"No, nothing's happened him; but--but Captain Ussher is dead!"

"Gracious glory--no! why he was laving this for good and all this night. And how did he die?"--and he whispered in his master's ear--"did the boys do for him?"

"I killed him by myself," answered Thady, in a whisper.

"You killed him, Mr. Thady ah! now, you're joking."

"Stop!" said Thady--for they were now in the avenue--"joking or not, his body is somewhere here;--and he had Feemy here, dragging her along the road, and I struck him with my stick across the head, and now they'll say I've murdhered him."

Brady soon touched the body with his foot; and the two raised it together, and put it off the path on the gra.s.s, and then held a council together, as to what steps had better be taken.

Brady, after his first surprise and awe at hearing of Ussher's death was over, spoke of it very unconcernedly, and rather as a good thing done than otherwise. He recommended his master to get out of the way; he advised him at once to go down to Drumleesh and find out Joe Reynolds; he a.s.sured Thady that the man would even now be willing to befriend him and get him out of harm's way. He told him that Reynolds and others had places up in the mountains where he might lie concealed, and where the police would never be able to find him; and that if he only got out of the way for a time, it might probably not be found murder by the Coroner, and that in that case he could return quietly to Ballycloran.

Thady listened sadly to Brady's advice, but he did not know what better to propose to himself. He remembered the last words which Reynolds had said to him, and he made up his mind to go down at once to Corney Dolan's, who was a tenant of his own, and from him find out where Reynolds was.

"But, Pat," said Thady, when he had made up his mind to the line of conduct he meant to pursue, "what shall we do with the man's body? We can't let it lie here. As I trust in G.o.d, I had no thoughts to kill him! and I would not run away, and lave the body here, as though I'd murdhered him."

"Jist lay him asy among the trees, Mr. Thady, till you're out of the counthry; and then I'll find it,--by accident in course, and get the police to carry it off. Thim fellows is paid for sich work."

"No, Pat; that wouldn't do at all. I won't have them say I hid the body; every one 'll know 'twas I did it; mind, I don't ask you to tell a lie about it; and I'll not have it left here, as though I'd run away the moment afther I struck him. We must take him into the house, Brady."

"Into the house, yer honer! not a foot of it! why, you'd have Miss Feemy in fits; and the owld man'd be worse still, wid all thim fellows coming from Carrick and sitting on the body, discoursing whether it wor to be murdher or not."

"Well, then; we'll take it to Mrs. Mehan's."

"Av you do, Mr. Thady, the country 'll have it all in no time.

Howsomever, they must take it there if you choose, as it's a public; but you'd better lave it where it is, and let me send it down by and by--jist to give you an hour's start or so."

This Thady absolutely refused, stating that he would not leave the body till he had seen it deposited in some decent and proper place; and the two men took it up between them and carried it away, meaning to take it to Mrs. Mehan's. But at the avenue gate they found Fred Brown's horse and gig, exactly where Ussher had left it, excepting that the horse was leisurely employed in browsing the gra.s.s from the ditch side.

Brady soon recognised both the horse and gig as belonging to Brown Hall; and he then proposed putting the body of its former occupant in it, and driving it to the station of the police at Carrick-on-Shannon, and restoring at the same time the horse and gig to its proper owner at Brown Hall. To this scheme Thady at last agreed; but he made the man promise him, that when he got to the police at Carrick he would tell them that he, Thady, had desired him to do so; and that, instead of running away, he had not left the body till he had seen it put into the vehicle, to be carried into Carrick-on-Shannon. And with these injunctions Brady departed with his charge.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE CORONER'S INQUEST.

During the short time that elapsed between the heavy blow which had occasioned Ussher's death, and the departure of Pat Brady with the gig, a great many thoughts had pa.s.sed through Thady's mind, although he had been in action the whole time. His first idea had certainly been that Ussher was carrying off Feemy against her will; the last words which Ussher had spoken before his death, and which were the only words of his that Thady had heard,--"This is d----d nonsense; you know you must come now,"--certainly were calculated to make him think so. But he soon reflected that had this been so, Feemy could not have been sitting alone in the place where Ussher found her; besides, her own conduct when she came to herself disproved it. Feemy had therefore evidently been a consenting party. Still, however, he thought that he could not but be justified in doing what he had done in his sister's defence, even though his interference was in opposition to her wishes. Then he thought of the man himself, whom he had known so long, seen so frequently, and hated so bitterly. There he was now--dead--a cold corpse--entirely harmless, and unable to injure him or his more. But Thady already felt his enemy's blood heavy on his conscience, and he would have died himself to see him rise on his feet. Thoughts as to his own safety crowded on his mind; he felt that if he intended boldly to justify the deed, he should himself declare what he had done--see that the body was properly taken care of--and give himself up at once to the police. As to the fact of his having killed the man, that he had declared to his sister before he had at all thought what his conduct ought to be, and he had done the same to Brady; it was useless for him therefore to attempt to conceal it, even if he had wished to do so. But he felt afraid to give himself up to the police; he abhorred the idea of what he thought would be the disgrace of being in confinement; and instead of going, as he at first thought to have done, at once to Father John, and telling him all that had happened, he listened to Brady's traitorous advice, and determined to take himself, at any rate for a time, to the fancied security of Joe Reynolds and his haunts.

After Brady had departed he stood on the road, till he could hear no longer the sound of the retreating wheels, and while standing there determined he would not leave the place, for the last time perhaps, till he had told his father what had happened, and ascertained whether Feemy had recovered. He reflected that it would be a dreadful thing for her to tell her father and the servants, and to be called on to explain why her brother was away; having made this resolution he walked again up to the house.

He pushed the door open, and at once went into his sister's room.

Here she was still lying on the sofa, and Katty was sitting beside her--begging her mistress to tell her what was the matter. But Feemy had not spoken since she had been there; she had recovered her senses, for she held her hands before her eyes, and the tears were falling fast beneath them: but she had not spoken a word to Katty since her brother had placed her on the sofa.

When he entered the room she uncovered her eyes for a moment; but as soon as she saw him she buried her face in the pillow, and it was plain from her sobbing that she was crying more violently than before.

Thady walked up to the sofa, and as he did so the girl got up.

"Go out, Katty," said he, "I want to spake a word to your misthress, but be in the kitchen; I'll call you when I've done."

She retreated,--not, however, farther than the door, which she closed, and left the brother and sister together. The last time they had been so in that room--the last time the two had conversed alone together before, was when Thady cautioned his sister against the man he just now killed; he thought of this, but he was too generous to let the reflection dwell on his mind at such a moment.

"Feemy," he said, as he attempted to take his sister's hand--which, however, she violently drew back from him--"Feemy, I'm going to lave you a long time, and I must spake to you first,--perhaps the last words I'll ever be able to say to you at all. Feemy darling, won't you listen to me then?--eh, Feemy?"

Feemy, however, only buried her head further in the sofa, and did not answer him a word.

"I must spake a word to you," continued Thady, "about him that is now--him that was with you on the avenue. I told you, Feemy, he was dead, and what I told you then was only too true. G.o.d knows when I struck him I did not wish for that; but how was I to see him with you in his arms--carrying you off through the dark night, and from your own house, without raising my stick to strike him? I don't say this to be blaming you now, and I don't ask you to tell me why you were there; but you must know, dearest, that it was for your sake I raised my hand; and though the blow I struck has killed him you loved, you shouldn't now at such a moment turn from your brother, who has brought all this upon himself only to protect your honer and your name."

Still Feemy did not turn her face towards him, or answer him.

"Well! I know what's on your heart, and may be it's as heavy as that which is weighing on my own. I must say a word or two to the owld man, that he may not larn from sthrangers what it is his son has done; and then I must wish good-bye to Ballycloran--I trust for iver!

But there's one thing I'll ask you, Feemy, before I go. There 'll be men from Carrick here before the night is over, looking for me; and when they come, they'll be asking you all manner of questions about this deed; tell them it was I that did it--but tell them how, and why I did it; tell them that it was not my purpose to kill the man, but that I could not see him dragging my sister from her house before my eyes, without raising my stick against the man that was doing it; that, Feemy, is all I want of you,"--and he turned to go, but when he reached the door, he returned, and putting his hand on his sister's shoulder, said--"Sister, my own sister, will you kiss me before I lave you for so long?"

Feemy shuddered horribly as she felt his hand upon her. Thady quickly withdrew it, for he saw it was all covered with blood; Feemy, however, had seen it, for she screamed loudly--she had raised her head to answer, and at last she said--"Kiss you! no; I hate you--you're a murdherer; you've murdhered him because you knew I loved him; go away--go out of that; you'll kill me too if you stand there with his blood upon your hand!"

Thady, who had fallen on his knees to kiss his sister, now hastily jumped upon his feet, and a dark frown came upon his brow. It was just upon his lips to tell his sister to whose folly it was owing that Myles Ussher was now a corpse; but before the words had left his mouth he checked himself. Even then, at that saddest moment of all, when the horrid word he so dreaded, had been applied to him by the only person whom he really loved, he was able to restrain his pa.s.sion, and was too high-minded to add to the suffering of his sister, though she was so unjust and cruel to him.

"G.o.d forgive you, Feemy," he said; "but that's a cruel word to come from you!"--and he left the room. He met the two girls in the pa.s.sage, for Biddy had returned from Mrs. Mehan's, whither she had gone after Ussher had pa.s.sed, and she was now horrified to find that her mistress's plans had been, as she thought, defeated by her brother, and her departure prevented.

"Good G.o.d! Mr. Thady," said she, with pretended astonishment, "what ails the misthress then?"

"Go in to her, Biddy, she'll want you; Captain Ussher is dead," and he went into his father's room.

Here a still more distressing scene awaited him. He felt that if he meant to escape he should not lose much time, but he could not leave his father in ignorance of what had taken place. Larry was sitting, as usual, over the fire with his pipe in his mouth, and was nearly asleep, when Thady came in. The noise of the closing door roused him, however; but he only put his empty gla.s.s to his lips, and when he found there was nothing in it he turned round again dissatisfied to the fire.

"Larry," said his son, "I've bad news for you."

"You've always bad news. I niver knew you have anything else."

"I'm going to lave you, father, altogether."

"Faix, then, that's no such bad news," said the cross old man. "The door's open, and you've my lave; may be we 'll do as well without you, as we're like to do with you."

Thady made no answer to this piece of silly ill-nature, but continued--"Larry, you'll be sorry to hear what I've to tell you, but I'd sooner you should hear it from me than from another. Myles Ussher is dead; it was I, father, that killed him."

At the first declaration the old man had turned round in his chair, and he sat staring at his son; but when he heard the second and more dreadful part of the story, his jaw dropped, and he sat for some time the picture of an idiot.

"He was bringing disgrace on you, Larry, and on your name; he was disgracing your family and your daughter, and myself; he was dragging Feemy away with him by night. I saw him with her, speechless and fainting in his arms, and I struck him down as he was doing it with my stick. I didn't think, father, to strike so hard, but his skull was broken, and he died without a struggle."--The old man still stared at him, and Thady continued,

"And now, father, I am going to lave you; for av I'm found here, when they come to look for me, they'll take me to prison, and may be when they come to hear the truth of it all,--and I suppose they will,--they'll see I didn't mane to kill him; but if they call it murdher, why then I trust you'll niver see me agin."

"Murdher," at last said the old man, laughing; "who doubts but that it was murdher? in course they'll call it murdher. Well, he was the only frind you'd left me, and now that you've murdhered him, you may go now; you may go now--but mind I tell you, they'll be sure to hang you."

This was old Macdermot's last address to his son. It was very evident that the poor old man had gradually become more and more imbecile during the last few days, and the suddenness of the melancholy news he now heard utterly destroyed his mind. Each, however, of the dreadful words he uttered fell with an awful appearance of intention and sane purpose on the ears of his son. He had hitherto restrained his feeling powerfully, and had shown no outward signs of strong emotion; but when his father said that there was no doubt the deed he'd done was murder, he burst into a flood of tears, and left the room without being able to articulate a word.