introduced inti the small circle which was his world. In the course of a ten minutes' conversation he had learned quite sufficient of the young man's position in life and his uneventful history to satisfy him that he might safely extend to him the rites of hospitality so long as his health required. It was not so much the nature or extent of Giacomo's revelations concerning himself or his family that satisfied the old gentleman's natural anxiety, as the frank ingenuousness of his manner, the honest truthfulness stamped on his features, dark and Italiandike as they were. It was impossible not to feel that truth and all sincerity looked from his eyes, and spoke in his voice ; and Mr. Ackland feeling and believing it, shook hands cordially with Giacomo, and hoped he would continue to make his house his home go long as he found it necessary to remain in Drog- heda. Giacomo's thanks were interrupted by the entrance of Rose to summon h«r grandfather and their guest to dinner. The young Italian, mindful of the duties of politeness, stepped forward to offer his arm to the young lady, but she darted off like a lapwing shaking her saucy curls, and laughing, as she afterwards told Giacomo, at the thought of him offering his arm to her, and he soarcely able to walk himself. " I am THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 55 sure," said she, " you look more like needing support than I do." Before the little party sat down to dinner, Mr. Ackland, with the formal politeness of his day and generation, introduced their guest to his daugh- ter and granddaughter as Signor Giacomo Malvili, of Leghorn, Italy. " No— no, not Signor, Mr. Ackland !" protested Giacomo ; u nobody ever called me ' Signor' at home — only Giacomo." "Well ! well! my dear boy, so be it. Pray, take your seat, and let us see how far you have recovered your appetite." The dinner over, and the weather being fine for the season, Mr. Ackland invited his guest to sit with him in the porch, where, on one or other of the stone benches, with a cushion under him, he was wont to spend, even at that season, the hour immediately after dinner, — in summer longer time, for the place com- manded a noble view of river, sea, and land — the sil- very Boyne below, and the rich plains of Meath be- yond, dotted with the straggling suburbs of the borough and many private dwellings, the ancient and venerable town stretching westward, its forts, and walls, and church towers, and broken arches and steeples full in sight. " This must be all new and strange to you," ob- served Mr. Ackland. " Everything you see here is go different from your own country." " New it is, but not strange," said the youth, cast- 54 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNfc. ing his eyes half listlessly, half curiously over the Tflr ried scene, fair to look upon even in the bleakness of winter. " I have so often heard of Drogheda, and had its peculiarities described to me, that it seems as though I had long known it. I have heard my father say that it is very different from most Irish or British towns of the present day P' " And that is true, Giacomo, ours is in many re- spects an interesting town, which I hope you will find out before you leave us." The youth bowed his thanks. " But you spoke of your father — he has often visited Drogheda, then, since he knows it so well ?" A cloud passed over the young man's face. " Yes, I believe so," he replied somewhat coldly, then ab- ruptly asked if Mr. Ackland knew whether the Cap- tain of the San Pietro had yet returned to Italy. The captain, a rough but kind-hearted sailor, had been once or twice to see Giacomo during his illness, and the latter had, as Mr. Ackland knew, given him money for the relief of his distressed crew ; he him- self having some trading connections in Drogheda, was like Giacomo himself, the guest of a private family. " He told me when I last saw him that a few of the Drogheda merchants had subscribed enough amongst themselves to defray the expenses of his crew back to Leghorn, and that he would likely go home at the same time." " I believe he is gone," said Mr. Ackland ; " I heard THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 55 in town yesterday, that he and his crew were to sail to-day in the Lady Hamilton." " I am sorry I did not see him," said Giacomo, " perhaps I might have been able to go with him, and I know my lather will be so anxious — however, I gave the captain a few lines for him, telling him that I am almost well now, and exceedingly well cared for, so that he need not fear on my account." " But, tell me, Giacomo," said Mr. Ackland, " how is it that you speak English so well, you being bora and brought up in Leghorn. You have only the very slightest foreign accent !" " Oh ! that is nothing strange. I have been speak- ing English all my life. Your language is a good deal spoken in Leghorn, as in some other ports on our western coast. Pray, Mr. Ackland, in what direction from here are those rocks which proved fatal to the San Pietro ?" Mr. Ackland pointed in the direction of Clogher. " There they lie," said he, l - a portion of the mighty barrier which guards our Utile island from the sea's incursions. You cannot see them, howsver, but the place is well worthy of a visit, and the ladies shall take you down some day when you are well enough, to see the bold promontory which there juts far into the Irish Sea." " And the cave, grandpapa." said Rose from the doorway behind, " he must see the cave, you know, above all things, and we shall have him go down into it, just to try his nerves." 56 THE OLD HOUSE B? THE BOYNE. "You are very kind, Miss Rose," said Giacomo, giavely; "only wait till I have full command of my feet again, and you shall see that my nerves will not fail me." " Don't be too sure of that, Signor," for so Rose persisted in calling him, "wait till you ha?e clam- bered down over the side-face of Clogher Head into the cave." " What sort of cave may it be ?" " Oh ! as for that, you must wait till you see it. I can't take the trouble of describing it. But it's a pirate's cave, you understand, where those sea-rovers used to hide their booty long ago. The sailors and fishermen about here tell all manner of strange, and some of them frightful, stories about it. It is easy seen that you are a stranger here, or you'd be sure to have heard of the Pirate's Cave at Clogher." " You have quite excited my curiosity, Miss Rose. I must visit the cave, by all means, before I leave the aeighborhood." " Oh ! we have more than that to show you about Drogheda. Have we not, grandpapa ?" " What did you say, Rosey ?" " I was telling the Signor, grandpapa, about the Pirate's Cave at Clogher, and I asked you if we hadn't many other places of interest to show him as well as that." ' Of course we have, Rosey, and I must speak to your aunt about taking Giacomo to see our Drogheda lions as soon as he is able." THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 67 " Oh ! that reminds me, grandpapa," said the vola- tile Ros&, taking hold of his arm, "Aunt Lydia thinks it is time for you and the Signor to come in. It is al- most dark, you see, and the evening is damp and chill. " It is well you thought of your message even now, you little chattering magpie," said the fond parent, stroking her hair with his large hand, as he rose, and, motioning his guest to go before, proceeded along the hall to that " room of the household," a sort of back-parlor, where most of his in-door hours were spent. The contrast between the warm, cheerful room within, and the cold, hazy twilight without, was very pleasant, and as Giacomo took the place pointed out to him at one side of the fireplace, while Mr. Ackland occupied the other in his arm-chair, he looked around with an exquisite feeling of comfort almost unknown before. Fireside enjoyments are little known in sunny Italy. After tea, Mr. Ackland proposed a game of chess ; Giacomo did not play chess ; backgammon, then, or draughts ? No, but he would like to learn, if any one were kind enough to take the trouble of teach- ing him. Whether intentionally or not, he looked at Rose, but Rose answering the look said very curtly — "Not I, anyhow; I hate chess, draughts, back- gammon and the whole tribe of ' games ;' they are all so prosy and so tiresome. I wonder at you, Sig- nor, to think of learning such old-fashioned games at your time of life. Pray, how old are you, Signoi GUcomo ?" 58 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Some months over twenty," said Giacomo, smiling at the odd brusquerie of the girl's manner. *' I shall soon be twenty-one." " Dear me ! how old you are ! Why, I thought you were no older than I am ! — well, after all, I wish / was twenty !" "My dear Rose," said her aunt, " how you do rat- tle on ! Suppose you were twenty, it is very possible you might wish yourself back at rosy eighteen, or younger still. Go bring the backgammon-box ; since you will not undertake to teach Giacomo, I will." " Very well, then, I'll play ball with pussy," pro ducing a woollen ball she had made for the purpose. " Signor Giacomo, are you fond of cats ?" "Not very," and Giacomo tried to maintain his gravity; "I see you have a very fine specimen of the tribe here," glancing at Tab where she sat on the arm of the old gentleman's chair. " I only wish you could convince old Nancy of that. Do you know she has got a notion into her head that our poor old Tab is an enchanted Dane, or something of the kind?" " An enchanted Dane ! how would she make that out?" " Oh ! I forgot that you weren't brought up in this country. You have read, though, of how the Danes used to invade Ireland every once in a while, and stay in it, in full possession, as long as the kings and chiefa would let them ?" Giacomo assented. " Well I it's a common belief in many parts of the THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 59 country — that is amongst the peasantry, and so forth— that there are Danish treasures hidden away in eve/ so many places, and guarded by magic spells." " Is it possible that such things are believed in Ireland ?" " Possible ! yes, indeed, it is, very possible and very true, and, moreover, certain of the cats are supposed to be enchanted Danes. Oh ! here comes Nancy— you shall hear her opinion of Tab. Now, pray at- tend." Then raising her voice she went on — " You must know, Signor, that Nancy believes our Tab to be an enchanted Dane." " An' worse than that, Miss Rosey," said the old woman, laying down some wood on the hearth. " Indeed, Nancy, and pray what worse can she be?" asked Giacomo, at a sign from Rose. " Well ! that's what I wouldn't care to tell you, sir. and herself to the fore. Some other time," and she was moving away. " No, no, Nancy, that won't do — tell it now !" cried Rose, " I'll soon put Tab out of hearing !" and she hastened to put the cat, poor harmless creature, out- side the door. "How is this, Rosey? what are you about ?" asked her grandpapa, surprised at this unceremonious treat- ment of his favorite. Rose explained the matter to his satisfaction, and he closed his eyes for a comfortable nap during Nancy's recital. He always closed his ears against her malicious insinuations in regard to Tabby. 60 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. So Nancy crouching beside Miss Rose in her fa< vorite attitude, with her elbow resting on one knee, and her chin on her hand, began to tell how " a stu- dent was travelling in foreign parts, in Jarmany or somewhere there, an' bein' benighted in a forest, he wandhered on ever till at last he came to a fine grand house, an' when he rang the bell, an' tould his story, they recaved him kindly, an' made him welcome to stay over night, an' take share of the best they had. How, when supper-time came, he was brought to table with the rest, and the first thing he seen was a great big cat, sittin' in a chair beside the fine dacent ould gentleman that was in it, the father of the family. Well, the student watched the cat, all the time the supper was going on, and saw that her master gave her the first of everything he put on his plate, and that if he forgot it any time, she would slap his arm with her paw, and grind her teeth, her eyes blazin' like live coals. So the student asked how long the cat had been in the house, and why the ould gentle- man had made such a pet of her, and was told that she was there in his father's and grandfather's time, and was just as great a pet with every one of them. With that the student told them that it wasn't a cat, at all, that was in it, but an evil sperit, and that if they'd give him leave he'd prove it to them that very uight. Well, to be sure, the ould gentleman, in par- ticular, was very angry that such a thing should be Baid of his cat, and the student had hard work to get him persuaded ; but at last he bid him look at the THE OLD H5USE BY THE BOTNE. 61 eat, and, sure enough, she was ragin' mad, and looked as if she would tear the stranger to pieces, gettin' closer and closer to the ould gentleman. So, at long last, he gave in, and the student made them bring some holy water, an' took the ould gentleman an 1 the rest of the family with him in a round ring he made with it on the floor, and then he pulled out his book and began a-readin', an' after he had read a good while, till the sweat was runnin' down his face, the thing — for, of coorse, it wasn't a cat — went off in a flame of fire, an' took part of the side-wall with it. How the student told them then that it was an evil sperit that had haunted the house for ever so many years, and that he got the souls of the father and grandfather, and would have had the grandson, too, Tf God hadn't sent him that way with power to de- liver him. And, finally, how the ould gentleman and his family didn't know what on earth to make of the student, they were so thankful, but they couldn't get him to stay past the one night, and he left them in the mornin 1 , after givin' them all his blessin', an 1 tellin' them they'd never be troubled any more with the evil sperit." " So now," added Nancy, " you may all see that it isn't a lucky thing to be makin' so much of a brute baste— it's against nature, so it is, an' God grant the master may never be sorry for doin' it! But the quality must see their hobby out, let it be what it may." A becoming degree of horror was expressed by Giacomo, much to Nancy's satisfaction, and she was 62 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. leaving the room in a state of comfortable compla cency, when Rose, having slily opened the door, and brought in the cat from the hall where she found her as if waiting for re-admission, managed to get in the rear of Nancy, and placed Tab on the old woman's back, with her paws round her neck. Little expecting such a salute, Nancy screamed, try- ing in vain to shake off the cat, whose claws stuck fast in her woollen kerchief, and it was not till Miss Ackland came to her assistance that she succeeded in her desperate efforts to release herself from the strange embrace ; Rose had made her escape laugh- ing, and poor Nancy was left under the impression that the cat had come back purposely to hear the story, and had thus shown her anger for the liberty taken with the feline race. CHAPTER IV. November was drawing to a close by the time Gin- como was able to walk abroad, and although he natu- rally felt anxious to return home, and was, moreover, conscious that he had trespassed too long on the kind hospitality of his new friends, he found it no so easy matter to get away. In the first place, the weather was not favorable, as he was duly and fre- quently informed by Mr. Ackland or his daughter, in a tone of mock condolence that was sufficiently amusing. As for Rose, she did not appear to trouble herself much about the matter. In the next place, he was constantly reminded that he had, as yet, seen nothing of the old borough, its people, or its ways, and see it he must and should. So said Miss Ackland, in her gentle but decided way, and Giacomo was fain to obey. " Well," said Mr. Ackland one morning at break- fast, " now that our young friend has consented to remain with us over Christmas, and see the sights, what is your programme for the exhibition, Lydia ?" " For the churches, papa, and other objects of reli- gious interest I mean to place Giacomo in the hands 64 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. of Jemmy Nulty, who undoubtedly belongs, himself to the same category." " Very true, Lydia, very true ; and what then ?" "Oh! as for the rest we shall ourselves do the honors — that is Rose and I." " You are really very good, Aunt Lydia," pouted Rose, " you do me a great deal of honor, but I don't think I should make a good ciccrona." " And why, pray ?" " Why, because I hate playing the guide, that's all, and I know that if I went with you, I should have to do most of the talking." " Dear me, Rose," said her aunt with a smile, " when did you begin to dislike talking ? Still, I don't wonder, for, I suppose, even tongues will tire, and you have been chattering so much of late that yours must need a little rest." The individual selected by Miss Ackland as Gia- como's guide to the churches was a character not to be met with outside of Ireland, perhaps, we might 6ay, outside of Drogheda. He was by profession a pilgrim, which, in the Irish acceptation, means a lay person, whether man or woman, who devotes his or iter life to worKS of piety, including, of course, fre* quent "journeys" to Lough Derg and other famous pilgrimages. Some of these " pilgrims" are not sin- cere in their professions of extraordinary piety, but such was not the case with Jemmy Nulty, for Jemmy was " an Israelite, indeed, in whom there was no guile," and, although the simplicity of the dove was THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYJ E. 65 his, not a particle had he of the cunning of the ser- pent. A man full of faith and full of charity was our Drogheda "pilgrim," believing ail things that reli- gion teaches, and thinking no evil of man, woman, or child ; to Jemmy Nulty all the world presented itself through the silver veil of charity, and, knowing no evil in himself, he could not see it in others, or, see- ing, beheld it afar off as in a mirror, something dim and undefined to his simple, upright mind. For the rest, Jemmy had no very great temptation to make a trade of hypocrisy, for he and a brother, as pious and unworldly as himself, who lived with him, and was, we believe, his only relative, were the joint owners of a small cottage in the suburbs " out West Gate," with some other resources, which, though tri- fling in themselves, were amply sufficient for the few wants of this primitive pair. A little before the time of which we speak, Jemmy had become the sole proprietor of the little domicile, the mortal part of his brother Phil having gone to rest in the shadow of the old Dominican Abbey in The Cord " out Law- rence's Gate ;" his spirit being taken to heaven by the blessed angels, as certain of the neighbors had seen " with their own eyes" one clear summer night, when the moon was high, and the winds were asleep, and the river and the sea, and the slumbering earth reflected the beauty and the light of heaven. All that was earthly in Jemmy Nulty's heart died out with Phil's gentle life, and ever after the old man lived more with the blessed inhabitants of the weld 66 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. beyond the stars than his fellow-mortals on earth. All that he loved here below were the good friars who ministered at the altars of the chapels he most frequented, and " the dear nuns," that is to say, the Sisters of the Presentation and Dominican Orders, who greatly favored the old man by supplying him with scapulars and other relis^us objects, not only for his own private and personal use, but to distri- bute to the piously-disposed friends and patrons by whom he was lodged and kindly entertained during his pilgrimages hither and thither.* The few fami- lies in his native town who were habitually visited by Jemmy regarded themselves as highly honored, and the Acklands were so fortunate as to be of the number. Such, in his general character, was Jemmy Nulty, when he came at Miss Ackland's bidding one morn- jig a day or two after the conversation just men- tioned. But the distinctive individuality of the man struck our young Italian with surprise when he walked with only a " God save all here !" into the front parlor where, as being the most cheerful room on the ground-floor, such of the family as were in- doors usually spent their mornings. Jemmy's attire was a long dark-colored surtout, not much the worse *Amongst the most pleasing recollections of the author's Childish days was the summer-visit of this identical " pilgrim," on his way to " Lough Dhar-rog," as he was wont to pronounce Lough Derg. Few visitors were so warmly welcomed by young or old in that " old house at home/' THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 67 for wear, but hanging loosely about his tall, and some* what heavy frame, for Jemmy was a man of large proportions ; this garment, with a long waistcoat, or vest to match, knee-breeches, also of a dark color, worsted stockings, and the national " brogues' 1 of the Irish peasantry, constituted Jemmy's apparel all the year round, Sunday and holiday, w r inter and sum- mer. The happy smile that was on his face was pe- culiar to himself; it was the light from within shin- ing out on features that, wanting it, would have been stolid and unmeaning. Jemmy was smiling, then, and Giacomo thought it was only for the occasion, but he soon found that the smile never left the good man's face, being, indeed, its habitual expression. " God save all here !" said Jemmy, opening the parlor-door, and Miss Ackland responded with the fitting " God save you kindly, Jemmy !" as naturally as though she had been born and bred amongst the lowly. With perfect ease and self-possession, the old man saluted Mr. Ackland, raising his voice to just the pitch that was adapted to his hearing. " I met Miss Hose abroad in the garden, as I came in the back way," said Jemmy; " the dear young lady is as fresh as a rose this mornin'." "Yes, Jemmy, she spends good part of her time out doors." said Miss Ackland. "I am glad you came so early, Jemmy, for I want you very particu- larly." " Ah, then, I'd have been here sooner, Miss," said Jemmy, " only that I happened to meet Father Dardi* §8 THE OLD HOUSE BT THE BOYNE. jist as I came out Lawrence's Gate, and the deai gen» tleman asked me to go before him to a house where he was goin' on a sick-call, to see that things were a little bit dacent for what he was bringin' with him. So, of coorse, I had to go." " Of course, Jemmy, of course ; but now I must tell you why I sent for you. This young gentleman whom you see here is an Italian, and a Catholic — a good one, too, Jemmy, — and as he has seen none of the chapels (except the High Lane where he has been at Mass once or twice with us) I want you to take him round them all, and be sure you show him everything about them and the convents that is worth seeing." " Oh ! indeed, an' I'll do that, Miss," and Jemmy turned his benign smile on Giacomo ; " it was only yesterday that a fisherman from Clogher below was tellin' me in the priest's house at the Low Lane all about the dear young gentleman, an' what a power o' money he gave the Madigans an' the rest when he went down with you an' Miss Rose the other day to see them. He has goodness in his face whoever he is. Dear knows, Miss, but he puts me in mind of the fine gentleman that came with you an' your sister-in- law that's dead an' gone — the heavens be her bed ! — that was Miss Rose's mother — to see me one time when I was sick." Miss Ackland changed color, as she replied in a tremulous voice — " You entirely mistake, Jemmy, the gentleman you mean was tall, with light hair, and this THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. f?9 young gentleman is much smaller, and of dark com- plexion." " Well ! I suppose it's on my eyes it is ; they're not so good as they used to be. I'm gettin' old t thanks an' praise be to God for the line long day He's givin' me." Jemmy had a way of speaking that was entirely his own ; with his eyes half closed, he let the words flow, as it were, from his mouth, with a sort of hissing sound, in the full, rich round accents of the Louth peasantry, generally with great rapidity, sometimes with great unction and fervor, his hands the while lightly joined, not clasped, over his capacious chest, which was, indeed, his habitual attitude, whether sit- ting, or standing. '• Will the dear young gentleman come now, or jvouM he rayther wait for another day ?" said Jemmy, standing up. "Oh! certainly, I will go to-day," said Giacomo; "I couldn't think of troubling vou to come asrain on my account." " Oh ! my dear, it's no trouble in lii'e to me — sure, it's proud nnd happy I an to show the chapels an' things, for the glory of God an' His ble.;sed Mother, an' all the holy Saints." " Jemmy," said Mr. Ackland, whilst Giacomo was gone to prepare for going out, " what about that neigh- bor of yours whose cow broke into your little garden and eat your cabbages? I hope yen are going to pro?ecu 4 e him ?" TO THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Is it me, your honor ?" said Jemmy, and for a moment the smile left his face, so great was his dis- may at the bare idea of " going to law" — " is it me take the law of the poor dear man bekase his cow broke into the little garden I have ! — No, dear sir, I wouldn't do it if she ate every green leaf that was in it. Sure it wasn't the dear man's fault, any way.'' " But they say it was his fault, Jemmy, for that you asked him once or twice to repair the fence between his yard and your garden, and the lazy, worthless fellow couldn't be got to do it. Come, now, Jemmy, did you, or did you not ask him to repair the fence ?" Jemmy was fairly cornered, but his charity was not to be overcome. " Och ! well, I suppose I did, for the poor thing used to be comin' in very often, you see, lookin' for the bit to ate, but sure he hadn't time, Mr. Ackland, if he had he'd have done it, I'll go bail. He has to work hard, sir, to keep so many mouths fed. Well ! I'll be biddin' you good mornin', Mr. Ackland, an' you, too, dear lady," turning to Miss Ackland, who had listened much amused to Jemmy's ingenious defence of the neighbor and his trespass- ing cow. As Giaoomo and his guide emerged from the hall- door, they beheld Rose in shawl and bonnet tripping down the steps before them. " What a strange girl she is," thought the young Italian, " can she mean to go with us after all ?" But she meant no such thing; having reached the gate below she stopped a moment, turned, and smU THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYXE. 71 ing waved her hand, then turned off down the Boyne road, in the opposite direction to that which the others were to take, and was quickly lost to view. " I wish she had come,"' was the young man's next thought; : after all, I fear it will be dull work this visiting ohe churches — or chapels as they call them — with this good man for all company. 1 ' It was not so dull as Giacomo expected, for Jem- my Nulty grew eloquent when expatiating on any- thing appertaining to religion or religious worship, and although the chapels of Droghedawere not then what other ages had seen there, being plain, and, for the most part, little indebted to art for style or beauty, yet to Jemmy's enthusiastic imagination they were worthy of all praise, and where no grace or beauty was visible to other eyes, he saw, and glow- ingly described it. They visited in turn the Francis- can Chapel in the High Lane, off St. Lawrence street, the Augustinian Chapel in the Low Lane, off Shop street, and the Dominican Chapd in a court adjoin- ing Linenhall street. Giacomo, accustomed to the richly adorned churches of Italy, saw little to admire in these, but he could not bear to say so to his simple- hearted guide, who having never seen finer, or so tine anywhere else, could hardly realize that finer were to be seen even in foreign parts, " barrin" it might be in Iioome." The parish chapel in West street, being larger, impressed Giacomo more, and he said — "This is a nice little church.' : " You mane chapel" said Jemmy, with unwonted 72 THE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOTNE. eagerness, " it's the Prodestatits that has the churches,— it's chapels we call ours. Don't say ' church,' dear, nekase that's a Prodestant word, you see." Corrected, but not instructed, Giacomo smiled as he turned to take a look at the pictures, and then, kneeling a moment before the altar where Jemmy was bowing down in rapt devotion, the young man thanked God for that blessed unity of faith by which the Catholic sees everywhere through life the same objects of pious veneration, the same sacred images of saints and martyrs, of the Virgin Mother and her Divine Child, and the pictured story of the sublime tragedy of man's redemption which earliest fixed his gaze, and stamped the mysteries of faith on his infant mind. Softened even to tears, he bowed his head in lowly reverence before a picture of the Divine Mother, and breathed a prayer for the soul of the earthly mo- ther who had taught him to love that heavenly queen. " Now, dear," said Jemmy, when, leaving the parish chapel, they turned up Peter street, avts quiv'ring o'er my head, Like man, unquiet e\n when dead ! These, ay ! these shall wean My soul from life's deluding scene, And turn each ihoujjht, o'ercharged with gloom, Like willows, downward towards the tomb. * How much Moore admired ihis fine air may be judged from the fact of his having written two songs to it, one of which, that mentioned in the text, is of Sir John Stepln nson's arrangement; the other, "Alone in crowds I wander on," may be; found in the supplement to the Irish Melodies arrang d by Sir H-nry Bishop. Gerald Griffin has immortalized it by his beautiful song " Mj Mary of the curling hair !" THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 79 1 As Lhey who to their couch at night Would win repose, first quench the light, So must the hopes that keep ihis breast Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. Cold, cold this h* art must grow, Unmoved by either joy or woe, Like fr. ezing loun s, where all that's thrown Within ihfir cum nt, turns to stone." It seemed as though the petrifying process referred to iti the last stanza had been going in Miss Ack- land's exterior, at least, while she sang, for by the tune she had finished the song, her face was pale and rigid as that of a marble statue, and nor tear nor smile gave token of inward emotion as she passed in silence to her seat. A spell seemed even to have fallen on her hearers, the spell of human sympathy, evoked by the saddest, sweetest sounds that Giacomo at least, had ever heard. Mr. Ackland leaned back in his chair, one hand shading his eyes, and so he long remained, his mind wandering, doubtless, in the dim regions of the past where the dead do dwell. It was Rose who fitst broke the silence, which she did with a mock sigh that was anything but sympathetic. " Dear me! Aunt Lydia, what a doleful song that was ! I protest I feel as though I were like Niobe turning into stone. How do you feel, Signor?" The question was so ludicrous that it made every one smile, and then, the gloomy spell broken, sun- shine came again, and, to make sure of it, Rose said, " I'll sing a song myself. What shall it be, grandpa ? — oh! I know just what will suit!" And, without leav- 80 TI1E OLD HOUSE B LOiKE. mg her seat, she trolled her merry lay — it was "Lift Jet us cherish," then deservedly popular in Drogheda society. " Why are we f nd of l.uil and care 1 — Why choose the rankling thorn to wear, And heedless by the lily stray That blossoms in > nr way 1" repeated Hose, after singing the song ; " now that is w r hat I call sensible, and I mean to practice it all my lifelong! What say you, Signor ? Do you believe in people making mopes of themselves because they come upon some dark days in life, or meet with somo disappointment ?" Giacomo did not answer ; he looked at Miss Ack- land, and saw that, although she tried to force a smile, the effort cost her more than she would wish to have noticed. '• Hose, my dear," said she, in a voice as firm as she could make it, " I sincerely hope that your philoso- phy may never be put to any very hard ordeal. Happy are they who Itave no 'rankling thorn to wear.' But, papa, you forget the story you were to tell u^" " The story I meant to tell, my dear, will only in- terest our young friend here ; it is not new to you or Rose," " Oh ! no matter for that, grandpapa," cried Rose, eagerly, " I do love to hear you te.l a story, whether I heard it before or not." " Well ! Giacomo," said the old gentleman, " the story I am about to tell you is a true story, and oc« TIIE OLD HOUSE BY TT BOYN*\ SI eurred within my own memory to a family here in Drogheda with whom I was well acquainted." He paused a moment, and a melancholy smile flitted over his face, as memory retraced the scenes he was abotrt ic describe. CHAPTER V. " There is a family here in Drogheda," said Mr. Ackland, " with whom mine lived on very intimate terms in my young days. Their name is Hilton." "Oh! I know now, grandpapa!" cried Rose; her grandfather smiled and went on : " There were sev- eral brothers and sisters of these Hiltons when I was a young man, and as generally happens in such cases, theirs was a pleasant home, and many a happy even- ing I spent amongst them with my poor sister who is long since dead. The Hiltons were then, and what remains of them, are still, Protestants, Episco- palians of the old school, that is to say, as near being Catholics as any who are not Catholics could be, with those genial, old-fashioned ways, which you oftenest find in old Catholic f imilies. They were not to say wealthy, yet had property sufficient to maintain them comfortably, and to some extent elegantly, without embarking in trade, of the fluctuations and vicissi- tudes of which the old gentleman had a hereditary horror, while the younger members were rather dis- posed to look down on commercial pursuits and 'people in business' with that unaccountable con* THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 83 tempt only to be found amongst the ( gentry' of Ire- land and tlie ' lairds' of Scotland." " Yes, to be sure !" said Rose — " ' The Liird o' Cockpen he's proud an' he's great' — but pray go on, grandpapa, I never heard so much about the Hiltons before." " I have said there was a large family of them in those early days of mine, and many of my pleasantest recollections are of boating parties, rural excursions, and social gatherings in winter evenings, for which wo and others were mainly indebted to them, old and young as they were,— for the elders of the family were just as fond of social enjoyment as the youngest amongst us. But time passed on, and the family cir- cle at The Grange (as their place was, and is still, called) began to break up; the young people married and scattered away hither and thither ; two of them died unmarried, and my dear old friends were left in age with only their eldest son, William, who had mar- ried early in life, and when his parents were at length left to the solitude of their then lonely dwelling, brought his wife and three little children to live with them at The Grange. Fortunately, William Hilton and his wife were both of a cheerful and lively dispo- sition, and they so managed matters that the old couple had. to the last, as much social enjoyment as their age permitted ; the house was as pleasant for visitors as ever, and at times the surviving members of the family came together again from their homes, more, or less distant, uivier the old paternal roofi 84 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. But the time came at last when the parent stem was broken; first the father, then, a year or two after, the mother, went to sleep in the old family-vault, and William Hilton was master of The Grange, By this e'ime I had married, and your mother, Lydia, was quite a favorite with Mrs. Hilton, as my poor sister Rhocla had been with her dear old mother-in-law j some fifteen years before. After the death of the oM people, The Grange did seem somewhat lonely, and my wife and I spent as much of our time there as wp could spare from home, where we had two little ones yourself, Lydia, and your brother Alexander, Rose'* father, claiming the mother's attention. But it was not in William's nature, or Susan's either, to be long dull or despondent, and in the course of a year or so the old house began to look like itself again, and the intimate friends of the family began to drop in, as of old, for an evening's entctainment. which was cheer- fully and kindly given ; then others came, until the gloom of death was gradually banished, and the Hil- ton homestead was blithe and happy as ever. It was just then- — when the sunshine had, at length, pre- vailed over the dark clouds of mourning, and the world was again bright for the Hiltons, that a Strang* circumstance occurred, which has made their nam* famous in our old borough." Here the old man stopped to stir up the fire which had been going down somewhat; Giacomo drew a long breath, as one whose attention had been over- ■trained, and all of the little circle, as if by one com- TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 85 mon impulse, drew their seats closer around the hearth. ' : First,' 1 said Mr. Ackland, " let us have some more wood on the fire — Lydia, my dear, be so good as to ring !" Tlie wood was brought, the fire burned cheerily, and the story was resumed. "It was one night in mid- winter that Mrs. Hilton was taken with some sudden illness of an alarming nature: the whole household wa- quickly astir, and James, the man-servant, was sent into town for the family doctor. He had scarcely arrived, and exam- ined his patient, when James was again dispatched for another physician, the most eminent in the town, and all night long the two remained, watching the symptoms of the strange disease, which baffled their skill, and defeated all their efforts to arrest its pro- gress. Towards morning the fatal truth was an- nounced to the afflicted husband, and the four young children were brought to the bedside of their dying mother to receive her blessing and last farewell, The doctors left soon after, having done all that their art could suggest, and all in vain, for as they told Mr. Hilton, death was there, and all the doctors in the world could do nothing for the patient. The gray winter's dawn revealed a mournful scene; the wife and mother had just departed, the voice of mourn- ing filled the house, and the pall of death had fallen again on the so-lately cheerful household of The Grange. A little while after, my wife and I were there, word having been sent us of the sad catastrophe, and never shall I forget the expression of poor Hilton's 86 THE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. face as, meeting us at the door of the death-room, he said — 'She is gone — Susan is dead!' What could I say what could any one say ? So I wrung his hai.d in silence and followed him to the bed where his wife lay — not yet ' laid out.' " Two mournful days, and as many dreary nights passed away, and then Susan Hilton was laid in the family-vault, by the side of her mother-in-law who had die r l little more than a year before. " The evening succeeding the funeral, which had taken place early in the day, Fanny and I went to keep poor William Hilton company in his now lonely dwelling. Cheerful we could not be ourselves, and we did not try to feign what would have been un- natural, and painful to the heart stricken mourner. So after the children were gone to bed, my wife her- self going up to see them comfortably settled for the night, we three sat together by the fireside in the parlor where so many happy hours had been spent, talking of her who was taken so suddenly from our midst— recalling her fine and amiable qualities, and dwelling with mournful tenderness on the loveable traits of her character. Sad at heart we all were to think that we should see her no more on earth. " All at once a ring came to the front-door, and William Hilton started, then said with a ead smile, turnhig to u.; — ' If poor Susan were not dead, I should gay that was her ring.' " Again the bell rang, louder, sharper than before THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 87 and the two female servants rushed into the room pale with terror. " ' Why do you not open the door ?' said their mas- ter in surprise. " ' Th • Lord save us, sir,' cried one of them, ' it's so like the mistress' ring that — that — oh sir, there it is again !' " Mr. Hilton did not take time to chide them for their folly, but rising from his seat, he went himself to open the door ; as if by a mechanical impulse my wife and I followed — the door was opened, into the hall glided a spectral figure, and on into the parlor it passed. We all followed, the servants shrieked, and hid their face — so did my wife — it was Mrs. Hilton in her winding-sheet ! " ' Great God, Susan, is it you ?' said -Mr. Hilton approaching the figure. " ' Yes, William, it is I — oh ! I am cold — cold !' " ' William, are you afraid of me ?' " " The next moment the wife was clasped to her husband's heart, and w T e knew that Susan Hilton was before us, not in the spirit only, but in the flesh ! No time was lost, you may be assured, in putting her to bed, and administering such restoratives as her half- frozen state required. When thoroughly warmed, the poor lady fell into a heavy, unbroken sleep, from which she did not awake till the morning was far ad- vanced. " When Mrs. Hilton opened her eyes, and looked around, her first word was — 'James, where is James? R8 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0TNE. "'Why do you ask, my love?' said Mr. Hilton, ' do you want him ?' " Mrs. Hilton only repeated the question, when it was ascertained that James hid left the house the previous evening, and had not yet returned. Hear- ing this, Mrs. Hilton raised her left hand, and fixed her eyes on the ring linger, on which a fresh wound was plainly discernible, the finger, moreover, being much swollen " ' Then it waswo^ a dream,' said she, and she shud- dered. " ' What do you mean, Susan ?' inquired her hus- band. " ' I was buried then — that is, I was placed in the vault — and James did cut my finger. Tell me how it all happened — was I dead ?' " ' It seemed so, darlmg,' said her husband, in a soothing tone ; we were all alarmed by the wildness of her look. ' Do you not remember taking leave of us all ?' " ' Yes, yes, I remember.' " ' Well ! you died, as we thought, a short time after.' " ' Oh ! I see it all, now, — Almighty God be praised ! I was dead and buried, yet now live and breathe above ground again. Oh William ! oh my friends, help me to thank our merciful God, unworthy as I am of His so great goodness ! But, under God, I owe my es- cape to James !' " ' Why, how is that, Susan ? what can you mean T THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. &'& u * I mean that James saved my life, though quite unintentionally, I have no doubt. I remember now perfectly the sensations I experienced at the moment when I thought myself dying — the mortal terror that, as it were, froze ray blood, and benumbed every faculty of my soul at the thought that I was passing into the dread presence of the Supreme Judge ; the next thing I was conscious of was a deathly coldness through all my frame, as if of a person who had lain all night on the ground in the open air; then I felt that one of my fingers was cut and bleeding, I opened my eyes and looked up ; there was James bending over me, a knife in his hand, his face plainly seen in the light from a dark lanthorn placed on my breast as I lay in the coffin. He was as pale as death, and I could see that his hands trembled. " Oh James !" said I, and immediately he dropped the knife and ran away, fortunately leaving the lanthorn behind him, and the door unlocked, so that I was able to get out, and make my way home. My greatest difficulty was the churchyard gate, which being locked, I was forced to clamber over it; you know it is not high, and be- ing of open iron work, I had sufficient resting-place on either side for my poor frozen feet.' " It was all clear now: Mrs. Hilton had been oniy in a kind of trance when she seemed to be dead ; her marriage ring and a valuable guard-ring had been left on, the finger being too much swollen to remove them, and this circumstance having come to James' knowledge, he possessed himself of the key of the 90 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. vault, and went to secure the prize before decom- position should have set in. Finding that he could not take oft' the rings, the man was jDroceeding to cut off the finger, when the lady recovered from her death-like trance, and the robber of the tomb fled in dismay." " But what became of him ?" asked Giacomo ; " was he ever seen again ?" " Oh ! indeed he was," said Rose, answeiing for her grandfather; "I often heard it told how Mrs. Hilton prevailed on her husband to hunt him out, and settle a small pension on him. For himself he could never forgive the fellow, but Mrs. Hilton would always have it that he was the means of saving her life." " And did the lady live long after ?" " Yes, 1 said Mr. Ackland, " she lived for full four- teen years, and had several children after her wonder- ful resuscitation. Some of her children and grand- children are still living in the old manor-house, though she and her husband have been many, many years tenants of the tomb where she once lay a living corpse for nigh twenty-four hours."* " It is a strange story," said Giacomo thoughtfully, "but I heard another of a somewhat similar kind said to have occurred in Go.'.ogne on the Rhine." <: Yes," said Miss Ackland, " I remember reading the story to which you allude : I believe it is com- * This story is true in all its principal details. The parne of the Ikmily is changed, however, for obvious reasons. TIIE OLP XIOCSE BY THE BOYNE. 91 memo rated by a monument in that city, called the Monument of the Dead- Alive." " Dear me !" exclaimed Rose with a shudder, u what a position to find one's self in on awaking from a trance ! — lying in a coffin in a dismal vault with the dead all around, and in Mrs. Hilton's case, a robber before one in the ungracious act of sawing off one's finger ! Only fancy !— I wonder she didn't lose her senses, or die in reality of pure fright. Ian sure / should !" " You don't know, my dear, you don't know/' said her grandfather, stroking her dark tresses with his hand. " But it grows late, had we not better say our night-prayers, Lydia, and retire ? I know not how you youngsters may feel, but I feel disposed to sleep." Nancy being summoned, the Rosary and other prayers were said, and the little household was soon at rest within, while the snow fell, and wind blew without. Two or three days had passed before the roads were in such condition as to permit the visit to Baltray. Even then the walking was not very good, so Connor was sent for, and one clear bright morning Miss Ackland, Rose, and Giacomo started on their visit to Mabel. They found the old woman cowering over the hearth, alone in the cottage, her son and grandson being out in their boat and her daughter-in- law gone " into town" to dispose of the last " take.' 1 The children, she said, were " about the doors some- where, divartin' themselves." 92 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. "And how do you find yourself to-day, Mabel?' 1 said Miss Ackland stooping over her. "MiddlhV, dear, ni.ddlin' — but better that than worse. How is all with you at the house?" * " Quite well, M.ibe 1 , thank you '." " Is any one with you, Miss Lyddy ?" For the old woman's sight was wearing dim. " Yes, Mabel, Z'm with her," said Rose in her merry girlish way, " and there's somebody else with her, too ! — Guess, now, who it is !' And Rose placed herself between Giacomo and the old woman. "Och! don't I know well enough who it is, Miss Rose, agra ! didn't I tell you to bring the young gentle- man till I'd see him !" Reaching her hand to Miss Ackland to help her up, Mabel raised herself from her crouching position on the hearth, and turned slowly round, fixing her black eyes, still keen and sharp though somewhat dim with age, on the face of the young stranger, who smiled at the earnestness with which she scrutinized him. " It's a good face," said she, turning at length to Miss Ackland, " it's strange to me, though," and she shook her head, then peering again into the young man's face—" there's nothing in it I ever seen before, barrin' the smile, an' I'd know that anywhere, how- ever he came by it. God mark ycu with grace, child !" And with a suddenness which surprised even Miss Ackland and Rose, accustomed as they were to her strange ways, the crone laid her yellow wrinkled hand on Giacomo's head, the while her faiJ- THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B07N3. 93 iiig memory seemed to search in the past for the broken link of some familiar association. " The dark grave and the deep say keeps ever their own,'' she muttered, *5 but there's quare things happens some- times, — an' Him above can do more than that. Still it's all dark — dirk — I never seen him in my drames— I'm glad to see you, young gentleman 1" she added in a louder voice, with the incoherence of a failing mind. "I thank you, good Mabel!" said Giacomo, im- pressed in a way he could not understand, by the old woman's singular manner, her tall figure only slightly stooped. Iter old-fashioned apparel neat and clean, though poor, and the keen intelligence that flashed at times from the eyes that gleamed in the weather-browned face under the red kerchief which formed the woman's h ad-gear. " Why, he snakes English," Mabel said with a start, once more addressing Miss Ackland. The latter ex- plained by saying that the young gentleman had be n early sent to school to learn English, his family, though Italians, being much tngaged in trade with English and Irish seaports. " To be sure, honey, to be sure," said Mabel, turn- ing her eyes again on the young Italian — u it's ai^y Beeo that he's a foreigner, he's so yallow, though cornel) enough., sure ! Well! well! I thought — God help me! I don't know what I thought. Ah! Misa Lyddy, dear an' darlin', I do be thinkin' quare things —quare things, alanna. when I'm sittin' here all alona 94 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. by myself. An' then, when night comes, I see it all over again in my drames. Livin' an' dead are about me then, an' I see everything — r very thing. You wouldn't b'lieve, Miss Lyddy, what things comes nto thi.sould head o' mine when I'm lyin' broad awake even, in the dead o' night. If I'd tell you Ira sure you'd laugh at me — but anyway I couldn't tell you— it's best not. But there — see how forgetful I'm growin' — I hadn't the manners to ax one o' you to sit down." And with instinctive politeness she tried to wipe a seat, a three-legged stool, it was — and push it over to where Miss Ackland stood. Before she could offer another to Rose, Miss Ackland told her not to trouble herself. "I see you have your little black (ea-pot by the fire," she said smiling, " and I know of old you don't like tea that is too long drawing, — so we'll leave you, Mabel, as Connor is waiting outside with the car, and I intend 10 drive our young friend here as far as the Tower. So, you see we have no time to lose, for the days are short, and papa would be anxious, too, if we staid out over lon^." " He would, asthore, he would," said Mabel, fol- lowing them to the door. " But listen hither, Miss Lyddy," and she lowered her voice to a whisper, and bent her head cbse to the lady — " don't go too near the say wid him — don't, now, honey! you don't know what fate might be on him, an', no matther who ha is, there's something in him that one's heart warms to Ah ! God's blessin' be about you," as Miss Ackland THE OLD 30USE BY THE BOJTNE. 95 lingering a moment behind, placed something in her hand, " sure you're always givin 1 me, one way an' an- other. Well ! moro's the pity," she soliloquized, look- ing after her, " more's the pity that she was crossed in°her young days, an' that heavy grief came upon her. An 1 the heavy, heavy grief it was, an' will be, too, till the earth covers her. None but God Him- self can give her comfort now, for all she looks the same as ever !" " Where are we going now, Aunt Lydia ?" Rose asked, when they were again seated on the car, the two ladies one side, Giacomo the other, Connor on his elevated aoat between,—" Did I hear you speak oftheTvwer?" ' Yes, my dear, I am going to show Giacomo one of our sights, so long as we are in the vicinity." A short drive along the river edge brought them to the mouth of the Boyne, and in sight of a tall, square tower of a whitish, or rather a dull yellowish color, standing on the beach, rising lone amid the gray sands and pebbles that fringed the river and the sea. It was a lonely place, voiceless ever, save the sound of the waters and the scream of the curlew ; dreary as solitude could make it, and with no beauty to cheer the eye, except what it borrowed from the sea-wave's glancing sheen, — the landward view was dull and monotonous. Yet the scene, wild and lonely as it was, struck Giacomo with a feeling new and strange. The soMtudeof the place weighed upon his 06 THE OLI HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, senses, and yet the bushed repose of all around bad a soothing effect on his m'nd. " What a wild place !" he said at length ; " is this the Tower we came to see, Miss Ackland ?" " Yes, Giacoma, this is Maiden Tower." " Maiden Tower !' he repeated; " and why is it so tailed?" " The story is too long to tell you now," the lady smiling replied ; " Connor and his horse would have little reason to thank me were I to keep them hero on a December day while I related an old-time legend. Mark the place well, however, and this evening you shall hear what tradition says of the lone tower on the beach. There is a good sea-view from the top, but it is too cold to go up to-day." " But the Lady's Finger, Aunt Lydia," said Rose, laughing, " you forget that," pointing out to Giacomo a sort of obelisk not a third as high as the tower, standing at a little distance landward ; " is not that a delicate finger for a lady to point with ?" " Yours is, at any rate," thought Giacomo, as he marked, perhaps for the first time, the rare beauty of the little outstretched hand. " Does tradition say anything of the Finger, Aunt Lydia? I really forget, but I suppose it does, — and if it does not, we can say it ourselves, for the Lady of the Finger must be the Maiden of the Tower." " It would seem so, Rose," said her aunt, " but I regret to say that tradition is silent with regard to the obelisk. Come, let us go, we shall be late for dinner, THE OT.D QUTJSE BY THE 20YNE. 97 and ycu know your grandpapa dees not like to be kept waiting," None there could read the sorrowful meaning that was in Miss Aeklands look as she cast her eyes around before leaving (he place. She was thinking of a time long years before when in the bright sum- mer-time she had wandered on the beach by Maiden Tower with one who shared her every thought and feeling — one whom she should see never more on earth. Other friends were then around, dear and valued, some of whom were now also with the dead, bat what were they all to that sorrowing heart filled with one beloved image? His deep voice mur- mured in the sea, and whispered in the wind that sighed around the tower. That evening when her father dosed in his arm- chair, and Rose was engaged with a volume of Scott's poetry, Giacomo ventured to remind Miss Ackland of the promised legend. "It is both short and simple," she replit.f, "but sufficient j tinged with the marvellous — and the im- probable," she added smiling — " to keep its hold on the popular imagination. Mind I do not \ -,uch for the truth of what I am going to relate, " ' [ tell ih • ia1 ■ as tuns told o m ■.' The story goes that in very ancient times, probably those of the Crusades, a lady of this vicinity had the grief to see her lover go off to fight in foreign parts, promising, however, to return in a year and a day — the charmed period of old stones It was agreed 98 THE OLD HOUSE RY THE BOYNE. on by this sorrowful pair of lovers that if the knight — for such, it appears, was his dignity — succeeded to his wishes abroad, and' came home safe to his lady* love, he should hoist a white flag when his vessel fceare 1 the Boyne's mouth, but if, on the contrary, any mishap had befallen him, and that the vessel re- turned without him, a black flag, streaming from the mast-heal, should give notice of the sad event. The knight departed on glory bent, and his lady-love, partly to beguile the first months of absence, and to provide a lofty place whence she might watch the more constantly when the time of his return came near, and catch the first sight of his well-known bark, built the tower you saw to-day. The year and a day had just elapsed when a sail, which her heart told her was his, hove in sight on the far horizon ; near rnd more near it came, and already the lone watcher be- gan to anticipate the rapturous joy of the meeting, now so close at hand, when, woe of woes ! her straining eyes beheld the sable ensign of death slowly unfurled , and floating from the mast-head ; the sight was more than she could bear, and she cast herself from the height of her tower into the sea, and perished in sight of her wretched lover, whose shriek of despair echoed far over the waters, and perhaps reached even ner dying ear ; he had only hoisted the black flag to try the strength and sincerity of her affection. S.ich, Giacomo, is the legend of Maiden Tower. Local history, to be sure, gives a different account of its origin, but, you know, I have only to deal with I lie THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 99 more romantic version told by the fishermen of the coast, and the peasantry of the adjoining country. You smile : I see you are somewhat skeptical in such matters." " Perhaps I am," he replied ; " at all events, one cannot help thinking that there must have been some very silly people in those days, of which such wild tales are told. If there never had been damsels foolish enough to throw themselves into the sea in a fit of disappointment, I am sure people would never hav« imagined such things when telling old stories." " Very true," said Miss Ackland, the deep shadow gathering over her fair brow; "but, although we may justly despise the folly, not to say wickedness, of any one professing the Christian faith who would allow passion to run away with their reason, or induce them to shrink as cowards from the stern battle of life, I would not have you think or speak lightly of that love which, under proper control, is capable of producing great results. There is a love, Giacomo, that is stronger than death, and over which time has no power. Oh ! believe me there is!" There was something in Miss Ackland's voice when she said this, that even more than the words themselves made Giacomo start ; he looked at her, but her eyes were fixed on vacancy, and a strange smile, as of exultation, was playing about her parted lips, giving a new and more spiritual expression to her features. All at once the smile vanished, and Miss Ackland looking up perceived that she had been the 100 the olt> house by tttt: botnb. object of Giacomo's keen scrutiny; she colored and with a sort of impatient gesture called Rose to bring over her book and read aloud. " I see papa is just waking up," said she, " but, never mind, read a bttlo louder, so that he may hear you. I know he likes Marmion.' " The poem was new to the young Italian, and its beauties lost nothing by Rose's reading. Her voice was musical and well modulated, and it was like a dream, Giacomo thought, to sit and look on her bright young face, and hear her tell over in sweet linging numbers, that story of cove and chivalry and old ro nance. *^6™f§ CHAPTER VI. Next day brought Giacomo letters from home there was one from his young sister Maddalena, full of the tenilerest affection, and all the exuberant joy of an almost childish heart, at the complete recovery of a beloved brother, with the enthusiastic gratitude of early youth for those already dear, though un- known friends, who had supplied to him in his ut- most need, the place of " the loved ones at home/' The letter was in Italian, but when read in English to M'ss Ackland, that lady failed not to discover, in addition to the amiable feelings already mentioned, a dreamy, pensive character in the writer, very unlike the idea she had formed of Griacomo's sister. Not that the young man was himself either prosy or com- mon-place, and there was in him poetry enough for all purposes of ordinary life, but the poetry lay very far down in his heart, under divers strata of common sense, sound judgment, and other such qualities whereof the lords of creation are wont to take the full merit to themselves. Now with Maddalena it was easy to see that the case was entirely different; she was evidently a creature of feeling and sentiment 102 THE old iiotise by the boyne, and Miss Ackland somehow felt attracted towards her as people seldom are to those whom they have never seen. There was also a letter from his father, which seemed to disconcert the yonng man more than a little. He had only read a fev/ lines when he rose from his feet, and taking the letter to the window, stood there while he finished its perusal. Even then he did not return itnmed 'ately to his seat, and at last Miss Ackland expressed her hope that there was no bal news in the letter. " Well ! I know not whether you may consider it bad news or good," he said, turning with a smile that was not cheerful, " my father insists on my going lome immediately." " Is it possible ? why I thought you were to remain with us over Christmas." " I thought so, too, but it seems my father will not have it so." " Well ! I am really sorry," said Miss Ackland, u but, after all, it is nothing more than might be ex- pected. It is natural, you know, that your father should wish to have you at that festive season — the more so as your poor mother is dead, and only your sister now at home. But, indeed, it is far from' being good ne vs to me — or to any of us, I am sure." Giacomo did not tell Miss Ackland that his father had given him. peremptory orders to return by the very first opportunity that offered, and not to remain one hour longer than he could possibly avoid. His THE OLD HOUSE BY TITE BOTNE. 103 thanks to the Acklands, too, were so cold, so mea- eured, that the young man could not repeat them in the same way, and he felt mortified and distressed to think that his father should show so little grati- tude where so much was due. For himself, though naturally anxious to see his father and sister again, he felt half reluctant to leave a place where a new era of existence had dawned on him — a place that had so many agreeable associations, and where such an indescribable charm hung around every object. Nestling, as it were, in that quiet nook of the busy world, with only a few companions, each interesting in their own degree, and their ways so different from any he had ever seen bef >re, so simple, so natural, so refined, and in one, at least, so piquant, that his so- journ there was more a pleasant dream than one of life's realities. That short period had, he felt, thrown his thoughts into a different channel, and given him hopes and aspirations new and undefined, but none the less sensible. Now that the dream was suddenly broken, and the visions it had brought melting away in the cold vapors of every-day life, he felt how very sweet it had been. With the poet he sadly thought — ■ ' Ii is nil lr.it a dr am at tho b si.'' Ami win ii linjipiest soonest oVr," — but there was no help for it now, and Giacomo Malvili was not the one to indulge in idle or vain re- grets, when life's duties called him hence. He en- deavored to turn his thoughts on home, and look forward with the unmixed joy he used to feel to a 104 TIIE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. return thither after even a short absence ; he thought of the father of whom he was so proud, and of the gentle, graceful sister of whom he was so fond, but, do as he would, with those dear home-images would come the gay, laughing face of Rose, looking arch and mischievous through her brown curls, and the sweet, thoughtful look of Miss Ackland, with her winning smile, and her kind motherly accents, sweet as music to his ear. Mr. Ackland had his full share in Giacomo's regret, and even old Nancy was not for- gotten, for he had won his way to the* old woman's heart, and had latterly bee a admitted 10 the special privilege of a seat at evening by the kitchen fire when it pleased him to stroll in. This was a flattering compliment, as Giacomo was made to feel, for it placed hi n directly on a family footing in the house, and gave him the benefit of Nancy's songs and stories, in common with Rose, who much affected the good woman's company, as before indicated. Even the snug, cozy kitchen, with its bright turf fire and well- swept hearth, had, then, its sh ire of pleasant asso- ciations, and, perhaps, fully as many as the parlor, for reasons which the younger portion of our readers will be at no loss to understand When the family met at dinner, Giacomo's ap~ proaching departure was, of course, the first and most important topic. Miss Ackland looked graver because of it, and her father still more so, but it was no little mortifying to Giacomo's vanity, if vanity he had, to see the careless indifference of Rose, w r ho THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYSS. 10S was, indeed, gayer, if possible, than usual, and seemed little disposed to trouble herself about who went or who stayed, so long as her aunt and grandpapa re- mained, and Nancy and the cat ! That such was the case, she made Giacomo sensible in various ways, and he felt humbled and not a little annoyed by the girl's total indifference. " She has no heart !*' was the thought that fixed itself in his mind, and he came, accordingly, to the wise conclusion that he, too, would be gay, and cheerful, just to let Miss Rose see that he care'd as little about her as she did about him. In the evening, Mr. Acklaad would have Giacomo play backgammo.i with him, " probably," he said, "for the last time." Whilst the men were being ar- ranged on tli ■ board, the old man chatted on. " Gia- como," said he, " what would you think of seeing a blind man play backgammon?" "Well! I cannot say what I would think, Mr. Ackland, — -but. at all events, it is a sight I do not ex- pect to see." "Yet I saw it, Giacomo, and that many a time." G: acorn o's surprise was not greater than that of Miss Ackland. "Why, papa, are you serious?" she asked. " Perfectly serious. Lvdia ! You have often heard me speak of Arthur CVNeil, the blind harper, who sras, in my young days, an occasional visitor at our house?" Of course Miss Ackland had, and she looked much inerested. Rose's curiosity was also excited, and aying down Mary Howitt's Poems 100 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. which she had been reading, she leaned ovei the back of her grandpapa's chair to hear " all about the blind harper," whose fame was not unknown even to her. " All I mean to tell now, Rosey, is not much," said Mr. Ackland, " for the men are arranged, and we must go on with our game." " But do you mean to say, grandpapa, that ONei] could play backgammon and he blind ?" " Yes, my dear, and draughts, too ; # — I have seen my father and he play at backgammon or draughts for hours at a time. " Then he was admitted to the society of gentle- men ?" saitl Giacomo. " Indeed he was, and not by courtesy, but by right, for he was a gentleman himself in every sense of the word, and a most agreeable, entertaining companion, apart from his music. The first houses in the province of Ulster, and as far beyond its limits as he chose to go, were at all times open to him. Amongst his frien Is and patrons was that venerable historian and scholar, Charles O'Connor of Ballinagar. Indeed, the noblest in the land welcomed him to their social board. He was proud of his ancestry, and had the crest of the O'Neils engraved on his silver coat-buttons." "I believe, papa," said Miss Ackland, u O'Neil was * For a particular account of this colebra'ed man, see Hunt ins's valuable work on the Ancient Music of Ireland. THE OLD HOUSE DY THE BOYNE. 107 not addicted to those low vices which disgraced so many of the itenerant harpers of these latter days." " No, my dear, he was not. On the contrary, his habits were those of a high-bred gentleman, and although formed himself to shine in society, he was not fond of large or mixed companies, and never in- dulged in any excess. He was, indeed, very exclusive in his choice of company, and only relished what was really good. Blind though he was, he was scrupu- lously neat, too, in his personal appearance." " But how did he manage to dress himself, grand- papa ?" asked Rose, girl-iike. " My dear child, he never had it to do ; he always had his body-servant with him, besides another to carry his harp. But oh ! that haip ! when I think of :he music he used to draw from it, my old ears tingle even now, and my heart thrills with something of the delight with which I used to hear him. Poor O'Neil ! last of our national minstrels ! how often your magic strains echoed through this very room !" The tears came into the old man's eyes, and he leaned back in his chair, evidently oppressed by the weight of rushing memories that " L ek'd in the countless chambers of ilie brain" came with the one awaked. For a moment all were silent, even Rose, but that mercurial young lady was never long in that condition of being, — " What!" she cried, " here in this room ? — So that dear, delightfr- old harper u:ed to play in this very room?" 108 THE OLD HOUSE BY TLIF, BOYNE. u Yes. my dear, and in various other rooms of oui old domicile," said her grandpapa smiling at her childish eagerness. " Well ! now, that is charming," and Rose clapped her hands, " I am so glad to know it !" " And why ?" said her aunt. " Oh ! because, it is such a nice new — no, old picture for my memory's cabinet. I had many images there already of the old people and young people, that urld of spirits. Standing oppposite the win- dows at the rear of the house, in the street leading out from Lawrence's Gate, the musicians had thus agree- ably broken the night's dead silence, and were now moving away. Hid the cold been less intense, Gia como might have been curious enough to have watch- ed them on their way, but as it was, he was only too glad to take shelter again under the blankets from the keen frosty air of mid- winter. It was long, how THE OLD OUSE BY THE BOYNE, 115 ever, before sleep again visited his eye-lids, for the music he had heard was still ringing in his ears, fill- ing his mind with sweet and gracious fancies, and he could not, if he would, break the charm it had cast over all his senses. When he met the family at breakfast next morning. Giacomo went at once into the subject that occupied his thoughts, and asked if any one in the house had heard music during the night. Miss Ackland smiled, and Rose laughed. " Music !" said she, " what music ? Did you hear any ?" li Indeed I did, the sweetest music I ever heard before." " Ha ! ha !" cried Ros?, " the Signor has been visited by the harper's ghost. Only think, grand- papa." " Not exactly, Miss Rose,*' said Giacomo, " unless he was one of a company of old fellows, for such T could see they were, who thought proper to serenade us last night. Moreover, if your ancient harper was there, he forgot his harp, for I'll swear I saw only brass instruments with the performers.'" " So you have been made sensible, Giacomo," said Miss Ackland, " of the meaning of those lines of out national poet — " ' No, not move welcome tl>e fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, When half awaking from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full choir of heaven is near.' '' 116 THE OLD HOUSE E7 THE B0YNE. 51 Truly I have, Miss Ackland ; but pray, can you tell me what music it was I heard, or rather who they were that paid us such a compliment — I say ( us.' for I presume I was the ' young gentleman' so kindly greeted with the rest of the household ?" " Only fancy, aunt," said Rose with her merry laugh, " the Signor fancies that the compliment was all for us ? as if that same compliment was not paid at fifty different houses last night." " Indeed ? ' " Yes, indeed ! — did you never hear of ( the waits,' who go round every night in some of these old towns just before Christmas, playing on different instru- ments, and wishing everybody a good morrow ?" No, Giacomo had never heard of them. " Well ! you have not only heard of them, now, but heard them your very self. Those were the waits whom yon heard last night, and the waits are a very old institution in Drogheda. We purposely refrained from telling you of the custom, in order to give you a surprise." " For which I thank you ; but do you mean to say, Miss Rose, that those worthy individuals take all that trouble every year merely to regale the ears of the townspeople with their merry midnight music ?" " That — and something else," said Rose laughing at the young man's simple earnestness. 11 The something else being ?" 11 Certain silver coins ranging from a crown to a shilling, which they receive when they go round soma THE OLD HOUSE BY THE EOYXE. 117 &&)± uftei ^o every house they serenaded, to ask theii 'Christmas box.' If you are here the week afte* Christmas you may have a daylight view of ' the waits' — and queer, jolly old fellows they are, too !" " I fear I have seen the last of them," said Giaco- rao, making an effort to imitate Rose's gaiety, " un- less they may choose to pay us another visit during this week." " They may and they may not," said Rose, " but are you really and truly going before Christmas ?" " Really and truly, — if I can." "And you won't wait for the Midnight Mass, or to see the Crib and the Holy Infant in the Churches ?" " No, I hope to be at Midnight Mass in Leghorn, and there I shall see all, and more than all, I could possibly see here." ' : You forget, Rosey," said Miss Ackland, " that all Giacomo loves await him in Leghorn." 11 All I love ?" repeated Giacomo, in a reproachful tone, turning his dark, eloquent eyes on Miss Ack- land. " Do you think all I love are in Leghorn ?" The lady smiled, and, reaching her hand for his cup, said in her quiet way — " Perhaps I should have said ' those he most loves.' But, after all, love is a strong word, Giacomo ! — seldom, indeed, can it be ap- plied to those whom we and the world call our friends. Some we esteem, others we may like, but rarely, in- deed, beyond the limits of our own family, dc w« find any to love — any whose presence is sunshine to our hearts, whose absence, gloom and weariness. 118 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. Well for those who have found such, but alas ! for those who found and lost them !" The last words were uttered in a sort of inward tone, as though the speaker were rather following out her own thoughts than addressing another; her eyes filled with tears, which she hastened to wipe away, and smile as usual, seeing her father watching her with that troubled look which she often saw on his face when a cloud rested on hers. " Papa," said Miss Ackland, brightening up, " we must take our young friend to Old bridge before he leaves, to see King William's Obelisk, and the scene of the famous Battle of the Boyne." The old gentleman smiled assent. '' But, dear me !" said Rose, " there are so many places he has not seen. He has not even walked up the Rathmullen Road, 01 out to the Mall ; the beautiful Nanny- Water he has not seen, — nor scarce anything. 1 ' One word caught Giacomo's fancy — "The walk on the Rathmullen Road," said he, " surely there is time enough for that," and he looked at Rose with a heightened color. " No, no," said Miss Ackland, " you would not enjoy even that now. Wait till you come back next summer, and you shall see everything — Bellewstown Races included." Giacomo smiled and shook his head, but said no more on the subject. CHAPTER Vn. Bt good or ill fortune as the case might be, a ghip was found a few days after taking freight for Leg- horn, and the captain, to whom his father was not unknown, willingly consented to take Giacomo as a passenger in his cabin. Now that the day was fixed for his departure, the young man began to feel the yearning that all loving hearts must feel for the loved and long unseen. But none the less his regret for leaving the new friends amongst whom he had spent some happy weeks, perhaps the most s nsibly so of all his life. Under the influence of these feelings he much desired to revisit the places where they had been together, and most of all, Clog'.er Head, the scene of that disaster which had thrown him, a friend- less stranger, on their bounty. They went to Clogher, one gray, mild day, when there was neither frost, nor rain, nor snow — Miss Acklan 1 and Rose, with a certain Mr. Cusack, an elderly young gentleman extremely well-to-do in the world, aid very anxious to secure a footing in the small circle which counted the Acklands as its centre. Other and higher ambition Harry Cnsack might have 120 TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. had, but of that more anon He had Ions; ao;o been set down by the town gossips as a would-be candi- date for M : ss Ackland's hand, but years passed on and nothing came of it, an 1 people had at last mado up their minds either that Harry Cusack had never " meant anything particular," or that Miss Ackland had determined to " die an old maid," now that she was nearing. if not actually on, the upper shelf. But still Harry was seen in as constant attendance as tha ladies would permit, and no Mrs. Cusack was pre- sented to the burghers and their wives. When a .1 escort was required, Harry was always only too happy to do the amiable, nothing impeded by the claims of business, for Cusack was his own master and the head of a thriving mercantile house of good standing in the borough. So Harry Cusack was of the party that drove down to Clogher that Decem- ber day, moved thereto by some instinctive feeling that the young Italian had enjoyed more than his share of the Acklands' company. Moreover he drove them there on his own handsome and stylish jaunting car — that is to say, his man did. The heavens were gray above, and the sea and the river gray and misty all, when, leaving the car in the village, our party made their way to the end of the bold promontory, over rough and jagged rocks, and enormous boulders thrown up probably from the deep by antediluvian tides when Clogher Head did not tower so high as it does to-day a^ove the world of waters. Mr. Cusack had offered his arm to THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 12i Mips Ackland, but she took Giacomo's, as though not noticing the motion, and the disconcei ted Harry was about trying his luck with Rose, when that volatile young lady skipped past him, and was seen the next moment, poised on the top of a huge stone to which she climbed by means of others smaller resting again>t its green, mossy side. Giacomo started, and would have gone to aid her in her descent from what seerred her perilous position, but Miss Ackland gently detained him, saying that Rose was in no dan- ger whatever, and was well accustomed to clamber over the rocks. "But they arc damp to-day, Miss Ackland, and somewhat slippery.'' "Oh! never mind. Rose is as sure-footed as a mountain -ccoat. I often tell her she ought to have be n born in some Alpine chalet, she lias such a fancy for climbing rocks. A perfect Linda di Chamou- ni." "Perfect, indeed," said Giacomo, as he watched the lithe and active girl, moving to and fro on her elevated perch, in order to catch the view at differ ent points. Even the heavy folds of her large cloak, and the close-fitting bonnet that covered her head, could not hide the grace and symmetry of her figure, or the lightness and agility of her movements. " She'll break her neck, Miss Ackland, I'm sure she ivill," was Cusack's consolatory remark ; " she's as vild as a deer — upon my honor she is." " Suppose, Mr. Cusack ! you went up to take care 122 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. of her,'' said Giacomo somewhat maliciously, as he glanced over the Louth man's goodly proportions. " Is it I go up th»re?" said Cusack ; "no, I thank you, I value my life and limbs too much for that Perhaps you'd like to go yourself — eh ?" No sooner said than done ; another moment and the light and graceful figure of the young Italian was traced with Rose's on the gray wintry sky. He was standing by her side on the lofty eminence, "Now I call that a smart lad!" said Cusack, his vexation quite perceptibly shown; "I shouldn't won- der if he had served his time to a circus-rider/' Miss Ackland smiled at the idea, but she merely answered — " I rather think not,' 1 — her mind was al- ready wandering from the present to that past in which she loved to dwell. In vain did Cusack exert himself to keep up a show of conversation; she an- swered him, indeed, but, as it were, mechanically , and in monosyllables that sufficiently indicated her ab- straction. Her eyes were fixed now on the surging waves, in whose depths a hoarse sullen murmur was heard, denoting a coming storm, — and now turned, as if unconsciously, on the youthful pair, who had de- scended from the top of the boulder, and approached the verge of the rocky precipice, at whose foot roared the white breakers evermore. What association was it that attracted Miss Ac-Hand's grave, sad look to the animated face of the young man while he talked to Rose, and smiled at the girl's wayward answers, then looked thoughtfully out over the waters that lay THE OLD HOUSE BY THE 130YN 123 between himself and home ? Did his voice, his mien, his youthful grace, recall some image from the grave of time, or awake to momentary life some dream of bygone days? None knew save herself, and she was not given to revealing her thoughts or fancies, least of all to Mr. Harry Cnsack. And of what were the young people talking as they stood on the bold high bluff together ? Their talk was of nothing in particular, whatever their thoughts might have been. "Oh! do look at that gull!" said Rose, pointing to one that was describing circles between air and water, " >-:ee how gracefully and lightly he skims the water with his wing ! Should you not like to be a sea-bird, Signor Giacomo ?" " Perhaps I might," he said, amused at the question, " provided I were not doomed to fly alone. But I would rather be a canary-bird, singing in a cage, in a place I know." " Oh fie!'' laughed Rose, " what a preference '.—you do not, then, << ' dream of all things free V " " No, I dream of nothing free. My dreams are not of freedom, but of captivity—willing captivity." " What, have you never felt the poet's longing when lie so.ig'-- and she recited with theatrical emphasis— ' ' Oil ! Uj be flee like the eagle of htaveii, TiriX roams over for* sis and mountains all day — Then flies to the rock which ihe thunder has riven, And nurtures her young with the fresh bleeding prey V 1 24 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. You never have such yearnings after freedom, have vou 9" " No, I stick to tho canary." " Truly, you are very humble in ycur aspirations.' 1 " Not so humble as you seem to think." And turn- ing he fixed his eyes on her laughing face. " My ambition, Signora, soars higher than you may sup- pose." " Oh ! pray, don't begin to confess to me" and the smile on Rose's cheecs and lips deepened into rosy dimples of mischievous glee, u you know I am not your spiritual director. Did you ever hear the Mer- maid's sonor ?" And without waiting for an answer, the wayward girl sang in her sweet clear tones — ct Come, mariner, down lo the deep with me, And hide ye under ihe wave, For I have a bed of coral for thee, And quiet and sound shall llvy slumbers be In the cell of the Mermaid's cave." ' What w r ould you think of a flying descent to the Mermaid's cave such a day as this ?" " Anywhere — anywhere with you !" was it a spirit near them that spoke those wild, passionate words, or was it the youth who stood so calmly at Rose'* side, his lips firmly compressed, his cheeks pale, his eyes fixed on the dark rugged rocks beneath. Rose was silent a moment, — a thing unusual with her. At last Giacomo turned, and a faint smile w T as on his face — '• You forget, Miss Rose, that but few r w T eeks have THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 120 passed since there below I was battling with the waves, amid storm and darkness — struggling for a life," he added drearily, " that was scarce worth the saving." "Idid forget it — for the moment ' — Rose a.iswered, a sweet seriousness stealing over her face, and a shudder creeping through her frame. " It was a fearful night. I shall never forget it. How thankful you ought to be, Giacomo, — I mean, Signor, — that you escaped when so many perished. Oh ! that gun ! that signal gun ! how dismally it sounded through the wild storm !" " You said I ought to be thankful for my escape," said Giacomo; "I am thankful, Miss Rose, very, very thankful to our good God who has spared me for some wise purpose of His own. But tell me, had you known me as you know me now, would you have been sorry had I, too, perished that dreary night?" " Sorry !" Rose repeated with a slight start, then seeing the eagerness with which the young man awaited her answer, she laughed and said in a careless way — " Oh ! of course I should have been sorry. I will not promise you, though, that I would 'to your memory drop a tear,' as the Scotch ballad says. But I think I should have been sorry, for it is not always, you know, one has somebody to tease, as I have many t outrun me." "You see," said her aunt, "there is just the old story of the Irprachaun, — the fairies' shoemaker, — which Nancy has often told you." " So it is, I declare ! Well ! I never thought of that, often as I sang the song." Thus insensibly led aft ay from her melancholy thoughts, Rose began to turn to the future, and wns the first to speak of their plans, of the school ar- rangements, and other matters appertaining to their changing prospects. " I wonder," said Rose, " how the Vernons and Brodigans — I mean the girls — will treat me, now that we have come down to teaching school." "My dear Rose, why do you call it coming down ? There is nothing disgraceful, surely, in turning to ac- count whatever talents and attainments God has be- stowed upon us ?" THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 165 " Oh ! no, aunt, I didn't mean that there was, or that I am the least ashamed of it, but then, you know, others may think different!/, and girls, especially, may look down on us." " Rose," said Miss Ackland very seriously, c; the opinion of any one who could look down on us, as you say, for maintaining ourselves by our own exer- tions, is not worth considering, and if I am not much mistaken, we shall be more respected in our school-room than we ever were in our days of com- parative idleness." Rose shook her head and sighed ; she could not see the matter in the same light that her aunt did, but she w T ould not say so, and both lapsed into silent thought. # * # # # # The school opened on the fo'lowing Monday, and the attendance of pupils was sufficiently encouraging lo cheer even Rose, who, to do her justice, went into ihe harness w ; th right good will, determined to do her full share of the drudgery of teaching, and save ner dear aunt as much as possible. " If our school does not succeed," said Rose to herself, and also to Nancy, her trusty confidante, H it shall not be my fault, for I am going to do my very best." Poor Rose ! her best was not much, for many a long day and week, but she strove hard and finally became a good teacher in those branches of instruction which de- volved on her. Her industry and perseverance were rewarded. 166 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. Contrary to her expectations, and to her very agree- able surprise she was not "looked down upon" by her young acquaintances. Invitations poured in on her after the first period of mourning had elapsed. And though she accepted none for large parties her aunt insisted on her going out evenings more than she had ever done before, forcing her own inclinations so far as to accompany her. This she did in order to keep up Rose's spirits, and counteract the depressing effect of the monotonous and fatiguing occupations of her daily life. Miss Ackland, in her watchful care of her beloved niece, acted on the homely old axiom that •' all work and no play make Jack a dull boy, 1 ' and she would not that the freshness of life's joyous springtime should be blighted in its fair promise by the unvarying tedium of hard work and unbroken se- clusion. And Rose made conquests during those times, con- quests that mu.h amazed some of her wealthier and better dressed acquaintances. Not to speak of Harry Cusack, who had become quite particular in his attentions, there were some of the first young men of the trading community about Drogheda who would gladly have won the hand of the portionless grand- child of George Ackland, the heiress of his good name, and the brightest and fairest of Drogheda maidens. But Rose, though gay and affable with all, appeared to make no distinction, and received the at- tentions of her various admirers more as a matter of course than as anything meant to be seriously taken, THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 167 Pro\oked and mortified by her studied indifference her would-be suitors came one after another to the same conclusion that Giacomo had readied months before, that Rose Ackland had no heart. Never- theless, they were only the more determined to per- severe to the end, whatever it might be, for Rose's careless ease was provokingly piquant, and her ad« mirers found to their cost that she, by no means, " charm <1 ihem 1 asi wh n she mosi r- p lid. ' Every Sunday the elder and the younger Miss Ackland were expected to spend at Mr. Brodigan's, and around the hospitable board were generally as- sembled some of the old fainiliar faces oftenest seen at Mr. Ackland's — in his more prosperous days. They were very pleasant those Sunday dinners at Mr. Brodigan's, — and we might add at many another Drogheda merchant's, — when old friends came to- gether, as it were en famiUe, week after week, to en- joy the bounteous, yet unostentatious hospitality of the large hearted host, and his comely spouse, both the very personification of good nature ; when almost every subject of interest was common to all, and the whole circle was in that happy condition prospectively described by the poet — " Wli d fast as a fe. ling bu 1 touches one link, I.s ma^ic shall send ii direct thro' the chain." One peculiarity of these genial reunions was the re- markable absence of slander and that ill-natured criti- cism on the real or supposed defects, mental, moral or physical, of others, which too often make? the staple 168 THE OLD HOUSE BY TIIS: BOYNE. of conversation. The imperturbable good nature of the host and hostess diffused all around them such an atmosphere of kindly feeling that the poisonous weed of slander might not grow within the sphere of their influence. There was much harmless mirth, and much development of character, in the unre- strained freedom of that friendly intercourse, and ono always felt that the best feelings of their nature were somehow called into play, and that they left Mr. Bro digan's better and happier for being there, and mons disposed to look kindly and lovingly on their fellow- creatures. Then there were, as might be expected, little by-plays going on amongst the well-assorted guests and the family of the house, little scenes being enacted that just served to ripple the otherwise too placid stream. There every one being perfectly at home, so every one appeared in their own proper character, and the distinctive peculiarities of all gave zest and variety to the whole. And all were perpe- tually furnishing " coincidences" for worthy Mr. Bro- digan, sentimental reflections to his daughter Jane, and arch drollery for Rose Ackland. And rosy Mrs. Brodigan sat smiling on all in her goodly rotundity of figure, fat, fair, and w T ell preserved, her brown hair brown as ever, and her brown eyes as soft and calm. It was hard to say whether she or her husband most enjoyed the society of their friends, or loved the most to see them gather around their table. That was Drogheda twenty years ago, and all who knew it then miy well hope that it is so still ! THE OLD HOUSE BY THE xiOYNE. 169 The Sunday dinner at Mr. Brodigan's was gener- aUy preceded, in the fine season, by an excursion to- some of the many beautiful places in the vicinity, — to Oldbridge and King William's Glen, to Townley Hail, or Bendy, — sometimes to the lovely pastoral banks of the Nanny-Water, and the ancient Castle of Jigginstown, or Bally garth, or farther on to Gor- manstown Castle, the baronial mansion of the Lords of that name, and the noble family of Preston. Or dow.i to the coast the party might take their way, for a pleasant drive along the smootli white sand, past Baltray and Mornington and Bettys own, where the people they met all knew them, and exchanged a kind, or a humorous greeting with each as they passed in their several vehicles, jaunting-car or gig, or " in- side car," as the case might be. Pleasant they were, too, those rural excursions around the old borough, to places interesting of themselves, because of the lavish hand wherewith mother nature had adorned them, each in their kind, and still more interesting from their various associations with historical or legendary lore. It was one of Miss Ackland's chief enjoyments to walk out with Rose in the early evening, when the labors and cares of the day were over, and stroll leisurely along some of the fine promenades in the immediate vicinity of the town. Above all she loved, and Rose, too, the picturesque heights of Rath- mullen, and the shady walk beneath the over-arch- ing trees, between fields a-nd orchards and gardens ia 170 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. their bloom, whence ever and anon were glimpses caught of the stream far below, threading its seaward way, and through the long vistas of the sylvan alleys might be seen at no great distance up the river, the Obelisk commemorating the defeat of the too faith- ful Irish who fought and died for an ungrateful foreign prince. There was a certain green meadow, or paddock it might be called, just on the verge of the precipitous heights overlooking the river; a sweet shady nook it was, surrounded by fine old trees, with a path run- ning diagonally across it from the road to the brow of the steep ; there the two ladies often sat to rest in the still evening hour when earth and air were hushed and the thin mists were hovering like shadows over the landscape far and near. They loved to hear the milkmaid singing in some adjoining field some old-time ditty of faithful love or pitiful murder ; or the laborer going from work, whistling as he went. Sometimes they heard from a boat on the river, or a cart driving slowly homeward along the neighboring highway, snatches of some local song, it might be this — " July the First at Oldbridge town, There was a grievous battle, Where many a man lay on the ground, And the cannons loud did rattle." And there was little of sympathy or compassion in the voices thereabouts that sang how " Brave Duke Schomberg lost his life, In crossing the Boyne Water." THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 171 But what visions of " the pomp and circumstance of glorious war" did the rustic lay conjure up as, with " Oldbridge town" full in sight, the thoughtful mind reverted to that disastrous day nigh two hun- dred years before, when three kingdoms were lost and bloodily won on that memorable spot, and amid those scenes, now so calm, so redolent of peace, Anon some full manly voice would come softened to the ear over the still waters trolling — " When first to this country a stranger I came, I placed my aff< ctions on a comely young dame, She's straight, tall, and handsome in every degree, She's the flower of this country and ihe Rose of Ardee." Then Miss Ackland would tell her young niece of the straggling and neglected village of Ardee away in the northern part of the county, adj ining Mon- aghan, where one of the old border-castles of the Pale still frowns, even in decay, over the quiet street be- neath and the tame stretch of level country spread- ing around, and where, in a nameless grave some- where amongst those sandy knolls, sleeps the ouflaw Redmond O'Hanlon, treacherously murdered in the vicinity by an English captain, to whose plighted faith lie had trusted his life for the purpose of holding a parley. Then Miss Ackland told Rose all the won- derful tales that her youth had heard of that strangely- misrepresented chieftain, who, instead of being the low robber he has been made to appear in latter times, was in reality an accomplished gentleman, of great personal attractions and of ancient lineage, who 172 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. had served in the Austrian wars, like so many other Irish exiles of his time, and actually bore the rank of a Count of the Empire. From a chivalrous desire to aid his oppressed country and co-religionists at home, Redmond O'Hanlon returned to his native land, to whose service he bravely but ineffectually devoted himself as a leader of the outlawed Rapparees or " Tories." Rose was inexpressibly charmed by this romantic story of the past, especially as her aunt assured her that it was as well authenticated in all its principal parts as many recorded on the historic page. The girTs ardent fancy had ample room to exercise itself on the hair-breadth 'scapes, the gallant deeds, the manifold privations of this Irish prcux chevalier, in his roving life of incessant danger with the wild and lawless band who called him master. Lost in this new region of old romance, Rose wan almost sorry when her aunt reminded her that night was fast closing in, and that they had rather a \owely walk home. They had just crossed the stile to the high-road when an incident occurred which alarmed Rose, and even her aunt, more than a little, and convinced them that it was not prudent to linger so Lite in that se- cluded spot, however great might be the temptation. CHAPTER X. A party of officers, three in numb* r, and evidently fresh from the mess-room, were passing at the mo- ment; they laughed and talked in that loud excited way which indicates a certain degree of intoxication, and seeing the two ladies they probably thought it a good opportunity for having " a lark.'' The youngest of the three, accordingly, came up to Rose, and with a mock politeness offered his arm, asking permission to " see her home." Another did the same to Miss Ackland, whilst a third, a tall, soldierly man, stood as if enjoying the joke. Miss Ackland di ew her niece's arm within her own, and merely saying—" I perceive, gentlemen, you are under a mistake,'' walked on with as much composure as she could assume. But the others were not to be so got rid of; declaring with ironical gravity that they could not think of allowing ladies to remain unprotected at th:\t late hour, and exchanging glances amongst themselves, they walked on beside the aunt and niece, peering under their bonnets, and otherwise annoying them by ridiculous questions which, of course, they did not deign to no- tice. The two first mentioned kept their places on 17*1 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. either side of the ladies, whilst the elder amused himself with the gambols of a magnificent grayhound, a creature of rare grace and beauty. " Now, by Jove, I call this the rarest piece of good fortune," said suddenly the gentleman who had suc- ceeded in getting a glimpse of Rose's face, " why, Singleton ! this is the very young lady whom I saw the other day with Miss Ball." " You don't say so, Cornell ?" " But I do ! — pray, Miss — ah ! excuse me — I forget your name !" speaking in that exaggerated Eng- lish accent wherein young Cockney militaires are wont to exhibit their brainless coxcombry, " may I have the honor?" and bowing with more real politeness than before, he again offered his arm. Rose only answered by shrinking closer to her aunt, while both quickened their steps in more trepida- tion than they wished to have seen. But the gen- tlemen saw it and were much amused, asking did the ladiess uppose they were going to run away with them. " So you will not favor me with your name, ah ?" lisped the young Englishman, addressing Rose. " Sir," said Miss Ackland stopping short in her walk, and drawing herself up with that dignity which no one better could assume, and she looked the im- pudent coxcomb full in the face, " Sir, / will tell you this young lady's name which is also mine — it is Ackland — a name old and not unhonored here in Drogheda" The young man, as if by an involuntary Til K OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 175 impulse, drew back a pace or two, and raised his aiilita.y cap with the respect of a gentleman for a ady His companion fol.owed his example. At this moment the elder officer, with an authori- tative " Down, Cato !" to his dog, eagerly approached Miss Ackland, and stopping in front of her said — in a deep and as it seemed an agitated voice— " Ackland ! Did you say, madam, that your name is Ackland ? ,J "Sir, I did," the lady replied, wondering much at the stranger's question and the emotion he betrayed. " Any relation, may I ask, of George Ackland ?" " His daughter, sir, his only daughter, and this young lady is his granddaughter, and my niece." The gentleman turned aside for a moment, pressed his hand to his forehead as though to still the throb- bing brain, then turning to Miss Ackland with freez- ing politeness, he said — ■ "I have heard the name before, although I am a stranger in Drogheda, having joined my regiment he. eat Millmount but a few days since. Pass on, madam ! — Miss Ackland, did you say ? " " Miss Ackland." " Strange !" he muttered, again raising his hand to his brow, then recollecting himself he bowed s: ill coldly, but yet courteously — " Pass on, ladies ! you shall recsive no further annoyance ! — young gentle- men ! let us continue our walk !" " As you please, Major Melville !" one of them r©» plied 176 T11E OLD UOLtfi BY THE BOYNE. "Melville!" repeated M.ss Aokland in her turn agitated by some powerful emotion. "Ay, Melvile !'' the officer replied, and, lowering his voice so as only to be heard by the person ad' dressed, he said in a whisper — " the brother of Ralph Melville, whom you may have forgotten, — but / have not !" he sternly, almost fiercely added, then, taking the arm of one of his companions, he turned away, and the ladies were left to pursue their way in peace. N"or did they have any more boisterous laughter or ioud talk from the party of officers, sobered, it would bcem, by the late rencontre, the two younger probably ashamed of their conduct, now that they found the ladies they had so annoyed were really entitled to their respect. Of the little episode between their newly-arrived major and the elder lady they were, of course, unaware, so could form no surmises on the subject. It was with no ordinary pleasure that the ladies found themselves back again in the secure shelter of their own quiet home ; outside the door they were met by Nancy, who had grown uneasy when the night began to fall, and they not yet returned. Fervent, indeed, was her act of thanksgiving as she saw them through the dim twilight ascending the step-!, and w r ith all the alaciity of youth she hastened to meet them. " Oh ! the Lord be praised, Miss Ackland dear ! sure it's beginnin' to be afeard I was that something had happened !" THE OLD IIOrSE BY TIIE BOTNE. 177 Rose was just beginning to tell, in a half jesting way, thai something had happened, but her aunt stopped her by asking Nancy if tea were ready, The old woman vanished directly. " Now. my dear Rose," s*id Miss Ackland, laying her hand on her niece's arm, and Rose shrank from its touch, for it was icy cold — u now, my dear Rose, what have you to tell Nancy that is worth telling ? Let us go in ; I feel weak and tired." When they reached the parlor, where two candles were burning on either end of the high, old-fashioned mantel-piece, Miss Ackland sank heavily into a chair, it was her father's " old arm-chair." The light from the mantel-piece shed a ghastly glare on her features, and Rose was shocked to see them pale as death. She would have run to fetch Nancy, but her aunt gently detained her, saying that it was only a little fatigued she was, and a cup of tea was all she re- quired. " I knew you were more alarmed than you allowed ',hem to see, aunt," said Rose, as she took oft" Miss Ackland's bonnet and mantilla; " we really must not put ourselves again in the way of such an adventure. 1 u We shall have to go out earlier," said Miss Ack- land in a languid tone, " and enjoy the twilight at home," she added with a wan smile. " But did you observe, my dear aunt, what a fine- looking man that Major Melville is ? I really could not help admiring him as he stood for a moment near you." 178 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. "Melville!" cried Nancy, who was iust coming in with the tea-pot in one hand, and a small plate of crumpets in the other. "Who's that you're talkin' about, Miss Rosey ?" " Of a gentleman we met since we went out,' said Miss Ackland, raising herself in her chair and endea- voring to regain her usual composure. / " A gentleman ? What gentleman ?" persisted Nancy, laying down her light burden and fixing her eyes on her mistress. " An officer," said Miss Ackland, smiling at the simple earnestness of her old domestic, then she added with a strange smile — " Not a dead Melville, Nancy, but a living one — no ghost, I assure you !"' The old woman appeared to understand the allu- sion, she muttered something to hers elf, unintelligible to others, and placing the two lonely-looking chairs at the table, she said, " Tea's on the table, Miss Ack- land !" then withdrew to her own premises, to pon- der on the circumstance — to her simple mind extra- ordinary — of the ladies having " ccme across" a gen- tleman of the once-familiar name of Melville, so long unnamed under that roof. "Why, aunt," said Rose innocently, "the name of Melville seems to be familiar to Nancy. Did you, then, ever know any one of the name ?" " Yes, Rose," said Miss Ackland, laying down the cup of tea which her trembling hand refined to hold, " I once had a friend of that name — many, many years ago." Her soft eyes filled with tears, and there THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 179 was a depth of sadness in her 1o\y, tremulous voice that told of such sorrow as Rose had never known. This the girl felt, and she was silent, revolving in hei mind whether the friend so tenderly remembered might not be the gentleman of whom Nancy had once spoken to her. " Rose, 1 ' said Miss Ackland, " please to ring for Nancy. I see you have finished your tea." The tea-things were removed, and Miss Ackland, instead of taking up a book 01 her knitting, as usual, threw back the curtains from the window, and stood looking out on the moonlit sky and the lovely pan- orama of land and water that stretched far and away beneath that gorgeous canopy. There was a chair in the deep recess of the window, and Miss Ackland seating herself there at last, beckoned Rose to her. " Bring that ottoman, Rose, and sit down here be- side me." Rose joyfully obeyed, never so happy as when near her aunt. Then both were silent for a long, long while, looking dreamily out on the fair night, whose blue depths and whose silvery light were so very like the heaven ws dream of in our better moments. " Yes, Rose," said Miss Ackland, as if resuming the theme of that brief conversation which, broken off all loo soon, had so deeply interested Rose, " yes, my child, the name of Melville is one that shall live in my heart w T hile its pulses beat — yet though sweet aa music to my ears, it is the most painful of sounds, 180 THE OLD HOUSE BY TnE BOYNE. awaking the very bitterest of thoughts, and the sad- dest of recollections." " My dear aunt ! v whispered Rose soothingly — she had never heard her speak so before. " Rose, you are all I have now left to comfort me," resumed Miss Ackland — " we two are alone in the world — why, then, should I not make you acquainted with the one secret of my life, that ' silent sorrow' which has preyed upon my heart so long ? Whilst my dear father lived I had one who knew and under- stood the cause of my life-long sadness, but since he is gone, I feel the load heavier than ever, and I see no reason now why I should not admit you, the last of all my kin, into the solitude of my heart. 1 ' Rose answered only by a fond caress, and her aunt went on after a moment's recollection : " I was about your age, my dear Rose, when I first became acquainted with Ralph Melville, then some three years older; his family belonged to the county Kil- dare, but he had embraced a seafaring life some years before, when a mere boy, at the request and under the care of a maternal uncle, who was captain and part owner of a large merchant vessel trading chiefly between the Mediterranean ports and those of the British Islands. The captain and my father had had much connection in business — indeed, he was one of the two partners of Capt. Dillon in the ownership of the vessel. They were old and fast friends, and when Ralph began to go to sea with his uncle, — after spending some years at school in Leghorn, — he was, THE OT.I nOUSE EY THE LOYNE. 181 of course, received with the same cordial welcome at our house, when their vessel came to Drogheda, first on account of his uncle, but very soon on his own. Years passed on, and the handsome youth became a man, and such a man ! — oh ! Rose, I shall not attempt to describe him to you, — suffice it to say that it was not in his features or his form the charm lay that won all hearts. It was in the frank and jgenerous nature, the delicacy of feeling, and the na- tural grace and refinement that manifested themselves in every word and action, with a gay, dashing, degagi air that was infinitely pleasing, and as far removed as could be from the self-occupation of vanity/' " It seems as though I could see him now," said Rose in a low tone, as if fearing to interrupt the nar- rative even by a sound ; "Nancy has told me what he looked like." " Oh ! she has, has she ? — poor old Nancy ! she loved him, too, and so did Mabel — how could they help it, for he was kind and ger erous to all? And there was one who loved Ralph Melville better than all, but I think — I fear he never knew it." Rose did not ask who that one was, she knew it all too well. Miss Ackland paused, as if to collect her thoughts for the remaining portion of the narrative, but in reality to control her feelings, so as to speak with the composure that became her sober years. Having partially succeeded, she continued her recital : " I was young then, my dear Rose, for you will re* member that it was 'twenty golden years ago'— 182 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. young I was, and, as some people thought, well* favored" — she smiled — " amongst these was Ralph Melville, who, unhappily for himself, learned to love me as man, or woman either, can love but once. And how proud I was of his love I will not attempt to conceal from you. So he used to come the wel- comesL of guests, to this old house of ours, whenever his ship came to Drogheda ; he came, to one at least, 1 Like birds ihat bring Summer and fly when 'tis o'er.' His first visits were with his uncle, a hale, hearty old gentleman, and a 'jolly tar to boot, manifesting in his own proper person the very best characteristics of the profession. I believe Captain Dillon cherished the hope of making a match, as he would call it, be- tween his favorite uephew and the only daughter of his old friend, but I soon discovered that my father had higher views for me, and began to look coldly on Ralph Melville, perceiving in what light he regarded me. But one dull Autumn day, Ralph came alone, with crape on his hat, and sorrow in his eyes and in his heart ; his good old uncle, his more than father, had died suddenly whilst on a short visit at their house, — which was really his home, for he had no other. This was sad news for us ail, for we loved the blunt, warm-hearted sailor, and we grieved to think that we should see his honest face no more. Alas ! for ' the old familiar faces' — how they vanish one by one from our life's darkening path ever as we journey onward ! The old man had fortunately left a will, and his share of the Frances Anne (the ship THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 183 was named after Mrs. Melville, Ralph's mother) was left to Ralph, with a recommendation to the other partners to give him the command; the few thou sand pounds the captain had had in the Bank of Ire- land was the only provision now remaining for his widowed sister and two younger children, a youth of nineteen and a girl of sixteen. " Some three months had passed before Ra'ph Mel- ville came again to Drogheda; he appeared in some- what better spirits, and when I made the remark to him, he said it was so, and asked me to guess why. I told him I was not good at guessing, my cheek burning all the while with the consciousness of what was coming. ' I have obtained my mother's consent, 1 said he, ' to woo and win a wife — that is if I can.' 1 Indeed ?' I replied — with an air which he mistook for cold indifference, but which was really meant to hide the joy that filled my soul. 'Indeed!' repeated Ralph, looking in my face with so keen a scrutiny that I shrank from his glance as though I had, indeed, something to conceal. Poor Ralph ! I can see it yet, the shadow thai fell on the brightness of his lace, and till the day I die I can never forget the altered tone in which he spoke again. 'Excuse me, Miss Ackland !' he said, (it was the first time in two year3 he had called me so,) ' I had flattered myself that you were a party interested. I see I was mistaken, and have only to crave your pardon for the unwarranta« hie liberty I took in supposing that the heiress of Mr. Ackland's fortune could be interested in the affairs of 184 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0YNE. one so humble .as myself.' I know not what evil spirit it was that prompted me to leave him in the strange blindness that had come upon him, but I did so to my life-long regret. I replied with real cold- ness, piqued that he should not have seen and known my real feelings : ' Really, Captain Melville, you talk in riddles, and I am so dull in comprehension that I do not understand you.' — ' Then you never Bhall understand me now,' he said in a quick, decided tone. ' /, at least, understand it all. I refused to be- lieve what I had heard when last in Drogheda, that your father had negociations on foot for your mar- riage with a certain gentleman, the owner of an estate somewhere in the county Meath — now I be- lieve it when too late to recall my own folly !*' How I longed to tell him that such a union had been pro- posed to me with my father's fullest approbation, but that I had refused and for his sake as much as my own ! But I would not so far humble my foolish pride, and merely saying — ' You are, of course, at liberty to believe what you please, Captain Melville !' I left him." " You left him !" cried Rose ; " oh ! aunt, how could you act so ?" " You may well a?k that, my dearest Rose ! — it is the question that echoes in my heart all these long and weary years since then." " But what did Captain Melville do then, Aunt Ly« dia? — Did he go away for good ?" " For good !" Miss Ackland repeated with sorrow- THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 185 fu] emphasis, and she raised her tearful eyes to hea« ven. After a moment's pause she continued : i: In a sort of dogged resolution, I suppose, to know exactly how the matter stood, and, perhaps, with a view to justify to himself the final farewell he meant to take of us, it seems Ralph went straight to my father and asked whether he had any objection to him as a suitor for his daughter. My father told him in a hesitating sort of way that he thought his circumstances were not such as to make the match an eligible one for me with my expectations. ' Precisely so, sir,' was Ralph Melville's answer, ' I am sorry I troubled you on the subject ; however, it is well to know exactly where one stands. Will you say good-bye for me to Miss Ackland in case I should not see her again before leaving Drogheda ?' And he shook my father by the hand, and wishing him ' good morning, 1 went away before he could make up his mind what further to say. Rose, we never again saw Ralph Melville." ' l Why, how was that, Aunt Lydia ?" " He sailed for Civita Vecchia that same afternoon, two days earlier than he had intended, but he never reached the Italian coast ; the equinoctial gales set in that very night with unusual violence, and in the fierce storm that raged during the hours of darkness, bis ship perished, with all on board. Oh, that I should live to tell it!" "Perished!" cried Rose in horror; u oh aunt! aunt !" Miss Ackland covered her face with her hands, and 180 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. wept lc g hi silence, unbroken by Rose, whose leiidei heart wis too deeply touched for verbal expression. "I r»an weep now," said Miss Ackland at length, as she wiped away her tears, " I can weep now, but I cculd not weep then; no, not for weeks and weeks, although my heart was breaking with the double weight of sorrow and of self-reproach; by night and by day I grieved for the words that I might have said, and did not say — the words of ex- planation that would have made Ralph happy, and kept him near me, instead of sending him to his death by my foolish pride and petulance ! Oh ! how s ivere has been my punishment ." " My dear aunt !" said Rose very gently, " you surely accuse yourself too harshly; as you never saw Captain Melville after that, how could you be certain that you were the cause of his leaving on that day ?" " Ah ! Rose, he took care to make me certain ; Nancy had been into town that day on business for me, and coming back, by the lower road, she found Captain Melville walking hastily to and fro outside the gate, — seeing her, he gave her a note for me, and to her great astonishment, bade her good-bye, saying as he shook hands with her — ' I am going now, Nancy, never to come back again — not with my own will, be assured, for my heart is here.' He was gone be- fore Nancy could get over her bewilderment suffi- ciently to ask what he meant. The note contained but these words — Lydia, farewell I — It is hard la forgive you, but Id" — be happy, if you can, and forget THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOINE. 187 Rtrffh Mchille.' 1 My father read that fatal note, for when he came home it lay open on the table, beside which I sat in a sort of stupor ; he read it and read my heart, and ever after understood the bitterness of self-reproach that mingled with my grief, and Nancy, too, rightly interpreting Captain Melville's parting words, but supposing from them that I had refused him, was long before she forgave me, indeed, I know not if she has yet, or ever will. She thought I was more in fault than I actually was, and she blamed me all the more because I did not choose to let her see the deep wound festering in my heart." " My poor dear aunt !" whispered Rose, " who could have dreamed of all this?" "It was known only to my poor father," said Miss Ackland, in a voice of strong emotion ; " that is, the real state cf the case, and since he died I have borne my load of vain regret alone — all alone — as far as my fellow-mortals are concerned. This evening some- thing occurred that has torn open again the wounds half-healed by time." Rose started. " How ? is it anything connected with those officers ?" " Yes, my dear Rose, you will not wonder at my agitaiion when I tell you that in the eldest of the three I discovered Guy Melville, the only brother of my lost Ralph !" " You did ?" " Yes, I did, and he contrived to make me sensi* ble that he, too, blames me as the indirect cause o/ 188 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. his brother's untimely death ! — strange that he should know what oecurred on that last sad day, but he evi- dently does, all too well. Oh Rose ! Rose ! I am miserably punished for a fault that of itself was on]y trivial, and certainly unintentional! To think how / loved Ralph Melville — the long years I have mourned bim, and the gloom that settled down on my path of life when I lost him, and to know that his nearest and dearest do me such cruel injustice ! This is hard — hard — and it is only from above I ask and obtain strength to bear it. Rose, my dear child, it is selfish of me to make you acquainted with my life's great 6orrow. But the heart will pine for human sympa- thy, and it lightens the burden of grief to know that we possess it." The fond embrace with which Rose answered, and the tears that filled her eyes, gave assurance to her aunt that there was still one heart she could call her own, and whose sympathies were all bound up with hers. There was comfort in the thought, and she marvelled much during the wakeful hours of that night how much feeling lay concealed under the youthful buoyancy of her niece's outward bearing. The truth was that the revelations of that night wrought a change in Rose's interior that was very perceptible to herself, if not to others. She felt as though years had passed over her head, and left their Feared impress on her heart during that one still moonlight hour when she listened to her aunt's simple tale of sorrow, and learned^ for the first tim(> THE OLD IIOESE BY THE BO\NE. 189 the strange power that one heart may exercise over another, and the deeper depths that may lie hidden from mortal eye beneath the outward seeming of ordinary life. A veil seemed suddenly to have been lifted from before her eyes, and the world appeared to her under a new aspect. Or rather, her aunt's story was to Kose Ackland's perceptions, like the ointment in the fairy tale which, rubbed on mortal eyes, opens them to the sights and seeings of another sphere of existence. Thoughts and feelings unknown before all at once started into life, seeming now as old companions, and Rose felt all the happier for the change that had taken place within her, and the new range of vision opened before her. Yet outwardly she was still the same, perhaps a shade moie thought- ful and subdued, but still habitually the gay, laughing girl who made sunshine all around her in her little sphere of life. But it was very touching to see the new relation in which the aunt and niece stood to each other; a tie, far stronger than that of blood, had suddenly bound their hearts together, and in the gentle sympathy of Kose, so sweetly and tenderly manifested, her aunt found a solace for her woes, such as she had never dreamed of obtaining. Her past being now all known to her niece, she could talk to her at times of her loved and early lost, and it seemed as though her heart were lightened of its heaviest burden by the privilege of weaving over with Rose the web of her life, the joys and griefs, the pleasures and the pains of those by-gone years of 190 THE OLD liOUSK BY THE BOYXE. whose flight no record now remained save in her own heart. It was long a source of trouble and apprehension to Miss Ackland that the brother of Ralph Melville should be in Drogheda and might at any moment cross her path : gain, with his stern look, and settled dislike, and his voice so like one never-to-be-forgotten, yet so full of anger and contempt. But weeks past away, and no Major Melville was seen, and her fears gradually subsided. The stream of her life flowed on as befoie in its calm monotony, — for how long, who oould tell ? CHAPTER XI. Two weeks had passed after the conversation of that memorable evening, without any further inter- ruption to the placid tranquillity which marked the daily life of the aunt and niece. At the end of that time, they walked down to Baltray one lovely after- noon, immediately after school was dismissed, to see old Mabel, who was now too feeble to leave the cot- tage, and spent the time she was not in bed, sitting at the door in the sunshine, talking drearily to her- self, or watching her grandchildren, as they rolled and tumbled in the sand hard by. « I thought yoad come the day, Miss Liddy," was her reply to Miss Ackland's kindly greeting; "some- thin' was tellhV me ever since mornin' that I'd see you before night. An' Miss Rose, too— sure, but it does me good to see you both, an' it's thankful I am that I can see you, for the sight is goiif fast from me.' 1 ' ; Mabel '." said Miss Ackland, sitting down beside her on the rough wooden bench, " who do you think I met siate I saw you last?" , " Who :" asked the old woman curtly but anxiously, turning towards the lady whom she still regarded as her mistress. 192 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B0YNE. " vVhy, Mr. Guy Melville," and she lowered bet voice. " Guy Melville ! ' repeated the old woman with suddenly awakened interest. ' l Why, that should be his brother — it was Guy he used to call him. An' where did you meet him, Miss Liddy, asthore ? ' " On the Rathmullen road when Miss Rose and I were taking our evening walk, about two weeks ago. It appears Mr. Melville is an officer in the army, and belongs to the 88th, now stationed at Millmount." " Well ! an' what did he say ? Did he know yon, Miss Liddy, dear ?" " Yes — but not till I had told him who I was. There did not much pass between us then, and I have not seen him since." " But / have seen him, aunt," said Rose, who ha> 1 been standing an apparently unconcerned listenei, watching the fleecy white clouds that were sailing slowly over the face of the western sky, their upper edges tipped with the gold of the still gorgeous sun- shine. " I forgot to tell you that I harl seen Major Melville once or twice, — but not to speak to him. It was only yesterday that I met him and one of those officers who were with him that evening, as I came along Palace street from Geormna Neville's." It did not escape Miss Ackland's watchful eyes that Rose said this with a somewhat heightened color, but that was not the place or the time to make any sort of comment, so she merely said, " Oh in deed ?" and turned again to old Mabel. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 193 " You see I speak now of — of Capt. Melville" — she added, getting rapidly over the name — " even before Miss Rose. I have told her all, Mabel." "An' I'm glad you did," said the crone, with an oracular nod, "it's what you should have done many's the day ago. It '11 do you good, asthore, to open your mind to somebody, an' now that the ould mas- ter is gone — the heavens be his bed ! — I b'lieve there was nobody livin' — hereabouts, anyway, — that knew anything about what's come an' gone, in regard to the Captain that was, barrin' myst4f an' Nancy. An' sure, in the coorse of nature, neither of us 'ill be long in it. Then you'd have no one at all to spake a word to about what's ever more in your mind." "Very true, Mabel, and that is just the reason wfjy I told my niece the sad story." "Ah ! Miss Liddy dear !" said the old woman n'/,er a long pause, " I think I could die happy if I c^uld once see you in the way of bein' happy. But, ocfcone ! sure there's little chance o' that, in this world, any- how !" " Little chance, indeed," said Miss Ackland, rising, " unless either the dead could come back to life, or somebody convince me that the past was all a dream. But still, Mabel, we must work our passage through in the best way we can, and take things 2.8 they come. Happiness is not for this world, you know ! We shall all meet, I hope, where happiness is, and is eternal. Good-bye, Mabel ! be sure and send uiq word if you want anything." 194 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNB. " I will, asthore! I will, for I know it 'id fret you to think that, poor Mabel did want for anything. Well ! all I can do is to pray for you an' Miss Rose, an' that I do from my heart out, night an' mornin', on my bended knees; an' when the world's sieepin', air onty the dead to the fore, I pray for you, too, an' some- times I think the dead answers me, an' there comes like a whisper in my ear that there's bright days be fore you still! Go now, an' God be with you!" Going out from the cottage, the ladies stopped a moment to speak to the children, when as they turned to regain the high road through the village, they were startled to see on the smooth white sand the name Giacomo plainly written in large fair cha- racters. " What can it mean?' said Miss Ackland to her niece who stood gazing on the name with a wild, startled look, her color changing like the April sky. " It is hard to say,'' Rose replied, " he cannot have been here, yet who could have written his name in such a place ?" A thought struck Miss Ackland; she once more approached the children and asked them who wrote that, pointing to the name on the sand. " That !" replied the eldest, " oh ! the gentleman made that there n while ago when you were in with granny." " What gentleman ? Did you know him ?" No, none of the children knew him, so the ladies were forced to return home in the anxious suspense THE OLD HOUSE EY THE BOTNE, 195 arising from this singular incident. They half ex< pected on reaching home to find the young Leghorn er there before them, but in answer to their eagci inquiry, whether any one had been there since they left, Nancy replied in her matter-of-fact way — " Oh the sorra one, then, barrin' Catty Nugent that called to see if we wanted any fish for the morrow. She says she has the best of haddock, an' some rale good pike, if we'd be for havin' any. An' she'll have sole an' fresh herrin's the morrow mornin', she expects, for her man is out all day." " Oh ! dear me, Nancy," cried Rose with an impa- tient gesture, "do let us alone about Catty Nugent's fish. We don't care if she never had any." " Why, then, Miss Rose," said Nancy with an air of orTriided dignity, " it's ne wens -for you not. to care about your Friday's dinner. There's nobody in the house so hard to plase, I'm sure, any day in the week, in regard to what's put before you. But all's one to me. It's little fish sarves my turn, or mate, aither, for the matter of that." And she betook her- self to her own quarter of the house, closing the kitchen door after her with no gentle motion. "You must go, by and by, and pacify poor Nancy,'' said Miss Ackland, ever alive to the feelings of others, "Oh! that is easily done, Aunt Lydia!— but you eee Giacomo has not come. How very strange !" " He may have arrived," said her aunt thoughtfully " although he has not been here yet. We may pro- bably see him before long. Yet even if he had come, 196 THE OLD HOUSE BY TnE BOYNE. I wonder what could have taken him to Baltray, or why he should go write his name in the sand near Mabel's door !" " That is just what puzzles me, aunt !" "Well! in any case, it is useless tc waste time in idle speculations on the subject. I declare it is almost tea-time. I will go myself to the kitchen, and I shall tell Nancy at the same time what we saw at Baltray, in order to excuse your impatience." A day or two after, who should drop in for an afternoon call but the two Miss Brodigans. After some desultory conversation, Miss Jane said in her languid way — " So your Italian friend is come back. Of course you have seen him ?" "Why no," Miss Ackland replied, "we have not seen him." " Have you seen him ?" asked Rose in a careless tone. " Well ! no, but a friend of ours did !" "And where, pray !" said Rose in the same tone. ■'■ In Lawrence street, not so far from here," said Miss Brodigan ; " it is strange he did not call on you immediately. It was the evening before last, I think, that Tiernan saw him." " Or thought he saw him," said Rose with a smile ©f incredulity. Yet she and her aunt exchanged meaning glances, for that was the evening of the day on which they had been to Baltray. "I see you are incredulous, Rose," said Anne Brodi THE OLD HOrSE BY THE BOT NE. 197 gan, a little annoyed by her tone and manner ; " of course, you think, and you ought to know best, that the young gentleman could not possibly be an hour, much less a day, in Drogheda without your seeing him." "Without my seeing him?'' said Rose haughtily; " you are much mistaken, Miss Brodigan, if you sup- pose I have any special claims on Signer Giaccmo's attention My aunt may have, for sin was very kind to him during his illness, but as for me, he owes me nothing, and I expect nothing from him." " Oh ! of course not. now," lisped languid Miss Jane. "No, nor then" replied Rose with increasing vehe- mence; she was really annoyed at their meddling in- sinuations. "Not since the military came into favor, at all events," said Miss Brodigan, with a meaning smile as she and her sister rose to take their departure. "What do you mean by that, Anne Brcdigr.n? 1 said Rose, with a sudden change of voice and man- ner, and her aunt was pained to sec that her face was all in a glow. "Oh! nothing at all," was the reply, "only you know, Rose, the scarlet fever is prevalent here just now, and I really did not know whether you had es- caped it or not. Good-bye, Miss Ackland ! Good- bye, Rosey ! I forgot to say that mamma sends her kind love to you both, fair ladies of the hill ! Good- bye !" Miss Jane nodded and smiled, hands were mutually shaken, and the visitors retired. There was 198 THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. A short silence after they left, then Miss Ackland said Bomewhat abstractedly — " I begin to think that Glacomo may be here, or has been here. But if so, it is passinj strange that we have not seen him." " So strange, indeed," said Rose, " that I cannot believe it." " The evening is fine," said Miss Ackland, an hour or two later, when the sun was sinking in the west, " let us walk a while in the garden," and she drew her niece's arm within her own. After taking a few turns round the garden, which was not very large, and for the most part exhibiting the useful rather than the ornamental in its botanic arrangement, they stopped to catch the last faint glow of sunset flushing the distant sea with crimson, and Miss Ackland said — " Rose, I have a question to ask you." " Indeed, Aunt Lydia ? — and pray what is it ?" said Rose in a hesitating sort of way. " What did Anne Brodigan mean about the mili- tary, and the scarld fever. She spoke with a pointed- ness which you seemed to understand." Rose laughed, but her laugh was not the same free, joyous one that her aunt was accustomed to hear. u Why, my dear Aunt Lydia, what importance can you possibly attach to Anne's silly badinage ? You ought to know her by this time ?" There was a slight rustling amongst the bushes near by, that made both ladies start and turn quickly in the direction of the sound. No living thins: was THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYXE. 109 to be seen, however, except a linnet that sat on the to* most bough of an apple-tree warbling its vesper BOPg. " Yet, Rose, I fancied there was a consciousness in your look and manner, while she spoke, that somehow reminded me of what you said yourself in Mabel's cottage the other day." "What was that, Aunt Lydia?" " That you had met Major Melville more than once, and with him some of his brother officers. Why did you not tell me that before ?"' "Well ! I told you then, my dear aunt, and I'll tell about it now, although it is scarcely worth the telling." Was it the linnet that shook the branches, and crush- ed the dry leaves on the ground as though human foot were there ? " The truth is, aunt," resumed Rose with a cheer- fulness that reassured Miss Ackland, " I have been a little annoyed by some of those same military gentle- men, especially that Lieutenant Cornell, since wo were so unlucky as to meet them tliat evening. They will salute me when we meet, on the street, and that is oftener than I could wish, and as for Cornell he has once or twice addressed me with the familiarity of an old acquaintance." " But you have not answered him, have you ? or recognized any of the others ?" "Certainly not, Aunt Lydia! I should do little credit to your teaching were I capable of exchanging salutes with gentlemen who have never been intro- 200 THE OLD HOUSE BY hie boyne. duced to me, and whom I only know as inrrndent and intrusive." "There spoke my own Rose," said the aunt with proud affection; " shall I confess that you have taken a load off my heart ?" "Why, surely, you did not suspect me of encourag- ing any advances from these gentlemen, or noticing them in any way ?" " No matter what I suspected, Rose, I find you are a true Ackland, and know how to keep such people at a proper distance. But tell me, Rose, did Major Melville act in the same way as the others ?" " Not he, indeed, aunt ! — he never pretended to re- cognize me, although I could not help seeing that he knew me again at the first glance." "That is just what I would expect," said Miss Ack- land in a low, tremulous tone ; " to be a Melville he must be the soul of honor, and a gentleman in the truest sense. Let us go in, my dear, the night-dews are beginning to fall." They were turning to go into the house by the front door, when a figure presented itself to their view at the corner of the esplanade from behind the drooping branches of a laburnum-tree. Rose clung closer to her aunt's arm, with difficulty suppressing a scream, and Miss Ackland herself was somewhat alarmed. But alarm soon gave place to joy when a well-known voice said — "You do not know me, then? — have you already forgotten Giacomo ?" THE OLD HOUSE EY THE BOTXB. 201 •' Giacomo ! Can it be possible ?" It was, indeed, Giacomo, his very self; there was no mistaking the friendly grasp of his hand, the heart- warm tones of his voice, unheard for long, — and truly he had no reason to complain of his reception. Miss Ackiand was rejoiced to see him, and frankly said so, and even Rose manifested more pleasure than could have been expected from her former demeanor towards him. At first no questions were asked, and they all three entered the house. Nancy was rather surprised on S3eing what she took for a strange gen- tleman with the ladies, but, on recognizing her young favorite, the good old soul could scarcely find words to express her joy. Tea was long over, and Giacomo had had his, he said, but it was hard to persuade Nancy from going to work to get tea for him, "An' sure a cup of tay would do him good, an 1 he must take something, after bein' so long away from them." At last the faithful creature was got rid of, the can- dles were lit, and Giacomo ran his eye over the well- remembered room, as if to see that all was the same there as when he left it ; but all was not the same, and the young man's eyes filled with tears as they rested on the oM arm-chair still in its olden place, but vacant now. The ladies saw his emotion, and well under- stood its cause, but they were silent. " How much you must miss him !" said Giacomo after a long pause. " Yes, we miss him, indeed !" Rose replied, — hei 202 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE COYNE. aunt could not trust her voice to speak, " every day, and every hour we miss him, and shall, I think, for years to come." After another pause, M;ss Ackland said — " By-the- lye, Giacomo, when did you arrive ?•' There was a slight confusion visible in the young mai's manner as he replied — " Three clays ago." " Three days !" said Miss Ackland reproachfully, "three days in Drogheda without coming to see us ?" " I came on business, and have been much occu- pied. 1 ' " Yet," cried Rose with the arch smile of other days, " you found tima to go to Bahray !" " Oh ! that is true," said Miss Ackland ; " we saw your name in the sand near Mabel's cottage, and have been ever since puzzling our wits imagining how it came there." " You natter me, Miss Ackland," he replied laugh- ing, " I could not have hoped that the sight of my name should have attracted so much of your atten- tion." " Not of mine," said Rose, saucy as ever, " not of mine, I assure you. I for one take little heed of words written in the sand. But my aunt thought it strange to get the first token of your arrival on the beach at Baltray. A new way of leaving one's card, that !" " But who told you I was there at all ?" « Why, Mabel's grandchildren told us — that ia they told Aunt Lydia that 'a gentleman 1 wrote that, TIIF OLD HOUSE B\ THE BOYXE. 203 and it was very natural to conclude that no gentleman was so likely to write your name as yourself. Then Miss Brodigan told us you were in town, for that a friend of theirs had seen you." "And did you believe her on her friend's word ?" " No, that she did not," said Miss Ackland, am ewering for her niece ; " she gave Miss Brodigan no small offence by refusing to believe it." "And why would you not believe it. Miss Rose?" said Giacomo, evidently much pleased. " I'll answer that question," Rose quickly replied, " when you tell me, Signor, why you were three days in Drogheda without coming to see my aunt." " A fair proposal, Giacomo," ' said M'ss Ackland smiling, " come, give an account of yourself." " Some other time I will- not now," said Giacomo, u but I was forgetting my sister's letter, Miss Ack- land !" and he handed her the letter, which she glanced over with evident pleasure, then handed it to Rose. "What a sweet girl your sister Maddalena must be," observed Miss Ackland ; " somehow I feel a long- ing desire to make her acquaintance — that is in per- son — for I fancy I know her now in heart and mind as well as I ever could know her. It seems to me that I should love her dearly." "Why, that is just what Maddalena says of you," said Giacomo laughing; "Miss Rose she thinks she could /ike, Miss Ackland she would love, nay, lovea even now." gO± fllE OLD HOUSE BY THE Bl'YNE. " What a remarkable coincidence !" said Rose in a tone so like that of worthy Mr. Brodigan that eve a her grave aunt could not refuse a smile. " I was much amused yesterday evening," said Gi- acomo, after a short and rather awkward silence, (: by a scene I witnessed at the Tholsel —I believe you call it — that gloomy town-hall of yours. I was passing by there about eight o'clock, when I saw the building lighted up, and some people going in, but what most attracted my attention was that funny old bellman of yours, walking in that lazy way that is pe- culiar to him, up and down in front of the building, neither faster nor slower. — slower he couldn't well go — ringing his big bell and repeating these words — ' Walk in, gentlemen ! walk in ! Hell open, gentle- men ! — Hell open !'* Hearing such a singular invi- tation given to the public, I thought /would 'step in' and see what was going on, noticing, as I did so, that those who went in were few, compared with those who laughed and passed on." "Well! and what was it?" said Miss Ackland, ex- changing a glance of intelligence with Rose; she knew well enough, but she wished to hear Giacomo's account of it. " Why, it was a meeting of l The Irish Church Missionary Society, 1 as I afterwards saw by the pla- cards on the walls, but the whole business of the meeting seemed to be to abuse and vilify the Catholic religion. Such stories as I heard told there by grave * This rt-ally occurred in Drogheda. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 205 looking men, well-dressed, and, you world think, sen- sible enough, concerning what they called ' Romish superstition, 1 I never heard in all my life before. They were so childish, so ridiculous, and all about people without a name, and with no particular place of residence, that I could scarce keep from laughing to see how attentively they were listened to. Some of them were located in my country, at the village of A or B, and so forth, and always to some C or D, or some other letter of the alphabet. I only wish you could have heard them, Miss Ackland ! for I know it would have given you much amusement. For my part, I might have been annoyed, only I wondered so much at the gravity with which the speakers spoke, and the audience listened, to such nonsensical rigmaroles that I forgot it was of my own religion such absurd stories were being told." " Oh ! that is nothing new to us here," said Miss Ackland, " but we only laugh at those knaves or fanatics, whichever they may be. You see how the bellman was employed to turn them into ridicule. That is just how we treat them here in Drogheda. We have ' soupers' here, as they are called (from their attempts to bribe the poor through their appe- tites), but they never succeed in making one pervert, unless it be some miserable wretch who is willing to barter his or her soul, like Esau, for a mess of pottage. The townspeople only laugh at the efforts of these Missionaries' to make Protestants. I rather think they find our old borough too hot to hold them, at 206 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. times, for the very boys on the streets plague them with questions about religion which they cannot answer. Have you none of these Protestant mission- aries in Italy ?" " Yes, w r e have them in shoals ; they every year come to us in greater numbers ; they call themselves there 'evangelists' and other such names." " Well ! and how do they succeed there in making perverts ?" " They make no perverts, so to say, from the Church ; those whom they induce to join them out- wardly, are already deprived of faith, — on account of their bad morals, I suppose, — and, therefore, have none to lose. But even they are only few in numbers, as I have always understood " The conversation then turned on matters of more immediate interest, and the evening passed so plea- santly, that all were surprised when the clock struck ten soon after which Giacomo took his leave. CHAPTER XII. Whatever GiacomcTs business might have been in Drogheda, he seemed to have an abundanceof time for all purposes of amusement and of social enjoy- ment. He said that his father had given him permis- sion to remain some weeks after his business arrange- ments were completed, in oider to see soms more cf the country around Drogheda. It annoyed him moie than a little when he found that Miss Ackland an1 Rose were necessarily confined to the schoolroom during the greater part of the day, so that he could not have their company in all his excursions. But Saturday was at their disposal, and he contrived to visit the most interesting scenes and localities on that day, when most of all he enjoyed their beauties, and learned the most of their historical and legendary lore. Jemmy Nulty was one of the first for whom he inquired, but Jemmy, he learned, had " shuffled off his mortal coil," and gone to rest till Doomsday in the little monastic graveyard by the side of the bro- ther he loved so well, his brother in faith, hope, and charity, no less than in blood. " Happy pair !" said Giacomo, when Miss Ackland, with tearful eyes, spoke of the truly Christian brothers now reunited in the 208 TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. calm sleep of death. " Happy pair ! who would not envy such a death ? Poor Jemmy seemed to have * presentiment that we should meet no more on earth, for he asked me, if I ' missed him 1 on returning to Drogheda, to remember him in my prayers Kind old man ! indeed I shall not forget him ! he reminded me of nothing so much as the simple anchorets of other days, who lived in the desert with G jd and their own souls." A shade of deeper thought passed over his face as he thus spoke, and when he raised his eyes again, he found Rose watching hi n with an earnestness o** which she herself was hardly conscirus, yet she blushed slightly, and turned away with some degree of embarrassment, laughing the while at Giacomo's unwonted seriousness. " Let Jemmy rest in peace," said she, taking up her tapestry frame, " which I have no doubt he does, the good old soul. You intend, of course, to go to Bel- iewstown races, Signor ? — They come off next week/' " I should certainly like to go," was the reply, " and I have invitations from the Brodigans, Tiernans and others, to go with them, but " lie stopped short and looked at Miss Ackland, " I do not know whether I shall go or not," " But you shall go, my dear Giacomo," said Miss Ackland with a smile, rightly interpr3ting his hesita- tion ; " if respect for the unforgotten dead will not per- mit all your Drogheda friends to be there, that is no reason why you should miss seeing what will be new TIIE OLD mUSE BV THE BOTKB. 209 to you, and is really in itself worth seeing, especially for a stranger. You must go to Bellewstown." " With whom would you wish me to go, if go I must ?" said Giacamo in a listless way. " Oh ! the Brodigans, of course ; they would natu- rally feel hurt, being our most intimate friends, if you did not go with them. Harry Cusack, I suppose, will join their party " " I do not think so, Aunt Lydia," said Rose, " he told me he had promised to go with the people out Duleek Gate. It seems they have friends coming down from Dublin for the Races, and expect to have quite a large party there." It was settled then and there, however, that Gia- como was to go with the Brodigans, and accordingly the young ladies of that family had the triumph of parading the handsome stranger as one of their attendant cavaliers the first day of the Races. And truly it was a novel sight to our young Italian, and one that was characteristic of Drogheda, to whose genial, free-hearted burghers those annual Races at Bellewstown were (and we suppose are) a sort of carnival, during which all, or nearly all, business was suspended in the town, and all of its population who could manage to go, were, day after day, "off to Bel- lewstown," the rich riding or driving, the poor trudg- ing on foot, — the distance is only a few miles — and all in the best possible humor for being happy them- selves and making others happy. At Bellewstown the generous hospitality of that proverbially hospit* 210 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. able town seemed to reach its height. The Drogheda people made it a point to have as many of their friends from other places for that great occasion as they possibly could, and it was a stirring scene of harm- less mirth and jollity when hundreds of different parties were bivouacking a la pic-nic on the smooth green sward at some particular hour of the day when " the horses were not running." It was a scene to be remem- bered. What with the merry music of pipes and fid- dles from the tents, the countless multitude of happy, joyous faces, all intent on sport, the numerous groups scattered over the spacious green surrounding the Course, enjoying their creature comforts with laugh and jest, in which the passers-by often shared ; the rows of carriages of all kinds drawn up without the ropes which marked the limits of the Course, from the handsome and elegant barouche of the nobleman with its heraldric devices and liveried servants, to the plain gig and jaunting-car of the respectable shop- keeper, or the wealthy farmer, "the ladies". being generally stationed in the latter class to see the Races, whilst the very highest ascended the stand in the centre, where might be found almost any year, about the time we write of, the Lord Lieutenant of the day, all the eighteen miles of way from Dublin, and the heads of the Louth, Meath, and Dublin aris- tocracy, Ihe stand-house itself being a gay sight to look upon, with its national and other flags and streamers dancing in the summer-breeze that swept across that high table-land from the Irish Sea on one THE OLD HOUSE LY THE BOYNE. 211 side, and on the other the Bay of Dundalk, whose blue waters were visible in the distance, with the shapely forms of the Mourne Mountains rising vague and misty beyond it. It ivas a scene of life, and beauty, and animation, and our young Leghor?:er thought, as he cast his eyes over the rich plains of three level counties lying in beauty and freshr.ess be- low on every side, then looked through the vistas opening between hills and mountains to the bolder outlines of the northern scenery, far away in the coun- ties of Cavan and Monaghan, that even his own sunny Italy presented few scenes by nature fairer than that to which worthy Mr. Brodigan took care to call his attention. But it was only to Mr. Brodigan or his plain but intelligent wife that Giacomo listened witli any degree of pleasure ; in vain did Miss Jan j quote sentimental poetry, and compose fine sentences de- scriptive of the surrounding scenery ; in vain did Miss Brodigan unbend from her usual hauteur, an 1 conde- scend to hang on his arm, when they all too 1 ; a turn round the green during the intervals of the races ; iris thoughts were in the old house by the Boyne, and the schoolroom where two bright kindred spirits were shut up at their wearisome, monotonous task — " P. nt in lb • w -ary schoolroom l I h&ve THE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. 237 heard my father sing it many a time, at least snatches of it ; I remember these words particularly — 'From thee and thy innocent beauty first came, The reveaiings that taught him true love to adcre — To feel thy bright presence and turn bim with shame, From the id. Is he blindly had knelt to b. tore.' So that air is the ^ame as the , Lochaber' of which Miss Rose speaks?" " The very same. Moore says of it, in one of the notes to his Melodies, that the old Irish name of it was ' The Lamentation of Aughrim.' " " But, Aunt Lydia, how does he account for its being so long and we'd known in the Highlands as an old Scottish air ?" " Simply by the fact that it was introduced into the Highlands by Lawrence O'Connellan, an Irish harper, brother of the composer. It may, after all, be considered an old Scottish air, for it has been common amongst the Scottish Gael for over two hundred years." " So it was composed by O'Connellan ?" said Rose musingly; she was but half faniTar with the name. "You seem to have forgotten, Rose," said Miss # Ackland, " what quite took your llmcy at the time, those fine verses we once read together on ' O'Con- nellan's Harp,' beginning — 1 Harp so lov'd in days of old, Unhonor'd now, The hand that swept thy strings is cold, And tuneless now.' " i 238 THE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. " Oh ! yes, I remember now," said Rose, in hei eager, girlish way; "how could I forget the name and the resting-place of the bard ? ' And she repeated Dne whole stanza of the poem — " By Lough Gar's waters, lone, and low, The minstrel's laid, — Where mould'ring cloisters dimly throw Sepulchral shade ^ — Where clustering ivy darkly weeps Upon his bed, To biot the legend where he sleeps, The tuneful drad !" "' And you also remember those fine verses trans Uud from the Irish — I think by Ferguson — apostro pldzing the minstrel, and commencing thus — ' Enchanter who reignest Supreme o'er the North, Who hast wiled the coy spirit Of true music forth ; In vain Europe's minstrels To honor aspire, When thy swift slender fingers Go forth on the lyre.' How beutiful are the last lines: ' Who hear thee ihry praise thee ; Tht-y weep while they praise ; ' For, charmer, from Fairyland, Fresh are thy lays !' " " BeautifvjJ, indeed,'' said Giacomo ; " I should like to have heard some of those old Irish harpers — Car- olan, of whom I have so cflen heard you speak, Miss Ackland, — or that O'^Neil, of whom your poor father THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 239 told ils so much one evening, sitting in this very room.'' " And less than a year ago V said Miss Ackland sadly, as she cast her tearful eyes over the smiling prospect that lay spread without, Silence fell on all, the silence of tender recollection; alight wind played in the clustering vines about tlu open window; the breath of the jasmine and clematis was wafted fresh and balmy into the room, — beautiful and touch- ing emblem of the odor of sweetness which the good leave on earth behind them when they have passed to the spirit-land S Rose was the first to break the silence, evidently with the intention of diverting her aunt from her gloomy thoughts — " What were we talking of before we turned off, by way of digression, to Scotch airs and Irish harpers? — oh! the Highlands, and Lochaber, to be sure — well, really, Signor, I never thought you had so much enthusiasm as I see you have — it is quite refreshing to hear you talk of those wild scenes and wild people ! — I don't know but I shall pay them a visit myself some day — that is if anybody will be so kind as to take me ?" Then she sang in her real or affected exuberance of feeling, — "Hurrah for ihe Highlands, the stern Scottish Highlands, The home of the clansman, ihe brave and ihe free, Where the clouds love to r< st o'er the mountain's rough breast. E'er they journ y afar o'er the islandless sea !" "Well done, Miss Rose " said a cheery, but not over sweet voice without; " I give you my word, I 240 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNB. couldn't do it better myself!" And Harry Cusack made bis appearance at the open window, raising bis hat politely to tbe ladies, nodding stiffly to their companion. " You !" said Rose, c< why you have no more voice than a jack-daw !" " Who said I bad ?" was tbe good-humored answer " didn't I say I couldn't do it better myself? But who's for a drive this fine evening ? It's a pity to be in tbe house, so I thought I'd come and see if you ladies wouldn't like a moonlight drive by the rivei side." u Oh ! you dear Harry Cusack, the very thing we would like !" said Rose clapping her hands ; " of course you will come, Signor ?" turning to Giacomo, " Thank you," he replied with icy coldness, " I pro- mised to drop in this evening at Mr. Brodigan's ; I should have been there before now." " Could you not postpone your visit till to-morrow evening, and come with us ?" Miss Ackland inquired ; she looked at Cusack, so did Giacomo, but Cusack was looking another wiy, and Miss Ackland had too much tact to renew an invitation which ought to come from another. Giacomo hurried away, anxious, as h3 said, to keep his appointment, and Rose made no effort to detain him ; wishing him, on the contrary, a very pleasant evening. "'You might have had the politeness to ask the Signor, too," said Rose somewhat pettishly, as sh« helped her aunt to " wrap up." THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 241 " I've got my horse to think of, Miss Rose !" "I vow you're as gruff as a bear." " Thank you kindly, Miss Rose ! Allow me to put on your shawl !" " Thank you kindly, I have it on ! But, do you know, Mr. Harry Cusack, I have half a mind not to go, when you are so fearful of overloading your horse, you know !" And she stood swinging her bonnet by the ties, as if irresolute. "Fie, fie, Rose!" said her aunt; "how childishly you talk ! Put on your bonnet, and let us go !" Rose left the room. " I wonder, Mr. Cusack, wil 1 Rose ever learn to control her tongue ?" " That depends," said Cusack, shrugging his shoul- ders as naturally as though he were a born French- man. " Are you ready now, ladies ?" As Rose trip- ped in, shawled and bonnetted, looking so pretty that even her aunt could not help noticing it, to herself, of course, — she was ever chary of compliments, espe- cially to her niece. " This is very pleasant," said Rose, as having de- scended the steps to the lower road, they found the car waiting, and started at a brisk trot along the white smooth road, running close by the river-side. " This is very pleasant, if none of the dead are walk- ing abroad in the moonlight. Suppose, now, we were to meet Tom Cullen, the cooper !" " Oh ! you shocking girl, what ideas come into your head !" u Very shocking, I know, Aunt Lydia ! but very 242 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. natural, when one is out at night on the Boyne sida Mr. Cusaek!" turning to that gentleman who sat, dos- a-dos, on the opposite side of the car, " did you ever see Tom Cullen, tlie cooper ?" " I can't say I did, Miss Rose, and I hope I'll be longer so ! — drive on faster, Ned !" to his man. The subject was not to Mr Cusack's liking, it was plain, f " I wonder is it true that so many people have seen that most unlucky of coopers,'' went on Rose ; " the steps on which they say he stands ought to be some- where about here. No, I believe they are farther up towards the bridge Dear me ! what a thing it must be for any one going up or down to see him standing at a turn of the steps, where they can't avoid passing him, without stepping into the river. A nice dilem- ma, that, isn't it, Mr. Cusaek?' " Ye-es ! — nice, indeed, but not over pleasant ! — shall w T e take the Bait ray road, Miss Ackland ?" ( ' As you please, Mr Cusaek ! — we have no choice !" ind Miss Ackland, dropping her voice to a whisper, begged Rose to let Tom Cullen rest in peace, and if she must talk, to choose some other subject. Rose promised with a smile of doubtful meaning, and she kept silent for a while, but all at once, she said : " Mr. Cusaek ! did you ever see the headless woman in white that is said to walk this road by night ?" " An' sure if she didn't walk by night, Miss, it isn't by day she'd walk !'' put in Ned from his perch in front, looking round with so knowing a look on THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE 24b his face that it seemed as though he thoroughly un- derstood, and sufficiently enjoyed the young lady's persistent efforts to u make night hideous." " Don't speak till you're spoken to !" said his mas- ter sharply, then answered Rose's question in the negative. " Nor the big black dog with fiery eyes ?" Oli ! the villain o' the world !" ejaculated Ned, low and slow, " sure he most put the life out o' me one night last w hither !" " Didn't I tell you not to put in your tongue, yoi blockhead ?" said the master still more sharply than before. " Sure I know you did, sir,' but I thought it was no harm to answer the young lady's question, as I had seen the dog, an' I thought maybe you hadn't, Mr. Cusack !" "It was a harm, then; see that you don't do it again '" " Sure I wont, sir; I'd be long sorry when you onst forbid me." Ned was silenced, but not so Rose, for the more she saw it annoyed poor Cusack, the more she kept on talking of all the ghosts whose " locid habitation'' was anywhere in that vicinity, for, thanks to Nancy's Btory-telling propensities, and her own fondness (as a chfcd) for ghost-stories, she knew them all. In vain did her aunt endeavor many times to change the subject of conversation; still the wayward girl re- turned to the same dismal themes, always addressing 244 THE OLD HOUrii ". '. THE BOYNE. her discourse to Mr. Ccfl«*o, mavbe, — but she thought he'd be back in a day c r two, an' XHE OLD HOUSE BY 1IIE BOY> E. 255 that then all 'id be made right — but ochone! that was the last she seen of him. he went away in anger, v,n was lost in a great storm that came on that very n'tght.' — ' And was Miss Ackland very sorry ?' says he Sorry !' says I, ' sorry ! — it mos. broke her heart, an' I think she never got over it since.' " " Oh Nancy !" cried Rose, " why did you tell him th.t?" ' Well ! God help me, I didn't know what I had be t say, Miss Rose, so I thought I'd tell the honest tr.nh." ' : And I am thankful that you did," said Miss Ack- laad, "oh! very, very thankful! — You iaid what you ou_;ht to say, just what I would have you say were I w'.thin hearing. 1 ' '• Well ! God bless you, Miss Lyddy, that's a com- for( to me, anyhow ! — I'd never forgive myself, never, never, if I had said anything that 'id grieve you to heir." ' I know that, Nancy ! I know it well ; but was that al that passed ?" " There's very little more, Miss Lyddy ! When I toald the gentleman what I'm after tcllin' you, lie gave a heavy sigh, an' says he, as if talkin' to himself, ' Oh ! that Ralph had known this in time ! — ' Yis, your honor,' says I, ' he might be a livin' man this day, an' himself an 1 my poor dear mistress as happy as the day is long together : but I suppose it wasn't their luck!' — ' I suppose so,' says h.% an' with that up he get3 an' goes away, jist a little while before you 256 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. got in. Wasn't it mighty quare, Miss Lyddy, for him to happen here in a mistake, an' get talkin' to me, an' me to see sich a likeness between him an' his brother, that's so many years dead an' gone, though not knowin' the gentleman from Adam ? An' to hap- pen on sayin 1 to him the very words that you'd wish me to say to Captain Melville's brother, poor simple, ignorant body that I am ! Well, sure enough, strange things does happen in this world, an' that's one o' them !" ( ' It is, indeed, Nancy !" said Miss Ackland, now quite composed, and even cheerful, — " let us go in now and say our night-prayers. It is after nine o'clock." Next day, early in the forenoon, Giacomo called, to say good-bye; he was going to Dublin where he had not yet been, and as his stay in Ireland was drawing to a close, he must, of course, see the metropolis be- fore leaving. "And when you return from Dublin," said Miss Ackland, " if you have still a few days to spare, we must take you to see Tara Hill, where the Kings of Ireland dwelt of old, and Slane, another place of historic interest, with some few more which combine both legendary and historical associa- tions. " And since you are so kind, my dear Miss Ack land. I should like to visit once again the place where that great battle was fought, up the river." 'Oh! you mean Oldbridge. Well! we shall go THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 257 there, too ! — I will ask Mr. Brodigan to drive us there some day ; I know he will be happy to do so. for he is fond of doing the honors of our old town and the classic scenes around it." Giacomo longed to ask who the officer was that had called the day previous. He lingered in hopes that some allusion might possibly be made to the sub- ject, but he hoped in vain; not a word was said that could tend to gratify his curiosity, and he was com- pelled to leLve in the same state of suspeuse, render- ed still more painful by the evident improvement in Miss Ackland's spirits; — had the officers visit any connection with her unwonted cheerfulness? Whc was the officer ? could it have been Major Melville ? These were the questions that troubled Giacomo's mind, and kept it in a tumult all unknown before, during the two hours' ride to the metropolis, on the top of a stage-coach — the Dublin and Drogheda Rail way was then in the womb of the future, perhaps un- dreamed of by mortal man. Whether he found as much to interest him in Dublin as he had hoped and expected, our friend had been only three or four days absent when he again presented himself in the parlor of the old house by the Boyne, to Miss Ackland's no small surprise, and to Rose's no small amusement. 11 Well ! I declare !" said Rose, " if here is not the Signor — unless it be his ghost." And she held up he** hands in well-feigned amazement. " Let me look at you ! — why, positively, it is himself, Aunt Lydia !" 258 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. c ' So I am glad to perceive, my dear! very glad indeed !° " Well ! but. v/here did you come from, Signor ?" : That's just what I intend to ask him at our ne>ct meeting; as for my only imagining that he watches me closely, I assure you, it is no such thing, Miss Ackhnd. But I'm determined to know why he takes the liberty of staring at me." u And if you do," said Rose, " he will probably tell you that a cat may look at a king. I advise you to let Major Melville alone." " You do ? Well ! I shall not take your advice, Miss Rose, on this occasion. I shall take my own." " Very well ! do as you please !" "You appear to know more of this gentleman, Miss Rose, than you choose to tell." 11 Not I, indeed ! — I never exchanged half a dozen words with him;" then she gaily carolled forth — " Oh if I had a beau For a soldier who'd go, *>o you think I'd say no 1 Vo, not I." " I wish I were a soldier,'' thought Giacomo, as he watched the blithe and graceful creature bounding nlong the old garden walks in search of her favorite flowers — " who knows what my chances might be. then !" Nancy's voice was now heard, and her picture- like TUT. OI-D TIOTSF BY TTIF. BOTNE. 2G1 face seen at the backdoor of the hall, announcing that tea was ready. The meal being over, our trio proceeded, as pre- arranged, to Mr. Brodigan's, where their unexpected arrival was hailed, as usual, with sincere cordiality. Cusack was there too, and so was a certa : n Mr. Bel- lew, a new pretender to the hand of Miss Brodigan, senior; on hearing of the intended visit lo O'dbridge and Donore, they both proposed to be of the party. " Yes," said Mrs. Brodigati, never more at home than in getting up excursions, and pic-nics, and all such rural entertainments, " yes, and we'll bring our dinner with us: I'll have all ready by the time Miss Ackland gets rid of her scholars — weary on them for scholars! but it's hard to bo lied down to them, es- pecially the like of Miss Ackland and Miss Rose !" "I appreciate your kind sympathy, my dear Mrs. Brodigan," said Miss Ackland with her grave, sweet smile. " bul you must not say anything against my pu- pils — T assure you I was very glad to get them, and T should find it hard to get along without them. Every one cannot be rich, or the same person always in good circumstances: ice had our turn of prosperity, and I solemnly declare I am just as happy now, and so, I am sure, is Rose. It is not fortune that either of us regrets in our past." There was a deep pathos in her voice that sufficiently conveyed her meaning, and more than one of her auditors, even those all un- used to the merting mood, turned away to hide the tear that would come, to the cherished memory of 232 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. him who had been as a patriarch in their geniai circle. Next day the sun shone out in the gorgeous splen- lor of the long mid-summer day; early in the after- noon, our party set out on their pleasant drive up the river side to the picturesque and storied heights of Oldbridge, where, for an hour or two, they wandered through those romantic sctnes so suggestive of seri- ous thought, so rich in their associations. Giacomo was delighted with all he saw; the gloomy grandeur of King William's Glen, through whose wooded depths William of Orange led himself his hardy veterans from the Rhine against the brave but ungeneralled Irish army on the opposite bank. He was shown the iden- tical spot where Caillemote, the leader of the French Huguenots, fell descending the heights, and Duke Schomberg in mid-stream leading his command across the ford ; and George Walker, famous for his defence of Deny. "Irish gunners aimed well," said Mr. Brodigan, " and they would have taken higher aim still, only for the rascally chicken-heart that was in that James Stuart — faugh ! I don't wonder at the name that Irish tongues put on him after — the poor, pitiful pol- troon ! You must know, Signer Giacomo, that in the thick of the battle, an Irish gunner came to tell him that he had King William under cover, and could shoot him dead in a minute, if he only gave the word. ' Oh !' says the old hen-wife of a man, ' would you leave my daughter a widow ?' So the gunner THE OLD nOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. 263 3id not shoot, but he fired no more, he was so dis* gusted." Giacomo could not view the king's conduct in the same light as Mr. Brodigan ; he thought him more entitled to respect than to censure for his tenderness of heart, but, seeing the good man so full of indigna- tion against the unfortunate monarch, he kept his mind to himself, and turned to admire the stately Obelisk, the ornament of the Glen, hewn out of a massive rock, to commemorate the success of Wil- liam's arms, and the defeat of the too chivalrous and devoted Irish who fought the battle for James, and lost it by his miserable incapacity. Giacomo sighed as he read the inscription on the Obelisk — Sacred to the Glorious Memory of King William the Third, n. Tn c nsoquence of this ac in James thfl S c<>nd l.fi this kingd m, and fled to France. This rmm rial of our deliverance was erected in the ninth year of the reign of George the Second, the first stone being laid by Lionel Sack- 264 THE OLD IIOT3SE BY THE BOYNE. counts, was so little worthy of the sacrifices they made for him — a prince who was not of their own blood, but belonged, on the contrary, to a race who had never given Ireland aught but promises, broken as soon as made — a prince who had nothing in com- mon with those so faithful followers but the religion he and they professed. Yet they sacrificed all for him, those true-hearted sons of Catholic Ireland, who erred only in trusting an English Stuart ! It was on the hill .of Donore, overlooking the Glen, on the southern or Meath side, that our party dined, just without the boundaries — walled no longer — of the ancient graveyard, from whose church, even then in ruins, King James is said by tradition to have watch- ed the progress of the battle, and witnessed the ex- tinction of his last hope in the final defeat of the Irish army. The scene was grand and solemn as the as- sociations connected with it ; the deep, dark glen, with its shelving sides thickly wooded, the bright river running in its midst far below, and the graceful Obelisk standing boldly out from the green woods at the lower opening of the G!en ; the hill of Donore, from which our party looked down on the river and the valley, and close beside them the deserted grave* villr>, Duke of Dorset, Lord Lieutenant of ihe Kingdom of Ire> land, MDCCXXXVI. This m numpnt was eree'ed by the grateful c .n ribulLns of several Protestants of Great Bri ain and Ireland." — Dalton's History of Drogheda. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 265 yard with its sunken tombs, and long-tangled grass, &nd the little that remains of the ancient church, pointing back to a period long anterior to tho Re- formation. On a tombstone near the ruins, James was said to have sat watching the terrible struggle going on below — how appropriate a seat for the fallen monarch whom even his nearest of kin had deserted ! — Oh ! the place was drear, and sad, and lonely ; and yet it had so many attractions for Gia- como, there was such an indefinable blending of old romance and ever-youthful beauty, suc l i a cloud of historical and legendary interest hung over the place, that he thought he could have staid there forever, provided the same company, or part of it, was there to enjoy it with him — and he, perhaps others, too, of the party, left it with regret. CHAPTER XV. Those few pleasant days passed all too quickly; Giacomo came one afternoon to say that he was or- dered home immediately, and he added with a smile, " Delays are never excusable with my father, so, go I must, without fail." Miss Ackland, summoned from the school-room to receive his visit, expressed herself much disappointed ; " I had planned so much," said she, " and have accom- plished so little in the way of entertaining you, and now it is all over!" M My dear, kind friend," the young man replied with unwonted emotion, " it was the best of all en- tertainments to me to come and go here at pleasure, to enjoy, when I would, the calm delight of a quiet evening in your society, and that of — of Miss Rose." " And yet," said Miss Ackland smilHg, " I am afraid Rose gave you some :.timo\auce of late by her girlish waywardness." . " Nono but what I could easily overlook — in her." " You are very kind and very indulgent," said Miss Ackland ; " oh ! how much I shall miss you !" — and her eyes filled with tears—" somehow, it seemed to trie as though you were a sort of link between me THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYXE 267 and some long-lost phase of my existence that waa pleasant while it lasted, — what it was that attracted me to you I never could satisfactorily explain to my- self, — but there was something from the very first, — something, I fancy, like what mothers feel for very dear children — only not quite so strong, I suppose !" and she smiled through her tears'. " It is very strange," said Giacomo, after a short pause, " that I have been attracted to you, my kind- est, dearest friend, in just the same way, and, like yon, I have many a time tried to explain it to myself, but never could succeed. Would that your country was mine, or mine yours !" " Wishes are vain, my dear young friend, — we must only resign ourselves to the hard necessity that places broad seas between us ! We cannot have things as we would wish in this probationary world I Should you not like to see Rose V " Certainly I should — just for a moment, to say good- bye ; — if Miss Rose can be spared so long from the school-room." A scarcely perceptible smile accom- panied these last words, but Miss Ackland was gone, and, of course, did not perceive it. A niinite or two after Rose made her appearance ; — she looked just as usual, only better, Giacomo thought, in the plain mourning-calico dress which she wore in the school-room, with the prettiest and tiniest of black silk aprons. She was perfectly calm, even subdued in her demeanor — her school-room manner, Giacomo said to himself. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. So you are really going home, Signor ?" she said Bntering, " Yes, my father wishes me to return as soon as possible." " And I suppose we shall see you here no more ?" still more calmly than before. " I really cannot 'say as to that; if it should be so, the sorrow, fortunately, will be all my own." " Pray do not say so, Signor Giacomo !" said Rose with unwonted earnestness; "you know, I am sure, how much my aunt likes to have you near her, and how she, at least, will miss you !" " She has been good enough to tell me so — and, in- deed, I shall miss her." He paused a moment, walked to the window, and returned to where he had been standing, then looked full in Rose's face. " Should we never meet again, Signorina, I wish you to understand that you have my best wishes for your happiness; if you are as happy in the future as I wish you, you need desire no more." " Dear me ! what a solemn affair you make of it !" exclaimed Rose, in a tone of good-natured raillery ; " I'm sure I never doubted your good wish to all our family, Signor Giacomo ! and I'm sure we all wish you just as well as you do us. But where's the use of making your good-bye so tragical? — I suppose we shall meet again some day !" ' ; Are you ever sorry to part with any one, Misi Rose : " THE OI-D HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 269 " Mercy on me ! what a question !" and the girl burst into one of her light-hearted fits of laughter. " I declare you grow stranger and stranger every day ! Of course I do feel sorry to part with people once in a while, that is " ''Suppose it were Major Melville who was going, instead of me ?" " Oh ! that would be quite another thing," Rose quickly replied, and a smile of peculiar meaning curved her lip, and brightened her eyes; "you have no right to inquire what my feelings would be in such case made and provided. It would be something very dreadful to part with Major Melville ahem ! Dear me ! it would be shocking ! — But I am waiting too long — I hear my young subjects becoming noisy, they are sure to take advantage of my absence ! — goodd>ye, Signor !' v and she frankly and kindly, yet unconcernedly, held out her hand, which the young man took abstractedly as one but half conscious — . " good-bye ! give my luve to Maddalena, and my — respect — to your father!' she could not repress a smile, for she had almost said fear instead of rt sped. " Good- bye ! and I wisli you a pleasant and safe voyage home." Her aunt came in at the moment, and Rose was in her place in the school-room before Giacomo had recovered from his bewilderment. A hasty shake- hands with Miss Ackland ; a cordially expressed hope from her that they might soon meet again — an afVee- tionate message for his sister, — a civil one for Iris 270 TEE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. father, and Giacomo left the old house by the Boyne, with feelings that he eould scarcely detine, even to himself. He had reached the top of the steps when he heard Nancy at the hall-door calling after him, and stopped till she overtook him. " Ah ! then, Mister Jacomy," she cried all breath- less with the race she had had from the kitchen when Miss Ackland told her Giacomo was gone ; " ah then, is it goin 1 away without seem' me you'd be ? Dear knows but that's bad shanagh, for it's not what I'd do to you, Mister Jacomy !" " Do, pray, excuse me, Nancy !" said the young man, kindly shaking her by the hand; " I know I should have asked for you, but somehow I forgot it at the last moment. I should be sorry, indeed, to forget you ! No one that know T s you so well as I do would willingly forget you leaving here'!" This mollified the old woman " Well, someway or another," said she, " all the quality that ever comes back and for'ads here does take notice of me Didn't Major Melville, even, ask me if I wasn't ' old Nancy ?' — he did, indeed !" " Major Melville !" said Giacomo, with a sudden flash of recollection, " so he was the officer who called here on St. John's Eve ?" " To be sure — who else would it be ?" said Nancy in her desire to exalt the family importance. " Was that his first visit ?" " In coorse it was — but,'" and Nancy lowered her voiee to a confidential tone, and looked mysterious — "but — THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 271 he had met the ladies before — an 1 though he came all aa one as thinkin' the house was for sale — it wasn't that, at all, that brought him — I seen that as plain as a pike-staff." Then approaching the young man, very near, she said in an emphatic whisper — " He jist wanted an excuse to get in ' — that was it ! — But, my goodness! don't let on that I was tellin' you, for Miss Ackland is so very particular, she mightn't be pleased at me !— Well, God be with you. I must hurry in, for this is my w ashin' day, an' I'm very busy ! I hope you'll be back soon !" Poor old Nancy ! little she knew, as she bent again over her wash-tub, the effect of her well-meaning gos- sip on him who heard it ! Strange to say, it quick- ened his step, and dispelled the sadness that was weighing his heart down, and sent forth a new man, with a new heart, as he said himself, to battle with the storms of life. A new spirit had come into him, and though he went not on his way rejoicing, he walked with a firmer step, and a prouder mien, look- ing the future sternly in the face, and resolved to for- get the warm visions of the past before entering on the cold realities of his coming life. Doubt and fear had now given place to certainty in a matter near and dear to his heart, and he haughtily, defiantly, cast away the hope that had gilt many an hour of his life during the past months ! He left Drogheda on the following day, not with- out hearing Mass at early morning in the High Lane Chapel, almost in the shadow of Lawrence's Gate, and 272 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. there offering up his prayers with the simple piety of a true Italian for those he was leaving, perhaps for- ever. The Madonna, his own Madonna, looked down on him with her sweet, motherly eyes from the ancient wall of the humble temple, and he bowed his head before her as he used to do when a little child in his far Tuscan home, and asked her maternal bless- ing and her powerful aid in the trials and troubles that might still await him in a life that as yet had been smooth and tranquil. Then he went forth more hopeful, more resigned, and bade a cheerful farewell to the friends who went to see him off, thinking the while of poor Jemmy Nulty, whom he should see no more on earth, and breathing a prayer which he al- most felt to be superfluous, for the pilgrim's soul. Miss Ackland missed her young friend even more than she had anticipated ; she often spoke of him, and always in terms of praise, regretting that they had seen so much of him only to lose his society when she, at least, had learned to value it most, " I feel precisely towards him," she would say, " as though he were a near and dear relation. We see so few like him, now-a-days, — he is so gentle in his ways, so kind and so considerate, so rsfined, too, in his sentiments." Rose shrugged her shoulders ; she was not quite so grea v ; an admirer of the Signor as her aunt, so she said ; the young man was pretty fair and might pass in a crowd, but she really did not see what her aunt saw in him to make her rate him so highly To TIIE OT.D HOUSE BY THE B0YNE. 27.') Nancy she talked in the same strain of Giacoino, when his name came up, and sometimes got a sharp rebuff for the same from the warm-hearted old woman who could never bear to hear any one she loved spoken lightly of. At such times Rose would laugh merrily, and say, " Why, you don't expect, Nancy, that every one should think as much of your ' Mister Jacomy' as you do ? every one is free to have their opinion, you know !" But from a spirit of contradiction she would herself introduce the sub- ject, enjoying of all things th* annoyance her want of appreciation of Giacomo gave the old woman. It was one gray, soft evening in the early part of August, and Miss Ackland stood on the esplanade with a gentleman who had been paying her a visit and was now leaving. He was a priest, that was plain, though his black, clerical coat was of the rus- tiest, and his whole appearance that of a man who had little to boast of on the score of w r ealth. He was rather stout built, -and would have been tall were it not for a slight stoop that took somewhat from his height. His face was rather sallow, and far from handsome, but its expression was so benignant, there was such a simplicity of look, and air, and gesture about the man, and such an unmistakeable air of hu- mility withal, that you said to yourself as you looked upon him — " There is a man who though in this world is not of it ;" then you looked again and found yet other peculiarities to admire, and most of all the happy, contended smile, the ineffable smile 274 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYiVE. that was the light beaming from within — the light of a good conscience, and a heart whose affections were in heaven, safe from the jarring elements of passion and all wordliness. It was Father O'Regan, the piritnal director of Miss Ackland and also of Rose, as he had been of her grandfather during all the latter years of his life. Father O'Regan was well acquainted with the family history of the Acklands ; he had been the adviser and consoler of Lydia in all her worst troubles, and none knew so well as he the grief that had preyed on her heart for so many weary years, and the self- reproach that embittered her life. It had been his constant care to combat this feeling, and to persuade her that she was not so much to blame as her acute sensibility and her tender conscience led her to sup- pose. They had been talking now on the same painful subject — painful to one of the two, but nothing was 'ever painful to Father O'Regan; — at least, if anything did trouble him, no one ever saw it by his outward bearing — the tranquil smile was ever on his face, meet him when you might, like one whose life was half in heaven, and scarcely half on earth. Dear old friar! humble, simple, happy, contented son of St. Francis! true Wer of evangelical poverty, how far above the world's pomps and the world's vanities, which to him were less than a dream — the shadow of a shade — tho echo of a voice — something seen far off as in a dream, with no hold on his heart, and having no other in THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 275 terest for him than its power of affecting his fellow creatures for good or ill ! "My dear child!" said Father O'Regan, "you have borne up well; — you have, indeed ! — our dear Lord has given you many graces, if it has pleased Him to give you many trials. Yet a little longer, my daughter ! yet a little longer ; light will break through the darkness, and you shall see the perfect day ! Courage, my child, courage I" " Ah ! but, Father O'Regan, it is hard to have courage when hope is gone, and the weary heart fainting beneath its life-long load !" The Franciscan turned full on the lady ; — " And why should hope be gone ?— isn't God as powerful as ever, and as good and kind ?— if hope is a divine virtue, what has it to do with the poor little pitiful troubles of this world? Does it not take a higher flight, and look forward to eternity ? Don't talk of losing hope, then, or I'll not be pleased with you ; in- deed I will not !" u I wish, father ! I could only raise my heart as far above earthly things as you do, and apparently with- out an effort. You do not know how much it costs me to keep my poor human heart in subjection to the promptings of divine grace.'' "I do know it, my child, but I know, too, thtit your merit will be all the greater — greater far than mine, for instance, because I care nothing about the world" — the smile grew brighter on his face — " no- 278 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE B07NE. thing at all, at all ! God pity them that do, and / pity them from my heart out !" " Yo:i often remind me, Father O'Regan, of what an English poet lately wrote of the monks of old !" "Indeed?" said the friar with simple curiosity — " and what was that, my child ?" i " I envy them, those monks of old, Their books ih -y read, and their beads they told, To human softness dead and cold And all lif -'s vanity." Father O'Regan scarcely ever disturbed his equa- nimity so far as to laugh, but he almost laughed then, with a sort of childish glee, — " Just so, just so," he said, nodding his head in assent to the words — " only why did he say that they were ' to human softness dead and cold' — if they were, it's queer monks they'd be, an' it's queer monks we'd be, too, without ' human softness.' Where would charity be, and where would piety be without human softness, for I suppose that means feeling and tender-hearted- ness. No ! that gentleman didn't know either the mon YNE. 279 general, with that dreamy sense of repose so dear to the world-weary heart, which the shades of evening often bring. She might have been thinking of Ralph Melville, for he was seldom absent from her mind, at least for any length of time, but whether his image was then before her mental vision or not, she suddenly beheld with the eyes of her body a figure which she instantly recognized as his, walk towards her across the esplanade as if from the top of the steps, pause a moment almost in front of her, at the distance of a few feet, fixing his eyes on her with a pleased expression, then walk slowly past her and into the house, through the hall-door which lay wide open, as it often did those sultry summer evenings. So great was the shock of this apparition, that Miss Ackland was struck motionless and speechless ; with straining eyes she watched the door, hoping that the welcome visitor might reappear, disembo- died spirit though he was ; but instead of him came Rose, wondering much at her aunt's deltff. "Dear me, aunt! are you all alone?" she ex- claimed ; " why I didn't think Father O'Regan was gone ; I saw him here only a few minutes ago ! But, my goodness, Aunt Lydia! what's the matter? why, you look like death !" " Do I ?" said her aunt, partially recovering from her stupor. "Well! no wonder,— Ralph Melvillo has been here since Father O Regan left." " Raiph Melville ! good gracious, aunt, yoi frighten me to death!— don't talk so, I beg of you !" 280 THE OLD TTOLSE BY THE BOYNE. " But. I tell yon, Rose, lie was here — I saw him aa plain as I see you now — he crossed the esplanade, and stopped a moment just there"— rising and showing the spot — "he looked at me with his old, old smile, and passed on into the house, — just a moment or two before you came out. Oh Ro e, how happy I feel to have seen him — for he looked as though he were at rest — oh ! that I were too ! — but I shall be, in God's good time !" " My dear aunt/' said Rose soothingly, " you must have imagined it; I suppose you had been thinking of Captain Melville " "No, I do not remember that I was, at that parti- cular moment; but, Rose, there was no imagination in it, — I saw him distinctly, and I only wish that you had been with me, for then you might have seen him, too !" " Heaven forbid !" said Rose with a shudder, and she cast a timid glance around through the gathering gloom. " Had we not better go in, Aunt Lydia ?" " As you please, my dear !" And they went in. " Oh ! Rose," said Miss Ackland, pausing a moment in the doorway ; " to think that he passed in here within the last five minutes !" " I don't want to think of it," said Rose shortly ; " I'd rather see the living any day than the dead. Come now, and I'll play something very lively for you, just to put this strange fancy out of your head." " No need to do that, my dear ! that strange fancy, as you call it, is more cheering to me than your live* • r TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE, 28! fie&t music; I only wish I could often have such fancies ! but why should I hope it ? why should the spirit-land be opened to me more than others ?" It was not Miss Ackland's intention to tell Nancy of what she had seen that evening, but she forgot to warn Rose on the subject, and before noon next day, Nancy was in full possession of the whole affnir. Her mistress was no little surprised when the old woman went out to her in the garden where she had gone to gather some flowers for her table in the school-room, and asked her in a tone of great trepi- dation, if it was true that she had seen the poor dear Captain the evening before. Miss Ackland started and turned pale ; she was shocked to hear his name mentioned in such a way, and was sorry that Nancy knew of what had occurred, but she could not prevaricate when a plain question was put to her, and she said — " I did, Nancy !" " You did !— The Lord save us !" "Would you be afraid to see him, Nancy?" said the lady in a tone of gentle reproach that brought the tears to Nancy's eyes. " Well ! now, don't blame me, Miss Lyddy, darlin' ! — I had a groat wish for him entirely w T hen he was flesh and blood like myself, but the nearest an* dear- est I ever had in the w r orld, I wouldn't want to see them when they're dead ! — it's hard to stand the sight of a sperit — did you look him in the tace, Miss Lyddy !" " Yes, and he looked me in the face — why do you ask !" 282 THE OLE IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. Nancy groaned and shook her head, befoie she re- plied—" Well ! the Lord save you an' every one else from harm, they say a body never gets the better of it that meets the eyes of the dead, or hears theii voice, You didn't spake to it, did you V' " No ! I wish I had !" " Don't wish any sich a thing, then, — don't, an' God bless you !" Miss Ackland smiled sadly, as she laid her hand on Nancy's arm; — " I thank you for your good advice, Nancy ! — but I will give you another : — be sure you say nothing of this to any one !" " Is it me, Miss Lyddy ?-— is it me tell any one that the Captain, rest his sowl ! is comin' back again ! — do you think I'd make so little of him or you either, — an' have people sayin' that the house was haunted ! — do you think I'd be so foolish as all that comes to, Miss Lyddy ?" "No, I scarcely thought you would; but it is no harm to put you on your guard, you know ! You'd better go in now to your ironing." Still Nancy lingered, and at last Miss Ackland asked her had she anything more to say to her. ' Oh ! not a thing, Miss Lyddy dear !" She moved a few steps away, then turned back, and said in a hesitating sort of way — " Wouldn't it be well to get Father. O'Regan t§ tome an' say a Mass in the house ?" pray THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 283 ' Oh well ! it 'id do no barm anyhow, and maybe it 'id do good !'' " Go to your work, Nancy !" said Miss Ackland so sharply that poor Nancy's heart sank within her ; the tears were in her eyes as she took her way back ,o the kitchen, and her voice was not heard all day in the house. Miss Ackland spoke to her no more on the subject; nor to Rose, either, though it an- noyed her more than a little to see that both were more timid than usual in moving around the house after nightfall, and could scarcely be got to go out of doors alone. For herself, she had grown fond of walking at night in the garden, or on the esplanade, especially when the moon shed her mild ra v s over the earth, and the world lay still in the hush of night beneath the glittering stars. But Ralph Melville came not again; days and weeks passed away; Au- gust glided into September, and the beautiful harvest moon showed her pale crescent in the blue sky of evening; but in vain did Lydia Ackland keep her lone watch "beneath, the stars." Ralph Melville's ghost did not revisit the glimpses of the moon, and Nancy felt quite convinced that their prayers had won for his troubled spirit peace eternal. "Well, now, Miss Rosy:' 1 she would say to Rose, in confi- dence, when the twain were stealthily exchanging their fears and hopes touching the ghost, " I'm in great hopes that he's in a fair way now of gettin 1 to vest; how could he miss of it, the dear gentleman ! an 1 all the prayers /say for him, not to say you an' 284 THE OLD HOUSE B V THE B(. VTNE. Miss Lyddy ? Please God, hell never trouble us any more! 1 ' " I'm sure I hope so, Nancy !" would Rose reply and there the whispered consultation would end for that time, to be renewed at the first opportunity. It was, however, a continual source of trouble and of serious apprehension to Nancy that a Mass had not been said in the house, and she was free to give her opinion (only to Rose, of course,) that, " there was something comin' over Miss Lyddy, God help her ! when she wouldn't so much as hear to bavin' Father O'Regan say Mass in the house. If only herself was in it, a body mightn't wonder so much, but she ought to remember that there was others in it that didn'4 fjrant to see a sperit in any shape or form.'' CHAPTER XVI. A month or so after Giacomo's departure, the Bro- digans, father and daughters, came one evening to Miss Ackland's, the father, as usual, with the kind in- tention of cheering the aunt and niece in the solitude from which he and his amiable wife could not draw them so often as they wished, the daughters with a little private object of their own which the reader will presently ascertain. There was music, as usual, and Rose sang at her aunt's request, with her guitar, a pretty ballad just then new and popular— long since passed into the realm of things forgotten, beginning thus — " Do you ever think of me, love. Do y<»u ever Lb ink of me, Wh- n I'm faraway from thee, love, With my bark upon iho seal My thoughts are ever turning To thee where'er I roam, And my heart is ev« r yearnicg For the iflu'et scenes of home." " How very sweet !' lisped Jane Brodigan in her sentimental way, " and haw expressively you do sing it, Rose !— Talking of being 'far away,' have you heard, Miss Ackland, that our handsome Leghorner has been taking a wife to himself?" 28G TUE OLD HOUSE BY Tllfc B0YNE. " Why no ! — can it be possible ?" "Why should it not be possible, my dear Misa Ackland ?'' said Ann, with somewhat more than her wonted stiffness; " it is very natural, I presume, that Signor Giacomo Malvili would marry one time «^r another, — most young men do." " Yes, but somehow I thought — I thought he had no idea of being married so soon — and if it were sr I thought he would let me know of it." " Oh ! of course, you would expect that," said Miss Brodigan, in a somewhat softer tone ; she and every one else liked Miss Ackland, even those who could not fully appreciate her; " considering your kindness to him, — but people are not always as grateful as they should be." " Very true, my dear ! but I cannot believe that Giacomo is one of those who are likely to forget friends or friendship." " Believe what you may," said Ann, drawing her- self up, " I have reason to think that the report is true." " But how did you come to hear of it, Ann?" said her father, who had heard the news with much sur- prise. " That is of no importance, father ! We have it on good authority. Haven't we, Jane ?" " Oh ! decidedly, the very best and most reliable. But, my dear Rose ! how very silent you are. You do not seem at all surprised." Hose had gone to the piano, and was busily en THE 0M> HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 287 gaged looking over her music for a piece she wanted. She answered without interrupting her employment — " Surprised ! why should I be surprised % — As if it was any wonder to hear of a wedding ! I thought I should hear of one soon ! Dear me ! where can that Overture to Tancredi be .' Aunt ! did you see it lately ?" " No, my dear ! I have not been arranging the music for some days. But, my dear Miss Brodigan ! do you think it is really true that Giacomo is mar- ried ?" "I really cannot say, Miss Ackland!— I can only repeat that we have the news from good authority." " Who is that, Ann?" said her father. " Tom Lanigan, father ! — you know he wouldn't be likely to tell a falsehood." " I know that, but how did he hear it ? Who told him?' " Well ! I really didn't ask — only he had reason to think it was true, I know he wouldn't repeat it." "It is very strange," said Miss Ackland, in a sort of soliloquizing tone; " it was one of the last things I should have expected to hear." " Oh ! here is Tancredi" said Rose, " and, Mr. Brodigan, here is another favorite of yours, ' Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff,' with variations. I will play that first." And she took her seat at the piano. " Don't you want light ?" said Ann Brodigan, tak- ing a girandole from the mantel-piece, and placing it on the piano, looking full in Rose's face as she did so. 2SS THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Thank you, Ann/' said Rose very quietly, " yo* are always so very considera'.e." " Isn't the light too strong for you, Rose ? You look as though you had a head-aehe." " Oh ! dear me, no ! I have no head-ache. Thank you, that will do 1" 11 Don't you want me to turn over the leaves ?" " It is quite unnecessary, I know the piece so well." Ann Brodigan resumed her seat, glancing at her sister with an expression that seemed to say — " I really can't understand her. Can you ?" When Rose had finished, Mr. Brodigan said, rising — " Come, girls, let us be off. Your mother will be alone, for the young ones a:e nil a-bed by this time." It was early to leave, but the young ladies made no objection, so they all bade good night and retired. When they were gone. Miss Ackland and Rose sat together for a few moments in silence ; by some im- pulse perhaps scarcely known to herself, Rose moved nearer to her aunt and looked inquiringly in her face. Miss Ackland laid her hand on her head and smiled in her gentle, quiet way, a little abstractedly, Rose thought. . " Aunt !" said Rose at length, " do you think Sig« nor Giacorao is really married ?" " He may be. Rose ! — But if so. it is not what I would expect. I think he would let us know if any guch thing were in contemplation. " " Perhaps yes, — perhaps no," said Rose carelessly • -"how much longer do you intend to sit up, Aunt THE OLD HOTJSE BY THE B0YNE. 289 Lyji a ?— I feel tired and drowsy— I think I will go to I ed." ''Very wJl, Rose! ring for Nancy, and we will get our prayers said, then yon can go." 3 When the piayers were OYer, Miss Ackland said she would read a while, before going up stairs, so Rose took her night-light and left the room. Closing the parlor door after her, she went softly to the kitchen, and asked Nancy if she was very much hurried just then. " Well no ! do you want me to do anything, Miss Rosey V" " Only to come up and sit with me," said Rose almost in a whisper; " my aunt is not coming up just yet, and I don't like to be up there all alone. You know that's the room Captain Melville used to sleep in, any time he was here overnight." " I know, dear ! I know," and Nancy nodded and 1 >okel solemn; " I don't care to go into that room myself after nightfall. Ill go with you in a minute, when I fasten the doors and windows down here." So the doors and windows being made fast, the two stole past the parlor door and up stairs. Nancy squatted herself on the carpet while her young lady pre- p red for bed, talking the while of all the pleasant days Bhe used to have when the old house was blithe and merry, and the dead alive, a id the careworn and sor- rowful young and gay. But she carefully avoided mentioning one name, and when she had even the most distant allusion to make to him who had borne "90 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. it, Rose stopped hor with a terrified " Hush !" and both looked fearfully round into those corners of the large room where the light did not fully penetrate. It might have been expected that Rose would have told her faithful old confidant of the news Miss Brod- igan had brought, but for once she kept something to herself, and said not a word about it, probably for- getting i. a together in the engrossing interest with which she listened to Nancy's reminiscences of old- time life in the old house. A door was heard closing down stairs, and Rose who was now in bed, made a sign for Nancy to hurry away ; Nancy was not slow in obeying, both hav- ing an instinctive fear of Miss Ackland's noticing their newly-awakened fears concerning the ghost. But Misj Ackland, coming up s'airs at the time. saw- Nancy stealing along the corridor, though Nancy did not sea her, and guessing at once how matters stood, she could not help laughing, though her heart was heavy with the thoughts th t ever weighed on her mind when alone. Next day was Saturday, and when, at one o'clock, the school was dismissed, Miss Ackland proposed to ]£ose that they sho.dd walk down to see Mabel, whom they had not seen for some weeks. They sat long with the old woman, whom they found, as they often did, all alone in the cottage; she had strange news for (hem — Major Mellville had been to visit her, a day or two before, and had given her a bright gold sovereign, which she showed with a sort of hesita- THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 291 iion, as though she were half afraid that, like the fairy gifts of her own stories, it might turn into soma meaner substance for the showing. But the gold was " good red gold." and proof against all chances, and there was no getting over so substantial a proof that Major Melville had really found old Mabel out, though how he did so, or from what motive, even Miss Ackland's keen wits could not imagine. Like one in a dream, she rose and left the cottage, barely bidding Mabel good-bye, and Rose followed quickly, telling the old woman that they would soon come again. When they had walked a little way, Miss Ack'and said to Rose: " What can this mean ? I cannot understand it. How came Guy to know anything of Mabel, and why should he go to see her ?" "It is very odd, Aunt Lydia !" said Rose with a more thoughtful air than usual ; " he is certainly a strange man, though he does not look so," she added as if to herself. Then both were silent. It was one of those rich mellow evenings which the autumn only brings, when the whole earth and the boundless fields of air are aglow with gold and crimson, and nor cloud nor cloudlet skims the sur- face of heaven's bright glorious sea. The Boyne rippled past with a gentle tremulous motion, " The waters c.ilui r< fleeting bright, The golden glory of the light," and the fair scene around was a picture of tranquil beauty; but, each absorbed in her own thoughts, the 292 THE OLD HOUSE BY tite loyne. aunt and niece little heeded the smile that nature wore, and few words passed between them till they came to their own gate, when both screamed with surprise; it was opened by Giacomo, who had evi- dently been awaiting their corning " Why, Giacomo, is* it, can it be possible ?" cried Miss Ackland, as she warmly shook him by the nanct. " Very possible, indeed, Miss Ackland ; you see I am back sooner than I expected. ' "Why did you come?' said Rose abruptly and carelessly, as though little heeding what she said. She had stumbled going up the first steps, and Gia- como offered his arm, which she, however, declined with a grave bow. Giacomo smiled at the question ; it was so charac- teristic : " An event of some importance to myself and one other, at least, has given me an opportunity that I did not dare to expect." " Oh ! indeed ?'' said Rose quickly ; " I guessed a8 much. 1 ' "You did ; and pray what did you guess?" Before Rose could answer her aunt spoke — " So it U true, then, what we heard ?" " That I cannot tell you, my dear Miss Ackland, till you have told me what it was that you heard." They had reached the top of the steps, and the word on Miss Ackland's lips was charged into an exclamation of surprise. A strain of music came from the house, through the open windows of the front parlor — a female voice low and sweet singing THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 203 to the tinkling sound of the guitar ; both the ladies stopped short and looked at each other in amaze- ment "She is here, then?" said Rose, turning full on Giacomo. " Who is here ?" " Your wife." " My wife !" he repeated, with a start of surprise ; he paused a moment, then said laughing, " Oh ! of course!— you wouldn't have me come without her, would you ?" The hall-door was open, and Miss Ackland was already at the parlor door which she hastily threw open, and stood looking as if spell-bound at a slight, delicate-looking, and very lovely girl who laid down the guitar and arose to meet her. " Miss Ackland !" said a gentle voice with a strong foreign accent, and the young lady advanced like one who was sure of a cordial greeting. But Miss Ackland spoke not ; she stood with her eyes fixed on the fair girl's face, her whole frame trembling, and her pale cheek paler still. When Giacomo came near where she stood, she cuight him Dy the arm and hoarsely whispered — " Who is she ?" " His wife !" said Rose, making her way into the •oom. " My sister !" said Giacomo, with a proud, fond look at the graceful, fawn-like creature who stood waiting in her gentle beauty for the embrace of her brother's frk»nd. 294 THE OLD HOUSE BY Tllft UOYNB. " Your sister !— Maddalena ?" "Yes, Maddalena! — my own, my only sister!" No mother ever welcomed a long-absent child to her bosom more tenderly than Miss Ackland did that fair and gentle girl, to whom her innermost heart was at once thrown open, and for life ; again and again she pressed her to her heart, and kissed her white forehead with all the warmth of affection. Rose, smiling through the tears of joy that filled her eyes, reminded her aunt that it was her turn then, and half reluctantly, as it seemed, Miss Ackland re- signed Maddalena to her sisterly embrace, whilst Giacomo walked to the window to hide his emotion. " Dear me ! ' said Rose, as she wiped away her tears, "who'd have thought it? — oh' you naughty, naughty Signor !" shaking her little hand at Giacomo, "how dare you play such a trick on us?' 7 ' " Trick ! what trick did I play ? Did I tell you I was married, or that Maddalena was my wife ?' " Well! ii', I believe you did not — but then you allowed us t ) think so." " I knew of old that there would be little use in trying to restrain your thoughts, Miss Rose !" " Or my tongue, either, I suppose yru would say ! How very polite your brother is, Signora Maddalena !'' " Polite ! oh yes, Giacomo is very polite," and the sisler smiled fondly on her brother; she took Rose's compliment in good faith. Miss Ackland seemed scarcely conscious of what was passing ; she was watching Maddalena with an THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOVNE. 295 expression of eager curiosity on her calm f.ice ; at length she asked Giacomo who his sister was like. " I "believe she resembles my father," he replied, " as I do my mother. Maddalena has my father's complexion,— a very fair one, as you may perceive, and very uncommon amongst our country people." ; ' Then your father must be h ndsome ?'' s -.id Rose, at which Giacomo smiled, and Maddahna eagerly replied in her sweet, simple, earnest way — " Oh yes ! my father is handsome, very, very hand- some." " So you say, mia cara," said Giacomo smiling, then turning to Miss Ackland he added, " you see my little sister has an extraordinary good orinion of her father and brother !— I believe she thinks nobody ever had such a father and brother as she has." "Dear child!" said Miss Ackland, smoothing down the girl's fair tresses. " But you don't ask me," said Giacomo, " why Mad- dalena came?" " No," said Miss Ackland, " it is sufficient for us to know that she is here." " Yes, but you ought to know why she came. My father is anxious that she shotdd spend some time wi'h you, as a pupil, my dear Miss Ackland !— he wishes her to prosecute her English studies, in which she is rather backward. She is to speak, or write nothing but English. Will you take her as a boarder and a pupil ?" u As a friend, as a daughter— as your sister, Gia 296 THE OLT) HOUSE DY ITIE BOYNE. como !" And agiin Miss Ackland kissed Madda lena's fair brow, and welcomed her to Drogheda, apologizing for not having done so before. "And now, Rose," said she, " you will take Mad- dalena up stairs ; she can share your room for the present, as she might be lonely in a strange house, and I will resign you to her." "The very thing," said Rose joyfully; "come along Maddalena! Oh ! how happy I am to have a companion of my own age !" she added as they went up stairs arm in arm. " Do you know, Mad- oalena, I never had one before." " Nor I, any more," said Maddalena in her imper* feet English ; " ever since my mother is dead, I have only my father and Giacomo for company." " Oh ! I was not so bad as that — my mother died, it is true, when I was very young, but I have always had my dear aunt ; still I have often wished for a younger and gayer companion, for Aunt Lydia is, at times, in poor spirits, and then I find it very dull in this old house of ours." " Oh ! it is a dear old house; I like it before I see it, because my brother, he like it, oh ! very much." "Indeed?" " Yes, indeed ; better than our own at home, I think; he wanted so much to come back, but he would not ask my father ; and he was glad, so glad I cannot tell you when my father he tell him tc cake me here." " And were you glad V* THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 297 " Yes, I was glad, too ; I wanted so much to see Miss Ackland, my brother's Miss Ackland — and you, too, Signora Rosa !" " Don't call me Signora — call me Rose — you see I call you Maddalena." " Very well ! I will do it as you say. I wanted much, very much, to see you and Miss Ackland — - and old Nancy. I wanted to see yo.ir cat, too — your cat Tabby, you know — but Giacomo told me she was dead, poor cat ! And old Nan y, when I speak of her, she nearly cry, before you came in." In such a pleasant chat the girls passed the time, sitting by a window, till Miss Ackland came up to say that te.i was ready, and they all three went down together. How pleasant it wis when they took their seats around the table in the early twilight of Sep- tember's last days, Maddalena at Miss Ackland's right hand, opposite Rose and Giacomo for the fourth at the small square table, all around, so neat, bo cozy % as Rose said, an 1 the evening star shedding its feint silvery light into the apartment, through an opening in the purple clouds tha'. were draping the western sky in regal splendor. l - What a beautiful star !" said Giacomo, pointing to the fair planet. "Perhaps our dear father sees it now, Giacomo?'' asked his sister. " I am sorry he is all alone." " Ton are a good girl, Maddalena !" said Misa Ackland, who followed with increasing interest the words and ways of her interesting visitor. " I see 29S THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. you are not disposed to forget the absent. Don't y >u think, Giacomo, that your father will miss Mad- daleua very much ?" " Oh ! I dare say he will, but only for a'ittle while ; i am not sure that he would miss any one for very long." " Oh ! Giacomo, how can you say so ?" cried his sister, her delicate cheek all a-glow ; " that is not right. My father will be sad, very sad for you and me. I know he will." " So much the worse for him, then, mia cara" said Giacomo carelessly, as he finished his tea. " Miss Ackland, shall we not go out on the esplanade ? it is a pity to be in-doors such a lovely evening." The proposal was agreeable to all, but as the even- ing was chill Rose ran up stairs to fetch some muf- fling ; Nancy came in just then to remove the tea- things, and when her eyes fell on the Italian girl whom she had only seen before with her bonnet on and her back to the light — she started, looked at Miss Ack- land, and came near dropping the tray she had lifted from the table. " What's the matter, Nancy ?" inquired Giacomo, noticing her agitation. " Oh ! nothing," said Miss AcklanoV, endeavoring to e itch her eye ; " she is subject to fi:s of nervous ex c'tement." " Fits, Miss Lyddy ! is it me subject to fits ?" said the old woman somewhat testily ; " no, nor the sorra fit ever / was subject to. It's the likeness I see in THE OLD HOUSE DY THE BOYXE. 291) that young lady — Master Jacomy's sister there, that put me a little through-olher.* Fits, indeed ?" " Why, who is she like ?" said Giacomo. " Nancy,' said Miss Ackland, " you are forgetting what you came in for. Remove the tea-things now, and you can talk of this again." " I will, Miss Lyddy ." but turning her eyes again on Maddalena, who was now smiling at the old woman's earnestness, " it's mighty quare, so it is, — I never seen two faces more like one another ! sure it's his own smile she has — I'd know it if I seen her in Amer- ica bey ant !" Rose came in with the shawls and bonnets, and Nancy went out with her tray. Miss Ackland took occasion to glide int J the kitchen on her way out, and whispered to Nancy — " What put it in your head to talk so ? Let us hear no more of that likeness, for you only imagine it, after all." " And what harm is it to spake of it, Miss Lyddy ?" said Nancy, still on her mettle; "I don't see what harm there's in it, that a body need talk of one havin fits, — a thins* that no one belongin' to me ever had — no, not one of my breed, seed, or generation ever had a fit, that ever I hard tell of. As for the young lady, she is like Captain Melville, and that's all about it !" " I know she is, but you know I do not like to have his name brought in, at all, amongst people that never knew him. So you will remember what I tell you. As for the fits, you entirely mistook my mean- Anglice ! — :< made me a ILtle confusi d.'" 300 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. ing— -I will tell you another time what I meant." She harried away without waiting for an answer. When Miss Ackland reached the esplanade, Rosa was singing — " Tis the first star of evening, So lovely and clear — Hasten home from the mountains, My own muleteer ! " At the door of thy cottage, O'erhung by the grove, Is waiting to meet thee The bride of thy love. " Yes, my fond heart expects thee, It wishes thee here, Hasten home from the mountains, My own muleteer ! "*Tis his foim on ihe moun'ain, His loved voice I h ar, Welcome home, fondly welcome, My own muleteer !" She was sitting near the top of the steps, with Middalena by her side, and on the next step above them sat Giacomo, listening to the song, his eyes fixed dreamily on the silvery star that now shone out from the deep blue sky of night like a diamond on the brow of some dark eastern queen. The group was a fine one, and Miss Ackland stopped at a little distance to contemplate the picture before she ad- vanced, thinking the while of just such scenes in the long-past years when hope was fresh and life was THE OLD HOUSE BY THE JJOYNE. 301 young, and the future bright as summer skies at even. Strange to herself it was that even then her Ryes rested longest on Maddalena where she sat in the bright star-light with her arm resting on Rose's shoulder, and the delicate outline of her face dimly seen in profile. Next day, after school. Rose Ackland went to pay a visit to her friends, the Brodigans, while her aunt took Maddalena for a walk by the river side. Gia- como had business to transact during the afternoon, but had promised to come in the evening, so Rose went to ask the Brodigans to spend the evening, in order to treat them 10 a surprise. They had not heard of Giacomo's arrival, and Rose took good care that they should not hear it from her. It was amusing, therefore, to see the astonishment of the sisters, in particular, when, on entering Mis3 Acklands parlor, the first they saw was Giacomo. " Why, Signor ! you here ? — is it possible ?" cried Ann. " Dear me ! I am so surprised !" lisped Jane. "Who in the world world have thought to see you back so soon ?" " Upon my w r ord, I m delighted to see you ! — Come on your wedding-tour, eh ?" was Mr. Brodi- g n's hearty salutation. " Not exactly," said Giacomo laughing ; " ladies !" to the Misses Brodigan, " permit me to introduce my sister !" he saw that the shrinking girl was an object of great curiosity to the sisters. 302 THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Youv sister!" exclaimed Ann and Jane together, it almost seemed as though they were disappointed. " Then you are not married after all ?" " Not that I know of, although it really does ap- pear as if some one here hid been marrying me without my knowledge or consent." " Quite a coincidence !" said Mr. Brodigan, rubbing his hands ; he rather enjoyed the bewilderment of his daughters, that was plain. " As how, Mr. Brodigan ? r said Giacomo. u Why, your sister coming back with you at this particular time, when people here would all have it that you were married." " Not all the people here, Mr. Brodigan," said Miss Ackland smiling — " I for one did not believe it." " Did you believe it ?" said Giacomo in an under- tone to Rjse. " Of course — why should I not? — Ann Brodigan told it as a fact." " And you believed her?" " I told you, yes! Why do you ask ?" " Because I gave you credit for more penetration.' 1 "Well! don't give me credit for anything in future." Harry Cusack just then made his appearance, whereupon the sisters brightened up, and the conver- sation became general. CHAPTER XVII. It was night, an Italian night, and the air wai heavy with the rich perfumes of southern gardens in their autumnal bloom; through the open windows of a first floor apartment in Leghorn the breath of the 1 myrtle and the acacia was wafted in from the garden on which the room opened by a glass door in the centre, and the light branches of the overhanging creepers were traced in shadowy outlines on the tes- selated floor ; the waning moon was declining in the heavens, and her gentle light streamed in with mellow radiance, full, bright and yellow, for it was the Har- vest Moon. A solitary watcher was in the room, reading at a table by the flickering light of a lamp. One who has seen him before can easily recognize him again ; it is Signer Malvili, the father of Giacomo and Madda- lena, now alone in the solitude of his quiet dwelling. The night wore on and still he read, absorbed, it would seem, in the volume before him, old Froissart's delightful " Chronicles." At length he cosed the book, and looking at hia watch, started to find that the night was already fir spent ; he arose, went to the door and stood awhile looking out on the trees and the flowers of hia 304 THE OLD LIOJSK BY I1IK UOl'NB. garden, and the grass-grown alleys half seen, half hid in the yellow light. He looked up to the moonlit sky and " Thai, spangled heawns, a shining fram3" which, to all the generations of men, " Their Great Original proclaim." His heart was uplifted to the Author of creation; he was well accustom'd to " look thro' Nature, up to nature's God," for he had studied that noble science in a noble school; he had " been down to the sea in ships, and had seen the wonders of the Lord on the great deep." Then he thought of times long past when be was wont to exchange his thoughts and feelings with one whom he loved, and by whom he thought him- self beloved. He thought of the rude shock that had dispelled his youth's bright dreams, and left his life to the dull routine of duty. Throwing himself on a sofa, he covered his eyes with his hands and lay amid the shadows of the past, unconscious of the flight of time, till warned by the clock striking the third hour of morning, when he slowly arose, and muttering to himself—" Can it be true what they tell me? shall I not have parted with my darling child in vain ? God knows ! God only knows !" he lit his night-lamp which stood on a small table at the further end of the room, and after fastening the door and the windows, extinguished the lamp on the centre-table and went up stairs. There was a beauti- ful Madonna in his chamber, a small cabinet picture TIIE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. 305 painted by some old master; it might have been the blessed Fra Angelico himself, so ineffable, so divine was the expression, or Raffaelo, in the graceful air of the head, the pose, as painters are wont to term it. It was before this exquisite picture of Our Lady that Signor Malvili usually said his night and morn- ing prayers, and if that image could have spoken it could have told the story of his life for many a year past. When he knelt before it that night, or rather morning, in the dimly lighted room, it seemed to him as though the gracious countenance wore a sweeter smile even than usual, and a tenderer look of maternal love and pity beamed from the sad, soft eyes. A feeling of peace, that was almost joy, took possession of the soul of that pilgrim of life, who knelt so lovingly, so trustingly there, and from that hour, he felt no more as he had felt, the bitterness was gone, and the sweetness of hope came again, not as of old, but yet soothing and encouraging to the heart that had long ceased to look forward to aught that was of earth. His dreams that night were pleasant : Mad- dalena was there, and Giacomo, and one other long lost and dead to him, and all were glad and happy wandering together in some far bright land of dreams where music of celestial sweetness floated round, and light ami joy and beauty seemed to reign forever. A few more lonely days passed slowly by, mado duller and sadder in the house by the sullen looks of old Nannetta, who could not forgive her master for sending her young mistress so far away from home ; 306 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. bluff Paolo himself looked disconsolate, and little Giulia smiled no more ; the sunshine appeared to have vanished from every heart. Maddalena's bird sat all day long motionless in his cage, tuneful now no lon- ger, and the very cat had ceased to purr; the house was silent as the grave. But the master of the house was neither so sad/ nor gloomy as usual, and hj smiled often to himself, thinking how bright and joyous all would be again when his Maddalena came home, and Giacomo, — and — who else ? — he asked himself, then smiled ag^in, and went on his way, almost rejoicing. For so lonely a man, and one outwardly so calm and cold, he enjoyed much of the sunshine of the heart at that particular time, though why it was so, was not very clear to himself. One day Signor Malvili received a letter from Gia- como inclosing one from Maddalena; the latter drew tears from his eyes, though little given was he to the melting mood. Maddalena's letter, which was in Italian, ran as follows : "My Dearest Father: — I cannot tell you hovv sorry I am to be away so very far from you ; I hope you are not so sorry for your poor Maddalena's ab- sence as she is for yours. But I am glad to be here, if you were only with me, for I do so love Giacomo's Miss Ackland, and I like Miss Rose very much, though not half so well as I do her aunt. Oh ! if you only know Miss Ackland ! I am sure you would love THE OLD HOUSE BY TTIE BOYNE. 307 her dearly ; she is so sweet to look at, and I love to hear her speak. I never saw any one like her,— not for that she is so handsome, -but so gentle and so graceful. I fancy she is like some pictures I have seen of our sweet Madonna. Oh ! I wish you knew her ! Could you not come and see us while I am here ? I should like you to see the old house, and the garden, and everything ; it is so nice, and quiet, with such an old-fashioned look all about it. Do try and come ! I cannot be happy when I think that I shall not see my dearest father for a long time. u Ever your own " Mapdalena." The father, much affected, laid down the letter, and, resting his head on his hand, remained awhile in deep thought, his eyes fixed on vacancy ; at length he started, and took up Giacomo's letter, which was writ- ten in English. He had not read far when he began to laugh, and laughed as he had not laughed for many a long year ; this was the passage of the letter that excited his risible faculties : « Our little Maddalena is delighted with the old house, but she would not be quite so taken with it did she know what I know about it, or rather what old Nancy knows. It appears the house is haunted by the ghost of a certain Captain Melville who used to be aVisitor here a very long time ago, and who was actually seen by Miss Ackland not many weeks eince ■ so the old woman told me in confidence, and 308 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. she further informed me that ' Miss Rosey' is just as much afraid as she is herself, only they du&rCt let on to Miss Lyddyl As yet Maddalena is not in the secret, as Nancy says ' the poor thing' would be frightened out of her wits if she only knew it." When Signor Malvili having enjoyed his laugh, had regained his usual composure, he glanced once more over the letter, and he repeated to himself — " They hide their fears from her, though it was she who saw the — the ghost ; then she does not fear the apparition." There was a subdued tenderness in his tone, and a soft emotion in his eyes, that seemed foreign to his character, and indicated a new train of thought ; he arose and made several turns to and fro across the room — stopped at the window and looked out, though little heeding, it would seem, what was passing in the street below; neither did the beauty of the Fright autumnal day arrest his eye; his thoughts were far distant, and there was a strange trouble in his look and on his face that grew into a calm and settled determination; he smiled, then, and drew himself up as one who had gained a victory over some ancient enemy within himself, or had cast off a weary load that for long had crushed the heart within him. He took another letter from his pocket, one he had received some days before, and he said half aloud as his eye ran over the lines : " How much of his boyish temperament still re- mains, and how many of his boyish peculiarities ! \nd I shall see him, too! I wonder what he looks TIIE OLD HOUSE BY TIIE BOYNE. 309 like now ! How my heart swells at the thought of seeing them all once again !" Then he added, after a pause — "Whoever told me this a year ago, how 1 would have scouted the idea! 1 ' The evening of that day came on gray and gusty, such as we often see in the early autumn, when " the melancholy days" are drawing near, and the year is passing into the sear and yellow leaf. Signor Malvili loved such cloudy skies, such boisterous weather, bet- ter than the brightness of summer or the fair promise of spring, for he had been a sailor in his youth, and the sailor's instincts were yet strong within him. He loved to wander on the shore when the winds were abroad, and the billows surged and heaved, and the curlew shrieked among the rocks ; such an evtning was that which followed the receipt of those let- ters, and he strolled down to the beach an hour or so before sundown, to enjoy the wild commotion of the elements, and admire the dread Omnipotence of Him who commands both wind and wave. Walking slowly along the beach, the waves at times almost wash- ing his feet, he pondered over the years of his life, the various phases through which that life had passed, and the causes that had produced the most import- ant results. One scene of the past was before him, as it often was ; the recollection of it had many a time raised a tumult in his soul that only the voice of reli- gion could calm, and that only after a hard struggle, Now in silence and in solitude, w 7 ith only the voice of winds and waters in his ear, and the lowering 310 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. Bky and the angry sea before liim, the salutary thoughts, the gentler emotions of the morning came back again, and he asked himself " What am I that I should be so hard, so unforgiving ? Have I not borne what ? oh ! never hatred — but anger, long enough ? and now when I have reason to think that I was mistaken, after all, why not acknowledge my fault, and know again the calm delight of friendship —friendsliip" — he repeated, and he smiled ; Cl how oddly the word sounds in that connection. Friend- ship ! — ay ! what more could I expect ? Even that would be far beyond my deserts. Then suppose not even that were given me — suppose I were regarded still as worse than a stranger, and that the last spark of affection had died out in that heart, if it ever really loved me, as I once dared to hope — suppose my reappearance should only bring back unpleasant recollections, and disturb the even tenor of a calm and tranquil life — ah ! if it proved so, how could I bear it? — how could I forgive myself for the folly of which I had been guilty ? No ! I will not do it — I will not run the risk of failure, where failure were so destructive of all my earthly peace, and probably the peace and happiness of my children. I am quiet now, if not happy, and I will endeavor to rest content." At that moment, a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds westward, and, as if by magic, the sea was covered with a golden glory, the tall, bare masts of the ships in harbor, and their sailless rigging were f i THE OLD nOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 31 1 t/.nted with the richest crimson, and the city itself was all a-slow with the flush of sunset. " Ha !" said Malvili, still soliloquizing, " Heaven itself clears up my doubts — T will take that splendid flash of sunlight as a favorable augury, and I will hope all things — all I even my life may have its flash of sunlight before its evening darkens into the night of age. Courage, mon ccBur, courage .'" The sunset was still gilding the dome of the Turkish mosque and all its taper minarets, and resting lovingly on the spires of the Christi m temples, when the lonely watcher by the sea turned his steps homewards, a new hope, a new energy suddenly alive within him, sending the life- blood qiicker through his veins, and flushing his cheek again with the long-vanished hues of youth. The darkness and the storm were over. That night old Nancy hnd boen entertaining the young people in the old house by the Boyne with some of her old-time stories ; to Maddalena they were all new, and Maddalena, simple child, loving the marvellous, was more than all delighted. Then for the first time, she heard of the fairies, their gay revels on the velvet sward, their moonlight rides and the gallant show they make winding on their way through the forest glades, and by the sil- very streams, and along the green hill-sides of that old land of beauty and romance, the home of the Western Gael. Of the tricks they love to play on mortals, sometimes in sport, sometimes in malice, and SI 2 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. the wonders of their enchanted halls at times revealed to nortal ken. Of divers mid wives and nurses Mad- dalena heard with amazement, who had been carried off bodily to minister in their respective capacities to the wives and children of fairy-land. This was the hardest trial of all to Maddalena's credulity, but Nancy assured her that "the good people" did re- quire mid wives and nurses, for had not such and such a one of her acquaintance been " taken away" for the very purpose, and the Italian girl was fain to believe her, wondering much the while how such things could be* Of the leprachaun and the wild phooka she heard, and the banshee, and many other sprites of greater and lesser renown amongst the tribes of fairydom, and Maddalena began to think that people in Ireland were singularly favored in living amongst such delightful creatures as the fairies, with a chance of obtaining admission, now and then, to tiieir gorgeous palaces within the ancient raths, and of hearing their charmed music in the stillness of the night. Then the gifts they gave to their favorites amongst mortals ! the wedding presents and christen- iag presents, rewards of industry, and all the rest! Who would not wish to be the recipient of fairy bounty ? So Maddalena said ; and Rose laughed, and Giacomo and Miss Ackland smiled at her simple earnestness. She, at least, had none of those u wretched doubtings" which the poet pathetically accuser of having "banished TTIE OLD HOUSE EY THE BOYNE. 313 A.11 the gracrfnl spirit people, children of the far h and s.a, Whom in days now dim and old his every thought, his every sense absorbed in the one beloved creature, whose head lay helplessly on his shoulder, for Rose's courage had again failed her. She was perfectly conscious, however, and clung with convulsive energy to him whose strong arm seemed alone between her and death. No word passed between them during the perilous descent, but their hearts held close communion, they entered then on a new phase of existence, and both felt that the relations between them had changed forever — they could no more be as they had been, conceal- ment was at an end, dissimulation and doubt alike impossible. That moment, with all its thrilling sense of danger, was looked back on by those two in after years as the happiest of their life. But this change was perceptible to none save them- selves ; when Rose stood safe beside her aunt, and mutual felicitations were exchanged, the affair was treated as nothing more than an exciting episode and all went on as before. It was remarked, how- ever, that Giacomo was seldom absent from the side of Rose, and that Rose leaned on his arm as she had never leaned before. Captain Cornell seemed, in like manner, to take Maddalena under his special care, seeing which Major Melville and Miss Ackland ex- changed a smiling glance of intelligence, and the gentleman said as he offered his arm to the lady : 538 TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Pairing off, I protest, in parliamentary style. See what it is to be young !" Just then appeared on the scene a peasant woman with a stone pitcher in her hand, and the thought oc curred to Miss Ackland that she might be made use- ful. Accosting her, therefore, as she passed, she asked where she was going to get water there. " Down at St. Mary's Fountain, ma'am !" said the woman with the usual low curtsey, almost down to the ground. " Why, I did not know there was a fountain here." " No more there wasn't, ma'am," (another curtsey) " till here a few years agone. In coorse, it was here in the ould ancient times, for it was the one that kept the monks in wather long ago." " I suppose," said the Major, " you know a great many stories about this old abbey." " Oh then, it's myself that does, your honor, an' how could I miss of it, for sure wasn't I born there abroad within a stone's throw of it." She squatted herself on the ground on her haunches, with her pitcher beside her, as one who desired nothing bet- ter than a good long shanachus. " Sure but there's many a quare thing seen an' hard," she began, " about these ould walls, for all they're so quiet now. There's them above ground," and she lowered her voice to a mysterious whisper, " that has seen the monks walkin' in procession here in the dead hour o' the night, for all the world as if they were alive, and the moon shinin' on the great silver cross THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNB. 339 that was carried before them, till the sight of it 'id dazzle a body's eyes. An' the hymns they'd be sing- in' — och ! it's a folly to talk, man or mortal never hard the like, barrin' them that hard it here." " Who they were, deponent saith not," whispered the Captain to the Major. " And what about the Mass-bell ?" said Miss Ack- land. " Oh ! you've hard of that, ma'am ?" " Yes, but others of our party did not ?" " Well ! I'll tell the quality how it was. You see, there was once upon a time, a wild fellow by the name of Larry Delany, a journeyman waver by trade, an' the sorra thing he did the whole Sunday over but ramble abroad in the fields, and go from place to place divartin himself. He got in time that he never set his foot inside a church, an' cared no more about missin' Mass than if he was a brute baste, the Lord save us ! Well ! one Sunday mornin'— it was in the summer time, too, an' as beauty-ful a day as ever came from the heavers, an' my bowM Larry was on his tramp, to be sure, as usual, an' he thought he'd take a short cut through the valley here to where he was goin', wherever that was. So he was makin' the best of his speed along, and was jist about where we are now, about the time of last Mass, when he hears a bell ringin' — the sweetest bell he evev hard in all his days, an' it rung, an' rung jist as you'd hear it in the chapel comiu' on the time of the Elevation. With that the hair began to rise on £40 THE OLD HOUSE BY TTJE BOYNE. Larry's head, arT his knees shook under him. 'Christ save us !' says he to himself, ' sure there's ne'er a chape] liereabouts. What's this at all ?' — So he cocks his ear to listen, an' he says again — ' Oh Blessed Virgin ' it's in the ould chapel it is !' With that he looks in, an' sure enough he seen a sight that made him trimble all over, — there was a priest at an altar under that end window sayin' Mass, an' ever so many monks an' some that wasn't monks, kneelin' in the chapel with their heads bent down; now, you see, Larry knew well enough that there never was an altar there since the memory of man or long before it, an' that what he seen was nothing earthly, an' the cowld sweat broke out all over his body ; down he pops on his knees, an' bent his head like the rest, but a prayer he couldn't say, he was so much afeard. Presently, the bell rung again, an' poor Larry makes bowld to lift (.is head the laste little bit, an', my dears ! there was the priest with his hands raised up high all as one as if he was elevatin' the Host, an' Larry couldn't keep in any longer, he cries out — ' Oh Lord ! have mercy on me a sinner !' an' down he foils flat on the ground How long he lay there he never could tell, but when he woke up it was the middle o' the day, he knew by the sun, an' there wasn't monk or altar, either, in the ould chapel, but everything was jist as he had always seen it. So Larry made the best of his w:iy home, an' from that day till the day he died, he never missed Mass on Sunday or holyday. An' sure he wasn't the THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 341 only one that hard the Mass-bell ringin' in Melli- font Abbey since it came to what you see it. Oc' one! an' isn't it the black sight for the country round, for sure they say it was past credit what the blessed and holy monks used to give to the poor every day of their lives, for all they lived so poor themselves." " But they were very rich, were they not ?" said Captain Cornell, the only Protestant present. " You might say that, your honor ! I hard ould people tell that the monks of Mellifont had as much silver an' goold in a manner as the king himself." At this the ladies laughed, and the woman waxed somewhat indignant. " You may laugh as much as you like, ladies !" said she, " but I'm tellin' you the truth, as I hard it from them that was oulder an' wiser than myself. An' more by token, they say there's a power of that same goold and silver buried here still." " Why, how could that be ?" said Giacomo; " why would the monks bury their gold and silver?" " Bekase they were turned out at last by the — ahem ! by the English, an' the house taken over their heals, an' they were afeard to take iheir treasures with them, for fear they'd be taken from them, so they buried them somewheres about the Abbey, thinkin' that some day or another they'd be back agiin. But, ochone ! that day never came since !" " But how do people know that the treasures are concealed here ?" inquired Maj >r Melville. " Well ! they don't know it for sartin, your honor 342 THE OLD I10USE BY THE BOYNE. but it was always said so, an' sure some got the Knowledge of it in drames." "Indeed?" "Indee.l t'iey did, your honor, air people have come here in sarch of the same treasures, from the farthest pacts of Ireland. It isn't very long since a man came from Connaught, all the ways," " rrcn Connaught ? is it possible ? ' "Ay, iujjjcl, did he !— he dramed, it seems, that if he'd come to Mellifont Abbey, near Drogheda, on the county march between Louth an' Meath, an' dig down at a particular spot among the ruins, he'd find enougli of goold an' silver to make him as rich as a lord. So he travelled on ever, till he made out Mel- lifont, an got a pick-axe and shovel an' a crow-bar an' wont by night to dig down at the spot he seen in his drame." "Well !" said Giacomo, " did he find the treasure?" " No, but he was very near findin' it; after diggin' a long time he came to a big broad stone, an' his heart jumped at the sight for he knew the treasure was right undher it, but jist as he put the crow-bar in umlher the stone to lift it up, behowld you, some- thing all in white, like a monk with a hood up on his head, comes an 1 stands right fornenst him on the other side o' the stone, an' its hand stretched out pointing to the road he came. The poor man was scared enough, you may be sure, an' he gathered up his tools in was going to make off as fast as ever he could, Btealin' a look every now an' again at the great tall THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 343 monk, but jist as he was turnin to go away, he hears a voice savin 1 — < Cover the stone again !' an' with that the sperit vanished, an 1 maybe the poor man didn't make haste to do what he was bid, an' do it well, too, so as that nobody 'id know that the place was dug up, at all ! ,r So that was the end of the, Connaught man's dream !" said Miss Ackland smiling, " and so ends many another dream," she added, turning to the others; "the search for earthly treasures is sure to end in disappointment, and we may all learn from the experi nee of this unlucky treasure-seeker. Just when we have reached, as it were, the fulfilment of our cherished dream of life, comes some spectre from the unexplored regions of possibility to warn us thence, and cover up once and forever the treasure we had so coveted." Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled with emotion. Major Melville drew her arm within his, and led her away, but not before he had given the good woman a piece of silver, which example was followed by the other gentlemen, and thanking the dame for her very acceptable information, they left her to fill her pitcher at St. Mary's fountain and hurry home with her prize. " Now, good people," said Miss Ackland. when they had made the circuit of the ruins, " it is about time to have dinner, or lunch, or whatever you may choosoto call it — I see Tom has brought the baskets hither, as I told him, so let us choose our sa//e-a- 344 THE OLD IIOUSE BY THE BOYNE. manger, and sit down. Gentlemen," to the two offi cers, "you will, I hope, favor us with your company?' The gentlemen were only too happy to be asked, and a place was chosen on the bank of the little river, where the sward was fresh and green, in the shade of the projecting rock, and the ruined gate-tower of the ancient Abbey. The spot commanded a view of the entire valley, scattered all over with the moul- dering, dilapidated relics of departed wealth and power, glorious mementoes of the faith, and piety, and charity of dead ages, and of generations passed away. A spell hung over the place ; an air of reli- gions peace, of deep solemnity, pervaded every object, and the sun shone there with a mellow, softened lustre that harmonized with the solemn aspect of the place ; tenderly, caressingly, as it were, those yellow sunbeams fell on the ruined fane, and the broken Abbey- walls, and the graves of the sainted dead. During the repas L , the conversation turned, as was natural, on the ancient glories of the place ; Major Melville was passably well acquainted with them, and told how richly Mellifont had been endowed by Irish princes and by Norman lords, in the ages following its first foundation; how the Abbots of Mellifont sat as lords in the Irish Parliament of those days, and ruled with salutary sway the broad domains given their Order for God's service and the poor's. Amongst other things he told how Hugh O'Neil, the great Earl of Tyrone, had within the walls of Mellifont Abbey Burrendered his sword to Lord Mountjoy, Queen Eliza THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 34b beth's successful generil, and with his sword the last hope of that generation of Irish Catholics. " And there is another sad memory connected with Mellifont," said Miss Ackland, " which Major Mel- ville is probably forgetting, for he cannot but have heard or read it. You remember, Giacomo, the princess of Breffni, Dervorgilla, whose tragical his- tory I gave you to read a few days since?" " What ! the wife of (TRourke, your Irish Helen who was carried off by Dermot— Dermot some- thing ?" "Dermot MacMurragh— precisely. Well! it was here she spent her latter years, in rigorous penance, and died at a good old age ; contrite and humble but full of hope in the mercy of God.' 1 Giacomo hearing this was much interested, and Miss Ackland went on to tell how the same Dervor- gilla in the days of her youth and innocence had pre- sented a golden chalice for the high altar of the Abbey- church, with rare and costly vestments. "Who could have foreseen that day,"' she added, "that other when she should come to hide her shame be- neath those venerable walls, and humbly seek admis- sion amongst the pious sisterhood of whose company contrition and mortification could alone make her worthy. Two striking pictures of human life in the light of prosperity and the darkness of disgrace! Of course, Major Melville, you know Moore's beauti ful ' Song of O'Rourke,' founded on this sad story ?" "Yes, I know it— who does not?" 346 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Perhaps you would be good enough to sing it for our young foreigners here, who have never heard it, I am sure?" " With great pleasure, Miss Ackland ! — such as my vocal powers are, they are at your service." And, without further preface, he sang one of the best known and most generally popular of all the melo- dies, that fine historical ballad, commencing, " The Valley Lay Smiling Before Me." The song was well sung, and Giacoma and Mad- dalena were deligh:ed, as was also Rose, for Colleen Ukas so udka na mJ* was one of the airs she had learned to love in her earliest childhood. "Apropos to love," said Miss Ackland, "I will tell )0u a story, short it must be, as it is about time we were starting for home. It occur, ed here quite near the old Abbey. You and I, Rose, have read it in the Dublin Penny Journal. A young miller had been betrothed to a pretty young girl, ' a neighbor's child,' as the country people would say, but, sad to relate, the young man died before the marriage had taken place. The grief of his affianced bride is described as heart-rending. The night of the wake, she was suddenly missed from amongst her sympathizing re- latives and friends; search was made everywhere, and at length the horrible suspicion came into the minds of some present that the girl had committed suicide. It was not till all hopes of finding her had been given up, that she was found dead and cold be- * The Pretty Girl milking her Cow. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 347 side her lover, where he was laid { under board,' as the peasantry call it; unheeded, she had crept in by his side, and there laid her down to die. 1 ' This story drew tears from Maddaleua, and Rose locked askance at Giacomo with a strange, sweet trouble in her eyes. He saw the glance and it made his heart thrill with joyful emotion. The repast was now ended, and it was not without reluctance that eome, at least, of the party left the vale of Mellifont — happier, nevertheless, than when they entered its uallowed precincts. CHAPTER XIX. Although Giacomo was to have left on the follow* mg clay, it happened, whether by accident or design, that the vessel in which he was to have gone, sailed without him. Nor did he appear to apprehend any disagreeable consequences from the delay, although Maddalena made herself miserable over the prospect of her father's displeasure, dreading its effects for Giacomo. But the latter only smiled, and said he would trust to her mediation to obtain his forgive- ness. And how much longer, she asked, did he in- tend to remain ? Oh ! of course, till the next oppor- tunity, which might not be for a week or two. His sang /raid surprised Miss Ackland and Rose, the more so as it contrasted so oddly with the fears he had formerly entertained of incurring his father's ano-er. " Either," said Miss Ackland to herself, " either his father is not so severe as he used to be, or our friend Giacomo is not quite so dutiful." And do as she would these thoughts would keep posses- sion of her mind. As for Rose, she appeared neither to trouble herself much about the possible con- sequences, nor to reason on the propriety or impro- priety of Giacomo's postponing his departure; she THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. 349 did, indeed, rally him on it, but in a way that showed whether she meant it or not, her entire satisfaction-, Its effect on the Brodigan sisters was very remark able. Only a few days had passed after it became known that the vessel had sailed without him, when Miss Brodigan took the opportunity of informing Harry Cusack that the affair was all settled, meaning a match between the young Leghorner and Rose Ack- land. Harry was a little disconcerted, at first, but Ann so far unbent from her usual hauteur as to con- descend to entertain him, w Inch she did to such good effjet that Cusack begaa to think she might really suit him better than Rose Ackland. The reader may possibly think of Reynard and his sour grapes in this connection, and smile at the thought, but we will not say that honest Harry thought of any such analogy. lie thought of one thing, however, which effectually urged him on over the threshold of des- tiny, and that was, — a luminous idea surely that by popping the question to Ann Brodigan, and obtaining her consent on which, although no coxcomb, he counted with some degree of cer- tainty, — he should deprive the good people of his na- tive town of the opportunity of laughing at his ex- pense, as he had some reason to think they would it the supposition of Rosa's possible engagement to Gi acomo was once noised abroad. On these consider- ations, and as a sort of dernier ressorf, Harry Cusack proposed for Miss Brodigan, senior, and was accepted with the best grace possible under the circumstances, 850 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. The iiews of the elder sister's engagement had Bcarcely set Dame Rumor's many voices talking, when all Drogheda was astounded by the still less expected tidings that the younger was also " engaged' to Mr. Tiern in, a business connection of her father's, and a man who, in the ordinary course of nature, might have been her father himself. This was the greatest puzzle of all for the gossips of the old borough, and any number of visits were paid with the intention whether expressed or understood, of discussing a piece of intelligence which was pretty generally set down as " strange -passing strange — wonderful!" At first it was doubted, but the public doubt soon gave place to private and individual certainty when it be- came known that the day was appointed, the same day for both sisters, and the wedding dresses actually in course of preparation. Well ! after that the towns- people said, they should not wonder at anything; about Harry Cusack and Ann they would not so much miud, for, after all, Harry's attentions had been pretty fairly divided between her and Rose Ackland but that Jane, the prettiest and youngest of the two should consent to have Tiernan, that was almost in credible, and formed undoubtedly a nine days' won der, the greatest of the season. What was known and talked of all over the town could not fail to reach the quiet dwelling of the Ack« lands : indeed, Mr. Brodigan himself came, in the joy of his heart, and with his usual singleness of pur- pose, to inform Miss Ackland, in virtue of their long THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 351 friendship, of the double marriage about to take place. Miss Ackland, in all sincerity, offered her congratula- tions, and expressed no surprise whatever. The young people barely waited till Mr. Brodigin was gone to make their own comments on what they had heard. Maddalena, who had seen Mr. Tiernan more than once, said it was " a sad pity for so pretty a girl as Signora Jane to marry a man so much older than herself; she was sure the Signor Tiernan was as old as her father." "And not half so good-looking," put in Giacomo. " No, indeed, mio ftaUllo, I do not think h'.m fine, at all, the Signor Tiernan." The ladies smiled and Giacomo laughed — " You mean handsome^ Maddalena." The girl colored as she looked from one smiling face to the other. " And was it not the same I said ? — is not fine the same as ' good-looking ?' " " Not exactly the same, my dear," said Miss Ack- land, to whom she had addressed herself; " in your language it is, and also in the French, but in English the words have two distinct meanings. We never use the word fine in the way in which you used it just now. You should have said ' handsome' instead of < fine.' " During this brief colloquy Giacomo said to Rose in an under tone — " Can you guess why the two Miss Brodigans, — and Mr. Cusack, too, have so taken the whole town by surprise ?" 852 THE OLD HOI JSE BY THE BOYNB. 11 Not I — nor you, either, I think," she replied in the same tone. " In that you are mistaken. Rose !" — he had taken to calling her so ever since the day of the visit to Mellifont; — " I think I ctm.guess the reason." " And pray what is it ?" Rose looked up at the moment, and reading the answer in his eyes, she colored to the temples and rose in some confusion, for the ostensible purpose of taking a book from the table, but in reality to hide her face from observation. It was quite remarkable how subdued she had be- come all of a sudden, and how much less quick at repartee. Her aunt, during those days, complimented her occasionally on her good behavior, telling her that she began to have hopes of her, now that she was becoming more guarded in her speech, and more reserved in her demeanor. The faintest possible smile might have been detecte 1 playing about Rose's mouth, and her dark eyes twinkled with something of their sportive mischief, but she seemed to take the compliment in perfect good faith, and gravely ex- pressed her satisfaction that her aunt found her im- proving. The middle of October was past, and the trees were almost bare, the foliage that had been their beauty and their pride lay rotting in the dust, and the earth was gladsome no more. Cold winds whis- tled through chinks and crannies, doors and windows creaked, and f reside pleasures were again in de- THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNR. 353 mand. Giacomo had not yet found another oppor- tunity of returning home, and Maddalena's fears grew every day stronger, especially as they had not heard fr)m their father for over two weeks. Otherwise she was well content, and began to feel very much at home. It is true, her fears had not at all subsided in regard to Captain Melville's ghost, and many a time she stole into the kitchen to have a talk with Nancy on that solemn and mysterious subject, which had all the more attractions for her simple, girlish mind because of its being so carefully excluded from the general conversation of the family. It was one of those cold, gray evenings which the late autumn is wont to bring; the little circle were seated around the fire between day and dark, in that old back parlor so much endeared to Miss Ackland and Rose, and to Giacomo, too, by its sweet and ten- der associations. Rose had just left the piano, after singing that beautiful "Evening Hymn of the Cala- brian Shepherds ;" Miss Ackland repeated the first stanzas, dwelling on their touching beauty and the tender piety that breathes in every line — " Darker and darker fall around The shadows from the pine, It is ihe h U" with praise and prayer To gather round 'hy shrine. "Hear us, sweet Mother! thou hast knoirp Our earthly h pes and fears, Th* 1 bittern ss of mortal toil, The tenderness of tearg." S54 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNB. A knock was heard at the front door, and Nancy's slip-shod feet were heard in the hall as she went to open it. Rose, hoping it might be Mr. Brodigan and some of his family, opened the parlor door a little way and looked out, but drew back when she saw in th<3 dim light a strange gentleman for whom Nancy had just opened the door. The next moment Nancy was heard to utter a loud scream, then ran into the parlor at full speed, and to the surprise of every one caught Miss Ackland by the arm, and gasping for breath, tried to speak, but could not, her eyes start- ing from their sockets, fixed wildly on the door. " Dear me ! Nancy, what is the matter?" said Miss Ackland; "is there anything wrong?" "What have you seen?" cried Rose, who, with Maddalena, was almost as frightened as Nancy her- self. " I will go and see what it is," said Giacomo, but just then a wild scream burst from Nancy's ashy lips, and, pointing to the door, she cried — " There — there he is !" and she crouched in a cor- ner behind her mistress, unheeded by any one, for all eyes were turned tow r ards the open door, where a man of gentlemanly appearance and of middle age stood regarding the astonished group with a smiling countenance. " My father !" cried Giacomo and Maddalena in a breath. "Your father?" cried Miss Ackland; "good God! it is Ralph Melville !" Her head swam, her brair THE OLD UOLsK BY THE BOTNE. 355 burned and she would have fallen senseless and mo- tionless to the floor had not Rose been near enough to catch her in her arms. Hastily disengaging him- self from Maddalena's fond embrace, the Siijnor Mel- ville, as we shall yet call him, approached, and, tak- ing Miss Ackland in his arms, laid her gently on a sofa, then watched her with tender interest, while Rose and Maddalena applied restoratives. Meanwhile Nancy rose, and, with the lightness of twenty years before, darted up to the new arrival, and, taking him by the arm, looked up in his face, every feature of her own working convulsively. 'So you're not dead, after all, Captain dear? It isn't your ghost, at all, that's in it?" " No, Nancy, my old acquintance ! I am not dead, nor is it my ghost you see, any more than I see yours. But let us attend to your mistress." "Mushm' thank God she's beginirin' to come to," said Nancy; "ah! poor Miss Lyddy ! sine if joy 'id kill any one she'd never come to, at all ! The Lord be praised ! the Lord be praised ! An' me sayin' the Rosary for his soul every night of my life, sure!" When Miss Ackland, heaving a deep sigh, at last opened her eyes, the first object on which they fell was Ralph Melville, the lover of her youth, the mourned of her riper years, the dream of her life, kneeling on one knee beside her, holding her hand in his, and watching with eager anxiety the gradual return of life and consciousness to her languid frame. She looked at him a moment, at him only, then (dosed 856 THE OLD HOUSE BY TUE BOYXfl. her eyes again without an effort to speak, as though fearing that the blissful vision might vanish, as su what he was, Miss Rosey dear ?" 11 But you weren't quite so glad to see him when he THE OLD nOUSE BY THE BOYNB. 357 3ame to the door!" Rose said, smiling through her tears; she, too, was watching Ralph Melville with admiring eyes, her heart glowing with sympathetic joy. She kept looking from him to her aunt, and from her aunt to him, scarcely daring to credit the evidence of her senses that they were again together in life and health as she saw them then. But she was not left long to her own thoughts, for Mr. Melville cast his eyes around as if seeking some one else, and Giacomo taking her hand drew her forward, smiling and blushing as she was. " Father !" said the young man " you have forgot- ten Rose — our Rose !"and he glanced at Maddalena, who said in her eager, childish way — " Yes. indeed, brother ! our Rose— our own, own Rose !" And she laughingly pushed Rose into her father's arms, saying — il There, il mio padre, there is another child for you." Mr. Melville looked at Giacomo and smiled. " With all my heart !" said he, " had she nothing but her name to recommend her, she would be thrice welcome to me — but she is more than an Ackland, she is worthy of the name, — as I know from the hold she has gained on the hearts of my children. She is handsome, Lydia !" he said, turning to Miss Ackland, u but not at all like you." " No'; half so handsome"' put in Rose, regarding her aunt with a look of proud affection, at which Ralph Melville smiled ; he was probably of the same opinion. Miss Ackland, now quite recovered, yet 358 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. still pale with wonder, sat motionless, with her eyes fixed on him who really seemed to her as one risen from the dead. *' Can it be possible, Ralph," she said at length, " that after all the long years during which you were mourned as dead, I see you still alive ? It seems hard to realize it." "An' us piayin 1 for him, Miss Lyddy ! an' doin' everything we could for his poor sowl !" At this every one laughed, and Mr. Melville said — > " My poor soul had need of your prayers, Nancy ! even thougli it was still in the body, and I hope it benefitted by them, too ! But you must have been sadly discouraged, I fear, to find my poor soul still wandering on earth after you had been full twenty years praying for its repose." " No, I wasn't discouraged," said Nancy stoutly, " I only prayed the harder." " But how was it, father," said Giacomo very se- riously, " that Miss Ackland really saw, or supposed she saw you, several weeks ago, on the esplanade in front of the hall-door ? Were you here, then ?" " Certainly not ; this is the first time in three-and- twenty years that I set foot about this house, or in the town of Droghcda." " It must have been your fetch, then," said Miss Ackland gravely, ' ; for I see you no plainer now than I saw you then." " What it was, Lydia, that took my shape and form, I cannot say, ' he replied ; " I only know that 1 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 359 fc-as not here in person — though in spirit L well might have been/' he added in a tone meant only for her own ear. " Oh Lord !" groaned Nancy from her corner, " if I had only known — if I had only known that the poor dear Captain wasn't dead, at all, wouldn't it have given me an aisy mind, anyhow ?" " So, father," said Giacomo, " I can now under- stand the strange attraction I found in Miss Ack- land." " How do you mean, my son ?" " Why it always seemed to me as if I had seen or known her a long time ago ; now I know that it was because I had seen her portrait in your private desk when I was a little child." " You saw it, then ?" said his father with a start. " Yes, father, I may now confess it, and the face haunted me ever after, hence, as I suppose, the be- fore unaccountable feeling of curiosity, with which I used to regard Miss Acklan 1, wondering, as it were, why I did so." "My dear Giacomo," said Miss Ackland, "I am glad to find that we were mutually interested in each other. I had never seen your portrait nor was it your features that reminded me of one whom I sup posed long dead," and she glanced at his father, " but there was that in your voice and in your smile that brought him constantly before me. Even Mabel no- ticed the resemblance there. You remember Mabel Ralph ?" S60 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " Indeed I do ' — poor Mabel ! is she still alive ?" " I can barely say she is ; her race is almost run. But it will give her new life to see you once again before she dies, and to see us together as of old." " Shall we not go soon to see her — you and I?" " To-morrow as early as you will." " Then you were not born in Italy, father ?" said Maddalena. " No, my child, I was born here in Ireland. Miss Ackland can tell you why I left it."' " But our name is an Italian one, surely !" said Gi- acomo, hesitatingly. "An Italianized French one," replied his father with a grave smile — " Melville, yow know, is a purely French n 'me — one of those brought into these islands by our Norman ancestors; it was easy chang- ing it into the Italian Malvili when one desired to change their identity." "And you desired to change yours," said Miss Ack- land with strong emotion, " in order to punish one whom you supposed had wronged you." " No, no, not to punish, Lydia ! surely not to pun- ish, for I had no reason to suppose that my appear- ance or disappearance was of any importance what- ever to the person in question." "And now?" Mr. Melville paused a moment, during which ho and Mis 3 Ackland regarded each other in silence ; then he replied — " That I am now of a somewhat THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 361 different opiiion is, I think, sufficiently manifest from the fact of my being here." " Who enlightened you on that head ?" " My brother !" " What, Guy !— Major Melville ?" " Precisely." , An exclamation of surprise here burst simulta- neously from Giacomo and Maddalena, " Major Mel- ville our uncle !" — " Is it possible ?" Rose only smiled, which Giacomo noticing, said — " This news does not seem to surprise you, Rose, as it does us." " Certiinly not; I have known for some time that Major Melville was the brother of the Captain Mel- ville whom my aunt had known in her younger 4 days " " And of whose perturbed spirit you and Nancy were so much afraid." " And Maddalena, too, Aunt Lydia! —were you net afraid of the gl.ost, Maddalena?" Maddalena blushed, looked at her father and hung her head, but made no answer. Her father tapped her glowing cheek with his finger, ami said — " Never mind, mia carissima, you did not suppose it was your father's ghost, else, I am sure, you would not have been so much afraid of it." Nancy was here dispatched to the kitchen to com- mence preparations for supper, a meal seldom taken in that house, at least for many years past. " Misa Rose shall go by and by to assist you," Miss Ack- 562 the old house by the boyne. Land whispered, " but go now, — you shall have lime enough to look at Captain Melville." Nancy betook herself to her task with such alacrity as she had not shown for many a long year past. " Dear me !" said Maddalena, " only to think that it was Major Melville who caught us the other day at Mellifont when we fell from those old steps. Was not that strange ?" "I was just thinking so," replied Miss Ackland; " if the Major knew who you were, how delighted he must have been." " Oh ! he knew me, I am sure, for I was quite ashamed to see how he looked at me. I thought it was very strange." " But I did not," Miss Ackland said, " although I noticed it at the time. No one who had ever seen your father could fail to be struck by your likeness to him. Did you know, Ralph, that your daughter re- sembled you so much ?" " Oh yes ! I have been often told so, and I was inclined to suspect them of flattery who said so, but since you have discovered the likeness I am to suppose that it exists. Giacomo resembles his mother," he added after a pause, " not in disposition, though, for in that respect," and he smiled — " I believe he is more like me, whereas Maddalena is her mother in all save her Irish face.*' " Then her mother must have been a dear, sweet, creature," said Miss Ackland, patting Maddalena 1 * hand which rested on the arm of her chair. TIIE OLD HOUSE EY THE BOYNE. 3C3 " She was so,' 1 said Mr. Melville, with perfect com- posure, " she was very amiable, and deserving of all affection." " More than you had to give her," said Giacomo to himself, and a cloud gathered on his brow as he thought of the strange dislike his mother had for Drogheda, a place she never saw. That dislike was not without some foundation, as the young man now understood, but how his mother came to suspect any former attachment on the part of her husband, or what her reasons were, was what he could not com- prehend. It never occurred to him, what was really the case, that his father was, at that period of his life, given to talking in his sleep, and that it was, con- sequently, from his own lips she had learned a secret which had much disturbed her placid mind, till the salutary counsels of her spiritual director, and the supernatural grace drawn from the frequent reception of the Sacraments, had gradually restored her equa- nimity by raising her thoughts and her affections far above the creatures of earth. But all this beinc known only to the good father Rinolfi was never to be heard by mortal ear, and was as dead to her little world as the gentle Laura herself. " I see you are surprised at all this, my dear chil- dren," said Mr. Melville, " and long to know how it happened that I first went to reside in Leghorn, how I came to change my name, and leave those who had known me in earlier life under the impression that I was dead. Will you pardon me when I say that I 8b4 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. do not feel disposed at present to enter upon details very painful in the recollection ? ' " My dear father," said Giacoma, " I have no de- sire, and I am sure neither has my sister, to hear anything from you that it would give you pain to tell." Maddalena's loving eyes said the same, and more, too, and their father, evidently much relieved, glanced from one to the other with a look of such tender affection that they felt amply repaid for what- ever self-denial they had practised. A few minutes after Rose all of a sudden started up, and asked Maddalena to go with her to the schoolroom to arrange something there for the morning. Giacoma offered his services, too, and the three young people left the room together. It was then that Ralph Melville first gave expres- sion to the joy that filled his heart on meeting again, after so many years of separation, her whom he had loved with the heart's first pure and warm affec- tion. " I know all, Lydia !" said he, " Guy has written it all to me, and I find it hard to forgive myself for all I have unwittingly made you suffer. Nothing but the strong assurance I received of your conti- nued remembrance of me could have induced me to make my existence known to you." Tears were now flowing from Miss Ackland's downcast eyes; she was silent, and when Mr. Mel- ville seated himself beside her, and took her hand ic his, he felt it cold and trembling. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 305 "I fear you are growing faint again," he said tenderly. " No, no, I am quite strong." He looked at her pale and agitated features, and smiled. " Will you forgive me, then ?" he asked. " Yes, I will, Ralph P Miss Ackland said in a faint voice ; " if you left me all those dark years in igno- rance of your existence, I am to suppose that it was because you thought me indifferent as to your fate. But oh ! if you only knew what I suffered from re- morse of conscience whilst imagining that my silly pride and petulance in withholding an explanation had been the cause of your destruction ! Oh Ra^pb ! when I think of that !" " Poor Lydia ! the story is written here all too plainly," and he laid his hand on her head, where the silver hairs not of age but of care and sorrow were already mingling with the golden brown of other days. " How can I ever make amends for all you have suffered on my account ? ' " I am more than repaid by the joy of seeing you, of hearing your voice, when I had so long believed you dead, and indirectly, if not directly, through my fault. But you have not told me, Ralph, how you escaped — or were you really on board when your ship went down ?" " I was," he replied with a sudden change cf man- ner ; " I was on board." " And h )w were you saved ?" * When all except myself had been washed awa/ ' 366 TIIE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. from the deck, or drowned below in the water that filled every part of the sinking ship, I gave myself up for lost, and began to pray, with such fervor as 1 never prayed before ; I particularly invoked the Blessed Virgin, beseeching her to save me." "You did?" said Miss Ackland, catching his arm, and looking anxiously into his face. " And what followed ? Go on, Ralph, go on !" " Just at that moment the black clouds opened above my head, and a star, a bright, glittering star appealed in its lonely beauty ; I hailed it as the Star of the Sea, — and I said from my heart — Ave Maris Hello, orapro me! Strengthened as it were by a new \ ope, I lashed myself to a spar, and finding the ves- sel sinking, in the name of Mary I committed myself to the deep." " My God ! what a fearful alternative !" " I had no other. I knew the day would soon dawn, and trusted to our ble sed Mother to send 'some vessel that way in time to save me." " A nd it happened so ?" " Yes, I had been some two hours floating on the Barfa^e of the sea, now gradually becoming calm, — f.«r the storm had subsided, — when a vessel came so aoar that I was seen from the deck, and a boat being iir mediately sent out, I was rescued from my perilous position, just as my strength and consciousness were both beginning to fail." " So it was the Blessed Virgin who saved you ?" cried Miss Ackland, radiant with joy ; " and your THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNK. 307 prayers and mine were not in vain. Do you know, Ralph, when I heard of your having sailed that sad day, I specially recommended you to her powerful protection, and you see you were inspired to do the same. Oh Ralph ! how much do we owe that tender Mother ! — shall we not lo\e and serve her always ?" " I have endeavored to do so ever since then," said Melville, deeply touched by this new proof of the af- fection he had once so blindly, so fatally doubted. " But how little I knew, while buffeting the waves that night, that you were praying for me — that your loving solicitude followed me. Oh ! Lydia, had I but known — had some consoling spirit revealed it to me then, how many years of sorrow and suffering it would have saved us both — from what bitterness of heart, what misanthropic feeling towards my fellow- creatures it would have saved me !" " Well ! we must not murmur against the will of God ! — those dark days of trial and of tribulation were for us days of grace, and out of their blackness has broken the sun of our present happiness." " But you do not ask me," said Melville after a pause, during which he had been regarding her with a look of ineffable affection, "you do not ask me how I came to " " To forget me !" li No, not exactly that ; I never forgot you in tha ordinary senje of the word, although the feelings with which I did remember you were certainly of too btter and resentful a kind to be pa : nful lo my wife 368 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. did she but know of them. The vessel which had picked me up was from London, happily bound for Civita Vecchia, and thence I proceeded immediately to Leghorn. I resolved to give up the nautical pro- fession, and quietly settle down to the pursuit of commerce. My mother had died, as you know, some time before, my sister was in her novitiate with the Sisters of Mercy in Dublin, and there was only ray brother Guy to occupy my thoughts. So I wrote to him an account of -my providential escape, informing him at the same time that I did not wish to have it known, least of all to your family. I asked him what I could do to serve him, and he stated in his answer that if I could obtain him a commission he would like the profession of arms better than anything else. So I managed to purchase the commission for him ; he came to Leghorn to see me before joining his regi- ment, which was then stationed at Gibraltar, and we spent some pleasant weeks together, at least as plea- sant as I could have in my then frame of mind. I soon after obtained a junior partnership in an old and respectable firm, and under the name of Malvili em- barked on a new cireer. One of the partners, S'gnor Salvati, had a young and handsome daughter, Laura by name, who being an only child and heiress to her father's large fortune, was, of course, much sought after." u The old story," said Miss Ackland with a melan« choly smile : THE OLD HOUSE BY TOE BOYNE. 369 " My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he, And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me." " And, of course, " Among th^ rest young Edwin bow'd." And she bowed to Melville with something like the ■portive grace that had first charmed his heart. Ralph Melville smiled, his own old radiant smile, as he replied — " There you are mistaken, Lydia ! I, at least, bowed not there, nor yet ' spoke of love.' " " How, then, did you win your rich and lovely bride ?" " That I cannot tell you ; unless it were because I did not pay my court to her." " I do not quite understand you ; pray explain yourself." " I will, since you desire it, though I had rather not. You must know, then, Lydia, that the Signor Salvati himself proposed to me the union with his daughter " " Indeed ?" " Yes, indeed, and his motive will surprise you. He broadly hinted, too broadly as I thought, that hia child, his Laura " "Loved you?" "That was what he intimated, and so plainly that I could not choose but understand him. The old man seemed to suppose that I, too, had been making love to Laura. Astounded as I was what could I E»y? what could I do?" 370 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. " What did you say and do ?" " For a moment I scarce knew what to say, but presently came the recollection of your supposed heartlessncss ; then I reflected that whilst you had rejected all the earthly love I had to offer, Laura Salvati had given me hers unasked, unsought; I knew she was good, gentle, pious, and I resolved to make her my wife, trusting that the love I could not feel then would come in time." There was a quick decision about his way of telling all this, a business-like sort of dispatch that no other but Lydia Ackland could have understood, It told her plainer than words could have done that his heart was not interested in the matter of which he spoke, only his reason and his judgment. " Oh Ralph !" she could not help saying, and she bowed her head on her hands. Melville was silent for a few moments, then he said : "Lydia! I speak of what is long past; hear me patiently, I have little more to tell." He went on in the same quick way : " I married Laura; we lived with her father till the old man's death, some five years after our marriage, when Giacomo was four years old, and Maddalena two. Soon after that, my gentle wife began to droop and fade away like a blighted flower, and so she drooped and faded till she died, although that was not for some four or five years later. During all that long time her health was broken, her frame enfeebled, and nothing could rouse her from the languor that had gradually be. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 371 oumbed her faculties. She had never been lively or animated, but always rather inclined to melancholy, and for the last years of her life a veil seemed to be drawn between her and this nether world, husband, children, all, included ; she devoted herself to God, in Him lived, and so died, admired, respected, revered even by those most nearly connected with her in life, but leaving no aching void in the heart such as a more variable and impulsive nature, made up of cloud and sunshine, is wont to leave behind it when it bids farewell to earth. I had nothing to reproach myself with in regard to my poor Laura ; I had endeavored to forget, whilst she was my wife, that I had loved mother ear'ier and dearer, one that could have been to me what she could never be, — harsh word of mine, •or angry look, had never wounded her gentle vmrt, — so I said to myself in thankfulness to Heaven allien I laid her in her father's grave. I then devoted myself to the education of my children and the care »f my affairs, till, with Heaven's good aid, I was en- abled to retire from business about two years since, iind enjoy the repose that is so sweet after years of assiduous and unremitting application.' He paused, but Miss Ackland remaining silent, he resumed : " Little remains for me to tell, though, perhaps, the most important of all — to myself, at least. You must imagine, for I shall not attempt to describe the feelings with which I heard of the strange chance that had thrown my dear son on your kindness and charity; of all you did for him; how I 372 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. marked the grateful affection he cherished towards you. Shall I tell you that it rather displeased me at the time, and that I could not feel towards you the same gratitude I would have felt towards any othei in similar circumstances ?" " I do not wonder at that now, Ralph !" said Miss Ackland gently, " although I did then, for I saw it plainly at the time, and was disposed to regard you as a reasonably cold-hearted man." Melville smiled, took her hand in his, and went on: " It were superfluous to tell you the little minute cir- cumstances that, related by Giacomo from lime to time, awoke in my mind the idea that I, or you, might, after all, have been mistaken — that you did love me. Certainty came at length, after Guy's in- terview with you ; you may remember that it was very soon after that, Maddalena came to you. I wished to make her love you, as her brother already loved you, and knowing now that both my children love you, I have come myself to ask you to be my wife, and their mother. I know you love me, my heart tells me that you do ; how I love you, I need not tell you. It is true, the summer of our life is past, but shall we not spend the tranquil autumn to- gether, and, if God so wills it, the winter of our age, consoling, strengthening each other, bearing each other's burdens, and walking hand in hand to the tomb, then only to part that we may meet again be- fore the throne of God to inhabit forever the eternal mansions ? Say, Lydia ! shall it not be so ?" THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 373 Miss Ackland laid her hand in his, and said with that smile which had been, and was even now, the sunshine of Melville's heart : "I am old now to be a bride," said- she, "but if y u are content to take me as I am, then surely 1 may be. But I can hardly realize it to myself that you aie here beside me in very deed, that I am still to be your wife! Oh Ralph! how can I be- lieve it ? M It is possible that Mr. Melville succeeded in con- vincing her, for when they joined the young people at supper a few minutes after, they all declared that she looked ten years younger, and Rose, in her arch way, complimented " the dear Captain, as Nancy used to call him," on the wonderful f culty he possessed of conjuring up smiles and blushes. 11 1 am happy to know, then, that the faculty is hereditary," said Melville smiling, and glancing at his son in a way that covered Rose's face with blushes. " Ha ! ha ! Miss Rose, I see you understand me ! — ■ Will you pardon me if I quote an old proverb to you, viz., that those %oho live in houses of glass slt/juld not throw stones. Now for supper, Lyclia ! ' Next day Miss Ackland and Mr. Melville went to pay their proposed visit to Mabel. Overjoyed as the old woman was to see "t;ie Captain," she was not so siirprised as might have been expected. In the strange hallucinations to which her mind was subject, Bhe had long cherished a dreamy sort of half convic- tion that he was alive, and would some day return ; 374 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOTNE. Bhe had, from the first, associated Giacomo and hia in her mind, and not seldom confounded one with the other. But tli3 joy was too much for her worn- out frame ; that night she died, thanking " God and the Blessed Virgin Mary that she had lived to see Miss Lyddy happy." The astonishment of those who had known Cap tain Melville, and lamented his supposed death, may well be imagined. Major Melville was one of Miss Ackland's first visitors on the following day; he came with his brother who had paid him an early visit at Millmount that morning. Guy was very sincere in his congratulations, for, during his short acquaint- ance with Miss Ackland, he had learned to love her ''It was well for me," he added, with a smile, " that i" knew Ralph was still alive, although you did not; else I might have loved you too well for my own peace. Now I can truly say that I already love you as a sister, and shall be happy to see you the wife of my dear, my only brother. But unless I am much mistaken we shall have some other weddings in or about the same time." And he looked at Giacomo and Rose, to the great confusion of the latter. " I assure you it w T ill not be my fault, uncle, if you do not," said Giacomo, " that is if my father, Miss Ackland, and one other will consent." Of course his father and Miss Ackland were but too happy to consent, and the one other made no very great objection. So then and there the matter was THE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. 375 arranged, only Rose, from some fancy of her own, would have it postponed till the early Spring. The second week of November saw the quiet but happy union of Ralph Melville and Lydia Ackland solemnized by Father O'Regan ; the school had been given up from the very day after the arrival of the former. They went on a short tour and returned in a few days, as they were all to remain in Drogheda till after Rose's marriage, then go all together to reside in Leghorn, at least for a while. By the time appointed for the union of Giacomo and Rose, Captain Cornell had persuaded Maddalena to give him her hand at the same time and in the same place. 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