Now, the reader must know that a deadly jealousy lay between Nanse and the cook, _quoad_ honest Barney, who, being aware of the fact, kept the hopes and fears of each in such an exact state of equilibrium, that neither of them could, for the life of her, claim the slightest advantage over the other. The droll varlet had an appet.i.te like a shark, and a strong relish for drink besides, and what between precious tidbits from the cook and borrowing small sums for liquor from Nanse, he contrived to play them off one against the other with great tact.

"I think," said he, his eyes still closed, "that that is Nanse's voice; is it, acushla?"

"It is, Barney, achora," replied Nanse; "but there's something wrong wid you."

"I wish to goodness, Nanse, you'd let the boy alone," said the cook; "when he chooses to spake, he'll spake to them that can undherstand him."

"O, jaminy stars! that's you, I suppose; ha, ha, ha."

"Keep silence," said Barney, "and listen. Nanse, you are right in one sinse, and the cook's right in another; you're both right, but at the present spakin' you're both wrong. Listen--you all know the _Shan-dhinne-dhuv?_"

"Know him! The Lord stand between us and him," replied Nanse; "I hope in G.o.d we'll never either know or see him."

"You know," proceeded Barney, "that he keeps' the haunted house, and appears in the neighborhood of it?"

"Yes, we know that, achora," replied the cook, sweetly.

"Well, you can't forget Bet Harramount, the witch, that lived for some time in Rathfillan? She that was hunted in the shape of a white hare by pious Father McFeen's famous greyhound, Koolawn."

"Doesn't all the world know it, Barney, avillish?" said Nanse.

"Divil the word she'll let out o' the poor boy's lips," said the cook, with a fair portion of venom. Nanse made no reply, but laughed with a certain description of confidence, as she glanced sneeringly at the cook, who, to say the truth, turned her eyes with a fiery and impulsive look towards the ladle.

"Well," proceeded Barney, "you all know that the divil took her and her imp, the white cat, away on the night of the great storm that took place then?"

"We do! Sure we have heard it a thousand times."

"Very well--I want to show you that Bet Harramount, the white witch, and the Black Speacthre are sweethearts, and are leadin' a bad life together."

"Heavenly father! Saints above! Blessed Mother!" were e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed by the whole kitchen. Barney, in fact, was progressing with great effect.

"O, yez needn't be surprised," he continued, "for it was well known that they had many private meetin's while Bet was livin' in Rathfillan.

But it was thought the devil had taken her away from the priest and magisthrate on the night o' the storm, and so he did; and he best knew why. Listen, I say--Masther Harry and I went out this day to coorse hares; we went far up into the mountains, and never pulled bridle till we came to the cabin where the witch lived, the same that Koolawn chased her into in the shape of a white hare, after taking a bite out of her--out of the part next her scut. Well, we sat down in the cursed cabin, much against my wishes, but he would rest nowhere else--mark that--so while we were helpin' ourselves to the ham and brandy, I up and tould him the history of Bet Harramount from a to izzard. 'Well,' said he, 'to show you how little I care about her, and that I set her at defiance, I'll toss every atom of her beggarly furniture out of the door;' and so he did--but by dad I thought he done it in a jokin' way, as much as to say, I can take the liberty where another can't. I knew, becoorse, he was wrong; but that makes no maxim--I'll go on wid my story. On our way home we came to the green fields that lie on this side of the haunted house; a portion of it, on a risin' ground, is covered with furz. Now listen--when we came to it he stood; 'Barney,' says he, 'there's a hare here; give me the dogs, Sambo and Snail; they'll have sich a hunt as they never had yet, and never will have agin.'

"He then closed his eyes, raised his left foot, and dhrew it back three times in the divil's name, p.r.o.nounced some words that I couldn't understand, and then said to me, 'Now, Barney, go down to that withered furze, and as you go, always keep your left foot foremost; cough three times, then kick the furze with your left foot, and maybe you'll see an old friend o' yours.'

"Well, I did so, and troth I thought there was somethin' over me when I did it; but--what 'ud you think?--out starts a white hare, and off went Sambo and Snail after her, full b.u.t.t. I have seen many a hard run, but the likes o' that I never seen. If they turned her wanst they turned her more than a dozen times; but where do you think she escaped to at last?"

"The Lord knows, Barney; where?"

"As heaven's above us, into the haunted house; and if the dogs were to get a thousand guineas apiece, one of them couldn't be forced into it afther her. They ran with their noses on her very scut, widin five or six yards of it, and when she went into it they stood stock still, and neither man nor sword could get them to go farther. But what do you think Masther Harry said afther he had seen all this? 'Barney,' said he, 'I'm detarmined to spend a night in the haunted house before I'm much ouldher; only keep that to yourself, and don't make a blowing horn of it through the parish.' And what he said to me, I say to you--never breathe a syllable of it to man or mortal. It'll be worse for you if you do. And now, do you remember what Lanty Malony saw the other night? The black man kissin' the white woman. Is it clear to yez now? The _Shan-dhinne-dhuv_--_the Black Specthre_--kissin' Bet Harramount, the white woman. There it is; and now you have it as clear as a, b, c."

Barney then retired to his bed, leaving the denizens of the kitchen in a state which the reader may very well understand.

CHAPTER X. True Love Defeated.

Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin, in the absence of their daughter, held a very agreeable conversation on the subject of Mrs. Lindsay's visit. Neither Goodwin nor his wife was in the slightest degree selfish, yet, somehow, there crept into their hearts a certain portion of selfishness, which could be traced only to the affection which they felt for Alice. They calculated that Henry Woodward, having been reared and educated by his uncle, would be amply provided for by that wealthy gentleman--who, besides, was childless. This consideration became a strong element in their deliberations and discussions upon the projected match, and they accordingly resolved to win over Alice's consent to it as soon as possible. From the obedience of her disposition, and the natural pliancy of her character with the opinions of others, they concluded the matter as arranged and certain. They forgot, however, that Alice, though a feeble thinker on matters of superst.i.tion and others of a minor importance, could sometimes exercise a will of her own, but very seldom, if ever, when opposed to theirs. They knew her love and affection for them, and that she was capable of making any sacrifice that might contribute to their happiness. They had, however, observed of late--indeed for a considerable time past--that she appeared to be in low spirits, moved about as if there was a pressure of some description in her mind; and when they asked her if she were at ease--which they often did--she only replied by a smile, and asked them in return why she should be otherwise. With this reply they were satisfied, for they knew that upon the general occurrences of life she was almost a mere child, and that, although her health was good, her const.i.tution was naturally delicate, and liable to be affected by many things indifferent in themselves, which girls of a stronger mind and const.i.tution would neither perceive nor feel. The summing up of all was that they apprehended no obstruction to the proposed union from any objection on her part, as soon as she should be made acquainted with their wishes.

In the course of that very evening they introduced the subject to her, with that natural confidence which resulted from their foregone conclusions upon it.

"Alley," said her mother, "I hope you're in good spirits this evening."

"Indifferent enough, mamma; my spirits, you know, are not naturally good."

"And why should they not?" said her mother; "what on earth have you to trouble you?"

"O, mamma," she exclaimed, "you don't know how often I miss my sister;--at night I think I see her, and she looks pale and melancholy, and full of sorrow--just as she did when she felt that her hope of life was gone forever. O, how willingly--how joyfully--would I return her fortune, and if I had ten times as much of my own, along with it, if it could only bring her back to me again!"

"Well, you know, my darling, that can't be done; but cheer up; I have good news for you--news that I am sure will delight you."

"But I don't stand in need of any good news, mamma."

This simple reply proved an unexpected capsize to her mother, who knew not how to proceed; but, in the moment of her embarra.s.sment, looked to her husband for a.s.sistance.

"My dear Alice," said her father, "the fact is this--you have achieved a conquest, and there has been a proposal of marriage made for you."

Alice instantly suspected the individual from whom the proposal came, and turned pale as death.

"That does not cheer my spirits, then, papa."

"That may be, my dear Alice," replied her father; "but, in the opinion of your mother and me, it ought."

"From what quarter has it come, papa, may I ask? I am living very lonely and retired here, you know."

"The proposal, then, my dear child, has come from Henry Woodward, this day; and what will surprise you more, through his mother, too--who has been of late such an inveterate enemy to our family. So far as I have seen of Henry himself, he is everything I could wish for a son-in-law."

"But you have seen very little of him, papa."

"What I have seen of him has pleased me very much, Alice."

"How strange," said she musingly, "that father and daughter should draw such different conclusions from the same premises. The very thought of that young man sinks the heart within me. I beg, once for all, that you will never mention his name to me on this subject, and in this light, again. It is not that I hate him--I trust I hate n.o.body--but I feel an antipathy against him; and what is more, I feel a kind of terror when I even think of him; and an oppression, for which I cannot account, whilst I am in his society."

"This is very strange, Alice," replied her father; "and, I am afraid, rather foolish, too. There is nothing in his face, person, manner, or conversation that, in my opinion, is not calculated to attract any young woman in his own rank of life--at least, I think so."

"Well, but the poor child," said her mother, "knows nothing about love--how could she? Sure, my dear Alley, true love never begins until after marriage. You don't know what a dislike I had to your father, there, whilst our friends on both sides were making up the courtship.

They literally dragged me into it."

"Yes, Alley," added her father, smiling, "and they literally dragged me into it; and yet, when we came together, Alice, there never was a happier couple in existence."

Alice could not help smiling, but the smile soon pa.s.sed away. "That may be all very true," she replied, "but in the meantime, you must not press me on this subject. Don't entertain it for a moment. I shall never marry this man. Put an end to it--see his mother, and inform her, without loss of time, of the unalterable determination I have made. Do not palter with them, father---do not, mother; and above all things, don't attempt to sacrifice the happiness of your only daughter. I could make any sacrifice for your happiness but this; and if, in obedience to your wishes, I made it, I can tell you that I would soon be with my sister.

You both know that I am not strong, and that I am incapable of severe struggles. Don't, then, hara.s.s me upon this matter."

She here burst into tears, and for a few minutes wept bitterly.