Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 290: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

310 niin ————— ROVING JACK, THE PIRATE HUNTER. reader, had attracted by her beauty the notice of Jack Sheppard, was also a member of this party who appeared to be entirely under her control and guidance. She was now standing at a window as if anxiously awaiting the return of her foster parents. Flashes of lightning occasionally passed by the casement ; but the storm which had raged was now ceasing, and the thunder afar off declined in the distance. ‘‘ What a fearful conflict of the elements,” said Una, contemplating the lowering clouds in the heavens. ‘‘Bedad! asthore, you may say that. May I niver see sich anither till I’m dead intirely ; but be aisy in your mind, acushla, it’s jist beginning to come to an end,” These words were spoken by one Patrick O'Shaughnessy, a tight Irish labouring lad, who, though he had a slight penchant for the colleen he was addressing, it by no means diminished his love for the potheen, Mountain Dew or Still Whisky.” “ Murtagh and Bridget must have been overtaken by the tempest,” continued Una. “The misther won’t pass Pat Killrooney’s skib- been without taking shelter from the. drops, and adrop from the shelter, ” insinuated Patrick O’Shaughnessy. These speakers were presently left alone, when Una addressed her companion, ‘‘ Patrick,’ she said, “have you observed the- manner of your master to-day? I never saw him look so angry.” “Sure, he’s not, I take it, in a vastly good humour about something,” replied the simple- minded Irishman, “ And I have always thought Murtagh uncom- monly cross,” he continued, “‘ whem he’s displaised.”’ ** Usually,” said Una, ‘a word from his wife or a smile from me will suffice to calm his naturally hasty temper. This afternoon he spoke with such harshness as almost to bring tears into my eyes, while his fixed glance riveted me to the spot upon which I was standing. Do you think, by accident, you have informed him of my love for the young Englishman, who has lately settled amongst us?” “ Whist! bad luck to me,” whispered honest Patrick, ‘do I look like a dirty informer?” ‘No, Patrick, I have wronged you by having such a suspicion.” ‘‘My maxim,” the addressed retorted, “is niver to revail a secret especially when I don’t know what it is.” “T have confidence in you,” exclaimed Una, ‘and will trust you with mine,” ‘Sure, yez may do that same thing with parfect safety. “ Know, then,” continued the maiden, “ that I must guit the farm to-night by stealth for a short time.” ‘‘Then, musha macree,” replied Patrick, with a cunning leer, ‘‘ yez must take a journey through the key-hole, seeing that the Misther has got the key of the door in that great coat pocket he’s got on.” ** How unfortunate,” muttered Una. ‘I promised to meet him at midnight, and I must be there,”’ At this moment the covered caleche which had passed the Rapparees on the mountains, stopped before the dwelling in which Patrick and his com- panion had been conversing, Two persons descended from the vehicle and came into their presence, They were Murtagh and Bridget Mackeen, the guardians of Una. Murtagh Mackeen was a wealthy Protestant ee SEES farmer, owner of many acres, and a determined enemy of the Papists and Rapparees, whose enmity, by his acts of oppression, he had excited, He was a man of harsh and severe features, in- dicative of sagacity and revengement, while his wife, enriched by beauty and gentleness, was a most perfect semblance of humility itself. ‘What a night,” cried Murtagh, as he entered his house, shaking the moisture from his rain- soaked garments, which he then handed to his servant, Patrick, who retired with the garments, “Tm drenched to the skin,” he continued, placing himself before the grate, which now emitted a bright glow. ‘And you, my more than mother,” said Una, advancing to Bridget, “how wet you are. Let me take off your mantle, and seat you before the fire.” With the words the damsel removed the cloak that covered the shivering farmer’s wife, and led her to a stool standing in the chimney corner. “ Bridget has no one to blame for this but her- self,” returned her husband ; “she should have re- mained at home, and not insisted in following me to the trial of this accursed Rapparee. 4 “T own my fault, dear Murtagh,” cried the wife, meekly, “since you, who are so good in general, have treated me in this case as you have done.” - ‘‘The actions of an enraged man,” exclaimed the farmer, ‘“‘are sometimes to be excused. 1 am violent, hot-headed, but I love thee, asthore, and for a thousand pounds would not have you reproach me with a tear.” “And yet, Murtagh,” replied Bridget, ‘at the hall of justice you left me weeping, and desired me to quit your side.” “Why did I so? Because a man who has a woman leaning by his side must suffer that which he would not suffer otherwise,” Bridget offered no further reply, while her hus- band seated himself at the table to partake of supper. The calm he now affected was a stranger to his heart. The patient wife had observed when her husband left the tribunal, at which he had been a witness, that a pale and downcast air had settled. on his face, and that a violent agitation had taken posses- sion of him, Again on the road the excited man had sangiand laughed convulsively at the roar of the thunder that burst over their head. These things considered by her in silence nerved her with some hidden feeling of energy, and proved that, though weak in body, her mind would be strong in a moment of peril. Before faliing to on the viands before him, Murtagh bid Una procure him a glass of Usque- baugh, the Irish word for whisky, or Water of, Life. There was a choice bottle of the spirit in the cupboard, the door of which being locked, the farmer presented a bunch of keys to the maiden to open it. Una had no sooner received them, than she adroitly removed one of their number from the ring, murmuring to herself, ‘This should be the key.” Having secured it, she quickly concealed the game in her bosom, then hastening to obey the farmer’s. order, placed the next moment the re- quired beverage before him. Murtagh drew the cork of the bottle, filled a glass, and swallowed the contents at a gulp. ‘Excellent, by Jove!” he cried, smacking his lips after the draught, Ghooks com